by Chris Bunch
“I see we’re expected,” Tenedos said. He eyed me to see if I was about to issue a string of panicky orders for my men to buff up their uniforms and blow the dust of the road off their trappings. I said nothing — I had full faith that my troop guide and lance-majors had done any necessary smartening-up before we set out that morning. Besides, I doubted the Men of the Hills held gleaming brass in as high esteem as razor-edged steel.
This honor guard was hardly the rigid line of soldiery a state visitor to Nicias would have been met with: The horses blew and chafed, eager to be on the gallop, and the formation was motley at best. Their riders were fantastically caprisoned, wearing many-hued headgear that billowed down like a boat’s collapsed sails, ballooning sleeves on their gaily colored tunics under leather hauberks and breeches. From each cap draped a brightly colored feather that floated back almost to their horse’s haunches.
But the sheaths of their swords were plain leather, and well worn, as were the unadorned hilts of their blades. They carried long spears, and these were also simple in design, and as I neared I saw their heads gleamed not from polishing but from frequent sharpening.
These gentlemen might be a palace guard, but they bore no relation to the parade-ground bashers like the Golden Helms of Nicias that clattered attendance around our Rule of Ten. These were warriors, not popinjays.
For a moment I thought the man at the head of the formation was their commander, but then I realized differently.
He wore robes of shimmering green that changed hues as the sun’s rays struck them. In one hand, he held a staff, and colors ran up and down its shaft as if it were hollow glass, and fires played within. The man was tall, only a bit shorter than I, far leaner, and his coal-black hair had been waxed and was pulled back in a queue that ran halfway down his back. His beard was also waxed, and divided into two spears that reached to midchest. He could only be a sorcerer.
“I greet you,” rumbled his voice, and I knew it to be magically augmented, “Seer Laish Tenedos and soldiers of Numantia. I am Irshad, chief jask to the Most Noble Leader, Achim Baber Fergana, and his Most Humble Chief Adviser in Worldly Matters, as well.” He spread his arms in greeting, and from nowhere came a gentle mist that smelled of rosewater and musk.
I’d expected murmurs of surprise from my men — but was surprised and most pleased that there came nothing but silence.
“I thank you for your welcome, Jask Irshad,” Tenedos replied. “Since you have seen our coming, and divined the craft we both share, perhaps I may return your compliment and gift. But I fear mine cannot be cast through the air, for fear of hurt.
“May I ask your brave soldiers to lower their spears until they point at my heart?”
“I can and shall,” the magician said, and motioned. Instantly fifty lances came level with the ground, and I saw some of the men grin tightly. “You have great faith in their willpower, since some of them have declared death-feud with all Numantia.”
“I need no faith,” Tenedos said carelessly, “for I come as a guest, and is it not a mark of honor that a man who comes to you as an invited visitor has naught to fear? Or have I heard wrongly about the Men of these Hills?”
Without waiting for a reply, he nudged his horse forward, touched each of the outthrust spears, one at a time. I saw he had something small in his hand, but he kept it palm down, half-curled, so I could not make out what he held. His lips moved slightly as he touched the spears in a spell.
He’d laid his hands on only three or four of the lances when shouts of surprise came. The spearheads had gleamed of steely death — now they shone of golden wealth.
Discipline — what there was of it — of the honor guard broke, and they pressed their mounts forward, to make sure each of them received the touch of gold.
Irshad’s face clouded, then he forced calm. “You give great gifts, and you are obviously a seer who has few equals in this land,” he said. “My men thank you. I can only hope you have equal munificence for a man as great as the Star of the Mountains, my master.”
Tenedos waited until the last lancer was gifted and he’d ridden back to my side before he responded. Gold glittered as his hand slid inside his robes, then came out empty.
“I have indeed brought great things to Achim Fergana,” he said. “But they are not of gold or silver, for I know a man of his wisdom and taste puts a bauble at its exact worth, no more, no less.
“A man of such nobility might well consider himself slighted by gold, even if I were to change the very gates of this city to that metal, knowing his price to be far beyond any material thing.”
