Even in the early night, the city was alive with a bustling chaos. Tinted lights of every color shone from lampposts, suggesting that the Northerners even painted their bulbs. The electricity buzzed and flickered weakly, and I longed to charge it just to keep the darkened streets from flashing.
Despite the care taken to decorate ships and soldiers, the brownstone houses were bare. We rode up a worn brick road, and I could easily see into the well-lit homes. There were no bright colors within, no flags, banners, knickknacks or decorations. No automobiles or fine horses awaited their owners outside. Even the clothes of the citizens were rough-spun and drab.
In Cape Hill, people had not seemed happy, but there had at least been some gradient between the wealthy and the poor. Here, everything looked the same. Just like Sheer Town, names and numbers wrapped over every outer surface. Only one unfinished wall was new enough to be mostly clear, and there were still three sets of words on it.
As soon as we passed the pubs and barracks, it was different. Wherever there were soldiers, there was color and life. It was clear that they were celebrated and idolized. We'd only been riding a little over fifteen minutes, and I could see the change. No wonder people begged to join the military here. The civilians were impoverished while the soldiers seemed as wealthy as any noble I'd seen in Cape Hill. They rode in automobiles that puffed with steam, in painted carriages, and atop the backs of spotted steeds. Trinkets trailed from their belongings, and passersby bowed to them and thanked them for their service.
I saw an old woman, teetering on her feet, reach a bench at the same time as a young infantry soldier. Mumbling an apology, she offered him the seat, and stood to eat while he settled in shamelessly to read a newspaper.
Backwards.
It was as though someone had taken all of the West and flipped it upside-down. In Raserion's kingdom, his soldiers were slaves, robbed of their lives. Here it seemed to be the common people who had their freedoms taken. Raserion used his laws as a means of control. He'd created a cold, unfeeling soldier without attachments. Somehow, Varion had done the opposite. Considering the alternative squalor, who wouldn't voluntarily become a soldier in the North?
Was this the natural progression of two sides fighting ceaselessly for seven hundred years? They'd all been the same people once– the survivors of a great catastrophe. Back home in Haven, when schools came together to play sports, each team was proud of its differences from its opponent. Was the Outside World an extreme example of that very notion? In fighting this long, were their differences defined and solidified until their cultures became perfect opposites?
I thought of Haven and peace. In my home country, none were especially wealthy, and none were especially poor. There were variants, to be sure, but nothing so dramatic as this. The imbalance in both kingdoms was criminal.
Who was the worse prince? I didn't know the answer.
Kyle's eyes were wide as he took the place in. I wondered if he even saw what I did. The children of soldiers played with tiny steam-powered robots on the street corners. There were mechanical pulley systems that hauled crates between buildings. Lifts replaced stairs, carrying passengers to high balconies and multi-story entrances. Small steam engines chugged over us on rails that sat upon the very rooftops. Lofty pole bridges connected the tracks and swooped down to elevated station platforms. Hawkers called out, selling tool kits, wrenches and spare parts from carts.
Trees clustered in the corners beside structures, and the farther we traveled away from the harbor, the fewer of them were palms. Some had leaves of red and gold and brown. Others were entirely barren with long wispy branches. Caraway had no shortage of lumber.
A mist had begun to roll in, but no civilian seemed concerned and no steam-powered machine was affected by the damp. There were plenty of covered walkways and umbrella shops to keep people dry.
Any hope of peeling Kyle's rapt attention away from the many constructs in the city was foiled forever when I laid eyes on another creature of myth. There, walking down the byway as though it had just leapt from the pages of a storybook, was a great metal cat. The dull brass feline was nearly as large as a horse, and between its outer panels, I could see spinning cogs, screws, springs, and wheels. Green lights glowed behind its eyes, its bony tail clinked and curled, and steam spiraled up from its nostrils.
I was as stunned as I'd been the very first time I'd seen an elephant. Was every bit of fiction told to children late at night based on reality? Looking at the brass cat, I doubted that it could grant wishes that always turned sour, or lead children to candy that would make them feel sick, but it was real, and moving along the street as though it knew where it was going. Kyle had been able to make robotic beetles, but nothing so large. He looked about ready to fall from his horse and chase after the mechanical animal.
