Then, in the late morning of the fourth day since leaving Céin Urthia we came over a gentle crest, turned a bend – and into view came Safon.
The sight took my breath away. Vivid azure water shone in a sheltered bay; verdant orchards criss-crossed on the outskirts of a city dotted with spires and bright rooftops. The slopes of the coast seemed to wear a patchwork coat of buildings and gardens, all hemmed in by a network of whited walls arrayed in unusual asymmetry. Tall, square towers thrust up from the great metropolis, made of ochre stone, and white sails fluttered in the two harbours. The whole city seemed to spread over a hilly peninsula, facing both east and west, even nestling into the cramped valleys that ran up from the coast.
I couldn’t help but notice the three great castles breaking up the civic scene. One jutted up from the city streets of the western side, severe and imposing; another dominated the bluffs of the northeast. The third, and largest of all, sat solid and heavy at the extreme end of the peninsula, thrusting its very glacis into the turquoise sea.
“Have you ever seen something so beautiful?” Dawn said aloud.
I didn’t quite know what to say. Never had a city so impressed me; it wasn’t the size, it wasn’t the splendor; it was the colour of the orchards, the rooftops, the curtain walls. The formidable fortresses, the proud towers, the many-tiered slopes, the ships plowing into harbour. It was a sight to behold. I had seen great cities before, but never one so picturesque.
Dawn spurred her horse forward to catch up with Herace, who was leading the way. I followed after her.
“Herace! Is this Safon? It’s so nice!” she exclaimed.
“Indeed it is,” he replied, still trotting along. “You should have seen it during the war. Quite the sight; the whole place was under siege when we arrived.”
We rode down from the elevated hills, through snaking valleys that emptied into neatly-planted orchards. Fruit hung heavy upon the branches and behind low stone walls folk carried baskets, collecting what was ripe.
“All of this was trampled. The besiegers were clever though; they never cut the trees down. They knew there was too much money in it. Would have crippled the economy; no more ciders, no more olive oil, no more lemons. And when you attack your neighbour, hurting them can be almost as bad as hurting yourself,” Herace continued.
“Now that it’s all fixed up, it’s hard to remember how it looked during the war,” Lyrandor added, pointing off to the city walls. “Looks like there are still repairs to be done, mind you…”
Indeed there were. Some parts of the wall were sagged, the stonework jumbled. Deep troughs, now overgrown with long grass, were burrowed beneath these unsightly spots. I recognized it as an attempt to mine the walls; to dig beneath, bring them down from below.
The remnants of earthworks and trenches also scarred the outskirts of Safon. But like the collapsed tunnels, these too were overgrown. Nature was slowly retaking its rightful place, breaking down the past war, all those bygone days of strife, turning it into life and loam and tomorrow’s trees.
“So how long did it take you to break through?” asked Dawn as she marveled at an immense gatehouse.
“What, here? Oh, Safon was never taken! And we weren’t the ones sieging it, either; we were hired to relieve the siege. You of all folk should know that,” Herace explained.
“Hm. Well, just goes to show how little attention I pay to the court…” Dawn said under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
We came to the bridge of the great gatehouse. The bridge was made of dirt and looked like a remnant of the siege, as did the deep-cut moat that was haphazardly dug around this section of the wall. The portcullis was raised; folk came and went as they pleased. A wooden shack with wide window spaces leaned against the gatehouse, occupied by a handful of ur-men and elves in bright blue gambesons and kettle helms. They looked to be playing dice.
One of them looked up as we neared the gatehouse. His eyes opened wide and he elbowed his compatriots. They all scrambled to stand as they saw us approach, quickly taking up their polearms, and saluted.
Perethon strode ahead, took off his barbute, and tucked it under his arm.
“Hail, Princess Dawn, daughter of Aral of Tir Urth, heiress apparent of Céin Urthia,” he proclaimed in a booming voice.