Now Irshad smiled. “Numantia may have chosen well, Seer Tenedos, in sending a man whose own tongue is more precious than bullion. No doubt Achim Fergana will be equally impressed, although he’s been known to have men of lesser speech’s tongues removed when disappointed.”
“I am sure our time together will be mutually valuable,” Tenedos said, an equally insincere smile on his face.
And so we entered the city of Sayana.
• • •
The cobbled streets were narrow, filled with carts and men on foot or horseback. I saw few women, for these men consider their women capable of the most astounding immoralities if not watched closely, and so keep their wives and daughters mewed up. The few I did see smiled boldly, and one or two allowed their robes to slip open for a moment, to show a daring bit of ankle or even calf, and I knew their trade for what it was.
The street opened periodically into a square, and each one was filled with merchants hawking clothes, melons, fruit, vegetables, brass jewelry, questionable-looking meat with flies buzzing about it, and such. But a significant number — I thought every other one — seemed to be selling some sort of charm, spell, or magical potion.
Tenedos leaned over and said, “I see from the vendors I may have erred when I said it was a strange thing for the Rule of Ten to have posted a sorcerer as resident-general. Perhaps I am the man best suited for the task. Either myself … or a village witch.”
A smile quirked his lips, and I returned it. I was beginning to like this small man, and his occasional self-deprecating humor, rare in someone with such a rarefied position.
The stone houses on either side of the street showed nothing to the world but a single, heavily barred door and, on the larger ones, a larger gate as well, equally well secured. Tenedos commented that he could tell the achim’s tax-gatherers were most efficient: Men made no display of their wealth only when the land was rife with taxmen or thieves. “Most would say,” he went on, “the occupations are one and the same.”
Jask Irshad led us to the center of the city, where the streets were broader and the houses larger, mansions filling nearly a block. Outside one walled compound he halted, and announced this was the Residency of Numantia.
“Your servants await you, and the house has been provisioned as its previous occupant, also a Numantian, wished. If anything is lacking, your staff will be eager to assist.
“You have the rest of this day and the morrow to rest, and then my master, the Hand of Peace that Stretches Everywhere, would be pleasured by your company.”
Bowing servants swung open gates — spear-tipped at the top, the spears looking like they’d been recently filed sharp — and chorused welcome.
Thus began our stay in Sayana.
• • •
We had little time for relaxation, however.
The mansion was huge, and there were many tasks that had to be accomplished instantly.
First, we sacrificed to Irisu and Panoan, god of Nicias, for our safe arrival. My men made further worship to Isa, and I added gifts of fresh fruit to Cimabue’s monkey god, Vachan, and my family’s hearth god, Tanis. Tenedos also held a private sacrifice — I was certain it was to Saionji the Destroyer, a god few wished to acknowledge, let alone bring themselves to her attention, except, perhaps, in the male aspect of the war god Isa.
After the ceremonies, Tenedos set his retainers to setting up a dispensary wh
ere the wounded from the ford battle could recuperate, then to preparing his own quarters.
The Kaiti servants, even though they certainly would report anything and everything to either Achim Fergana or Jask Irshad, were well skilled, surprising in a land where men so prized their independence. The household was run by a shifty sort named Eluard, whom I felt most comfortable around, for the rogue would have so many petty fiddles going he would hardly want to upset the cart by reporting us to anyone, unless the rewards were greater than he was already reaping. Laish Tenedos also knew him for what he was, and put him on our payroll.
Tenedos took various magical tools from his gear and screened the mansion, searching for various items of sorcerous interest, as he described them. I wondered what he meant.
“Oh, let us say there could be several things a wise seer might leave in a house that will be occupied by those his master might be interested in. In one place I might lay a spell that would carry any words spoken within its range to another place, perhaps my master’s palace. In another, I might leave a different rune. For instance, in the bedchamber to be occupied by my honorable opponent, I might leave a conjuration of susceptibility, so a properly seductive young woman or man might achieve influence. A more concrete spell could be cast on a door, so all who look at it see naught but a bare wall. But if I or my soldiery needed emergency entry, I would not be left outside the gates foolishly imploring, or forced to mount siege to settle the matter.”
