The Ravens of Carrid Tower

by David c Black

  After a moment of consideration, the Queen finally said, “Thank you Nathalian.”

  “Just a suggestion highness, from an impartial observer.” He bowed theatrically.

  “I want to go back inside.” She said, her lips parting with desire.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Carrid

  The Tower of Carrid was visible from every point on the island and much of the mainland’s Eastern coast. Almost two leagues wide at the base and sixteen levels high the epic structure housed the Republic’s capital. Vaulted ring roads circled each level, the support arches beneath all large enough to house entire sub-districts. Businesses and abodes dotted every spare space, spacious rooms carved directly into the rock or nestled within the towers concrete framework. A remarkable network of hanging walkways, tunnels, pulleys and lifts linked the city together for those unable or unwilling to pay the tolls on the towers eleven ring roads.

  The city levels were stacked one on top of the other, each slightly narrower than the last as the tower tapered toward a summit usually hidden in the clouds. The southern side of the uppermost five levels had been left exposed with no ring road, giant statues of the ancients lining the sides, pulling back the curtain of stone, making it possible to see the domed roofs of administration buildings and the Assembly itself in the centre of the city. Nearly a million souls called the tower home and perhaps another million had found residence in its shadow, as a vast metropolis grew larger every year around the foot of the edifice. There was no room left in the tower and prices had become exorbitant, families guarding their plots fiercely, rarely selling. For those lucky enough to have inherited holdings, rental incomes offered security for generations.

  The tower, it is said at least, was built around a mountain. Over the centuries the rock had been excavated and it was almost impossible to tell the difference between the weathered masonry and the original rock. A marble figure of a women had been carved around a natural spring, water pouring from a huge ornate vase on the fourteenth level that descended the heights in a spiral aqueduct that not only quenched the cities thirst, but also powered its mills and flushed out the sewers. What starts out as fresh spring water for the rich is rather less palatable when it finally gets down to the settlements on the ground.

  Jaro stood on the balcony of the Consul’s town house, looking down into the carved-out centre of the tower and out towards Port Varn and beyond. He had an office in the Assembly itself, but since being elected had preferred to conduct state business from his own residences. A trivial point he thought, though one that his political enemies, particularly Annick, wouldn’t let go of.

  They say I rule like a king. And oh, how the people hate the idea of kings. It matters not in any case. The worse part of governing, has always been the people.

  “What did he say, Cillius?” He said to the man sitting behind him with General Adderock.

  “They have located the Takuri tribe.” The agent replied.

  “Where?”

  “Coming back into the Quoroubi. A week or so away from Hidabi.”

  “Why?”

  “The Shaa said all the tribes are converging on a mountain range in the far east of the desert.

  “Actually, it’s not technically in the Quroubi.” Dokra interjected.

  “Nevertheless, it seems to be a change in strategy.”

  “Desperation more like.” Cillius answered quickly. “It’s nearly over, they know it. We’re getting better at turning their traps and the Shaa’s horde have most of the towns in the South. They are boxed in. I suspect they are planning a last stand.”

  “Finally. Some good news.” He said, turning to join the two men. “Send the Ravens to intercept them, then we can clear out the others. They’ve made it easier for us, if they really are digging in that is. I still find it hard to believe, out of character to say the least.”

  “As Cillius said, they are desperate. Out of options.”

  “Good. I want to finish this before winter.”

  “They may be well provisioned up there.”

  “At least they’re contained. The people are tired of the war now, other concerns have gripped their imagination.”

  “Pirates?”

  “Yes, if we wrap this up quickly the Assembly will be less reluctant to give us the Naval command. As it stands there is no chance. They don’t trust me with both forces on land and sea.”

  “They wouldn’t give it to anyone.” Cillius said.

  “Dionadis was.”

  “A long time ago, Jaro.” Adderock said. “Ancient history now.”

  “I want that command, Cillius. The pirates should be easier to deal with than the tribes anyway. If we can crush them both before the election, Annick has no chance of defeating us.”

  “His message is catching on, you know.”

  “We probably have taken too many. No more. Understand?”

  “I do. Still, he will say the damage is already done. Many of the people agree with him.”

  “The working class. They are just angry their labour has been undercut. Business has never been better, and it is they who fund us. In any case, no more open door. At least until the election.”

  “Yes, Consul.”

  “What else did the Shaa say?”

  “They will deliver on their end soon.”

  “Good. Cillius, I want you in the Quoroubi until we finish this. Ride to Fort Rand and find wherever Mak and the Ravens are. Tell them to destroy the Takuri and then march on that mountain range.”

  “Yes, Consul.”

  “Adderock, stay a while. We need to discuss the transfer of towns to the Shaa.”

  “They have already started.” Cillius said, making the Consul’s brow raise in feigned surprise.

  “We shouldn’t underestimate that man, Consul” Cillius continued. “His horde grows larger everyday.”

  “As long as they pay what was agreed and Galtus doesn’t control them, I don’t care. They can have the desert.” Jaro said and the spy nodded before walking back inside. There was something in his eye though that unnerved the Consul.

