Trial of Kings

by Phil Tucker

  “I pick up a stone; I defy all attackers.

  I have been caught among the animals of the wilderness.

  South wind, do not neglect your watch.

  East wind, do not neglect your watch.

  Earth and sky, do not neglect your watches

  until Qun the Sun-god has arrived.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was evening when they finally rode up to God’s River.

  They sat atop their horses, arrayed at the edge, gazing down into a world-shattering canyon. The sight, as always, stole away Acharsis’ fatigue and left his chest tight with wonder. There was no sight in all the wide world that compared with this view. Far below, the God’s River flowed, its surface placid and shadowed to a dull slate, an occasional silver thread crossing from below just above the water to latch onto the cliff face on the far side.

  Nobody spoke. Acharsis remembered well the incredulity with which he’d looked down upon this wonder the first time he’d seen it: the vertigo, the sublime sense of how minuscule he was before the wonders of the ten gods' creation.

  “By Alok,” murmured Jarek, slipping down from his saddle and stepping right up to the crumbling edge. “You can see the world’s bones in those cliffs.”

  He was right. Striations of umber, crimson, buttery yellow and salmon pinks were exposed in rough ledges all the way down, too precipitous to scale but weathered and beaten by the elements for who knew how many thousands of years.

  Sisu edged up behind Jarek and peered past him in wonder. “Now this is a sight I’ve yearned to see. This whole canyon should be a temple.”

  “Nekuul’s Folly,” said Acharsis. “That’s what Ekillos called it.”

  “Folly? No.” Sisu couldn’t tear his eyes away. “It’s a testament to her strength. Which other god could have tried to break the world in two so as to slide the entirety of the Golden Steppes into the netherworld?”

  “Tried, and failed,” said Acharsis without animosity. “As powerful as she was, she couldn’t resist the combined might of the other gods.”

  “Couldn’t?” Sisu looked up at Acharsis with a dangerous gleam in his eye. “Who reigns supreme in the River Cities?”

  “Careful there,” said Jarek, placing a hand on Sisu’s shoulder and giving him a gentle shove that caused the young Nekuulite to jerk backward. “You’re close to the edge. Don’t fall in.”

  “Hey!” Sisu wrested his shoulder free and skittered back. “Don’t joke around like that.”

  “I wasn’t joking,” said Jarek.

  “He is joking,” said Kish. “Pretending not to joke is his idea of humor.”

  Elu had stepped up to the edge but remained quiet, hands on his hips, lips pursed. Acharsis watched him. He’d hoped the sight would jolt the kid out of his sullen withdrawal, but it didn’t seem to be working. Twisting in his saddle, Jarek turned to regard Annara. She’d been silent all day long as well, and had avoided being alone with him during their midday break. She met his eyes with a flat stare and then looked away.

  Acharsis wanted to protest, but slumped in his saddle with a sigh and looked back at the God’s River far below.

  Kish joined Jarek, both standing fearlessly on the canyon’s very edge. “So… how do we cross?”

  “Exactly,” said Acharsis. “The answer’s worth a fortune in gold, so of course it’s the merchants who’ve stepped in to provide the solution. You can’t see it from here, but I’m guessing a mile or so north we’ll reach the Waystation. That’s the only bridge over the chasm that’s as reliable as it is safe.”

  “Must be some bridge,” said Kish, picking up a pebble and bouncing it in her palm. “Merchants built it?”

  “You could say that,” said Acharsis. “You see those threads down there that cross the river to connect the cliff faces? Angler spiders throw those out to catch birds. The merchants saw that and ran with it.”

  “Ran with spider thread? I don’t follow.”

  Acharsis shifted in his saddle. “It’s pretty brilliant. They lower fake birds on fishing lines so that the spiders will throw their silk out to snare them. Then they reel the bird back up, and attach the silk to a wheel which they turn and turn until the spider below snips the silk. Takes four men to turn that wheel. Angler spiders are big.”

  “And they used the spider silk to build the bridge? Impressive.” With a grunt, Kish hurled the pebble out into the void. It was a powerful throw, and they all watched in silence as it dropped into the shadows and disappeared from sight. “The things people will do to make money.”

