Petrodor atobas-2

by Joel Shepherd

  Bottles, burning at one end, were falling from the top of the western cliff face. As they hit the flat, tiled roof, they broke, and burst into flame. Already there were lakes of flame burning across the western Palopy roof. The property above was that of Family Gershelden…an old Ameryn Family, and allies to Family Maerler. She had not expected treachery from that quarter. But loyalty to Maerler, of course, did not necessarily dictate complete obedience. There seemed no end to the steady fall of bottles.

  Talmaad threw buckets of water on the fires, yet the flames clung with unnatural persistence. More were erupting every moment. Tiles would crack with prolonged heat. Roof beams beneath would burn. If not extinguished, the roof would collapse and the fire would spread below. She could move talmaad from the firing wall to help extinguish the flames, but every archer was needed or the wall would fall. There was so much smoke now in the air that some of the mob could possibly scale the wall without being seen and open the gate from the inside. She had forty talmaad in Palopy, and thirty human staff, most of whom weren't much in a fight…that seemed short-sighted now. But hiring cripples and other unwanteds had won them such goodwill from their families. Had she been wrong to continue the policy? What good had goodwill done them? Who amongst the locals would rise to save them now?

  Aisha could smell smoke on the wind as she ran, ducking fast along a winding alley. She was south of Sharptooth. Above her The Crack ran upslope toward the high Petrodor Ridge. She caught glimpses of grand mansions lining The Crack as the slope began to rise, a ridge intersecting the Petrodor Incline. She paused only to listen at the way ahead and avoid the mobs. The roads were swelled with armed men, mostly Riversiders to look at them, but not always. Saalshen's properties were ablaze from one end of Petrodor to the other. She had caught a glimpse of the roads around the old Saalshen house of Tiraen-heard the furious chanting of a thousand angry voices, a song from her darkest nightmares come to life. All the smaller Saalshen properties had been abandoned to the defence of Tiraen, Palopy, Cresfel and Edana. All the talmaad of Petrodor defended those four properties now. Now, she doubted that all the talmaad in Petrodor would be enough.

  Her breath came desperately hard, and her legs cried protest at the sight of a new slope rising before her, but she could not have stopped if all the elders of Saalshen had demanded it. Terror drove her, and picked her back up after she missed a step and fell. She dashed across the next winding road, and ran along the shadow of a wall until she found a new alley entrance and darted within.

  Before Tiraen, she'd stopped at House Berendani, one of Maerler's main allies. There she had met not Patachi Berendani himself, nor one of his sons, but a common soldier. Her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. No Berendani soldier would move against the mobs, he'd said, with stony formality. The mobs marched in the name of the archbishop. They wielded the Verenthane star. No Berendani man would stand against the will of the people of Petrodor and their gods. Saalshen, alliance or no alliance, was on its own.

  They'd lost, Aisha realised, as she panted up the steepening slope. Two hundred years of Saalshen's presence in Petrodor was at an end. This game of powerful houses had been just that-a game, until someone had invoked religion. There, the game of calculation had ended. Now it was a rabid, mad orgy of violence that threatened to destroy everything, friend and ally alike. No wonder the patachis all retreated into their mansions and locked the gates. No patachi could withstand power like this. The archbishop had shown them all their place. The archbishop's weapons were not elegant, but they could crush everything and everyone, if he chose. Now, they all learned.

  Patachi Maerler was her final hope. The Nasi-Keth were confined to Dockside, well aware that they would be next once the serrin were dealt with. They would be barricading Dockside for the attack that would follow, the attack that she knew the archbishop, and some others, had been urging Patachi Steiner to make for some time. Patachi Steiner had sensibly refused, and now events propelled the archbishop to mobilise his ragged army of the faithful to reclaim what had been displaced by the previous political games. The Docksiders stood a far better chance than did Saalshen's properties, that was certain. If she could not convince Patachi Maerler himself to help, then Saalshen would soon be receiving news that its entire Petrodor talmaad was dead. A slaughter to foreshadow the slaughter in the Saalshen Bacosh…and then, perhaps, within the borders of Saalshen itself.

