Breaking the Gloaming

by J. B. Simmons

  “What, a driver with one eye?” Wren answered cutely, as if she should just relax. “These Sunans are a harsh people,” he explained. “Outside of this city on the delta, the land around Sunan is nothing but sand and rock and heat. The two rivers merging in Sunan are the key to this place’s life. Some say man was created here, and that we of Valemidas are descendants of Sunan. Some say it was the other way around. Either way, the Sunans are like us, no matter how fierce the desert makes them. We have nothing to fear.”

  “Nothing to fear?” Ravien asked. “How about being royalty from a nation the Sunans want to conquer?”

  “You are the one who led us here,” Wren said. “We could be relaxing alone on a beautiful, remote island right now.”

  “We will not escape and hide on some island when we have the power to direct the winds of destiny. I must play my part here, and you must trust me.” Ravien turned away and peeked out of the carriage. It was salty and warm, the wind swirling gently. The water was an aqua green and clear down to its white sand bottom. Not a cloud dotted the sky.

  It would have felt peaceful if not for the hundreds of ships filling the harbor. They looked built for war, with thick hulls that together could hold thousands of men, and maybe horses too. Unlike the merchant vessel they had sailed in, these ships would travel slowly, against the wind. Still, if the Sunans lifted their anchors, their army would be at Valemidas’ gate in two or three months. Sooner if she succeeded. A shiver ran down her spine.

  “All’s ready,” Ball announced as he lumbered into the carriage and sat facing Wren and Ravien. “Your crates are safely stowed under the carriage. To His Excellency’s palace?”

  “Yes,” Ravien said, “how long is the ride?”

  “Half an hour, maybe less today.” He tapped the driver’s shoulder through the front of the carriage, which began to roll down the smooth street away from the harbor. “It is the first day of the month, a day of ritual cleansing in honor of His Excellency. Sunan women may not step outside this day.” He stared down at Ravien’s bared legs.

  “What? No women outside?” Her sharp tone jerked his head up. She held him with a focused stare. “I know what women must wear here, but I have never heard of such a day. Is there another day when men must stay inside?”

  “Men?” Ball burst out laughing. “Absolutely not,” he said between breaths, “men do not need to learn restraint like women.” His cackling quieted under Ravien’s hard glare. “No offense, princess.” The honored title came out of his lips dismissively. “We in Sunan believe society works better when women stay out of the affairs of men. They are masters of their own domains in the home and in their local markets.”

  “Tell me about these local markets,” Wren interrupted, trying to keep the peace. “Are they supplied from the royal markets that your council controls?” Ravien jammed her elbow into his side, hard enough to make him wince. He looked at her and shrugged. She admitted to herself that it was probably best to not push too far about the injustice of Sunan customs, not yet anyway. The injustice would end if her plans succeeded.

  “Yes, all goods come through the royal markets first,” Ball explained. “Each of us nine royal merchants controls the royal market in each of the city’s nine sectors. We are the hub of the economy here, and the local markets are like the spokes of the wheel. Nothing passes into the people’s homes without passing through our supervision and approval. And nothing crosses between sectors without going through us. Black-market traders face severe punishment, even death. His Excellency is the only one who knows god’s will for us, so even we merchants benefit from his watchful eye.”

  “How many vessels have come to Sunan from Valemidas in recent months?” Wren asked.

  Ball hesitated before answering. “Not many. I have heard that the sea has been rough. You could probably count the vessels on one hand.” He seemed to be hiding something, but he droned on about the state of trade and the weather.

  Ravien pulled the silk curtain back to look out of the carriage. The city’s buildings were all sandstone, like uniform blocks. The streets were all straight, the buildings all in perfect lines. The men wore light-colored robes and had short, black hair. What set them apart were the tattoos by their temples. The tattoos ranged from stars to trees, from intricate patterns to solid black squares. There seemed to be some connection between the tattoos and the different types of work the men were doing, but it would take much more time to learn their associations. As Ball had suggested, not a woman was in sight.

