Baagh was looking at me calmly. “Believe me: if I were your enemy, they would have already sunk your ship,” he said.
“My men?”
“They will be safe as long as they do what they’re told. We will be back soon, but you and the Reghen have to follow me now,” he said.
“If you do not return, we will not kneel, Da-Ren. We will fall here.” Those were Leke’s last words to me that night.
“They will lead your boat into the harbor, but you will not disembark. You are in no danger unless you make a stupid move. Do whatever they tell you. We will be back soon, a few days at worst,” Baagh told Leke. He then spoke with Agathon separately.
The othertribers bridged their bulwark with ours, and I jumped across to their ship unarmed. I found myself among the scaled armors of the Empire, the suits that I had ripped open many times during the campaign. Agathon signaled to the othertribers that he understood and followed the second warship, while ours moved away from them. The captain’s orders and the slash of the oar blades were the only sounds, repeating again and again like the question in my head.
“Where are we going?” I asked Baagh.
“To the palace. To the Emperor.”
I should have expected that the Emperor would want to take my head himself. I was the Firstblade of the barbarians.
“Everything is going just fine,” Baagh whispered to me.
I was standing with the other two in the center of the deck, surrounded. The guards didn’t chain me and didn’t even search me, but they stared as if I were a wild animal. Our ship headed straight for a passage between the breakwater seawalls. We passed the two lighthouse towers that marked the gate of the seawall and entered the harbor. The stalls were full of warships moored next to one another. No fishing boats or merchant ships were there.
“It is the naval harbor,” said Baagh.
Agathon’s boat with my men had followed but turned north after the towers, and I soon lost sight of it at night.
“There are dozens of warships here. If they wanted to sink us, they would have done it,” said the Reghen, reassuring himself.
“Maybe they want to torture us slowly or just kill us in front of the Emperor,” I said. Baagh motioned for me to keep silent.
We finally set foot on land. It had been a whole moon since the start of our voyage. When my feet touched the ground, I still felt the sea and swayed from left to right. I giggled merrily and stumbled repeatedly in the beginning, but it soon became annoying.
“You have sea legs,” said Baagh. “You’ll recover. Keep walking, take deep breaths; it will pass.”
The Reghen was walking like a drunken cripple in a black fog, his legs crossing at each step. He followed us with difficulty, suffering and moaning.
We were surrounded by a twelve-man guard that shone like fish out of the water in their scaled armor. They carried tear-shaped shields and short spears. We walked past the harbor’s sheds and squeezed through narrow cobblestone alleys. The guards didn’t look at us at all except for once or twice when the dazed Reghen lost his step and fell down. I didn’t think for a moment of getting away, but they were blocking my view.
We passed through another open square, surrounded by decrepit and filthy buildings separated by small dirt streets. Drunks, beggars, and cripples were dragging their bodies among the stench of fish guts, fresh horse shit, and other grime that covered the square. I smelled a lot more than I could see. From there, we came to a second harbor. The quays were busy with fishing and merchant boats unloading, and the air filled my nose like vomit. Savage voices bounced all around us in the night—men talking among themselves and completely ignoring us. We walked through the harbor with quick steps and turned east, away from the sea.
At dawn’s first light, we came upon a structure made of long arches that stood two, and even three, stories high; as tall as the walls of Varazam.
“The aqueducts,” said Baagh.
They were made of hundreds of open arched gates in line, identical and so carefully designed that I could not believe they were standing without the help of the gods.
At the next turn, the alley became enormous, as wide and long as if we were in the steppe. It was paved with square stone slabs, and the footsteps of the guard sounded like drums beating in rhythm. Soon, the sound was replaced by a medley of shouts and orders in front of us. We reached a wide-open area lined with many rows of stalls and packed with people at the dawn’s faint light.
“The bazaar. It is still empty,” Baagh told me.
“Imagine if it were full,” said the Reghen.
I opened my mouth and slowed my step to see more carefully the stalls and the merchants. They looked back at me the same way with their half-awake eyes.