  She came upon a pair of dead men in the alley, recently killed. One had been cut nearly in half by a single stroke. Riversiders for certain, Aisha saw, leaping quickly over the vast pool of blood. They had that raggedy, unwashed look about them, even in death. And slope-dwelling locals avoided these alleys for a reason; at least it seemed there were still some other nightwraiths out on this grim afternoon.

  Ahead, the slope became a cliff, rising like a single, yellow tooth from the harbour. Aisha stopped and counted the pyres of smoke across southern Petrodor. She counted nine. There were ten Saalshen properties south of Sharptooth. Tiraen, she guessed, was the last one left. Below were the many ships docked at the port of Angel Bay. Here, below the looming cliffs of Sharptooth, smaller trails of smoke made a black smudge against the ocean. Even in calamity, the funeral pyres burned. The dead waited for no one.

  The last lane along The Crack emerged onto the road to Maerler Mansion. It was a dead end, well chosen and well exploited-a single, narrow road overlooked by the walls and archery positions of friendly houses. Any large force advancing this way would be annihilated one piece at a time. Whenever Aisha had visited before, she'd come the back way, up the passage from the base of Sharptooth cliff, but if she took that route today, Palopy and Tiraen could easily fall before she reached Patachi Maerler.

  She took a deep breath and emerged from the lane mouth. Atop the walls, men with crossbows manned battlements not unlike the old castles of Enora. Aisha saw their weapons pointed down at her and wondered if she should say a prayer. Papa had. Mother had never entirely swayed Papa from his Verenthane beliefs, although she had tried. Helen hadn't thought that fair, and they'd argued.

  Serrin were supposed to be completely accepting of human faith, Helen had said. Mother wasn't doing that. Mama had replied that she had no problem with Papa's faith, but as serrin, she would challenge any inconsistency that troubled her. To which Helen had accused her of completely misunderstanding the nature of human faith. To be faithful, she'd insisted, was not to question, but to accept. Mama hadn't liked that, and the argument had gone on long past dinner, until the coals had begun to dim on the fire grill, and Papa had gone off to bed. Papa had never been interested in such debates. He worked his lands, and if it did not help with farming, Papa wasn't interested. That, ironically, was why Mama had fallen in love with him in the first place. Mama said that he listened to the music of his own soul.

  Approaching the Maerler gate, Aisha realised that she did not need to pray. If she were about to die, impaled by human arrows far from home, she would die with thoughts of her family in her mind, and love for them and her fellow talmaad in her heart.

  The grille on a small side gate slid open before she could knock. “If I let you in,” a low voice growled, “Patachi Maerler will have your hide. You're supposed to use the other gate, serrin.”

  “If you don't let me in,” Aisha replied, “it's unlikely my hide will last the day regardless.” Silence beyond the grille, then a muttered conferring. “No one saw me come, except your loyal allies here.” She jerked her head back along the street. “But you can trust them not to tell who's been visiting you, surely?”

  The gate squealed open and Aisha slid within. Immediately opposite was a second gate, from which came the sound of many bars being released. Soldiers opened the inner gate, and Aisha entered onto a stone walk between gardens of carefully raked gravel. Above loomed the great limestone face of Maerler Mansion.

  More soldiers at the huge main doors swung them open as Aisha trotted up several flagstone steps, beneath huge, square pillars made from piled granite pieces
and mortar. Whatever Maerler's claims of greater sophistication than their Steiner enemies, there was little sophistication about the mansion's exterior. While Steiner Mansion was reputed to be a pleasure palace, this was a fortress pure and simple.

  Within the main doors, however, the effect lightened. Guards escorted Aisha along the grand central hall, where chandeliers shone light on tapestries and paintings.

  The hall opened into a great circle, above which towered a perfect dome. More guards, and hurrying servants passing. From somewhere distant, echoing through the halls, the sound of raised voices. Aisha strained her ears as she followed the guards but could not make out the words.