“Your world is a shadowed one,” I said, probably foolishly.
Tenedos looked at me in considerable astonishment.
“What one is not?”
I had no answer, and he went on about his business. I asked him later if he had, in fact, found any spells such as he described.
“To talk is to give away,” he said. “I shall not be specific, but I will tell you the mansion is now safe, but Jask Irshad has a considerable talent.”
I was busy with my own tasks.
The mansion could have served as barracks for the entire Ureyan Lancers, with every sort of room imaginable, from great dance floor to audience chamber to stables to troop quarters. The house filled four sides of a square, with a garden and courtyard in its center.
I assigned quarters for my men, and Captain Mellet’s Khurram Light Infantry. In addition to the Numantian troops, I also had call on another 100 native levies to keep the Residency secure, commanded by a mercenary Maisirian named Gyula Wollo. How he’d found his way to the Border States, and into the service of Achim Fergana, he did not say. I liked him little, and trusted him less.
Troop Guide Bikaner took one look at the scruffy, loutish Kaiti soldiers and suggested I dismiss them out of hand, since the least they could be was spies, and would certainly betray us at the earliest possible chance, and quite likely murder us as we slept.
I thought this not unlikely, but determined to try something first, although I did order Bikaner to detail a handful of men and make sure the doors to the Kaiti barracks could be bolted from our side. The rest of my plan would have to wait until later. I had to prepare for the meeting with Achim Baber Fergana.
My rooms were palatial, larger than those the domina commanding the Lycee of the Horse Soldier occupied, being a sitting room, a bathroom, a study and library, a dining room, and a bedroom so plushly laid out I might have entertained several harems without running out of space. It was dizzying for a legate as young as myself.
To make sure I did not lose track of who I was, nor forget how momentary these splendors would be, I chose a servant from the ranks of the Lancers. I picked Lance Karjan, who was as little like a kowtowing lackey as could be imagined. I asked him if he liked the idea, and he grumbled, thought of spitting, decided there was no place convenient, and said it was “a duty.” That would be the best I could expect.
Both of us set to, cleaning uniforms and weapons, just as all my lances and the infantry were doing. We would decide how we’d train to maintain our fighting edge later. Now it was time for square-bashing and gleaming regalia.
• • •
Achim Baber Fergana’s castle loomed down over the city around it, rectangular, six stories, with the first story closed off and used as a storeroom. Achim Fergana’s dungeons ran down into the living rock below. There were crenellated square towers at each corner. Entry was made via a ramp to a gatehouse, and then on a raised causeway into the castle proper. Eminently defensible, of course, but what a pain to the poor butcher who must drag carcasses up the ramp before Achim Fergana could feast.
Four Numantians rode to the audience with the achim: Resident-General Tenedos, myself, Troop Guide Bikaner, and one other soldier, Horseman Svalbard. He was chosen not only for the neatness of his turnout, but also for his stolidity and skills at hand-to-hand fighting. Captain Mellet and Lance-Major Wace had been left in command of the troops.
Tenedos wore ceremonial robes, white with the colors of Numantia worked into a frieze down the left side, and a sash in matching colors. He carried a short stick, not quite a staff, longer than a wand, made of ivory with elaborate carvings.
Bikaner and Svalbard wore full-dress uniform, with roached helmet, breastplate, greaves, and sheathed sword. Svalbard also carried a rolled leather case that contained the presents Tenedos had brought from Nicias for the achim.
I wore boots, chain armor under a linen tunic with a chest-blazon of the Numantian emblem, my sword, and a dagger sheathed opposite. Rather than a helmet, which I would have preferred, I wore a ceremonial pillbox hat, also in the blue of Numantia.
We were met inside the castle by two escorts and taken to Achim Fergana’s audience chambers.