  “Come on,” said Annara. “Sun’s going to set in a couple of hours.”

  “True enough,” said Acharsis, pulling his horse’s head around. “Let’s get to the Waystation. Only place we’ll be safe this side of the God’s River.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Sisu, pulling himself up awkwardly onto his skittish horse. “Nekuul steal your stones - hold still!”

  “It’s independent, the Waystation.” Acharsis regretfully urged his horse to start moving again. It began to plod forward, each step causing pain to jounce through his bones. “Merchant’s consortium hold the bridge. Any nation or nomad tribe tries to claim it, they’ll burn down the bridge and strike camp. Disrupt trade across the face of the civilized world for a year or so while they coalesce around a new crossing point. They did it twenty years ago when the Athites tried to take them by surprise. Nobody’s tried again since.”

  ***

  By the time they saw the Waystation, the sun had nearly sunk below the steppe, a smoldering, dusky orb shorn of its beams. The lights that marked their destination arose like fireflies defying the dying light - a hundred crimson specks arrayed about a great cavern that burrowed into a stony hill by the canyon’s edge.

  “That’s the Waystation?”

  Acharsis couldn’t fault Kish’s disbelief. The lights looked otherworldly, and the last rays of dusk caused the bronze arabesques hammered across the entrance to glitter fitfully as if awash in blood.

  “Some of it,” he said. “The fun part, at any rate. It extends down, deep into the rock, to where the bridge emerges from the cliff face. Come on. This uncivilized torment’s nearly over. One last push!”

  He urged his horse into a bone-jarring canter, the others falling in behind. As they drew closer to the craggy hill, he began to make out the archway that framed the cavern’s entrance: a hundred feet high, its interior filled with the glimmering lights of the marketplace beyond. Faint strains of music floated out to him, twirling, whirling tunes that spoke of madness and delight, festivities and pleasures. He fancied he could smell the honeyed meats, the candied dates and rich beer. Just the thought of the foods that awaited him filled his mouth with saliva. Despite himself he realized he was grinning in anticipation. The last time he’d passed through here, he’d won a fair amount of coin, and made the acquaintance of a number of willing women who’d helped him spend it at the Dream Palace. He rubbed at his jaw. It seemed a lifetime ago.

  He dismounted just before the high arch and led his mount into the Waystation, passing beneath the hundreds of lanterns and into the station proper. Great swathes of crimson canvas hung from the ribs of rock overhead to provide shade during the day, for large sections of the cavern’s roof were open to the sky. Galleries had been carved out of the walls, and entire columns of stone that extended out from the walls were hollowed out, windows in their sides affording him glimpses of the activities taking place within. Stalls crowded the cavern floor, and everywhere he saw humanity moving, bargaining, laughing, swearing, gorging itself upon the finest fare.

  A crowd of youths mobbed them, crying out services that could be theirs for a pittance.

  “Stabling for your mounts, my lords! The finest hay, cut by the gentlest of virgins and scented—”

  “Sweet meats, scorched to perfection and flavored with annis and cumin—”

  “Company, my lords and ladies? Impressionable young girls from the shores of Khartis itself, their skin as pale as
bone! Handsome youths from distant Meluhha, mysterious and learned in the erotic arts—”

  “Lodgings, my lords? Tents fit for emperors, clean and spacious, without any bedbugs or lice - well, not many—”

  “Carpets? My master has to sell a dozen of the finest Maganian rugs by sunrise tomorrow or he’ll lose his head—”

  Acharsis raised a silver coin - which sported a decent likeness of Irella on one side - and pointed it at a small boy in a red waistcoat, his arms tanned and bare, his hair a tousled mop. “Is the Dream Palace still open? It is? Then lead on!”

  The other youths fell back, casting envious looks at Acharsis’ chosen, who bobbed his head and began to lead them down the central road that cut through the labyrinth of stalls and booths. “This way, high lords! This way, most beautiful of... ah, priestess ladies. Empresses, I mean! This way, it’s not far!”

  “The Dream Palace?” asked Jarek.