“Don’t take your hood off at all,” said Baagh.
Stalls next to one another were filled with apples, figs, dried apricots, and fresh vegetables, followed by others that carried larks, quails, pigeons, and chickens hanging dead with their plumage still on. The ones with the more colorful striped awnings carried silk fabrics, heron and peacock feathers, flasks and painted clay pots, and lacquered jars and ewers.
The morning light was slowly illuminating the bazaar, giving birth to more colors and images than I had ever seen in Sirol. The people looked unreal, like Varazam’s palace paintings. Most of them had the features of the Crossers of the Southeast. But there were other men, chestnut-skinned with oiled shaved chests, women with painted eyes and bare breasts, two boys looking like girls, intoxicated and intoxicating, standing next to an opion trader, and muscled men with braids the color of wheat. The merchants’ faces were of as many colors as their awnings, a forest of all the tribes of the world mixed together in one square. A pale-faced, beardless merchant shouted the same thing over and over as we passed by, and Baagh asked him back. I guessed he was asking the price. Baagh, still walking, showed three fingers to the merchant and made another swirling move with his hand as if to let him know that we would return. He then turned to me and said, “On our way back, we’ll stop here to buy some magic since you want to become invincible. The silk of the Far East. Only this.”
The Sun was now rising high above the city walls, curious himself to see the wonders of the bazaar. We continued past the bazaar, my head turned backward for a last glimpse, and we finally stopped in front of a stone wall with tall bronze gates that shone brightly in the morning light. A guard of taller and better-armed men was waiting for us. They wore bronze armor, muscle-outlining breastplates lined with red fabric. Those who had escorted us to this point saluted them, and then turned abruptly on their heels and left. Only their commander remained.
The bronze gates opened.
“The Grand Palace,” said Baagh.
The Grand Palace rose like an endless mountain line made of smaller and larger arched buildings, domed church temples, and military towers. I stopped cold, and for the first time, the guards had to shout for us to move forward. A gigantic monster, his mouth the size of the Sky, had swallowed the riches of all the tombs of the world, not just the few we had opened, and then emptied them all in front of me. All of Varazam was but a bunch of shacks in front of the Palace. I shook my head in disbelief as I remembered Malan’s impressive hexagonal tent back at Sirol. How many had been slaughtered, our people and othertribers, to loot only a handful of this vast sea of gold that was before me now?
We passed through a gleaming marble-paved courtyard to reach the first buildings. Men in robes of different colors were walking around and turned their stares at us. I kept my head covered under the hood, trying to avoid their eyes. Each colored robe seemed to signify some different craft, I didn’t know exactly which one. The men in gray robes were walking slowly, gazing either up or down but rarely in front. The blue robes hurried and shouted at slaves who followed them, and the milk-white ones strolled proudly.
Guards were in front of every building, motionless and fierce like Malan’s Rods. But their guard’s armor had more gold than the Khun’s tent. We walked on polished
marble that looked as if no horse had ever stepped on it, though horse-drawn carts were passing by. Most of the buildings were brightly painted and had heavy bronze doors. Their purple flags embroidered with golden crosses and eagles flapped in the breeze.
We entered through a covered colonnade path that ended at a building’s entrance, and then we went into a second building. Doors opened and closed. The light burst through only to disappear again. We passed through rooms that were as tall as ten men. I saw curtains threaded with bird drawings and furniture carved with exotic animals, walls decorated with mosaics made of more grains than the desert, liquid marble colors, and gardens with a hundred different flowers. The gardens were defined by straight or carefully made circular lines measured and trimmed to perfection. I did not like those gardens. They looked unreal. As if the men had amputated the forest, the living trees, and brought life to its knees, sliced it straight with a blade, or curved perfectly with a sickle. This was not the Forest I remembered, the one I longed for.