Two of the guards ran out from the shack; one bolted, unarmed, into the city. The other marched up to Perethon and gave another salute. They spoke for a few moments, but I wasn’t listening; I looked back to the rows of orchards behind their low stone walls. Clouds passed over the rolling hills from whence we came.
“I hope we weren’t trying to keep a low profile here,” I murmured to Dawn.
“I would have preferred it. But I’m sure Perethon has his reasons…” she said back, staying stiff-backed and regal in the saddle.
Passer-bys had stopped to watch us, which was no surprise at all to me. The sylfolk kingdoms were reclusive; and now a sylfolk princess was in their midst? I couldn’t fault them for staring, for whispering.
We waited outside the gatehouse for quite some time. A crowd of commoners was gradually accumulating; merchants, labourers, buyers and sellers. They kept a respectful distance but no doubt their curiosity burned. Had I been back home and seen such a cavalcade, I certainly would have been curious. I did my best to ignore the growing crowd; I realized I hated attention more and more with each passing moment.
A trumpet blared from inside the walls. I looked through the wide gate and saw a procession of a dozen polearms, one draped with a long, blue pennant. A group of robed riders followed behind, each looking very important, and I knew they were coming to meet us.
“Very low profile,” I whispered to Dawn.
The loose crowd parted to allow the procession through. The trumpet played a short tune. The lead rider, a grey-haired ur-man, raised a hand in salutation, face neutral but not uninviting. Perethon returned the gesture.
“The city-state of Safon bids a most congenial welcome to our friends of Céin Urthia,” the grey-haired ur-man said in a loud voice. “We are humbled to host our most honoured guest, the Princess Dawn. We would be most pleased to invite you …”
Blah, blah, blah. He droned on for a bit, but I wasn’t very interested. I couldn’t help but look back out to the pleasant greenery of the orchards. I could see lemons hanging heavy upon the branches, like little flecks of gold. One day I’d like to have an orchard; just a few trees to start. A small house, some low stone walls like they had here. It would take a few years of work, of careful planting; many more to see the fruit. Maybe one day. And a garden, too; lavender. Just like Dawn would want…
But I was getting ahead of myself. Way ahead.
We started moving and I was brought back to the present. The crowd hailed us politely, some even enthusiastically. I felt we were more a pleasant oddity than celebrated guests, at least in the eyes of the common folk.
Our hosts escorted us through the wide boulevards of Safon; I surveyed the city, saw the buildings both ornate and plain, both proud and poor. It seemed like everywhere there was business; counting houses, jewellers, farriers, perfumeries, open markets and private shops. I was neither impressed by the cleanliness nor the filthiness of the streets; each neighbourhood through which we passed varied.
We were escorted up and around what seemed to be the central hill of the peninsula; the streets narrowed, the cobble stones old and worn. The buildings were smaller and all made of stone; barely a trace of brick or wood. I had a hard time believing this city had been under siege only a few years before; the place must have been incredibly rich to rebuild so quickly.
Our procession passed beneath the imposing bluffs of the eastern castle. The bare stone walls high above seemed to gaze down scornfully upon us. It blotted out the sun as we rode beneath.
Finally we came spilling out to a long, open plaza. It sloped upward toward the great fortress that thrust its austere shape into the azure ocean. This final castle, dominat
ing the extreme end of the peninsula, was a truly formidable thing; crenellated walls that were so smooth it looked to be carved right out of the cliffs. The same pennants that our escort carried also hung from the heights of the keep; bright blue, with a stylized sheaf of yellow wheat beneath three black stars.
The plaza was lined with marble statues of folk, some with hands clasped together piously, others with swords unsheathed. I gave them each a cursory glance, idly wondering who they could represent.
I noticed, too, that this plaza was largely clear; very few folk wandered about. Those that did were robed or uniformed as the city guards. On the left side of the plaza there was a spacious building with a columned façade; it looked to be some sort of bank. Well-dressed folk walked in and out, speaking conspiratorially in small groups. They looked like the sorts who would hire the Black Cohort; wealthy and clever, never above taking a good deal.