  Ravien then saw an enormous wall up ahead. At first it looked as if it were made of only sand. As they drew closer, she saw that huge yellowish brown blocks made up the wall. It was as tall as the walls of Valemidas, and looked to be twice as thick. The carriage began to slow before a large open gate.

  A tap on her shoulder drew her attention back inside the carriage. Ball was looking at her, anxious and sweating.

  “Better not to let the guards see who is in here,” he said. The carriage came to a stop and he stood. “Just stay put, and I will do the talking.” He swung out of the carriage with more urgency than she would have expected.

  “I do not like this,” she said to Wren.

  He reached out and gently brushed hair from her cheek. “I do not like it either, but we have little choice at this point. If you would share your secrets with me, maybe I could prepare better. Waltzing straight to this excellency guy is rather bold. Just my wife’s style.”

  “The high priest Ilias will protect us,” she said, “and Ball seems to like you.”

  “Ball likes gold. If he knew that this was no simple trading voyage—”

  A rush of sound outside the carriage made them both tense. It sounded like clanging metal, like shackles.

  “Step out slowly,” Ball demanded in a clear, loud voice. “This will go easier if you keep your hands by your sides.”

  Ravien leaned her forehead against Wren’s, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply to calm herself. She then sat up straight and nodded. “We will find a way out of this.”

  “I hope you know what you are doing,” he said.

  She stepped out of the carriage, Wren just behind her. At least a hundred soldiers surrounded them. They must have known they were coming, to have gathered so fast. Their faces were blank and hard, but their armor looked made more for ceremony than for war. Light cloth draped from their waists, their chests were bare, and golden scales arched over their shoulders from helms burnished with gold. They held spears taller than the tallest of men.

  Ravien could not help but think of how vulnerable the men’s chests were to her blades. She fingered a knife fastened flush to her thigh, under her dress. Eight men formed a line in front of her and Wren. Ball was standing off to Wren’s side.

  “Oloi panan,” one of the soldiers said fiercely. Ravien had no clue what the words meant. The man looked older than the others, with scars covering his face. He stared at them expectantly.

  “Disarm now,” Ball interpreted. “He is Dassa, the commander of the royal guard. He said to disarm now.” When neither Ravien nor Wren made a move, Ball spoke again. “You must drop all your weapons, now.”

  Wren held out his empty hands. Ravien crouched down and slid her dress to the side, revealing the blade at her thigh. She hesitated.

  “Stop,” Ball whispered, spotting Ravien’s concealed dagger. He turned to Wren. “I am sorry, friend, but I had no choice. You must stop your wife from doing anything rash. This can pass painlessly if you cooperate and obey. Do not fight now. Give yourself a chance.” The obese man cupped his hands, pleading. Sweat dripped from his brow to the sand-covered stones at their feet.

  “We will play along for now,” Wren growled. He looked to Ravien, and she nodded. Moving slowly, she pulled out the dagger and dropped it on the ground. She still had one on her other thigh.

  “Good,” Ball said, “His Excellency is coming.”

  Ravien gritted her teeth and scanned the soldiers around her. Ball was right that she
had to give herself a chance. She did not see anyone who looked like a priest. Surely Ilias would come to her. He would salvage this situation. She stood straight and calm while the hot sun baked her pale skin.

  The soldiers began to split to either side of the road, opening a path through the gate and to the white domes of a palace in the distance. A shimmering shape approached them and grew larger. It was a man riding on a throne.

  A score of servants held it up on four long poles on their shoulders, parallel to the ground. The throne rose up from the poles like a seat of gold. The strain of the men carrying it hinted that the throne really was made of the precious metal. Enough gold to feed Valemidas for a year.

  The man sitting on the throne was young. His elaborate headdress and robes made it difficult to detect his exact age, but as he drew closer, Ravien guessed he was about sixteen.

  A punch to her side brought her out of her stunned stare. “Kneel!” Ball commanded under his breath.

