by Kirby Crow
Half a league from the massive stone gates, clouds began to gather and the wind turned sharp. Liall looked up. “It will snow later, I think,” he said to Scarlet, who had gone back to dozing, but he woke up when his mount’s horseshoes began striking paved flags again.
Scarlet yawned hugely. “Are we there yet?”
In answer, Liall pointed north, proud of the impressive sight of the massive towers looming so large that they seemed to be falling toward them. Giant stone steps climbed the slope on the eastern side of the road and disappeared into a layer of mist high above, having been made centuries ago on a scale befitting a giant.
“Starhold.”
Scarlet shook his head in quiet awe.
The sea lay several hundred feet below Starhold. There were perhaps a thousand men encamped near the gates, with some tents lining the sides of the road and larger ones inside the bailey; a sea of pale blue tents and fluttering silver pennants that stretched for acres. Ten thousand tents, at the least.
Glad as he was to see his army in force, Liall was dismayed to note that Ressanda’s men were not present. He saw no Tebeti purple among the tents, nor a hint of the baron’s banners anywhere. Ressanda had not sent his promised soldiers. Were his words at Arrowgate merely lies? Perhaps Ressanda’s famous wrath had been nothing more than a ruse to buy more time to commit further treacheries.
Scarlet blinked owlishly, no longer sleepy, as they entered the encampment, passing through rows and rows of clustered tents. As they rode by, every soldier present bowed to the king. Some went to one knee in the mushy snow, but there were no hails and no applause.
Scarlet glanced in puzzlement to Liall, and Liall thought how strange it must have seemed to his lover, to see a king greeted with such silence. In Ankar, they cheered and threw flowers for Helain An’Daros Agalina, the fifteenth king of his royal line. Liall had witnessed the royal promenades himself in Morturii, and it had seemed just as strange to him. A king should be greeted with respect, not passion, and the only time he should be hailed is when he takes the crown. Or makes a speech, he thought, remembering the day in the Nauhinir when he had roused his subjects to war. Even the day he had returned to Rshan after having been exiled from his home for—can it really have been sixty years?—he had been greeted with quiet dignity, and none had cheered.
Liall watched the faces of his subjects and saw that many men—while they were polite enough not to stare—turned and whispered as they caught a glimpse of Scarlet. He heard Keriss quite clearly several times, and he was annoyed that he saw lust in the faces of some.
And why not? Even among his own people, Scarlet was accounted beautiful. Here, men would see him as exotic and mysterious as well. Liall's mouth pursed ruefully. Well, he couldn’t castrate the whole country, could he? What would the songs say about that? Nazheradei the ball-chopper.
He chuckled to himself, prompting Scarlet to inquire.
“Nothing,” he answered, shaking his head.
At last, Kamaras called a halt.
Though Starhold was not larger than the Nauhinir, it had its own set of wonders. Giant steps led upward through a second gate into an inner ward of the fortress. Elaborate iron doors were set into an eastern rock face, framed by enormous slabs of stone incised with ancient writing, and these seemed to both frighten and interest Scarlet. To the north a wide stone ramp sloped upward and looped around the edifice to an impossible height, mirroring the sharp rise of the land eastward from the plateau. The ramp would be used for the wagons and horses, and most of the army would ascend to the Temple Road by that route.
But the king must climb, Liall thought.
Liall dismounted and offered his hand. Scarlet took it and slid gracefully from his saddle, then stood staring upward and turning around as if trying to fit the scale of Starhold in his mind.
The central keep was the shape of a many-tiered block of stone resting on a cliff overlooking the sea. Nothing of the rest of Starhold was in balance: narrow towers rose three hundred feet or more, too thin to be of any tactical use, and with no visible means of ascent. Battlements jutted out at odd angles. Stone walls seven feet thick rose high in one section and fell to Scarlet's height in another, seemingly with no eye toward either defense or cover, or even to shield the occupants from the wind.
“I've never seen anything like this,” Scarlet said, craning his neck to look at a round column jutting up from the land, one that served no purpose other than to support an empty stone platform perched in the sky. “It's completely mad. This isn't a place for men. Not even men your size.”