On the other side of the plaza, directly opposite, was a large, spired chapel. The size made me think it was elvish, the shape made me think it was ur-man, and the fact that it was both while being neither made me certain it was colonial. A lone, consecrated ur-man sat by a fountain out front; his head was bare, his back hunched with age.
“Do you see that, Princess?” Maeral said, pointing to the chapel. “That’s a church. The Urvish ports are covered with them.”
I was taken aback by what he said, and even more taken aback by Dawn’s wonderment.
“Don’t you have churches?” I asked.
“No, sylfolk have no need. The very ground is Sacred; why would we need to build a place to worship the Maker? His works are everywhere,” she replied.
I had never thought of that; never even thought that things would be different in a Sacred place. I realized that in the few short months I had been in the Untouched Wood, I had never seen a church.
“Well, it’s more like a way to say thanks. Spending time and money to build something not for ourselves,” I said, trying to reason out loud. “At least, that’s what I remember. I haven’t been in one for years…”
At last we reached the sweeping doors of the great keep. Some of the Safonian guards took our horses; the others led the Royal Guard away, likely to a stable.
Once dismounted we were all ushered in by what remained of our escort; four robed folk, all headed by the venerable ur-man who had first greeted us.
The inside of the castle was absolutely palatial. It was not bare, but it was not ornate either; the royal keep in Naraya was little more decorated, I noted. Banners hung from the vaulted ceilings.
I kept close to Dawn as we walked through the entrance hall and up spacious, twisting steps to a second level. There was more light up there; the windows were wide and tall, each paned with finely crafted glass. The glass was so clear you could practically see right through.
Another set of doors opened down the hall. Out came another group of robed folk, a mix of elvish and ur-men. They hailed Princess Dawn again, lauded Céin Urthia, extended friendship, etcetera, etcetera. No wonder Dawn disliked court life; it was all very contrived.
The rest of the afternoon went on like this. Different groups of folk cycled in and out, and we were shuffled from room to room, and Dawn had to act as princess-like as she could. She was quite good at it, from what I could tell. Then again, I was just a simpleton who had spent more time sleeping outdoors than indoors over the past few years, so I had very little concept of what courtly manners were. But she seemed to be excelling as a princess. I was also rather smitten by her, so that likely added to it. To me, she shone like gold in her emerald dress, and her chestnut hair was more glorious than any crown.
I noticed that many of the folk we were introduced to had a very hard time looking away from all the antlers. Dawn had her short, two-tined antlers, yes, but Majira, Lyrandor, Tibaron, and Maeral all had the soaring, many-pronged antlers of the dau. And Herace had his little spikes, but that was still more than enough to gawk at.
And of course there was Perethon, a hulking centaur. Centaurs must have been a rare sight indeed, and if Safon was anything like my homeland, centaurs were known as wild brutes. Perethon, however, articulated himself as well as any diplomat I had ever heard.
Then there was me. Not only the least exotic, but also the most underdressed. I was in a traveller’s cloak and simple clothes. At least I took my hat and gloves off.
At some point in the late afternoon, right around when I hit my limit of ‘how do you do’s,’ we were invited to attend a banquet. Part of me was happy for the chance to partake in free food, but another part of me wanted to jump out a window. I was already tired of all the ambassadorial speak. Could I really take any more?
There was a break in the late afternoon, at the very least, to show us all to our private quarters.
The chamberlain led us through a long hallway flanked by wooden doors. Maeral, Lyrandor, Tibaron, and Herace were each shown to a room, but I doubted they would all sleep separate. And if there was wine at this banquet, they likely wouldn’t sleep at all. The chamberlain then pointed out a room for me, much to my surprise. I was half expecting to sleep in the servant’s quarters.
But then, of course, Herace just had to speak up.
“Ah, I’m afraid Mister Ortham cannot occupy this room,” he said to the chamberlain, putting on a surprisingly serious face.