  She noticed that everyone else—Ball, all the soldiers, and Wren—were bowed with their faces on the ground. She could not bring herself to do it. She swatted away Ball’s hand as he tried to pull her down. This was a meeting of two royals.

  Trumpets sounded out as the throne halted before them. A herald shouted out something that probably announced the monarch’s arrival. Silence followed in the wake of the loud sounds.

  The boy king then raised his hand slowly, its shadow stretching to touch Ravien. An amused look spoiled the young man’s attempt at a stoic face. He leveled his hand, then lowered it. The herald issued a sharp command, and the servants smoothly laid the poles on the ground. The throne had several steps leading down to a few feet from Ravien and Wren.

  There was something spectacular about the young king. His eyes were amber, his face attractive as it reflected the light of gold around him. He looked harsh but delicate, almost innocent.

  He raised his other hand and cupped the two together. The herald issued another command. The eight soldiers closest to Ravien and Wren stood and pressed around them, watching them closely. Ravien doubted she could fling a dagger before one of them would tackle her.

  “Welcome to Sunan,” the king said without any hint of welcome in his voice. He spoke the language with only a slight accent. He remained still in his seat. “I am Ilir, chosen of god, the King of Sunan. Announce yourself and your purpose.”

  “I am Ravien, Princess of Valemidas.” She bowed her head slightly. The boy turned from Wren to her as she spoke, no doubt surprised that she spoke first rather than the man beside her. “My purpose is better shown than spoken.” She laced her words with intrigue, hoping to allure the boy.

  Some of his serenity slipped as he looked over Ravien’s body. He eyed her lustfully, quizzically, before responding. “You may show your purpose if you rise the stairs to me.”

  He placed his hands around his face to signal something, and the herald issued a command. Soldiers stepped onto the stairs and formed a tight passage, just wide enough for Ravien. She had not expected this face-to-face encounter so soon, but decided to seize the opportunity.

  She stepped back smoothly to the carriage and took out the sack she had been carrying. She retrieved a tightly sealed, round bag from inside it. It had a strong odor—embalming spices masking something rotten.

  She walked with the bag toward the boy king. She climbed the stairs to his throne and came nearly within arms reach before a soldier held out his spear to block her from moving further.

  She raised the bag, her arm quivering slightly. Her other arm untied the bag and reached into it. Then she pulled out a head.

  The men around her gasped.

  “Ramzi,” the older soldier, the commander, uttered in shock.

  The king’s eyes swung from Ramzi’s head to Ravien, and back again. “What is this?” he demanded. Fear laced his voice.

  “I bring news from Valemidas to Sunan!” Ravien announced. She ignored her shaking arm. “A man has stolen the throne from Prince Tryst, my brother. Tryst is gone, and now the betrayer is prince. He took the life of your great priest, but I have brought you his head.”

  She placed Ramzi’s head at the feet of the king. “This is my token of loyalty to you, King Ilir. I serve you. I serve Sunan, if it brings me vengeance.”

  Ravien’s news was greeted with silence. The young king stared down at the head at his feet. He motioned and one of the servants took the head away. The king’s gaze rose slowly until he met Ravien’s eyes.

  “You will serve me?”

  “I will serve you,” she answered, “and I know much of Valemidas’s weaknesses.”

  “Why should we trust you?”

  “I have lost everything in Valemidas,” she said. “I have nothing left, nothing to hide.”

  “Nothing?” A devious smile spread across the king’s face. “Prove it, bare yourself now.”

  “What?” She fired back. “I am the Princess of Valemidas, and you threaten this dishonor? In front of all these men?”

  “I do not threaten. You said you were the Princess of Valemidas, and that you have nothing to hide. Trust must be proven here in Sunan.”

  She hesitated. She could feel the eyes of a hundred men on her. Was it worth this shame to help defeat these people? The boy king spoke again before she decided.

  “Take everything off,” he demanded, “or your friend dies.” He looked over her shoulder and held up four fingers.

