by Adam Carter
“That’s the plan,” Darkthorne said. Tarne held her breath. It was a bad thing to have said, but at least it wasn’t too insulting.
“What makes you think you’re up to it?” Ashus asked.
“Well you’re certainly not. Joke!”
Tarne closed her eyes again and not for the first time wished she had never laid eyes upon Jagrad Darkthorne. “General, before he says otherwise, I’m not a witch. He seems to delight in telling people I am one.”
“And I’m not a cannibal,” Kiel said.
The general looked at each woman for several moments; then his gaze fell upon Sparky. “Anything you want to tell me you’re not, son?”
“Well I’m not your son, for one thing.”
“Why is it,” Tarne asked, “that I have a sudden hatred of all men? Uh, no offence, General.”
The general blinked several times, as though trying to force himself to wake up from an especially strange dream. “You people are weird. Maybe you’ll even be able to pull it off.”
“You’re not going to kill us, then?” Tarne asked hopefully.
“Hell no, I’ll leave that up to the Nagas. They have means of torture mankind has never been able to fathom, much less reciprocate.”
Tarne decided there were times when she really should learn not to open her mouth.
General Ashus gave them everything they needed and provided a guide who explained how they were to enter the city, which he told them was named Charrok. If they wore heavy cloaks, they should be able to enter through the main gates, pretending to be monks. Kiel waited for their guide to return to the camp before she said, “Well this is going to get us killed.”
“Sounds like a good enough plan to me,” Darkthorne said, donning the cloak the general had provided.
“Pretending to be monks?” Kiel asked sceptically. “For one thing, all the guards here have to do is perform the most cursory of checks and they’ll discover that Heather and I are women. And secondly, if something as ridiculous as this is going to work, surely General Ashus would have tried it at least once over the years he’s been stationed here.”
“Maybe he did, and it didn’t work,” Darkthorne said.
“Which is reason for us to repeat his mistake because?”
“Are you going to argue all day, Sara?” Darkthorne asked, moving towards the entrance to the city. “If I’m wrong, I’ll buy you an ice cream.”
“Like that’s really going to make me change my mind.”
“I’ll make sure you get a healthy scoop of long-pig flavour.”
“I’m sure if I understood that, it wouldn’t be funny.”
“Trust me,” Tarne said, moving off after Darkthorne, “you really don’t want to understand that.”
“I can’t believe this,” Kiel said. “You mean to tell me you of all people are going along with Jagrad’s plan about the monk’s cloaks?”
“Sara, if I’ve learned one thing about this crazy world of ours, it’s that it is indeed a crazy world. I don’t think for one moment that this is going to work, yet something tells me we should go along with it purely because that’s the way things are going to be played out anyway. We might as well just do what we’re supposed to so we don’t waste too much time outside the city.”
“You’re acting very strange, Heather,” Kiel noted. “I’m starting to think maybe there is something wrong with you after all.”
“Well I’m up for the cloak-and-dagger routine,” Old Man Robes said, walking off after Darkthorne. “And if I can pass for a monk, anyone can.”
Kiel finally decided to follow and Sparky seemed content to do the same. They arrived at the rear of a very long queue of travellers and waggons, all awaiting inspection prior to being allowed access to the city. They found themselves in the line directly behind two goats and a man with a turban.
“This is not going to work,” Kiel said.
“You want to say that a bit louder?” Tarne muttered.
Kiel snorted defiance, and no further words were spoken between the group of monks until the line had moved considerably on. By this time, they were only six away from the front of the queue, and could now see the inspection routine. There were two heavily armed men on duty, and one clerk sitting at a small writing desk, filling out forms. The soldiers would wait for the clerk to take the name of the traveller, and then the two large men would completely strip the traveller down to his underpants, hold him upside down by his feet and shake him rather violently, just for good measure. Kiel stared, stunned.
“Anyone mind if I say this isn’t going to work again?”
“Next,” one of the guards called, and the next traveller suffered identical treatment.