  “I know the proprietor. She’ll put us up and keep quiet about our being there. Can you smell that? I’m about to chew my own arm off!”

  “Wait,” said Jarek quietly, touching Acharsis’ elbow. “See them?”

  For a moment Acharsis didn’t, and then four of Irella’s death watch guards marched into view, scanning the crowd with a curious mixture of boredom and attentiveness. Acharsis casually turned his back to check his horse’s bridle, then breathed thanks to Ekillos when they walked on.

  “Damn,” he said to Jarek. “I guess it doesn’t take a genius to figure out we’d be coming here. Still, Istrikar’s got to be fuming. We’d best hurry.”

  They left the road where it descended into a spiraling ramp that led below, and threaded their way through the market. Acharsis took as much pleasure from watching the expressions of his friends as from being back in the Waystation itself. Laughter cascaded down to them from the balconies carved high above, and the scents of a hundred different dishes cooking over grills and open flames blended with the smoke and stench of humanity to make him feel completely at home.

  The youth led them to a large pool at the rear of the cave, around which were arrayed hostelries whose interiors were buried within the walls. Women called to them, entreating that they try their particular inns and itemizing the wonders to be found within, but Acharsis only smiled apologetically and clasped his hand over his heart at the more impassioned calls.

  “Here,” said the youth, stopping at last outside one of the seedier-looking establishments. Columns had been carved into the rock wall around the main entrance, and a number of young women watched them from windows above the doorway, clad in different states of dishabille.

  “Welcome to the Dream Palace,” said a bald Maganian man who emerged from the doorway. He was clad in impressive finery, his features slightly swollen, his hands fluttering as if seeking to convey the depths of his pleasure at their stopping by his business. “Where your every desire, licit and otherwise, can be made flesh. Where you may—Acharsis?”

  “Azotep,” said Acharsis, smiling down at the eunuch. “Here. I’m going to topple off my horse. Will you catch me?”

  “Oh, but look at the state you’re in! Let me call for assistance. I’ll rouse the house! I’ll draw every free girl down from their rooms to—”

  “No, no, I’m not actually wounded. Just very, very stiff. Also, I don’t have much coin. Here. Your shoulder will do.” Acharsis slid down awkwardly and winced. “There. Sorry about the handprint. And you’re a sight for sore eyes, Azo. The thought of your baths have kept me going long after any common soul would have laid down and died.”

  “Not much coin? I’ll see if we can warm some pots for you to pour over your head. Now, your friends are a different matter. They shall receive only the finest at the Palace of Dreams!”

  “I’m sure they’re dying to learn more.” Acharsis turned to take in the bemused looks from Jarek and Kishtar. Sisu was staring up in wonder at the women who were watching them with obvious amusement, while Annara’s gaze was as stony as ever. Elu was but a shadow at the back. “Can you see to the horses? And tell Ashanti I’d like a word? Discretion would be best, you understand. In terms of our being here.”

  “The Dream Palace prides itself on being discreet,” said Azotep. “Never you fear. What fine mounts! But so poorly used! Here, I shall have them groomed and fed. We’ve taken on a nomad boy who works magic with these animals. I swear he speaks their language, and he shits just like one in the courtyard, too.”

  In short order, their horses were led away and Acharsis followed Azotep into the Dream Palace. They paused to pour water over their feet, and then entered the establishment. Straight past the greeting room, past the stairwell that led up to the ladies' quarters, and to the rooms at the back they went. The temperature grew decidedly cool as the hallway narrowed, and the air took on a mineral tang.

  “You’re a large party,” said Azotep. “Will three chambers suffice?”

  “Yes,” said Annara. “Elu and I will take one.”

  Kish hesitated, waiting for Jarek to speak, but when the large man remained silent she gave Sisu’s shoulder a punch, causing him to cry out in protest and sag against the wall. “We'll take one, too.”

  “Very well,” said Azotep. “My apologies up front! These are some of our meanest quarters, nothing so fine and sumptuous as you’ll find upstairs - but then, you came seeking solace and solitude, did you not?”

