According to Briana, the title of Ypertatos marked Ormroth as a higher-level member of the Keeper’s Blades, with more than ten years of service under his belt. Not quite the highest echelon but certainly a well-respected figure.
“Sentinel Mahesh.” Ormroth inclined his head.
The ranks in the Indomitables were similar to the martial ranks of the Praamian Guard: Executors were the Commanders, Protectors the Lieutenants, Dictators the Sergeants, and Neophytes the Privates. Mahesh’s title of Sentinel proclaimed his rank the equivalent of Captain.
Mahesh bowed to the Blade’s two companions and Briana. “Honored Dhukari. I trust the Long Keeper favored you in your travels.” Mahesh’s eyes roamed toward Kodyn and Aisha. “New offerings for Auctioneer’s Square?”
“Traveling companions and guests,” Ormroth corrected.
“Of course, Ypertatos.” With a nod, the Sentinel stepped aside to make way for them. “May the Three Faces of Justice, Mercy, and Joy smile on you.”
Ormroth led them through the gate, and Kodyn was struck by the immensity of the wall—fifty feet tall and thirty feet thick. That crumbling thing we call the Praamian Wall has nothing on this.
Through the gate, the road opened up onto a broad avenue. Death Row was a strange name for the one highway that ascended from the lowest tier to the Palace of Golden Eternity. Then again, we are in a city that worships the Long Keeper, god of death.
Death Row ran straight and flat for a few hundred paces before it was joined by the Way of Chains, the road that stretched east to west across the city. Most of the traffic leaving through the eastern gate went in the direction of the shalanite stone mines, though traders and the Dhukari traveling north to Praamis and Voramis preferred to use the gate—anything to keep them away from the west.
That was another of the strange things about Shalandra. The city’s worship of the Long Keeper meant they treated death with far more reverence than the most superstitious Praamians.
Kodyn’s gaze traveled toward the cliff face bordering the western side of Shalandra. He was too far away to see the arched entrances Briana had spoken of, but he could imagine them. Unlike the eastern cliff, the mountain to the west was hollowed out, the space within serving as the final resting place of dead Shalandrans. The city had earned its name “City of the Dead” because of its treatment of their deceased.
Rich Shalandrans spent a fortune to carve ornate tombs and crypts out of the golden sandstone of the mountain. Poorer citizens tried to scrape together enough coin to hire an artisan to craft a simple resting place. No casket burials or funeral pyres here—people went to the Long Keeper’s embrace surrounded by solid stone. Some low-caste citizens spent their entire lives saving up for their deaths.
Kodyn glanced at Aisha and found her eyes fixed in the same direction. Her face had taken on that same strange look she’d gotten every time she glanced at Ormroth’s sword. Kodyn didn’t understand it—he had no idea what was happening with the Ghandian girl—but he hadn’t had a chance to ask Aisha about it. The last few days of their journey had been consumed by Briana, Ormroth, and the two Dhukari filling them in on details of life in Shalandra.
As they approached the Way of Chains, the sound of shouts and cries reached Kodyn’s ears. He tensed, hand dropping to his sword. Yet after a moment, he realized they weren’t cries of pain. Instead, it was the loud patter of an auctioneer shouting out his wares.
Anger burned within Kodyn’s chest as he saw what was on the selling block: a short, stocky young man, roughly the same age as him but with the golden bronze skin of a Shalandran. Chains hung from his wrists and neck, and a thick iron band encircled his throat. The slave’s chest was as bare as his head. He wore only a loincloth, his muscles on display like a painting in a nobleman’s mansion.
A crowd gathered around the auctioneer’s platform—men and women wearing headbands of every color, clad in robes ranging from priestly drapes to Dhukari silks. They shouted, jostled, and hurled insults at each other, the auctioneer, and the slave.
Fury set Kodyn’s hands trembling so hard he had to grip his sword to still them. His eyes wandered across the open-air plaza—Auctioneer’s Square, Briana had called it. Nearly twenty such platforms dotted the space, each holding an auctioneer and his human wares. Slaves—not only Shalandrans, but men, women, and children from Malandria, Praamis, Voramis, Nysl, Drash, Ghandia, Vothmot, and even blonde-haired Fehlans from across the Frozen Sea—stood chained to the huge stone pillars that dotted the square.