  A flurry of sound made Ravien turn. Four soldiers held their spears pointed at Wren’s neck. She would not let him die like this.

  She spun and faced the king again. “You will trust me, make me an adviser in your court, and he will live?”

  “You have my word,” he said.

  She fought back waves of indignity and fury as she kneeled and slipped out of her dress, her boots, and everything else. The sealed note she carried from Sebastian would not be found, hidden as it was within a hollow heel of her boot. She carefully placed her dagger under the stack. Most of the soldiers kept their eyes on the ground, as if ashamed with her. None of them moved to take her belongings.

  His Excellency nodded, appraising her. “A wise decision, Ravien. You will have a chance to prove your knowledge.” He stood on the seat of his throne and looked to the soldiers around them. “N’ah musefe quede ya Valemidas!” he shouted.

  The soldiers chanted back the same words and banged their shields. Their sudden unity made Ravien rattled, for the first time, about her plan.

  The young king sat again and motioned something to his herald. A flurry of orders followed, and a soldier’s callused hands clasped around her arms.

  As the Sunan servants began to pick up the platform, with her, the king, and a soldier still on it, Ravien glanced back to Wren. The four men still held their spears at his neck. His eyes followed her as she was hauled away. It would be hard to live up to his trust, if she lived at all.

  Chapter 8

  FAMILY ARCHIVES

  “People will not look forward

  to posterity, who never look

  backward to their ancestors.”

  Thrones are seats, and seats are meant to support weight. It was not working that way for me. Today, again, the throne was like an anvil on my shoulders.

  I had hardly slept the night before, and I had barely started another long day of scheduled duties. The weeks since I had left Tryst in the Gloaming felt like a year. He and Ramzi had left a grand mess. My days passed with every waking hour, and many sleeping ones, filled with nobles’ requests, needs of the people, and preparations for defending Valemidas. I had no right to complain, but here I was, a restless prince on his throne, reminding myself of how hard I had fought to come to this exact seat.

  “…And so it falls under the jurisdiction of House Talnor. They must bear the cost of this peasant’s life.” Sir Camden, the head of the Camden noble house, finished his argument. He was a diminutive man, especially standing beside Ryn Talnor. Only in Valemidas could a dispute between men of such u
nequal strengths be resolved by reason and justice.

  At least, only in a Valemidas free of Ramzi. What I had learned of Ramzi’s brief reign in Tryst’s absence still shocked me. I had been trying to undo his work. First, I returned the boys ripped away from their families. Next, I lifted the burden of taxes and regulations. But our city did not have the gold to repay people for all they had lost, if coins could ever bring justice. Our recovery would have been long and hard even without the threat of Sunan invading. Part of me understood the Sunan’s timing. We owed them so much gold that they probably felt we would never pay, and that they must come and take what was theirs. I would assure them otherwise, but my words counted for little following years—generations—of debt.

  Tryst and Ramzi had made it worse by upsetting our city’s delicate balance among the prince, the nobles, and the people. The prince held ultimate authority while he sat in this throne, but the nobles and people selected him. The nobles could also remove him from the throne. The people’s disputes were resolved by the nobles, who fought over their jurisdiction within Valemidas and beyond. A noble had to espouse a person’s claim for it to reach the prince. Most nobles fought to expand their jurisdictions to include more people, which gave them more audiences with the prince. Tryst and Ramzi had begun ignoring the nobles and hearing the people directly, robbing the nobles of their purpose in the balance. And so here I was, digging into the long queue of nobles’ disputes.

  I thanked Sirs Camden and Talnor for presenting their arguments. I promised I would inform them of my decision later this day. This dispute had been going on for years, so I had little hope of resolving it with a single judgment. Justice never seemed simple, and it required much work to learn the facts. I suppose that is the way it must be, as there would be no dispute in the first place if it were easy to solve.

  A numb excitement filled me as my last visitor of the morning arrived. It was the minister of prisons—the man I had charged with figuring out how to get Tryst and the other men out of the Gloaming. I hoped they had worked out the details.