  They are no threat and they need us more than we need them. This will work.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Taleese

  Dusk was almost upon them as they left the thick jungle and rolled down the hill into the lush valley surrounding Talon. As they came closer and the city's giant, dark orange walls came into view, Bo could see the fortifications had been constructed with small rectangular bricks that he assumed were made from the red clay that seemed so abundant under the jungle’s foliage that the road had been cut through.

  A straight moat stretched the length of the wall out of sight around the corner and he imagined it encircled the city.

  At least to that river, I’d imagine.

  Far in the distance he could see a wide river with bridges and secondary walls made from the same bricks on either bank. The rough track they had travelled on had merged with other smaller trails to form a paved highway in the valley, taking them towards a huge barbican, it’s gatehouse large enough for two vehicles to cross under the arch at the same time.

  "This is it lad. Talon."

  "Big." He said staring at the visible bottom quarter of a massive gold coloured portcullis raised up above the road, before noticing the fifty or so soldiers and bureaucrats below it guarding the entrance to this side of the city.

  "Aye. The city's built in a square. Each side is two leagues wide. They all have entrances like this in the middle."

  "Only four ways in?"

  "Yep, saving a few smugglers tunnels but that knowledge is worth more than my life."

  "It looks... Well defended."

  "It is that. Except no one's tried to take the place for a few hundred cycles."

  Bo didn't respond and Laxis watched the young man fondly as he stared at the city. Archers stood high on the battlements behind a crenellated parapet that ringed both of the towers flanking the road, overlooking the oncoming pedestrians and wagons. They wor
e gold coloured helmets with visors pulled up above their foreheads and he could just make out red feathers protruding vertically from behind.

  Wooden barriers had been constructed in front of the fortification splitting up the traffic, corralling them towards different administration points. Banks of desks lined the interior walls of the barbicans and smartly dressed government officials checked everyone’s papers before being permitted to cross the drawbridge over the moat. Soldiers with the same design of helm as the archers, though wearing much heavier plated armour stood in groups around the checkpoints, mostly talking amongst themselves.

  "They close the gates at midnight Bo. Don't get caught outside after hours. They won't let you back in until the morning"

  "Is it dangerous out there. At night?"

  "No. But, it's boring. I've been caught out a few times. Damnable luck. Get held up on the road for some reason or other and arrive after they are shut. Those bastards fuck everything up, can't be relied on for a thing, but they always... Always, close the gates at twelve."

  "What did you do?"

  “Do?”

  “When you were trapped outside the gates at night?”

  "Oh, well I sat in my wagon and waited, of course."

  "Had a drink?"

  "Aye, and after a few I started hurling abuse at them."

  "Really?"

  Laxis chuckled. "Yes." He laughed again more loudly "and then... All night long Bo, I gave them some of my best songs. Loud as you like. Not a man got any sleep. Not me, not any of those bastards up there."

  "They must have been angry."

  "Aye. Hope so. I went around and entered the city on a different side the next day."

  "Didn't they do anything? Try and shut you up?"

  "No Bo. The gates are closed at midnight."

  The boy smiled and Laxis tugged the reins gently. “Let’s go and have a chat with immigration.”

  “Immigration?”

  “Yes. You didn’t think you can just come and go as you like?”

  “I can’t?”

  “Well you can, but you need the papers.”

  “Carridean?”

  “No Taleese. Should be fine.”

  “Should be?”

  “Got some gold left?”

  “A bit.”

  “Good. Hide most of it in the wagon and keep a few coins in your pocket to offer them. If they cause a fuss have a second purse ready with a bit more in.”

  “Gods” Bo said suddenly nervous.

  “Don’t worry lad.”

  The two entered the bustling city without raising much attention at the gates and joined the traffic travelling deeper into town. Bo had not expected the city to be so populous. The streets were filled with people, noise and trade.

  It's chaos.

  Sellers made use of every space that didn't directly touch the cobbled road. As the wagon drove through, people caught notice of the boy’s lighter hair and skin. Stares followed, and young children ran towards the wagon bearing in their tiny hands bags of food or carved handicrafts, competing amongst themselves to get closer. The driver waived them away and with a few growls they finally backed off.

  A little anyway.

  But all continued to study the unusual looking boy.

  "How do you walk around here, there’s no room to move."

  "Aye it’s not easy. Talon folk don’t walk much. There are red wagons that ship people about and some other samlets you can get."

  “What are they?”

  “I think you call them rickshaws, basically a seat on wheels. They will pull you wherever you want to go. There’s one there.” He pointed to a man, hands wrapped around two long poles pulling the open topped carriage behind him.

  "Ahh good."

  "Not really."

  "Why?"

  "They keep blocking the roads. Stopping anywhere suddenly to pick up potential customers."

  "I see."

  "If you’re going anywhere far you should go by horseback."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, there are municipal stables everywhere."

  "How much are they."

  "Six talets a day is normal. Can you ride?"

  "I don't know."