An image flashed through his mind: Aisha, his friend and companion, or Ria, his mother, shackled and on sale before the vile men and women crowding Auctioneer’s Square. The thought only fanned the flames of his rage.
He whirled on Briana. “You have slaves here?” The words came out in a low, angry hiss.
“Yes.” Briana spoke as if it was no great deal—to someone who’d grown up in such a society, slavery had to be the most commonplace thing. “Who does all the heavy labor in your city?”
“Servants, but they earn a wage for their work.” Outrage laced his tone; hearing the stories of Ria and Aisha’s captivity by the Bloody Hand had filled him with a strong hatred of slavery.
“So do the Kabili.” Briana seemed surprised by Kodyn’s reaction. “The Chained Ones offer themselves up in service to the city for seven, fourteen, or forty-nine years. They are needed to mine the ore used to make Shalandran steel and quarry the shalanite stone. When their term ends, the Pharus pays them fair wages. Those who serve for the life term, all forty-nine years, are elevated to Intaji. It is the only way many Earaqi and Mahjuri can raise their status or that of their descendants.”
During their journey, Briana had explained the seven castes of Shalandra, from the wretched Mahjuri to the martial Alqati to the Dhukari, the Shalandran equivalent of Praamian nobility. The concept of such a rigidly structured society struck him as strange. Worse, it seemed the people of Shalandra actually allowed themselves to be limited by something as arbitrary as their castes.
In Praamis, anyone with enough gold could purchase a patent of nobility. Only a select few, the families of Old Praamis, would actually wield any power in King Ohilmos’ Royal Council, but even the poorest Praamian could dream of being a lord or lady.
Not so in Shalandra. People were born, lived, and died in the same caste, with only the barest hope of elevating their status or that of their children and grandchildren. Intermarriage between the higher castes was almost nonexistent, considered taboo. Those born to the wrong parents were condemned to a life of abjection and misery.
Maybe that’s why these low-caste people are so angry, Kodyn thought.
Tension simmered beneath the surface of the lower-caste men and women they passed. Quiet, barely discernible, yet deep-rooted and burning hot within the people. Angry glares followed them on their way, most directed at the three wearing the elegant golden headbands of the Dhukari, but more than a few aimed at Ormroth. When a patrol of black-armored Indomitables marched past, the low-caste populace gave way with reluctance. A few young men wearing red headbands—marking them as Earaqi, the laborer caste—waited until the last second to clear the road, a subtly taunting defiance. The same men spat toward the retreating backs of the guards.
The Indomitables were Shalandra’s equivalent of the Praamian Guard combined with Voramis’ standing army, the Legion of Heroes. They had proven instrumental in the Eirdkilr Wars fought on the continent of Fehl. Yet that war had ended decades earlier. The ten thousand soldiers sent off to slay savage barbarians had returned home to a city gripped by peace. With no war to fight, no loot to bring home to enrich the Pharus’ coffers, they had begun to strain the city’s resources.
Worse, there were simply too many of them, far more than needed to maintain order in the city. Bored soldiers with no enemy to face often sought excitement and battle in their own homes. The populace of Shalandra had suffered for that boredom.
The Earaqi youths muttered among themselves for a few min
utes, then turned and hurried away with furtive glances at the Indomitables. They paused beside a wall and each in turn pressed two fingers to the words painted there before moving on.
Child of Gold, Kodyn read. I wonder what that means.
His curiosity mounted when he saw those same words painted onto four walls—not only in the Slave’s Tier, but on the neat, whitewashed walls of the Cultivator’s Tier as well. Once, he could write it off as nothing more than the sort of defacement common among the poorer sections of cities like Praamis and Shalandra. Yet seeing that strange gesture from the young men and the repetitions, he knew it wasn’t simple graffiti. He resolved to ask Briana later.
The crowds grew thick as they reached the Artisan’s Tier, but people gave way before Ormroth’s huge warhorse—not graciously, to be certain, most with a muttered curse and a glare. Yet only fools would hold their ground in the face of the heavily-armored Keeper’s Blade riding a black charger large enough to crush them beneath its hooves.