A walking legend may have been enough to distract Kyle, but I was already transfixed by the Keep of Caraway above us. If the ground view hadn't been so busy, I would have stared at it for the whole ride. Now, the colossal structure was nearly upon us. It sprawled like an ornate casing over the very rooftops of the busy city below.
I gaped upward as we passed beneath the first supports, and the bulk overhead blocked out the starry sky. I wouldn't allow myself to look up at the stone support beams more than once. Just thinking of an entire castle keep sitting over us made me squirm in discomfort. What if the whole thing fell to pieces on our heads?
Logic insisted that it was sturdy enough. Each building beneath the keep acted as a column to hold up the greater structure above. The streets here were tighter, narrower than those outside. These buildings seemed older than the rest of the city too. Water seeped through cracks in the brick, and moss rambled up the walls. Only ferns, mushrooms and swampy shrubs grew in the pockets between stonework. I saw a cat or two prowling the shadows, but they were the regular kind. Though military stations outnumbered homes two to one, the houses here were richly decorated, and surprisingly silent. I soaked up the quiet, savoring every moment of it.
We reached a central point of some kind, and the lower city, along with the upper keep, opened up into a huge grassy courtyard. The square was perfectly symmetrical, with roads coming to meet at every point. Grand balconies overlooked the gardens, and even in the night, people strolled along cobble and veranda. Mechanized lifts carried passengers up and down from the height of the keep.
The stars shone like so many beads of light between the rolling clouds, and a crescent moon rose behind one of the keep's collection of towers. I was forced to admit, the place was incredible. We had nothing like this back home.
The soldier with the glass eye halted us as soon as we reached the green. “We dismount here and proceed on foot.”
Following his direction, I swung down from Florian's back, gave my gray gelding a reassuring pat on the neck and watched a stable hand lead him away. I noted that the horses were kept along the edge of the courtyard boundary.
We were guided to the nearest lift, and the gated platform carried us up to the first level of the keep. The view of the courtyard and the dimly glowing edges of the column city was enchanting. I could have stared at it for hours, but we didn't have the luxury.
Inside, the vaulted ceiling stretched so very high, it may as well have been its own sky. The patterned brown walls were elaborately decorated in curving molds and embedded sconces. Ivory chandeliers trickled down from the height of the ceiling, and black and gold rugs softened the stone floor. No other art was present, and no bright and gaudy colors infiltrated the palace. The halls at least were more somber than celebratory.
Other people moved about the populated keep on their business, but all who caught sight of me stared. Each and every one of their faces would stiffen in discomfort or freeze in horror. From plain citizen to strutting soldier, they gawked and whispered among themselves when I passed. Was I so strange? Even our own procession of guards took notice and watched me overly long.
I looked up at Rune to see if he was aware of thei
r behavior, but he was too busy watching a Hussar and a civilian lean against a pillar, arm in arm. It would seem that these soldiers were allowed to keep their social lives. To me it was one of the least unusual aspects of Caraway, but Rune must have seen it through completely different eyes.
Kyle nudged me with an elbow, nodding to our right. Two long rows of pale soldiers stood as still as death, guarding a gaping entrance to a deeper hall.
The soldiers were colorless. Gray from head to toe, skin to armor, they stared blankly ahead. Some were men, some women, and all wore masks. Fitted to their helms, each was individually cast in the likeness of its wearer. No details were spared, no two looked alike. The faces of the masks were as peaceful as statues in a graveyard. It was unsettling, to say the least. I was reminded of the faces in the tombs beneath the Mausoleum in Haven.
I felt pity for them, yes, but there was no mistaking that these men and women were fashioned into killers. They held eight-foot-tall polearms with viciously sharp axe heads. The column on the right was right handed, the column on the left, left handed. They were ambidextrous then? Though none of them were armed with pistols or rifles, each carried a set of knives on their belt, ranging in size from short sword to kitchen knife.