“Oh?” asked the chamberlain.
I had to stop myself from asking the same thing.
“No, he simply cannot. Mister Ortham is the princess’ personal battle-mage. He is obligated to be as close to her as possible at all times.”
Dawn and I gave him the same confused look, but his face remained as serious as before. The chamberlain apologized for his mistake. And Herace gave me a wink.
I could have run over there and embraced him. He had just done me a massive favour.
The chamberlain showed Majira to her room, which was graciously across the hall from the rambunctious Guardians of the Amber Bower, then apologized to Perethon for not having any suitable accommodation in the castle for him. He actually seemed relieved, and said he was content to remain with his troops.
The chamberlain then led me and Dawn up an additional flight of stairs. I looked back to see Herace and his friends all grinning like idiots at me. And I grinned right back.
The next floor was similar to the one below; a long hall with more rooms. The doors to these rooms, however, were much more ornate, and each spaced farther apart, and there was a well-embroidered rug that spanned the length of the hall.
“Your quarters until your departure, Princess Dawn,” the chamberlain said, swinging open a large door at the end of the hall.
The room beyond was spacious; blue drapes hung against the stone wall, and there was a small balcony that looked over the shimmering coastline. An impressively large bed graced the centre of the room, hung about with gauzy curtains. It was certainly fit for royalty.
“And Mister Ortham, in the spirit of keeping you as close as possible to your charge, you will be occupying the adjacent room,” he said, and opened another door.
The room beyond looked almost identical. I had never seen beds so large. What could a being possibly need with so much room? You can only sleep in one spot at a time. And it was so high off the ground! What if I rolled off in the night and broke my head open?
As soon as I actually laid down, though, I was more than willing to risk such a fall. It was so comfortable. Much better than dirt. I let my hat fall to the floor and closed my eyes.
I laid there for much longer than I anticipated. I think I even fell asleep; I hadn’t realized how tired I really was.
The sound of the door opening dragged me back into the waking world.
I rolled onto my back and looked up. Dawn walked into the room, hooves clicking against the floor. She stopped at the side of the bed, hands on her hips.
“So, personal battle-mage, hm?”
I smiled up at her.
“Hey, I had nothing to do with that. Blame Herace.”
She picked up a pillow and dropped it on my face. I didn’t even react. I heard her walk around the bed and I felt a cool breeze glide into the room.
I pushed the pillow off my face and rolled over to see Dawn standing on the balcony. She was silhouetted beautifully against the sparkling ocean. The sun was setting in the hills; the water was mercury in the twilight. I got up and walked over, letting my cloak slide off my shoulders to the floor as I did.
“Isn’t it so beautiful?” she sighed, leaning upon the stone.
“Yeah, I love sunsets,” I replied, shielding my eyes from the sun as it lowered to the horizon.
“No, not the sunset! We have those back home. I mean the ocean!” she said, throwing her arms open to the outstretched sea.
Her wavy hair fluttered in the light breeze. I had the sudden urge to reach out and touch her, see if she was even real. Could any of this be real? Sometimes I worried that I would wake up in black clothes again, sleeping in the saddle.
There was a knock at the door. I spun around.
“Uh, who is it?” I asked.
“Just your baggage, sir! Brought up from your old room,” came a voice from beyond the door.
I shared a look with Dawn. It certainly wouldn’t look good if we were seen like this – not here, not now.
“Just leave it by the door!” I called back.
Dawn relaxed again. We stood on the balcony for a long time; she looked out to the open sea while I watched the sun set in the far hills. She told me about Safon, about all the things she had learned today. Apparently it wasn’t a kingdom at all; it was a plutocratic city-state or something. Something about merchant guilds. I wasn’t really paying attention. I was just shifting my gaze back and forth between the sunset and Dawn and the conversation was the only thing holding the tenuous moment together.
“Anyway, so they said that if it hadn’t been for my father letting the Orders come down to fight for Safon, they would have lost the war!”
Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2) Page 22