The guards who escorted us were replaced yet again, and only the two commanders of the previous groups remained. The men of this new guard were bearded, with long thatch-colored hair, embroidered boots, gilded helmets, spears with carved handles, and backs as broad as bears. They were dressed in gold-threaded mantles designed to impress rather than to fight in. Most of my Blades would not be able to confront them one on one. I didn’t think the Ssons would stand a chance either. I had never seen such men, not inside the borders of the Southeastern Empire we had passed through.
Baagh started to speak softly in my tongue, for it seemed that we were approaching the end of the road. “I expected this. We could have never gotten through any other way. But it was the only chance we had.”
“The chance to be crucified?”
“I have a plan. What do you do when you don’t have any other choice?”
“Die an honorable death?”
“Sometimes, yes. But not today. Today, we tell the truth. I told them who we are.”
The way ended in a hall with plum-colored, half-drawn curtains that fell heavily and hid most of the light. It was darker than all the other halls we had passed through, and we were surrounded by candelabras. The walls were decorated with hanging crossing swords, metal overlapping plates and bronze helmets with red plumes.
“These are the armors of the first warriors of the Cross. From the Western Empire,” said Baagh.
It was the first time Baagh had spoken those words together. Western. Empire.
The Reghen looked at Baagh and then at the armors. Both he and I had been raised and trained for one reason: to fight the Final Battle in the West.
“Have you ever been to the West, Baagh?” I asked.
“We don’t have time for this, Da-Ren. Let’s get out of this empire first.”
A man around forty winters old, bald, short, and plump, walked into the hall. His first words, probably a greeting in the tongue of the Crossers, came out of his mouth like the chirping of newborn birds waiting to be fed. He wore rings on each finger and gold earrings and had no hair anywhere on his face.
Baagh answered and pointed toward me, speaking words I did not understand. The hairless man’s eyes—he must have been a man; he couldn’t have been a woman—darted from me to the Reghen. He was dressed in a thin white shimmering tunic, trimmed with gold and red designs. It was made of the densely woven silk that Baagh was looking to buy. Could this man be the Emperor?
Baagh turned and stopped my runaway thoughts. “He is the First Sword Keeper, the Protospathos, named Carpus. A eunuch, and extremely important.”
I made an effort to open my mouth, which had remained sealed in front of the bald man.
“I didn’t understand a word you said, Baagh, but this man is no sword bearer.”
“It’s a title of honor. He is a trusted adviser of the Emperor. There are a number of eunuchs who pass on his commands, and they also protect him and bring him information.”
“You mean he is like a—Reghen?”
“Yes, something like that. But they are eunuchs; they have their genitals cut off when they are young so they can never have children or become masters.”
I looked at the Reghen. First in his eyes and then a little below his waist. A grin appeared on my lips. “Great idea,” I said.
The Reghen’s face turned pale-white and his eyes narrowed, becoming two black olives. I remembered him finally after traveling together for a moon at sea. I knew I had seen this Reghen before. A long, long time ago. He was one of the first Reghen I had ever seen. He, too, was a boy, and he threw us the pieces of horse meat that first day of the Sieve.
Baagh brought my mind back to the room. “Carpus says we cannot see the Emperor. We are unwelcome here.”
“Unwelcome? I am surprised we are still alive,” I said.
“The Emperor cannot meet with an envoy of Malan. You are not worthy of standing before him. Not even Malan himself would be granted an audience.”
“If they are to torture us, then just tell me, and I will grab a blade from the wall and get this over with now.”
“We are in no immediate danger,” Baagh said.
“So he’s going to let us go?” I asked with bulging eyes.
“Careful, Da-Ren. Be patient. We have to insist on a hearing, even with him, or they will figure us out,” said Baagh.
“What did you tell him about us?” I asked.
“I told them that you are Da-Ren, an envoy of King Malan, the ruler of all lands above the Blackvein; that you are his Firstblade—this actually translates as Protospathos, and most loyal adviser in command. And that we have come from Apelo.”