Many soldiers were bolted through their pallid gray flesh with steel pins, bars, pistons and tubes that ran over joint or limb or ribcage. These ticked faintly, and their fittings supported bones that appeared to have been broken repeatedly. Beyond the cages of mechanical enhancements, there were lumps, dents, and neatly stitched scars. If their bodies were so badly damaged, what was it that their masks covered? Was it a wreck that they hid beneath the likeness of their own faces? Did such masks make them walking monuments to their own deaths?
Sterling flashed painfully into my memory, and I relived the moment when the last hint of color had drained from his flesh. My skin prickled and I rolled my shoulders to chase away the chill that had snaked down my spine. Our escort brought us nearer still, and I held my breath as we walked past. The pale soldiers paid us no notice, maintaining their vigil, stiff as stone. There was one other thing that caught my eye. Something I couldn't ignore. Their armor was designed to leave the center of the chest exposed, openly displaying a mark in their skin that unified them as the most feared soldiers in the North.
As we walked beneath the guarded arch into a throng of people and a booming voice echoed from the walls, I couldn't help but look back. I knew why everyone stared at me the way they had.
Those were the Empty, and I wore a matching scar.
Chapter 29: The Prince from Afar
Now more than ever, I wanted to meet Prince Varion. I wanted to see what a real monster looked like. What kind of a person was capable of reanimating the dead? Who could be comfortable piecing their hollow forms back together to use them as weapons? Their eyes were as vacant as porcelain figurines– their bodies as monotone as newsprint. Hadn't those soldiers given enough? I'd seen Sterling drained right in front of me. After his color faded, there was nothing of him left inside. His body breathed for a few days and then stopped. What were the Empty? Did they think or feel? Rune had seen them as we went by. It would have been impossible not to. I wondered what he thought about being a soldier in life, only to fight again in death. But if their individualism was stolen when they were drained, did that mean these were mere husks, empty and fighting like puppets?
I pulled Kyle's coat closer around me.
Our glass-eyed guide stopped us from going any further. We were in an oval hall overlooked by a mezzanine deeply set with shadowy alcoves. Soldiers and civilians alike filled the room to capacity, and all buckled down on bended knee. The silence was reverent.
Our escort stooped to the exquisitely intricate rugs, and not being fools, Rune, Kyle and I quickly followed suit. Again the voice boomed, and this time I listened.
“His Excellency, ruler of the divine North, lawful heir to the one throne of Lastland, Prince Varion Argent,” the voice announced.
Tilting my head, I peered up. A hulking form strode out on the mezzanine. He was massive enough to see from the back of the crowd, forty feet down, and one hundred feet away. I had no direct point of reference, but two metal cats stood at his side, and he was significantly larger than them both. Plated in heavy bronze armor, his resounding footfalls had a voice of their own. I doubted very much that any average human could hold the weight of so much shielding. The pauldrons on each shoulder were larger than his head. His helm pointed at the front of his face, and only cracked open wide enough for his eyes.
He stopped at the center of the balcony and gripped the rail with his hands. “Rise.” His voice was like thunder, and he wasn’t shouting.
There was a choir of stomping feet as the entire crowd lifted up from the floor in unison. Standing allowed me to look at him more freely, but I was still too far away for details. Aside from his enormity, he was shaped like a human, so far as I could tell. But what face hid beneath that helm?
“Remain vigilant.” The words echoed through the hall, trembling the crystal chandeliers, and reverberating through my core. I sucked in a breath in an involuntary reaction to the power of his voice. I waited for more, but those two words were all he intended to give. He left us, the metal cats at his heels. It was all too brief. I wanted to get a closer look. I needed some hint that he was better than his reputation implied. If not, there could still be time for us to flee now if we needed to. But the giant had given me nothing. I had no choice but to press on.
“This way,” our guide said. The crowd began to pour out of the large chamber, but our escort led us down a less used passage to a quiet taupe and black antechamber. “Are you carrying any weapons?”