  “Some beer wouldn’t go amiss,” said Acharsis. “Or some honey-roasted goat. Or some—”

  “And your baths, of course. Now, Acharsis, while your friends settle in, would you accompany me? If I know Ashanti, she’ll be desiring to know exactly what sort of trouble you’ve brought to our doorstep.”

  Acharsis sighed. “The bath can wait, I suppose. Lead on.”

  Leaving the others to duck into their rooms, they strode to the front of the Dream Palace, then up the stairs to a luxurious lounge where a half-dozen young men and women lay languorously smoking water pipes.

  “Hello, Acharsis,” said one of the women in a shadowy purr. Her name escaped him, which was embarrassing; they’d spent quite a few nights together. Oshana? Olisha? He gave her his most courtly bow as he followed Azotep, returning smiles and trying to ignore the whispers that sprang up as soon as he left the room.

  “You could have let me bathe and dress before leading me before them all,” he said to Azotep’s broad back. “My reputation has just taken a mortal blow.”

  “You could have given me advance warning that you were bringing such trouble to my door,” said Azotep.

  “Didn’t have much choice.” Acharsis followed him into a small study and pulled the door closed behind them. “We barely escaped with our lives.”

  Azotep moved around a beautifully-crafted table of cedar and sat, leaning back with a sigh and resting his chin on the back of one hand. “For once, I believe you. No doubt you were involved in the madness that’s seized Rekkidu?”

  “Word’s reached you already?” Acharsis looked around for a second chair and found none. “That was fast.”

  “Word’s spreading like black fever. Is one of your companions Jarek, son of Alok?”

  “Might be,” said Acharsis.

  “Then I’m going to have to ask you to see to your business quickly and be on your way.” Azo’s voice was firm to the point of coldness. “It’s not that I’m not grateful for your past help, Acharsis. But there’s a limit, and defying Irella - having the Palace closed down - is well beyond the bounds of what I’m willing to subject my girls to.”

  “Fair enough.” Acharsis felt fatigue steal over him as visions of wine and merriment faded from his mind’s eye. “Then I’ll need you to arrange a meeting with Istrikar.”

  “I recall your boasting ad nauseam how he was an old friend of yours. Why do you need my help?”

  “Now you’re just being mean. Do you want me to apologize, Azo? Why don’t you take my arrival here as a testament to how much I value our friendship?”

  Azo simply stared at him,
then sighed. “Very well. I’ll send word to Istrikar. What are you hoping to gain from him?”

  “Safe passage west.” Acharsis turned away, not wanting to face more skepticism. He studied the ebon wig that lay over a mannequin’s head. “We can’t afford to fall in with the wrong caravan, and, well—”

  “You don’t have the means to pay, do you?”

  “No.” Acharsis blew out his cheeks. “We’re in a tight spot, Azo. I won’t lie.”

  “You, my dearest friend, are the kind of person who approaches life in such a way that they always, always end up in a tight spot.”

  “As the son of Ekillos, I could turn that into a rather lewd pun,” said Acharsis. “But you’ll be glad to know I’ve matured in my later years, and am above such jokes.”

  “You’re going to have to move fast,” said Azo. “The Waystation is swarming with Irella’s soldiers. As soon as word arrives that you’re a hunted man, they’ll tear the place apart looking for you.”

  “So they were here before we arrived?” When Azo nodded, Acharsis tapped his chin in thought. “Istrikar’s allowed them to stay?”

  “I won’t speak for him, but things have become very tense here of late. The empress is testing the consortium’s patience to its utmost.”

  “Good,” said Acharsis with a smile. “Istrikar will be dying to get rid of me so as not to give the death watch cause to turn the place upside down.”

  “Good?” Azo raised a painted eyebrow and then laughed. “Only you would see that as ‘good’. Now, begone. I must work my magic and become Ashanti. And yes, yes, I’ll send word to Istrikar. When I have a response, I’ll let you know.”

  “You’ll find me in the baths,” said Acharsis. “I plan to drink beer and soak until you call for me. It may be my last chance for some time.”

  Azo stood, pity and fondness on his face. “Oh, Acharsis. You should have taken up my offer. Now look at you.”

  “Don’t I know it. Baths, beer, and winsome girls every night. I must have been mad to turn you down.”