by Tom Lloyd
Geret smiled and shook his head. ‘Merely a recent awakening. Ulesh, my son, come here.’ He ushered him into the room and stood with one hand on his shoulder.
‘What’s happened? You sound different too.’
‘I will explain,’ Geret said, the smile never leaving his face. He took his son’s face in his hands. ‘It is like this.’
Before either of them could speak again Geret slid his left hand around the back of Ulesh’s neck and punched the man in the throat. Ulesh stumbled back, half-falling but for the grip his father had on him. Geret let the flailing man down to the ground and pushed his knee into his throat. Now Ulesh tried to fight him properly, tearing at Geret’s arms but the older Kobelt put all his weight on to his knee and something gave under the pressure.
Ulesh’s strength lessened, he pawed weakly at his father’s leg but could do nothing but give a strangled squawk before slowly succumbing. His hands fell limp. Geret held him there a little longer, making certain Ulesh was dead before standing and dragging the body towards the bed.
‘A shame you had to notice something was different,’ Geret commented as he shoved the body under the bed and draped the blanket over it so it wasn’t visible. ‘But perhaps you’d have needed to die anyway. Your father’s memories say you’d notice the ritual I’m planning wasn’t right. Best you die quietly here.’
With that, Geret left the room and headed for the acolytes’ dormitory. He was met in the corridor by a fat, bald man who was sweating profusely – fear and exertion combined.
‘Master Hoke!’
‘I know, I know – the wardings.’
‘What is it? What do we do?’ the fat man pleaded.
‘It’s an attack,’ Geret said briskly, ‘the summoner has turned on us. Get everyone up to the shrines, there is an old ritual I know – a broken summoning that will pry the hellhounds from the summoner’s control.’
‘Where’s Ulesh?’
‘I’ve given him a mission I can entrust to no other. Don’t worry about him; we’re all in danger right now. We must realign the shrines, move every chain and charm there is. We have no time to waste – go fetch all the Kobelen and acolytes, now!’
‘Yes Master Hoke.’
The fat man turned and ran back the other way, shouting almost incoherently the names of various Kobelen. Geret watched him go and allowed himself a small, secret smile.
‘So Priest, you had best be ready,’ he said to the empty corridor. ‘You want mayhem in the city and House Eagle always delivers on its side of a bargain.’
A cold winter sun worried at the last of the morning mist as they set off for the Imperial Palace. Kesh had hired a large curtained litter for Kine, Dov and Narin to travel anonymously in, four massive bearers taking their weight with practised ease. Kesh herself was happy to play the role of servant trailing along behind while Myken, in a plain green jacket, acted as a mercenary bodyguard alongside the litter. There were enough rich merchants and factors who travelled in such a fashion that they drew no interest on the Public Thoroughfare, and once they reached the Tier Bridge there was more to look at than passers-by.
Kesh moved closer to the litter and leaned in so she could talk quietly to Kine and Narin. ‘We’re reaching the bridge; looks like most people are stopping to stare. It might take us a while to cross.’
‘How bad is is?’
She could hear Narin shift slightly to try and peer out through the folds of cloth that hid them, but there was little room to move.
‘Hard to say. There’s smoke still coming from some of the buildings on the upper tier, and even the struts look flame scorched.’
‘Gods,’ Narin breathed. ‘There have been fires on it before, but the structure’s always been untouched.’
‘There are Investigators blocking the path to the top, ah – House Dragon soldiers too. Two dozen of them maybe and they don’t look so happy.’
‘If it was an ambush as we suspect,’ Myken added, ‘they will be in panic. Lord Omteray will try to lock the whole tier down and recover the bodies.’
‘Which Rhe won’t like so much, he’ll see it as a crime to be investigated.’
‘If Rhe is there,’ Myken said gravely, ‘he will fight a duel by the end of the day. Every warrior caste knows they must consider the bodies of Astaren to be sacred, so they will not allow any Lawbringer to remove anything. Let alone take instructions from a son of Brightlance.’
‘Which always goes down well with Rhe,’ Narin muttered. ‘Bloody Eagles and Dragons, always looking for an excuse.’