I blinked, remembering the inscribed piece that Prince Raserion had gifted me with. It was a weapon, I was sure.
“No,” Rune answered for me.
The glass-eyed soldier gestured, and three of his men stepped forward to pat us down. When my guard felt the heavy silver trinket in my pocket, I held my breath. He reached into my pocket, pulling up on the chain, and dropped the medallion into his hand. It landed on the side with the strange inscription, but if he merely flipped it over, he'd find the mark of the shadow warhorse, and we'd be as good as dead.
“Just a trinket,” I said, steadying my voice.
The soldier looked from the item in his hand to the scars on my chest and swallowed. He returned the amulet to me and I didn't dare to sigh in relief. The longer I looked at him, the less comfortable he seemed. Good.
“Do you have a problem with the way I look?” I asked him under my breath, the words stabbing between my teeth. I didn't need to force myself to sound menacing, I was irritated enough by the way everyone stared at me.
Forget about the medallion. Come on. Just walk away.
I stared at him unblinkingly.
He couldn't look at me longer than a second without his eyes flitting back to my scars. He cleared his throat and stepped away.
“She's unarmed,” he told his superior.
I closed my hand protectively over the heavy silver trinket. Could the presence of my skin set it off, without tracing the symbol? No. It wouldn't. It was better that I conceal it as quickly as possible. There was a rush of heat that reached my neck as I slipped it back into my pocket. Time had slowed for me, but no one else. My guard didn't look at me again.
Rune seemed unfazed as his guard patted him down, like it was as normal as drinking tea in the park on a sunny day. He was incredible. Why couldn't I be as relaxed as him in the heart of an enemy's kingdom? I wanted to smile and whack him on the arm for being so convincing. I wanted to see him smile deviously back at me. And then I wanted to take that dimpled face of his and kiss him until he wasn't smiling anymore.
Gravity! Where did that come from?
I flushed, staring wide-eyed at the carpet. My reasons for being nervous changed very suddenly.
Not the time or the place.
When the glass-eyed soldier was satisfied that we
weren't a threat, he gave us one more order. “Wait here.” He, his men and the Hussars fanned out to the edges of the room and stood at attention. I wished they'd given us some privacy, but at least they weren't looking directly over our shoulders now. Several of them stared at me, frowning at my scars.
I lifted my chin high and ignored the rate at which my heart fluttered in my chest. “You guys okay?” I asked quietly.
Rune flexed his jaw, studying the room. “Yes.”
Kyle, on the other hand, was ashen. For all of his earlier bravado, he didn't look like he was holding up very well. My lean friend didn't answer me at all, but shifted from foot to foot. His shoulders were pulled in, his hands were in his pockets, and his eyes flashed from point to point. His nervousness was as contagious as Rune's calm. My chest tightened and I knew that if I didn't show bravery, we'd both fall to pieces.
“Kyle? Are you okay?” I whispered.
“Those things out there… all of these soldiers. I-I don't think I can say anything. My h-head keeps going blank. I can't even think straight.”
“Don't worry. I'll handle the talking.” I caught him by the elbow and forced myself to smile. “We're doing okay.”
When he finally looked me in the eyes, he let out a shaky breath and nodded. One of the corners of his mouth tugged up in what was nearly a crooked smile. He didn't make it believable, and it quickly faded away. At least he stopped fidgeting so much.
Just a couple of kids from Haven. We weren't meant for this.
Doors opposite the ones we entered swung open and a pair of Hussars stepped out. One of them, a woman with long, braided cinnamon hair, spoke. “Lord Winton Headly, High Steward of Caraway, Prime Representative of Prince Varion Argent, will hear your case. Enter.”
Chapter 30: Saving Breakwater
The moment that would determine our fates was upon us. A pang of regret filled me up. I wished Ruby had been with me. No one was more honest than she was. Though shy, people trusted her quickly for her kind heart and earnest nature. There was something about it that you could sense. An openness. If only I were more like her. Would my words be enough? Did I have the strength to save Brendon and his good city?
War of the Princes 03: Monarch Page 18