  “Wait in here,” said a guard, opening a door. She found herself in a sitting room, with two tall windows overlooking the sea. She walked across, as the door shut behind, and gazed out at the view. Below, there was nothing but ocean, the mansion walls making a sheer drop. Here below to the right, Angel Bay, the funeral pyres and the docks. The docks, at least, looked empty, many tall ships abandoned in their bays, and the decking cleared of merchandise. Beyond was mostly warehouses. The Southern Stack had never allowed many dockworkers and fisher folk to set up house directly beside the water, and so the docks culture had never truly developed south of Sharptooth. Thus, the Nasi-Keth held far less influence there. In the south, people were more conservative, and the families still ruled the poor folk's loyalties. Perhaps if Sharptooth had not divided those people from the north, there would have been more ideas exchanged, and things would be different. Geography was destiny, it seemed. Amongst humans, anyhow.

  Her eyes moved to Alaster Promontory beyond, and the waves heaving against its rocky shield. Then across the teeming slope to the many fires. She could see Tiraen from here, one large mansion, though small at this distance. Nothing looked amiss, as surrounding buildings blocked all view of the roads. Nothing seemed to be burning, yet.

  To help relieve the cold tension twisting her stomach, Aisha tried the adjoining door, but found it locked. She paced for a while, then went back to the windows. She should have been back there, fighting with her friends. She had never felt so helpless.

  The door clicked open and it was Patachi Maerler himself, tall and elegant in green leggings and a black satin shirt, buttoned all the way up to his tight collar. The patachi's stride was fast, and his manner held none of the playful sparkle of previous occasions. He stopped in the middle of the room, his expression blank, and watched her with lidded blue eyes. Four guards lined the wall behind him, swords but no halberds.

  Aisha bowed low. “Great Patachi,” she said in her most eloquent Torovan. “Saalshen's agents are besieged. My mistress Rhillian sends me to invoke your promise of allegiance. She seeks assistance, kind sir, in the name of the friendship between you and her, and of our great future to come.”

  “She promised me trade,” said the young patachi, inexpressively. “She promised me power. That is impossible now. Our mutual enemy Patachi Steiner has pushed the priesthood too hard and forced my brother to take drastic action. It was the only way he could preserve the neutrality of the priesthood. Yet the priesthood remains partisan still, and the sons and cousins of Maerler and her allies do not number enough amongst their ranks to make a difference. We could not prevent the archbishop from his sermon. He means to retake the Shereldin Star by force. I think perhaps he shall destroy it by mistake. Either way, he has stirred great hatred of Saalshen in the hearts of the people. Not even the greatest patachi can stand against this and live.”

  “Patachi,” said Aisha, bowing once more, “the Nasi-Keth shall hold the Shereldin Star. Patachi Steiner has sensibly refused the archbishop's requests for an assault on Dockside for many years. Dockside is defensible, their people will fight to the last, and now Kessligh Cronenverdt leads their defences.” She looked up, desperately. “Whoever holds the star can dictate terms to the archbishop! The archbishop has sworn to reunite the star with the Enoran High Temple. He intends to march the Army of Torovan into battle with the star at its head-”

  “You lend me little confidence,” Maerler interrupted coldly. “The archbishop has roused more angry men with his sermon than Patachi Steiner could dream of. I think you underestimate the scale of it, little serrin. From our heights here on Sharptooth, we have quite a good view of the proceedings, and we count well past ten thousand. Possibly twenty.” Aisha could well believe it, having seen what she'd seen…yet still her blood ran cold. “Steiner has perhaps fifteen thousand in total, but he could never have used more than a third of them in any assault, given his defensive requirements. The Nasi-Keth can muster barely more than fifteen hundred fighters, the rest are many thousands but they are a rabble, and I think you overestimate their chances.

  “Kessligh will most likely lose the star. If so, the mobs will doubtless take it to the archbishop, where it rightly belongs. Should Kessligh retain the star, he will bargain until the highest bidder, and his price will be no war in the Bacosh…which was perhaps feasible before today, but not after. Perhaps he will threaten to destroy the star, which will force all the great houses to join forces against him. War in the Bacosh is inevitable now. In trying to equalise the imbalance growing within the priesthood, I fear we have forced the archbishop's hand too far. That sermon should never have been delivered, and had the equilibrium existed, the other priests could have stopped it. But now, everything is tilted, and nothing shall be the same again.”