“No,” Liall agreed. “It is not. Come.” He put his arm around Scarlet's shoulders and steered him toward the steps. “The soldiers will make camp here for now, but we must ascend to the sky chamber. It's a bit of a journey, I'm afraid.”
Scarlet looked at the stone steps, and for the first time, Liall saw his brave t'aishka daunted.
“Isn't there another way up? What about that thing?” He nodded the twisting ramp, and Liall was sorry to disappoint him.
“I’m afraid we must go this way. It’s tradition. You won't fall, never fear.”
“I don't see how I could, 'lest I got a running start and threw myself off. You could hold a family picnic on one of those steps.” Scarlet sighed and twitched the ends of his cloak behind him. “All right, then, but I warn you; the first one who laughs catches my boot in his face. It's not my fault you're all too fucking big.”
“All shall behave with the utmost decorum,” Liall promised gravely, hiding a smile.
Kamaras removed her helmet and bowed to the king. “We are ready to begin the ascent, sire.”
Liall saw she had picked some fifty soldiers to accompany the formal party, handsome Ogir among them, wearing shining new armor and carrying a fine longsword. The royal servants would make the climb, too, as well as Margun and the keriss solda.
The wind was thankfully calm through the first part of the ascent, and it was not as cold as Liall feared it would be, but the toil must have been brutal on Scarlet's legs. Twice during the long climb, Scarlet seemed on the verge of collapse, but he waved Margun away when he tried to help. Liall's suggestion that Margun stay behind with Scarlet to rest was met with a snarl.
I knew he would react this way, Liall thought. I just hate to see him so exhausted. I would have spared you a journey like this, my love, but I cannot lose you. I cannot.
At last, after more than two hours, they mounted the final step and emerged, winded and tired, into a walled stone courtyard high on yet another shelf of rock that overlooked the sea, but this plateau, unlike the one below, had been made by the Ancients. If Liall looked carefully, he could see the scars in the rock beneath his boots. The marks were not made by chisel or hammer, but by something much larger.
The walls had always baffled Liall. In some places, they were too high for any man to peer over without a ladder, and in others they so low that they were useless as a barrier. But who could understand an Ancient’s mind? Not me, that’s for certain. I’d get better sense out of a magpie.
Scarlet bent at the waist and braced his hands on his knees, spent and shaking. Liall watched as Margun offered Scarlet water from a skin. Scarlet took the skin from Margun with a grateful smile as the keriss solda surrounded them in a watchful circle.
Those two are becoming friends, Liall thought. He did not disapprove of that, but he was not fond of the familiar way that Margun gave Scarlet a wink and a Well done, little ser.
When Scarlet had recovered, he stood gazing at the courtyard in wonder. “It’s like a castle without a roof,” he said.
Liall nodded. “The Ancients call this plateau the Starwatch. They built it.”
“To live in? But there's no...” Scarlet looked around again. “This is no place for people to live. It's far too exposed, and it's not fortified like a keep should be. I don't see a cistern or a barn or any place to sleep without the wind freezing you to death.”
“The Ancients love to build, but they do
not like to be shut away in enclosed places. They prefer to see the sky and smell the wind and feel the snow. They made this place to look to the tides and calculate the stars.”
“I thought they lived deep inside some mountain.”
“They did, and some remain there and never leave, but an Ancient goes where he wills. No man would dare hinder one, and cold is not a factor in their travels. You can see by the way they build.” Liall nodded to the shadow of towers reaching over their heads. “Above us, there are towers without rooms, doorways that lead to the open sky, and stairs that climb to nothing. Weather is nothing more than a painting to an Ancient.”
“It feels like that, almost,” Scarlet replied. “Like they thought they were building in a land where it’s never cold and the sun never sets. We have tales of the Summerland, where the weather is always fair. Is it true the Ancients don’t age and they don’t need to eat?”
“What nourishment they need is so slight that it doesn't bear mentioning. They don't sleep, they don't fall ill, and they don't age. An Ancient can stand in the center of a blizzard for a month and take no hurt.”