It was a very strange room. It began at the third level of the fortress, and stretched all the way to the roof of the castle. The ceiling wasn’t solid, but elaborate spiderwebs of wrought iron supported multicolored glass, so the crowd below were constantly bathed in changing colors as the sun moved.
Cunningly wrought iron filled the huge room, providing benches, sculptures, dividers, and decoration. But where we Numantians would leave the metal bare, craftsmen had painted their work to closely resemble real life. I thought a bush beside me was a torrent of brilliant color, quite alive, until I brushed against it and bruised myself.
The floor was one single level, and mosaics were worked into its stone. At the far end of the room was a low dais, just high enough to make the step uncomfortable, which was evidently deliberate on Achim Fergana’s part. In the center of the dais was his throne, a seat large enough to seat three. Its back rose ten feet in the air, and swept out like a peacock’s display. But a peacock would have been shamed by the colors of this throne, which was set with every precious stone imaginable.
The walls of the chamber at ground level were irregular, with many nooks and crannies perfect to take a fellow into for a quiet conversation. I found out later that behind each of these convenient cubbies was a tiny room where one of Irshad’s agents would be stationed, making careful note of any treasonous words.
The room was about half full of people. They were dressed in eveiything from the rags of the hillmen to colorful and ornate robes. Some men, regular members of the court, I was told, wore conical caps of leather intended to suggest war helmets. There was a scattering of women, all finely dressed. A few were wives or daughters of nobility, but more were unattached women of the higher stations who, without a father or husband, were seeking a protector on whatever terms were offered.
It seemed as if every level of Kaiti society was present, and I found out that despotic though Achim Fergana was, one of the ways he held his throne was to open his court to any supplicant or even the curious, as all achims must. An armed culture like this certainly encouraged the murderous and made the meek meeker, but it also kept people from putting on too many airs.
I noted one man standing near the throne, flanked by two retainers, who looked very much out of place. He wore an outfit I’d expect to see in the finest palaces of Nicias: a red silken tunic, black breeches bl
oused in high horseman’s boots, with a black riding cloak held by a chain across his chest and a scarlet skullcap to match his tunic. His beard was blond, and closely trimmed. Only his weapon fit in with the rude society he was party of: He carried no sword, but he did wear a ten-inch-long fighting knife, its sheath mounted horizontally just beside his belt buckle.
Above the main floor ran a gallery, but it was impossible to see if anyone occupied it, since movable wrought-iron screens blocked my vision. This level was for Achim Fergana’s women, to listen to the words of their master and “learn greatness from his wisdom.”
Above that was yet another gallery, this one with a very different purpose. Three sides were filled with archers, who held arrows ready-nocked, who changed places and relaxed their wariness every few minutes. Until I discovered this secret, I’d wondered why, in a land of treachery, the achim didn’t seem to care if his retainers were armed. I wondered no longer. Just to make sure of the achim’s safety, the fourth side, the one directly behind the throne, held a full complement of jasks, ready to magically strike anyone who dreamed of endangering their master.
When I learned of these precautions, I wondered why any man would lust after a throne if he must surround himself with so many safeguards. I puzzled for a while, then gave the matter up. Would that I had pursued the thought to its inevitable conclusion. There might be many millions still alive, and I might not be waiting to die on a desolate island.
But all that lay in the future.
I save the two greatest marvels for last.
The first: Wandering among these men and women were wild beasts, the creatures of the Border States. I saw a tiger, a small honey bear, a pair of antelope whose horns intertwined above them, two small jackals, and other creatures. Overhead flew or sat birds of Kait — owls, chickadees, hawks, sparrows. Near the roof sat, in dark majesty, a homed eagle. All behaved as if they were as rightfully members of this court as any animal who walked on two legs.
Now I was truly impressed by the magic of the Border States. Not only were these creatures peaceful, not savaging each other or their mortal enemies they walked among, but they were carefully controlled, since none of us stepped in ordure, nor did we smell the reek of the wild.