‘We’re taught from an early age that they are the enemy,’ Myken said, sounding pointed but not defensive, ‘just as we are taught they see us the same way. In times of peace, it’s only ever a matter of time before we’re at war again.’
Narin growled from within the litter. ‘If you seek war, make sure a large chunk of the population isn’t allowed to do anything but prepare for war.’
‘Narin,’ Kine broke in, ‘perhaps now isn’t the time for an argument about a thousand years of the caste system?’
Kesh smiled as Narin muttered an apology, but returned her attention to the bridge as they shuffled forward behind a slow column of traffic. Myken made her way around to the front and used her presence to part the tide, speeding them up a touch until they came up behind another litter and couldn’t work their way around it.
From beneath there was little to see of the upper tier; a concave ceiling forty yards above their heads, patchily grey after millennia of enduring the wind sweeping off the sea but bearing no sign of the firestorm that had been unleashed above it. They made better time across the main body of the bridge and soon were out in the bright sunlight again.
Kesh craned her head around to look back at the other end of the upper tier and gasped. ‘Stars above, the buildings are gone.’
‘Completely?’ Narin demanded.
‘There’s just rubble,’ she confirmed, ‘I can’t see – wait, there’s one. Maybe the nearest two or three buildings each side are destroyed. This end’s been levelled, there’s nothing taller than a child standing.’
‘There’s smoke rising from further in,’ Myken added from the front of the litter. ‘Something burns there still.’
‘But the nearer ones are destroyed? How much gunpowder would it take to do that?’
‘More than a few barrels, more than anyone would store there. It seems your friend was right.’
‘Why?’
‘The power needed to erase those buildings,’ Myken explained, ‘is more than an accident. But if you’re setting a trap, you have one bomb to make your enemy fall back and a second to catch them in retreat. They draw together to regroup and re-evaluate, making themselves more vulnerable.’
‘I didn’t think Dragon soldiers ever ran away,’ Narin said.
‘Not fearing death is different to welcoming it,’ Myken replied. ‘Victory is the greatest virtue, one you cannot achieve while dead. If they discovered the enemy was waiting for them or more powerful than expected, falling back before they were too deep in the hole makes perfect sense. It’s not as though there was anywhere for their prey to flee to, so they thought they had time to reassess their attack.’
‘And didn’t that work out well for them. Or us, come to think of it – if that’s the biggest threat to them gone, the hounds will be bolder than ever.’
‘It’s Enchei’s problem for the moment,’ Kesh declared as the pace picked up once more. ‘Today we finish with our other situation, put the whole thing behind us.’
‘Let us hope so,’ Kine said in a quiet voice.
Kesh’s heart went out to her as she heard the noblewoman’s attempt to control her apprehension. It was not just the stroke of the lash she would endure today, but the painful erasing of her tattoos too – quite aside from, most likely, the bitter anger of her husband. Kesh could hardly comprehend the stilted, formal world of a noble-caste woman, but it was clear enough that honour and decorum were powerful forces for those who
lived in it. Status and a position within society were intrinsic to such a life, so this rare lowering of caste would cut as surely as the lash.
Once on the Imperial Island they continued north, up the grand boulevard of Knight’s Path Avenue until the road branched and they turned right towards the Imperial Palace. At that hour, traffic was light, but Myken was careful to direct the bearers well clear of any other litters – affording those of higher status a careful measure of respect. While she wore red on her collar, Myken was dressed as a mercenary still, so any liveried House soldier would consider her inferior and Kesh could see the Siresse had no intention of letting carelessness delay them.
The Sun Avenue comprised the last stretch; a wide road that led directly to the Hundred Houses, the ornate tower-like structure standing on a hundred pillars that marked the entrance to the Imperial Palace. Flanking the Sun Avenue were the grandest temples in the city – huge structures devoted to the six Greater Gods and Goddesses, each flanked in turn by small temples of their five subordinate Ascendants, but all dominated by the vast Imperial Palace ahead.