Scarlet shook his head as if trying to dispel his amazement. “Well, I can't and neither can you, so I hope them over there have a fire for us.” He nodded toward the high arch of the courtyard.
Liall turned. “Who?”
“The people beyond the arch.”
That arch led to a dark, covered passageway that wandered down through the deep belly of the keep and out onto the other side. There was a blur of light at the end, but Liall could see nothing distinct.
“Sometimes I wish I had your eyes,” Liall said.
“Sometimes I wish I had your legs.” Scarlet rubbed his thigh and stamped his boots, trying to get warmth to his feet.
Liall worried briefly about frostbite. But no, he thought. It's not as bitter as it was. It's probably no colder today than an ordinary Byzan winter. Liall still had difficulty gauging what was too cold to a Hilurin. He rarely felt the weather himself, and he often worried that he would not be able to tell how dangerous the cold was for Scarlet until it was too late. It was a problem and he was irritated that he had found no way yet to solve it.
The stone path was smooth under their boots and the arch was hung with a necklace of milky icicles as they passed beneath it. It soon grew dim inside the passageway and Kamaras ordered torches lit. Flames flickered against the icy stones, creating dancing shadows all around them.
“When did...” Scarlet began, then closed his mouth when his words echoed in the chamber, louder than he had spoken them.
Liall lowered his voice to a murmur. “When did what?” he prompted.
Scarlet shook his head, but his hand groped for Liall’s and held on tight. Liall clasped Scarlet’s hand reassuringly. Surely tunnels—or at least caves—existed in Byzantur? Then he realized why Scarlet seemed frightened. “There are no dead here,” he whispered close to Scarlet’s ear. “This is not a necropolis.”
“Oh, good,” Scarlet said in relief.
In Ankar, the Morturii necropolis spanned the entire underground of the great city. Tombs were something of a dread and fascination to Hilurin, who did not preserve their dead and seldom marked their few graves. Liall had seen the sprawling catacombs deep beneath the Ankarian streets and had to admit this space had a similar feel.
A voice called out a greeting from the end of the passage.
“That will be Jarek,” Liall said. “She will have wine for us, and a warm bed.”
“Tired, are you? I'm doing fine myself,” Scarlet grinned, but he sounded weary and looked it. “Will Jochi be there?”
“I don’t know,” Liall lied. Jochi would likely have arrived by now, but Liall was not enthused at the prospect of Scarlet spending time with him. He did not blame Jochi for the assassination attempt and the destruction at the Bleakwatch, nor for Scarlet’s “kidnapping”, but the fact remained that neither Margun nor Tesk had entrusted Jochi with their plans. That was unsettling. Could it be that they distrusted Alexyin for his open dislike of Scarlet, and by extension Jochi? Or was there some darker motive? It unnerved Liall that he still had so few answers.
The emerged to see a small city of tents, gers, and campfires pitched in the middle of a massive ward. Scarlet craned his neck to stare at the far walls enclosing the plaza, nearly a hundred feet high. It was exactly as Scarlet said: a castle without a roof, some unfinished thing, or a thought half-formed and never spoken.
“Umber ar usthra,” Liall told Scarlet with pride. “The sky chamber.”
Scarlet whistled lowly. “You're an odd folk, no doubt, but I can't imagine this is the strangest thing I'll ever see here.”
“There are far stranger,” Liall agreed.
They were greeted by Mirchen, Jarek's first and far younger than any of her other commanders. Mirchen had been handsome once, before the Ava Thule tortured him with fire, melting away half his cheek and turning his smile into a broken sneer.
Liall wondered what had happened to Yveny, the pretty soldier with the scar over his nose who had been in close attendance on her at the Nauhinir. Jarek seemed to prefer scarred men, pretty or not. Perhaps her affections for Yveny had been replaced.
Mirchen bowed. One of his eyes was sunken and glazed over white. The other was a brilliant teal-blue. “My king,” he greeted solemnly. “Khatai Jarek says she will meet with you shortly. She commands me to see to your comfort.”
Which meant Jarek did not want to take council with him in public. Mirchen did not look at Scarlet.
Liall held his tongue and allowed Mirchen to lead them across the smooth stone flags of the ward. A big, shaggy beast spied them and bounded across the flags with a clicking sound of claws on stone.