“We have to think of something, quick,” Tarne said.
“Next!”
“What, though?” Kiel asked. “If we leave the queue now, it’s going to look a tad suspicious.”
“Next!”
“When I say ‘go’, we’ll all make a break for it,” Tarne said.
“Next!”
“They’ll shoot us before we could get anywhere,” Sparky said. “Let’s face it, we’re just going to have to bluff our way through.”
“How?” Tarne asked. “Feign ecclesiastical immunity to being stripped down far enough for them to notice that pretty much half our party isn’t comprised of men?”
“Next!”
The goat herder was taken then and gave a startled yelp as he was lifted into the air, apparently not having noticed the treatment everyone before him had received.
“We have to think of something,” Kiel said out of the side of her mouth.
“Next!”
“Too late,” Darkthorne said. “Just let me do the talking.”
“Hell no,” Tarne said, pushing past him. “I can imagine it now. ‘We’re honest monks, she’s not a witch, she’s not a cannibal, and neither of them are shes because of course being monks we’re all men’. Yeah, like I’m gonna let you do any of the talking.” Tarne approached the first of the two guards and said, “We’re monks of the order of ...”
The clerk looked up from his papers. “Are there any women here?”
Tarne, Kiel, Sparky and Darkthorne, along with Old Man Robes, shook their heads vehemently. “Women, heh!” Tarne said, her voice having dropped several octaves. “We’re monks of the ...”
“Move along, we got a lot of people to process,” the guard told her.
Stunned, Tarne did not react for several moments, then asked, “You’re just letting us through?”
The clerk looked up again. “Are you sure there aren’t any women here?”
“No women here,” Kiel said in a tone so low it was almost scraping the ground.
“It’s just that,” Tarne said, her voice also lowered, “I figured you’d want to strip us and shake us upside down and whatever.”
“Next!” the sentry shouted, and Kiel pushed into Tarne, forcing her through the gates.
“Don’t argue, Heather, just go.”
They made it through without any trouble and moved quickly towards a back alley. The city was large, although not quite as grand as Bastelle. The streets were narrower and a little dirtier, and the people moving about kept their heads down and spoke to no one. It seemed a far less happy place than Bastelle.
“I can’t believe that worked,” Kiel said, throwing back her hood.
“Told you,” Darkthorne said, laughing. “The old man in the robes trick never fails.”
“Nice to see I’m good for something,” Old Man Robes said.
“You’d better drop the hood back over your face,” Sparky suggested of Kiel. “You wouldn’t want people to realise you’re not a monk now, especially since in the city we really don’t have anywhere to run.”
“Let’s just try to stay somewhere a little less life-threatening this time,” Kiel suggested as she put her hood back down. “I’m not so sure I much liked the last choice of accommodation we made.”
“I’ll bet there’s a cheap ga
ming house we could stay in,” Sparky said cheerfully.
“Sparky,” Kiel said with a sigh, “if the four of us were ever to sit down and play cards together, I reckon it’d be you walking away with the big wad of cash at the end.”
“It was,” Tarne said. “But there was a card left in the pack which we didn’t play with and ...” She drifted off at this point. “Somehow, I’m not so sure I was meant to tell you that.”
“Heather, seriously,” Kiel said, “are you feeling all right? You’ve been acting strange for the past couple of days now.”
“I’m fine,” Tarne said. “I just ... I don’t know. I’ve been having some really odd dreams lately.” Even the whole ‘Are there any women here?’ thing seemed familiar to her.
“Dreams don’t matter,” Old Man Robes urged. “Let’s just get off the streets and under cover.”
“What sort of dreams?” Sparky asked. “Dreams about playing cards and me winning? That’s not so strange, I have those all the time.”
“You have those when you’re awake, Sparky,” Kiel said.
“Maybe they’re not dreams at all,” Darkthorne suggested, “but visions.”
“I really don’t want to start having visions now,” Tarne said.