As they passed the first pair of temples, Kesh found old instincts turning her head right to look towards that of Lady Jester’s. All the greater temples were six-sided buildings of white stone walls, with friezes set between tall windows and topped by two levels of black-tiled roofs. At the very centre of the upper roof was a cornea-like glass disc five yards across through which the light of their god would be focused on the altar below.
Despite the magnificence of a building that Kesh rarely saw, having grown up believing low castes were not allowed on this avenue, her gaze went to the smaller temples flanking it, their sharp spires rising like upraised spears. From where they walked, the temples of Lords Cripple and Duellist were closest to the road but, as they continued on, Kesh could see the spire of Lady Chance rising behind Cripple’s.
Look down on your sister, Kesh thought, finding her lost piety slip on again like a favourite coat. Lady Chance, favour her – bless little Dov and see her safe. She deserves none of this. Lapsed I may be, but I will teach her every prayer to her namesake Ascendant if I live to hear her speak – I swear it on Emari’s memory.
Kesh blinked hard, feeling tears threaten at the reminder of her lost sister, and returned her attention to the litter until they were past. There was a hushed reverence on the avenue as they continued down it, Lord Knight’s temple on their left, Lady Shaman’s on the right, before finally they passed between those of the God-Emperor and God-Empress. They headed though the Gate of the Sun, a pair of eighty-foot-high ruined pillars that had until the Ten Day War served as the entrance to the palace, before finally leaving the litter at the Hundred Houses and continuing on foot.
Despite their wariness of being seen in public, the cold ensured most people wore hoods or fur hats along with heavy winter coats. There were plenty of lower castes in anonymous clothing to blend into. Even the unusual sight of the swaddled and sleeping Dov nestled in a sling across Narin’s chest was barely noticeable to those not paying close attention.
Narin and Kesh led the way through the trading district that had flourished around the palace’s great towers. Kesh knew they would end up at the Glass Tower, a wonder she would have been childishly eager to witness under different circumstances, but Narin took them to the Office of the Catacombs. First they had to find Prince Sorote and then, no doubt, a message would be sent to Lord Vanden.
Their pace was slow, but Kine would accept no assistance and had no intention of arriving in a manner permitted only to high castes. By the time they reached the curious, isolated building that seemed to serve as Prince Sorote’s offices, Kine’s teeth were gritted in discomfort and her feet shuffled along the snow-carpeted ground. Still she made no complaint and waited in silence as Narin hammered his fist against the door.
After a pause, they heard the sound of boots on flagstones and the door was opened a shade to reveal the bald head of a servant of Prince Sorote’s.
‘Investigator Narin,’ the man acknowledged cautiously, inspecting Narin’s companions in turn and bowing to Kine after a moment’s hesitation. ‘My Lady Wyvern, Siresse,’ he said rather more formally, before adding, ‘Mistress,’ as an after-thought to Kesh.
She pursed her lips and left matters up to Narin, not wanting to reply to an off-hand greeting, while the two high castes were not expected to greet a servant.
‘Ah, Hentern, is it?’ Narin hazarded.
‘Indeed, Investigator,’ the servant replied in a flat tone. ‘You honour me by remembering. I shall summon Prince Sorote.’
He made to close the door again but Myken reached out and slapped a flat palm against the wood, stopping it dead. ‘Fetch your master,’ she said sternly, ‘but my Lady must sit. You do not want to impede us.’
Hentern hesitated a moment then stepped back, recognising the cold certainty in the warrior’s voice. ‘Of course, Siresse. Please, enter, and ensure my Lady Wyvern is comfortable.’
Kesh and Narin stepped aside while Kine shuffled forward and, assisted by Myken, eased herself down into the nearest armchair. The room was chilly and dim – the building’s high windows admitted precious little of the winter sun while the stove was clearly recently lit. There was no one else in the room, but one of the reinforced cellar doors that stood at an angle on the far wall was open. Weak lamplight shone up the steep steps, illuminating only a turning flight that led underground.
There was an uncomfortable expression on Hentern’s face as the door closed behind Narin and he pulled a chair over to beside Kine’s, sitting as gently as he could. All Kesh could see of Dov was the top of the baby’s head, but from the complete silence it seemed as if she was happily asleep.