“That’s never a dog,” Scarlet said, eyes wide at the size of the animal.
“Not strictly, but we call it one anyway,” Liall replied. “I had one of my own when I was a boy. Jeth, I named him. They’re unpredictable around strangers.” Jeth had to be put down for attacking a pot boy who startled him from his sleep. That was the year that Shikhoza’s womanhood had flowered. Her bosom had grown and she had ceased chasing the two princes through the halls, instead taking up the habits of reading and needlework. She spent long hours reading The Tales of Silverleaf, a romantic novel that all the court women were infatuated with.
Deprived of his playmate, Liall had teased her by naming her “Silverleaf” in the hearing of her ladies. Nadei and he had come to fists over the joke, and soon after, over many more things.
“Be careful,” Liall warned, disquieted, his fond memories suddenly soured.
“Nonsense.” Scarlet clucked his tongue and knelt, holding out his hand, and the great silver hound wagged his tail and went down on his forelegs, ears pricked up and his tail thumping the ground as he rolled his tongue out in a friendly grimace.
There were shocked gasps from the company, and Liall shook his head in amazement as Scarlet scratched the hound’s pointed ears. The hound panted and rolled his red eyes, clearly loving the attention.
“Is there any man or beast you can’t charm?” Liall asked in an undertone.
Scarlet gave the hound a last pat and rose. “I’m not so good with Rshani women.”
Liall grunted. Neither am I.
The dog kept to Scarlet’s heels as Mirchen led them to a round, canvas-walled ger standing in solitary elegance in a corner of the ward. Seeing the ger, Liall felt nostalgic for his old krait and the comforting walls of his Kasiri yurt. A ger was very like a yurt, though it was easier to pack and move. For comfort and warmth, a ger was far better than a tent.
Snow began to fall in scant, fluffy flakes. A romantic snow, Liall thought. During Greentide, lovers would stand outside beneath such a mild snow and kiss, thinking it lucky. His own lover, however, was nearly asleep on his feet.
Tiny bells tied to the flap of the ger chimed as they entered the shelter, and Liall pushed Scarlet toward a pallet of soft furs. Scarlet yawned and dropped onto the
furs without a sound. The silver hound stayed outside. Liall could hear it snuffling around the flap of the ger. He half expected Scarlet to call it inside, and braced to inform him that these hounds were no pets to lie near the fireplace at night, but after three days of continuous travel, the climb had taken the last of Scarlet’s strength. In moments, he was snoring.
Liall carefully removed Scarlet's boots and tucked the warm furs around him, feeling a tug of pride at his stubbornness. Scarlet would be ashamed of his weakness tomorrow and would try twice as hard to keep up.
After poking the coals of the iron brazier and opening the vents, he sat on the furs and drew his fingers through the black strands of Scarlet’s hair. He ran the tip of his thumb around the curve of Scarlet’s ear, lost in his beauty.
Bells chimed as Margun entered the ger.
Margun bowed. “My apologies, sire. If it please you, the men of the keriss solda wish to make camp next to you.” Margun's eyes flickered to Scarlet as he lay.
“You take the duties I've given you very seriously, Margun.” He drew the furs to Scarlet’s chin and stood up.
“There’s little enough danger of attack when surrounded by an army, sire, but I’m not worried about the threat from without. Knives in the dark can happen anywhere. I would prefer to stay close to him, and my men insist on it. They are proud to carry ser Keriss's badge.”
“They should be. I've put a great deal of trust in them. And in you.”
“You've made sure I know that, my lord,” Margun said without rancor. “In turn, I've promised my men that they will all die if any ill befalls ser Keriss.”
Liall frowned. “I did not give that order.”
“It wasn't an order. It's my personal guarantee to any man who fails ser Keriss.” Margun shrugged. “Threats are an effective tool, my lord, as you have shown me.”
When I threatened your own son if you betrayed me or proved false, Liall mused. Well, turnabout is fair play, they say.
He wondered how many men who said that wound up dead.
“May I ask where ser Keriss will be when the battle starts?” Margun inquired.