The guards at the gate to the Defender’s Tier bowed to Ormroth, Briana, and the Dhukari and stepped aside to let them enter. Kodyn immediately noticed the differences between the fourth tier and those below it.
The Defender’s Tier was home to the Indomitables and their families. Most of the houses stood two or three stories tall, many with gardens filled the streets with color and life. The people on this tier were soldiers, trained for war, with the hard eyes and grim faces that marked their profession. The majority had seen battle during the Eirdkilr Wars and bore the scars—of mind and body—to prove it.
The guards holding the gate to the Keeper’s Tier let them through, but Kodyn felt their eyes on him and Aisha. If he hadn’t been in the company of Briana, the Dhukari, and the Keeper’s Blade, he was certain they would have been denied entrance.
With good reason. He let out a low whistle as his gaze roamed the easternmost mansions on the Keeper’s Tier. Though not as tall as the six and seven-story mansions of The Gardens or Old Praamis, they covered a far broader surface area—some twice as vast as the sprawling estates of the wealthiest Praamians. Marble and granite accented the golden sandstone, giving everything an air of timeless solidity and incalculable wealth.
The Hall of the Beyond, the massive temple to the Long Keeper, dominated the center of the Keeper’s Tier, rivaled only by the Palace of Golden Eternity above it. Kodyn had caught a glimpse of a fortress carved out of the stone of the western cliff face—the Citadel of Stone, home to the Keeper’s Blades.
Death Row soon intersected with the Path of Gold, the east-west running highway on the Keeper’s Tier. There, Ormroth led them east, toward the largest, most opulent mansions on the highest level. The farther west one traveled, the smaller and simpler the mansions. Though, compared to the dwellings on the lower tiers, there was nothing “small” or “simple” about them.
Kodyn’s jaw dropped as Ormroth rode toward a three-story mansion on the southern side of the Keeper’s Tier. High golden walls ringed the property, and guards wearing gilded breastplates stood watch at the front gate.
Kodyn couldn’t help gaping. “That’s yours?”
Briana smiled. “My father’s, but yes.”
“Watcher’s teeth!” Kodyn whistled. “That’s fancier than half the mansions in Old Praamis.”
“Is it?” Briana seemed to find his surprise curious. “I guess I never really noticed.”
“Never noticed?” Kodyn shot her an incredulous look. “You live in a palace. How could you not notice?”
“It is nothing compared to the splendor of the Pharus’ palace,” Briana said.
“Damn!” Kodyn breathed. He suddenly saw the Shalandran girl in a new light.
Secret Keepers served the Mistress, goddess of trysts and whispered truths. From his experience, the brown-robed priests were silent, enigmatic men and women that spent their lives holed up in the Temple of Whispers. The stories his mother had told him about their massive underground vaults and storage chambers made them sound like collectors of rare and exotic items, seekers of knowledge, and alchemists like the Journeymen of House Scorpion.
Yet this screamed of luxury and opulence that every Praamian noble would envy. He’d known that her father, Arch-Guardian Suroth, was the highest-ranking Secret Keeper in Shalandra and a member of the Keeper’s Council. It finally sank in just what that meant.
“Damn!” he said again.
Despite his surprise, he couldn’t help feeling a sense of validation. He’d been correct to return Briana home—not only because reuniting father and daughter was the right thing to do, but because the man who owned a mansion like this had to have the sort of connections that could get Kodyn close enough to steal the Crown of the Pharus.
At the sight of Briana, the guards hurried to open the gate for them. Kodyn’s incredulity mounted as they rode through the gate into the mansion grounds.
A broad walkway of gold-and-silver tiles was flanked by expansive lawns of meticulous green grass. To the east, in the shadow of the cliff, Kodyn caught a glimpse of smaller buildings—likely stables and all the other additional structures required by a noble household. He guessed the back entrance to the kitchens would be somewhere along the northeastern perimeter of the property.
But the mansion itself was a true masterpiece. Golden pylons carved from sandstone supported arches featuring ornate carvings—images of Shalandra’s history were depicted across the face of the three-story building, intersected by decorative whorls that resembled animals, constellations, flowers, trees, and a thousand more pictorials. The construction was almost a perfect rectangle, with sharp corners and perfectly straight lines that would make any Praamian carpenter envious. Yet it hadn’t been built, but carved from the mountain’s stone.