‘I … Might I offer you refreshment, my Lady?’
‘Don’t you have to fetch your master?’ Myken demanded.
‘He is coming, he sent me ahead to light the stove.’
‘But still you were about to fetch him,’ Myken pressed, ‘with the door shut too. He’s downstairs somewhere? Just how far do the cellars extend here? Is there a tunnel all the way from Prince Sorote’s palazzo?’
‘I am not permitted to leave outsiders alone in here, Siresse.’
Myken took a step towards one of the nearer desks then looked up at the mezzanine above the cellar doors, where a beautifully crafted desk stood beneath a pile of papers and books. ‘Nor are you able to prevent a warrior caste from investigating anything she chooses,’ she pointed out, indicating Sorote’s desk, ‘so perhaps fetching your master would still be the best use of your time.’
Hentern’s anxiety deepened, but he only spoke when she took a pointed step towards the stairs leading up to the mezzanine. ‘Siresse, I beg you …’
‘Don’t worry,’ Myken said, turning back towards Kine, ‘I only read when I am bored. Be back soon and these papers will remain untouched – on my honour.’
At Myken’s emphasis on the final word, Hentern’s expression turned pathetically grateful and he bobbed a small bow before heading back towards the cellar. The scuff of his feet on stone steps echoed up to them for a surprisingly long time and then there was only quiet. Keen to evict the cold, Kesh went to feed more coal into the stove and stoke the flames, but once that was done she found herself in the middle of the room, eyes drawn to the open works on the nearest desk.
‘Kesh, I have given my word,’ Myken warned.
‘I know, I know,’ Kesh grumbled, glancing over to the cellar door. ‘You didn’t say anything about what’s down there, though.’
‘For pity’s sake, Kesh,’ Narin said, ‘now isn’t the time to anger Prince Sorote!’
‘When you’re the lord of me,’ she replied, ‘you get to give orders like that. I’ve been the good little servant caste enough recently, but your friend’s been holding out on you more than a little.’
‘Not my friend,’ Narin said. ‘Just a relation of the Emperor’s with the power to destroy my life.’
She shrugged. ‘Just want to
see what’s down there, whether it leads to a tunnel or something more.’
‘Please, Kesh!’
She ignored him, suddenly gripped by a fierce desire to see past the few steps she could make out. Narin hissed angrily after her but she padded forward and peered through the open door at the stairway beyond it. There was little of anything to see, just well-worn cut stone with a groove hacked into the inside wall for a handhold.
Feeling like a child, Kesh took a tentative few steps down, moving as quietly as she could manage. The stair turned back on itself before opening out on to an empty room that bore only a lantern hanging over a high peaked doorway. She crept through that and found more steps that branched left and right. It was darker down there, the only light coming from the lantern above her head, but the left-hand path seemed to continue down and open out into some larger space while the right levelled out into a tunnel of some sort.
She took a step forward, craning her head to peer over a short balustrade that the left-hand stair stretched around. Kesh blinked once, twice, to try and make out anything in the not-quite blackness below, but before she could a hand grabbed her by the bicep and hauled her back.
On instinct Kesh twisted and punched up at the arm holding her. She felt a lurch sideways as she was dragged off-balance, but delivered a second blow with greater intent and managed to dislodge her attacker’s grip. In the gloom she couldn’t make out who she’d struck before a heavy kick to her ribs slammed Kesh into the smooth stone wall. She dropped down, ignoring the pain, and stamped back towards her attacker’s shin, catching them a glancing blow. Throwing herself sideways she avoided a second kick and came up with dagger in hand, but before she could find a target a stinging blow smashed it from her hand and in the next moment she’d been slammed against another wall, cracking her head against the stone.
As the stars before her eyes slowly cleared, Kesh realised there was a sword-edge at her throat and she froze. Eventually the rest came into focus and she realised it was Prince Kashte holding the weapon. The Imperial’s face was more alive than she’d seen it before, a dangerous glitter to his eyes that told her his blood was up.