“Maybe you’re more the witch than you think you are,” Darkthorne said kindly, or at least he was trying to be kind, considering the content of his words. “Tell me about these dreams, Heather.”
“We have no time for this,” Old Man Robes insisted. “We have to get off the streets before a patrol comes by and wonders why four monks are congregating in an alleyway.”
“He’s right,” Tarne said, “we should go. If a patrol comes by here, we’re finished.”
“Then let’s move quickly, but cautiously,” Kiel said. “Remember, sooner or later we’re going to have to get inside the royal palace here and speak to whoever’s in charge.”
“They have a palace?” Sparky asked.
“They have a king of their own,” Kiel explained as they began to move. “I think that’s the key to their problems with Bastelle. Callum is the overking, but this place, Charrok, wanted to retain their sovereign system. Callum didn’t agree with that and so the arguments began.”
“But Callum isn’t the first high king,” Sparky said. “I mean, he’s the third Callum for one thing.”
“Then maybe he’s just the first of his line to complain about it,” Kiel said. “I never said I had all the answers.”
They made their way steadily across the city, and eventually found themselves at the steps of the palace. It was a grand affair with a mighty staircase flanked by two petrified lions roaring with their mighty fearlessness. There were red curtain-like drapes hanging from the walls at the top of the stone stairs, and it seemed that every effort had been made to turn the area into a place truly wealthy of appearance.
“I thought we were looking for somewhere to stay,” Tarne whispered.
“We might as well try to see the ruler here while our disguises are still good for something,” Darkthorne said. “After all, what works on stupid drawbridge guards might well work on the king’s personal elite sentries.”
“Like there’s any logic to that statement,” Tarne said. “We should be playing this more low-key. We need to wait until nightfall, then try to sneak through, maybe even come at him via the roof.”
“And then he’d throw us in prison for being terrorists,” Kiel said.
“I have a question,” Sparky said, raising his hand. “We keep saying ‘he’, but who is ‘he’ exactly? I mean, who is in charge of this city?”
There was silence among them for several moments; then Old Man Robes said, “Well, the Nagas surely rule.”
“But who rules the Nagas?” Tarne asked.
“Or whom do the Nagas rule?” Darkthorne finished for her.
“I can’t believe it,” Kiel said. “Jagrad, you actually said something sensible for once and made yourself appear ... well, sane.”
“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Sara, I shall try my best in future to repeat my somewhat miraculous feat.”
“Whatever the answers,” Tarne said, “we’ll find them within that building.”
“Then let’s get moving,” Darkthorne said.
The party headed quickly up the steps, arriving at the great palatial doors without encountering any trouble; however, it was when they reached those doors that they noticed the two sentries on duty. They were both women clad in light but durable armour, and they stood silently still, holding long pikes in one hand, the ends of which rested against the floor. Not believing there to be much in the way of a threat from the robed intruders, neither woman had moved to summon reinforcements, although both now looked upon the party with wary eyes.
“Who goes there?” one of the women demanded haughtily.
“We are monks,” Tarne began, “of the order of ...”
“Monks, are you?”
“Why does no one ever let me finish that sentence?” Tarne muttered.
“And what business have monks within the royal palace of Charrok?”
“We wish to speak with the monarch of Charrok,” Kiel said quickly, “about ... the taxes for our brothers at the monastery.”
“Monks aren’t taxed,” Darkthorne said.
“They aren’t?” one of the guards asked.
“No,” Darkthorne said. “That was the most obvious lie I’ve ever ... uh, I mean ...”
“Oh perfect,” Tarne said, forgetting even to lower her voice for effect. “Way to go, idiot.”
“Lose the robes,” one of the sentries said as they both levelled their pikes. “Come on, drop ‘em.”
“If you’re going to kill us,” Tarne said as she complied, “would you mind killing him first so I can at least watch the moron die before I do?”
“Oh how cheery of you, Heather,” Darkthorne said, dropping his robe also.
“Tell them my name, why don’t you.”