  Rhillian, Aisha recalled, had spoken of equilibrium. She'd argued with Errollyn about it. Aisha had spoken up once in support of Errollyn. Had she spoken loudly enough? Perhaps if she'd pushed harder…but to what ends? Rhillian was within her ra'shi. The pull of the vel'ennar was strong. But Errollyn did not feel it…He could stand against Rhillian, where Aisha found it hard. Was he then in the right? Had he been right all along? And had she, and all the talmaad in Petrodor, been blind to it?

  “It's over, little serrin,” said Patachi Maerler, suddenly tired. “The game is at an end. It was fun while it lasted, but perhaps the archbishop always had the final move in his keeping, and we were all fools for thinking we could play him. I do not know who will lead this Army of Torovan into the Bacosh, but I do know that the decision is no longer mine to make. I think I shall keep you, however, as a bargaining tool with Saalshen's new representatives, when they arrive. My spies tell me that you speak rather a lot of languages, and have much knowledge of the Saalshen Bacosh. Have no fear I shall mistreat you. I offer you safety and hospitality from the storm.”

  Aisha's fear subsided, as something else displaced it. And the patachi frowned to see the sudden change in the little blonde serrin's bright blue eyes. “I will fight to defend my people,” Aisha said quietly, with menace in her tone. “I came to you freely, as a friend. I would leave as such.”

  “You are in no position to make demands, little girl,” Maerler said crossly, but there was an edge of uncertainty in his tone. “I offer you your life. Most people would be grateful!”

  “I am not most people,” Aisha said coldly. “I may look like a little girl to you, my Lord, but I have seen thirty-one summers. Humans have misjudged serrin many times before.”

  The patachi began a retreat and Aisha took a deep breath as the four guards against the wall moved forward, encircling, hands fingering the pommels of their swords. “Just let me go,” she told the patachi quietly. For the briefest, hopeful moment, she thought he might agree. But she saw the rapid calculation in his eyes as he realised he'd told her too much.

  Aisha had no desire to kill these men. But her friends were out there dying, and these men sought to prevent her from joining them. “Dear girl,” said the patachi, backing behind his guards, “please be reasonable. If you go back out to face those mobs, you will surely die.”

  Aisha barely heard him. She could feel the pull, the force of it like a tugging in her heart. Vel'ennar. Like a part of herself that did not belong solely to her. The pain of it made her ache. If she stayed here, trapped within the patachi's hospi
tality, she'd go mad.

  She tore the blade from its sheath and leapt forward, swinging down. Her target sprang back, the other swords came out fast…she cut sideways at the closest before he could prepare his defence, and felt the blade go through mail and flesh. She sprang into the gap left by that man as he fell, defending two strokes in passing and nearly removing that man's head with a fast, one-handed overswing, the guard ducking just in time, stumbling for balance.

  Aisha moved sideways toward the door, three guards and the patachi following, none quite prepared to stand between her and escape. She saw the fear on their faces, the uncertainty in their postures-wondering, trembling, if they dared try her blade. The men of House Maerler knew the talmaad better than most. Aisha knew her standard was not that of Rhillian, though Errollyn she could usually match. And Errollyn was formidable enough.

  She reached for the door handle. A soldier edged forward, seeing one hand off her sword…Aisha replaced the hand fast, and took stance against him. The soldier backed up. Patachi Maerler moved in sudden frustration, striding across the room to the adjoining door. He too found it locked, and hammered on it in frustration. “Guards!” he yelled.

  Aisha flung open the main door and tore through, the soldiers in pursuit. Two men were running down the hall, skidding into a stance as Aisha came through. She feinted left, sprang right instead, brushed the first man's side as his hurried blade missed, drove the point of her sword through the second man's middle, then dashed on as he fell, nearly losing her sword as she pulled it clear.

  Servants scattered and screamed as she came, a maid carrying a lady's expensive dress fell to the floor and covered her head. A strong servant in black thought to tackle her barehanded, then changed his mind as Aisha aimed a running swipe at him, and he dived for the wall. She arrived back at the central dome just as more soldiers came rushing in from adjoining halls and yells echoed through the house.