  "That’s a no. They will show you, easy enough. Anyway lad, we're here. Crab town.”

  “Crab town?” Bo said with mock suspicion.

  “Best place for you.”

  The quarter was once notorious for every vice of the night imaginable, though recent decades had seen it gradually creep back to respectability as fashionable locals and well-off ex patriots moved in driving up the prices. The rich did not live in Sana Hillan though, which translated into Carrid as crab town. And they never would.

  “Anyway, lad. Get yourself board here in the Three Feathers tonight and then you can start looking for more permanent accommodation in the morn."

  "And a horse."

  "Aye and a horse. Get one that looks stupid, it might not try and kill you."

  "Kill me?"

  "Just a joke Bo. We have a saying in Taleese, a cautionary tale if you will, about who you choose to ride with."

  "I don't understand?"

  "Never mind Bo. I live near the river. Ask anyone for me there, they will point you right." Laxis said as he scribbled his name onto a small piece of parchment in Taleese.

  Those letters look weird.

  "I'll do that. Thank you again for... everything."

  "It was my pleasure Bo. Really it was. Go steady, okay?"

  He nodded and Laxis watched the boy walk away towards the Inn. Bo looked a little unsure of himself after their parting words, tripping as he did not two steps into the road and covering his ankles in mud. The man couldn't help considering his own son who had barely left their home district, realising they shared little in common other than age. Naive yes. But easily led astray? Laxis thought not. The boy would land on his feet, he finally decided, whipping the reins to move the wagon forward. The driver would think much about this for the rest of the day, before the first cask was opened and his focus returned to sorrow and self-hatred.

  Bo stopped for a moment when he reached the entrance of the inn before placing his hand on the handle and turning it down. The racket of shouts, laughter and string instruments escaped the gap immediately, stoking the boy’s anxiety. He took a deep breath while raising his head, and with as much confidence as he could muster, pushed the door open and walked in.

  It begins.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Widow's Reach

  "You think you're better than me, huh?!" He said pointing a dirty finger towards the town guard's perfectly pressed tunic. "No one..."

  The guard had lost patience with drunks insults and smashed the butt of his spear into the mans chest, making him double over and collapse. The guard gave him another kick before walking off back to a group of soldiers who had gathered to watch.

  "You bastards!" He shouted at them as they walked away through the gloomy city street laughing. When they had passed out of sight behind the tall, half-timbered buildings, the drunk picked himself up without much coordination and stumbled around for a moment before finding his balance. "Where's my damned drink?" He muttered to himself, reaching to grab the dirty bottle. It had cracked. He threw it back down angrily onto the cobbles where it shattered loudly. "Bastards!!!"

  A crowd had gathered to watch the scene and a large red-haired man walked over. He looked slightly more respectable than the rest of the town-folk and seeing him approach the drunk, carried on with their day.

  Leather riding boots and a clean tunic. The drunk noticed.

  "You okay, friend?"

  "What business is it of yours, eh!"

  "No business, friend."

  "Urghh." He cleared his throat and spat on the ground. "We ain't friends. My friends are dead."

  "No friends, no more drink. You out of coin too?"

  "I got coin. Bags of it. Mountains of bags. Like a king, me."

  "Lucky you."

  "'Cept...
" He paused, seeming to come to a realisation. "I ain't got my purse on me, like. You have a copper spare? Those bastards smashed my bottle." Then looking at his empty hands he shook his head, "bastards." He muttered under his breath.

  "Aye, I’ve got coin friend. Come with me, I’ll buy you an ale."

  "I don't drink damned ale. Not the piss they serve here anyway. Wine. I want wine."

  The stranger helped the disorientated man across the street towards a foot bridge where a tavern was nestled, almost hidden, beneath a steeply pitched roofed tenement block overlooking a canal. Widow’s Reach was the largest island in a small archipelago and had invested in fishing on an industrial scale. Almost every man on the island had some connection to the ring of wharfs and harbours around the island’s coast or the factories and smoke houses in town. The Widow’s catch was a profitable export and the work attracted people from every corner of the continent.

  "What's your name?

  "Kirim. Friends call me Kirim. Used to anyways."

  "I’m Figly. You working, Kirim?"

  "Aye, this and that. Been with the fishing ships, but they don't sail over winter. Bastards just lay us all off.” He said spitting on the floor. “Was hoping to find a caravan or estate that needed watching over."

  “Can look after yourself then?”

  “I’ve been about.” He replied gruffly sniffing at his glass.

  "They hiring?"

  "Wouldn’t know, the first one I approached set that guardsman on me."

  "Bastard."

  "Aye. Lot of ‘em."

  "Difficult times for us all, friend. Not like the past."

  "Aye. What about you anyways? Where'd you get the money for those boots.” He said pointing at the man’s feet. “Looks fancy. You a noble?"

  The stranger laughed. "Not noble, no. I've come into some luck though recently. Seeing you out there reminded me of myself a few cycles ago."

  "Oh yeah" the drunk said, seemingly more interested now in something other than the un-watered wine in his glass. "What's ya story then, ay?"