“Oh come on, how common is the name Heather? It’s not like I said Heather Tarne or anything.” He closed his mouth then and took a step backwards. “Ah, they’re going to kill us anyway, who cares?”
“And I’m not a witch, before he says otherwise.”
“But I am a cannibal,” Kiel said, thinking quickly, “and if you do not allow us to pass, I’ll suck the very meat from your bones.”
“Even if you are a cannibal,” one of the guards said, “you’d still have to get past our spears, so that doesn’t really scare us much, does it?”
“Bother,” Kiel said. “All right, I give up.” She removed her robe and dropped it. “Just let me know whether I get the chance to fight back before you ... what are you staring at?”
The two sentries were indeed staring, both in shock and perhaps even awe. Silent, whatever their feelings were.
“What?” Kiel asked, more than a little disconcerted by their strange behaviour.
“Sara Kiel?” one of them asked. “It is you, isn’t it?”
“Whatever it was, I didn’t do it,” Kiel protested.
“You don’t recognise us, do you?”
“Uhm, no.”
“Rianne and Kayleigh,” one of the women said. “You must remember us now, we used to hang before you left.”
“Hang what?” Kiel asked dubiously.
“Out, silly.”
“Oh,” Kiel said, straining to remember. She brightened. “Oh, of course I remember,” she lied.
“You remember that time your mother shouted at us for skating on the ice?” Rianne asked. “But we did it anyway and we fell right through?”
“Actually, I do recall that,” Kiel said truthfully.
“And you used to love playing that lyre of yours but could never hit a note quite right,” Rianne said.
Kiel laughed. “I gave that up a long time ago.”
“And you used to go out with that big bruiser, can’t seem to remember his name, and anyway someone told you I’d slept with him and you broke my nose, the
n found out it wasn’t true?”
Kiel stopped laughing. “Ah. Sorry about that.”
“Nah, don’t be. It was true, I was just a good liar. Anyway, pick up your stuff,” she said, tapping the ground with her pike. “You want to see the boss, we’ll take you to the boss.”
“Oh goody,” Darkthorne said. “We finally get to meet something of your history, Sara, and it delights in throwing us to our deaths. So, Rianne, Kayleigh, was Sara ever into the consumption of human flesh?”
“Just ignore him,” Kiel said with clenched fists, striding boldly between the two guards, “and let’s get this over with.”
The guards led them through the main doors of the palace and down several long and plush corridors. There was no carpet lining the cold, stone floor, nor were there pictures hanging from the walls or expensive urns standing in the corners of the turns, although there were fine draperies hanging over doorways, and rich and unique engravings to the pillars holding up the walls. It was as though the palace was primarily used for war and that continuous troop movement rendered most fineries incompatible, while at the same time there remained the need to prove to the world that the building was still owned by royalty. It was clear evidence of the warlike nature of Charrok and its people, and all at once told the captives to be wary.
“Nice duds,” Darkthorne said as they walked.
They were brought into a windowless room whose only light came from several candles arrayed about the floor. The light was therefore both eerie and flickering, and did not stab into the darkest corners of the room. The chamber itself was neither large nor small, and seemed entirely barren of furniture or anything else save the candles, which were neatly arranged into a large circle whose diameter was exactly two metres. There was a being sat cross-legged within the circle, eyes sealed to the world at large. He was not human, and his green scales denoted him immediately to be something of reptilian origins. His body was well-muscled, with a paler highlight of green to his chest and stomach areas. The rest of his body was moss-green, and seemed human in proportion. There was a lengthy tail protruding from behind him, thick and strong with coiled muscle, although it was currently draped about his knees that it might remain within the circle of candles. The being’s head was roughly the shape of a man’s, and slightly snouted. The two eyes were situated upon either side of his head, although the upper portion of the face was tilted so that both eyes were almost on the front, affording the creature forward-facing vision. His mouth was one wide slit, his nostrils large and continually expanding and contracting through the act of breathing.