Almost everything was true. And a lie. If they tortured the Reghen, he would say about the same.
“As of now, I’ll repeat to you every word I exchange with Carpus. Or else he will not believe that you are the important man here. You, Reghen, will keep your mouth shut, or else we all die by torture,” said Baagh.
Baagh ran the entire conversation, and I was impressed with the ease with which he saved us. He translated everything he heard from Carpus and his own replies, or at least, so he said. I had to answer whenever they asked me something, and he relayed my words.
“Apelo. That battle should have never taken place. Thick-skulled fools, those generals. I am Carpus, the Emperor’s representative and fully authorized to hear what you have to say,” the eunuch introduced himself.
But what did I really have to say to him? Nothing.
We had proclaimed ourselves Malan’s official envoys, and as Baagh expected, that would grant us immunity. We had stepped into the jaws of the great beast, its horrible tongue coiling around us. What could we do to save our skin? Simply to look respectful and important as we pissed down its throat.
“So? What message do we bring?” I asked Baagh.
“If you want to ask me something, act as if you are giving me an order and speak harshly, or else he will understand that you are insignificant.”
I did as he said.
“I simply told him that Malan wishes to begin official communication with Thalassopolis,” Baagh answered.
“Only that?” I asked.
“Exactly. Only that.”
I tried hard to hold back my amazement and my laughter.
“No message. We don’t bring peace, war, proposals, threats, gifts—nothing. Smart. Now, let’s get out of here,” I said.
But it was Carpus who stepped out of the hall. He told Baagh that he would inform the appropriate officials and return.
“He said for us to wait here. What’s the hurry? Don’t you want to see the wonder of the world, the magnificent Thalassopolis? Why does this tribe of yours strive to conquer something that you haven’t even seen?” asked Baagh.
The Reghen went to speak. I never learned what he wanted to say. I spoke first. “Don’t I want to stay another moment in this demons’ lair of a thousand colors? Don’t I want to gaze any longer at the red eyes of Darhul’s heads? Don’t I want to
kiss the Reekaal on the mouth? We’ve played with fire long enough, Baagh. We leave now. Back to our boat and our men, and sail away.”
“Well, we can’t. Carpus said to wait here,” said Baagh, “I’ll rest on this comfortable bench, which is called a triclinium, if you care.”
Carpus returned when the sun was at noon high, accompanied by guards and other eunuchs who stood silent by his side. He began speaking rapidly and with rage, real or not, to Baagh, who translated the unavoidable threats in a calm tone. Carpus was cursing us for all the blood we had spilled on the Empire’s borders. The Reghen whispered to me that we should try to escape before they shackled us, but I told him to shut up. I was right.
“They are going to escort us to our chambers to rest and refresh ourselves. They are offering us their hospitality. We will speak again with him this afternoon,” said Baagh.
The surprises continued in the truly golden and deceptively magical world of Thalassopolis.
Two guards and a hairless boy led each one of us to separate rooms. Mine had a long marble container. Before Varazam, I would have taken it for a water trough for the horses, but now I could recognize a bathtub. There was also a wooden structure on legs with a carved headboard surrounded by yellow-blue silk curtains. I had first seen a bed in Varazam, but I had never slept in one. Even the sight of the soft-feathered cushions brought to my mind the decapitated ghosts of the cursed city. The feminine-looking boy tried to make me understand that he was there to help me undress. I motioned for him to leave. He refused and filled the tub with pails of bubbling water, then stood silently by the door, hidden in the shadows with only his soft scarlet slippers, and the pearls around his neck shimmering in the candlelight.
I took off my cloak, the boots, the felt stockings, the filthy pants, and the jerkin. They were all tattered and rotted from the brine and the rain of the Thousand Islands. My bare feet touched cool marble for the first time, and I slid into the tub’s water. As I closed my eyes, the colors and the movements blurred. The yellow-blue gossamer curtains began to dance around my bed and flutter in the light, and I sank into the tub, letting the hot water cover my body.
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