The double doors at the front of the mansion flew open and a grey-haired woman hurried out to greet them. “Greetings, Ypertatos,” she said with a bow that showed no trace of stiffness or discomfort despite her advanced age.
The woman wore an ornate headband of white silk woven with bright peacock feathers on her forehead, her dress a mid-calf-length sheath of white and gold linen suspended by twin white leather straps. Dark lines rimmed her eyes and four black beauty marks dotted her face—another mark of caste, according to Briana. Her voice held the strength of one accustomed to command, yet the humility of a servant greeting honored guests. Kodyn guessed she’d be the Shalandran equivalent of a nobleman’s majordomo.
“Honored Dhukari, I bid you welcome to the house of–” Her voice trailed off and her dark eyes flew wide as her gaze rested on Briana. A hand flew to her mouth. “Keeper’s mercy!”
“It’s me, Nessa.” Briana’s voice was thick with emotion. She scrambled down from her saddle and raced toward the woman. “I’m home.”
“Briana!” Nessa threw her arms wide and pulled Briana into a tight embrace. “The Keeper has answered our prayers.” Tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks and she buried her face in Briana’s hair, pressing kisses to the top of her head.
Kodyn smiled at the sight. A lump rose to his throat as a memory flashed through his mind: running toward his mother, being scooped into her strong arms and crushed against her chest. Her tears hot on his face as he threw his arms around her neck. "I knew you'd find us, Mama!"
Even now, eleven years later, that was a memory he cherished. The memory of being reunited with the mother he’d believed dead in the fire that had burned down their home.
“Thank you, Ypertatos!” Nessa ran toward the mounted Blade and pressed her forehead to his foot. “You will have the Arch-Guardian’s undying gratitude for rescuing his adoptive daughter.”
The word caught Kodyn by surprise. Briana didn’t say anything about being adopted.
“I am not deserving of thanks, Steward.” Ormroth shook his head and gestured to Kodyn and Aisha. “It is these brave warriors that rescued Lady Briana. It was simply the Long Keeper’s good fortune that brought us together on the road south.”
Nessa turned toward K
odyn and Aisha and surprise registered on her face. It disappeared a moment later as she hurried toward them. “Please, be welcome in the home of Arch-Guardian Suroth. He will want to hear everything.”
“Is he here?” Hope tinged Briana’s words.
Nessa nodded. “He’s in his garden. Go to him. I will see to your companions.”
Briana raced into the house, her blue woolen dress flying, hair streaming behind her.
“With your permission,” Ormroth said, turning his horse toward the front gate, “we have urgent business elsewhere.”
“Of course.” Nessa bowed again to the Blade and the two well-dressed Dhukari. “May the Long Keeper smile on all of you.”
“And you, revered eema.” Ormroth glanced up at Kodyn and Aisha. “I hope the next time our paths cross, it is under more pleasant circumstances.”
“Thank you,” Kodyn said with a nod. “Things could have grown ugly if you hadn’t showed up when you did.” He moved his horse closer to the Keeper’s Blade and held out a hand. “I owe you one.”
“It is my duty.” Ormroth gripped Kodyn’s hand with a small smile. “But perhaps there may come a day when you will have a chance to aid another in need. Consider that my repayment.”
“As you say.” Kodyn inclined his head.
With a farewell salute to Aisha, Ormroth rode away from the mansion, his Dhukari charges a few paces behind.
“Please,” said Nessa once the clopping of horses’ hooves had faded into the dull hum of the street outside, “my people will see to your mounts and gear. Allow me to take you to the Arch-Guardian at once. He will want to show his gratitude in person.”
Kodyn exchanged a glance with Aisha, who shrugged and nodded. Together, they dismounted and followed Nessa into the house.
The interior was even more opulent than the exterior. Platinum and silver filigree illustrated marvelous patterns on the golden sandstone walls, with yellow-and-white marble tiles on the floor. Carpets and rugs from distant Al Hani added bright splashes of color, with oak and bloodwood furniture standing silent testament to the wealth of Briana’s father.
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