by Steven Poore
Cassia thought about that. Even Malessar himself had moved around; Stromondor, Galliarca, Hellea, the far Western cities; he had to have lived in every great city at some point in the last several hundred years. And Baum had trailed after him, keeping to the shadows, building his knowledge and taking Malessar’s apprentices as his tutors.
Such patience, such forbearance. I think I would go insane. But the tales were filled with heroes who undertook impossible quests, wandering the earth until they at last reached their journey’s end. If some of them were fantastical, it did not invalidate their meaning. Baum truly was a legend come to life, and his journey was truly heroic.
Malessar, on the other hand . . . He had spent long enough in Hellea to transform it into one of the greatest empires ever seen. He might not have been so egotistical as to stand openly behind the throne, or take power for himself, but he had twisted and tweaked history to suit his own purposes. Baum had pointed out the warlock’s subtle influence to Cassia in some of the tales she had rehearsed, adding his own commentary to the narrative in such a fashion that she found it difficult to think of those stories in any other way after that. A ruthless, twisted man, accountable to none. Even the gods hesitated to stand against him.
But he’s here now, in Hellea. And this time someone will stand against him. And I will witness it.
After another ten minutes or so, in a district of rickety houses and darkened workshops, Baum finally dismounted, knuckling his back and waited for Meredith and Cassia to follow suit. Cassia could see nothing of interest nearby. The lane split into two even narrower ways further ahead, and the higher, more affluent areas of the city were far behind them. Dogs barked in yards hidden behind the tightly-packed houses, the sound echoing through the street.
“This will do,” Baum said. “At least it is still here.”
She realised one of the buildings was a tavern, though the small sign that hung over the door was easy to miss. Crudely carved, it depicted a stream of liquid pouring from a jug into a man’s open mouth. “We are staying here?”
“If he has any room,” Baum said. “Meredith, take the horses around the back.”
From the dilapidated look of the building Cassia guessed the innkeeper was never so busy he could afford to turn away paying guests. She climbed down from her saddle with relief and passed her reins to Meredith, before following Baum inside.
Her first impression of the inn suggested that it was much smaller than those her father had frequented back in the North, and that surprised her. She had thought everything would be larger, or grander, in the Empire’s capital. But as her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the narrow shutters, she realised the room was at least three times as deep as it was wide, and probably much more than that – a thick curtain hid the back of the room from view. The wide hearth held a collection of blackened cooking utensils, and a fire was banked low under the pot that hung from a chain, slow cooking the evening’s meal.
The inn even had a few customers. Two of the tables were occupied, each with a small group of men who glanced up at the new arrivals before returning their attention to their drinks. They looked like labourers, but the fact that they were drinking at this hour indicated they had no work. This was the type of crowd her father enjoyed, and he would gladly have taken a seat at either of those tables and shared his misery and prejudices with them. Like as not, one drink would have turned into a whole afternoon and evening of drinking, and along the way Norrow would have conspired to start a fight.
This time, she thought, he would not be able to spoil things and get them kicked out into the night with no shelter.
Baum looked around the tavern, apparently satisfied by what he saw. He motioned Cassia to a bench and rapped one hand hard against the side of the skeletal stairs that ran up the opposite wall to the fireplace, knocking for attention.
The inn’s customers seemed unbothered by the noise, but to Cassia’s left a small pile of what she had taken to be rags leapt up with a yelp. On closer examination the shocked mass turned out to be a young boy, dressed in clothes that were clearly too large for him, his frame barely more than skin and bones.
“Weren’t sleepin’!” he cried out. “Weren’t!” Then he blinked and took in Baum’s imposing figure, and his mouth clamped shut. He glanced nervously at Cassia, and bolted for the curtain.
A moment later the curtain moved again. A larger, much older man appeared from the rear of the inn. His arms and torso reminded Cassia of the Almouls – men who had gone to war and done well – yet the innkeeper had gone to seed, the firmness of his muscles retreating along with his hair. He still cut an intimidating figure, however, and the knife prominently sheathed at the front of his apron only added to that impression.
He eyed Baum with short-sighted suspicion for a moment, then spread his hands wide. “Welcome, strangers. I don’t stand on ceremony, so take a bench. What will you be having?”
Baum did not sit. “Food and lodging, if you have it. Two rooms. There’s three of us, and horses too.”
The innkeeper’s stare slid across to Cassia. She shrank against the wall, uncomfortable with the attention. “Two rooms. Aye, there’s two rooms spare. Boy!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Go fetch the horses in!”
There was a muffled squeak from behind the curtain, followed by the light slap of flesh upon stone as the boy hurried to the tavern’s back door. The innkeeper returned his attention to Baum. “How long will you be staying?”
The shadow of a smile played across Baum’s lips. “A few days, maybe more.”
The innkeeper clearly had no intention of being any more civil than this. Perhaps he would show better manners when he felt the weight of Baum’s money. “I only cook breakfast once,” he said, wiping the nearest table with the edge of his sleeve. “If you miss it you’ll have to wait for dinner.”
“That seems fair enough,” Baum said affably. He dug a coin from the pouch at his belt. “Perhaps you’ll join me for a drink now, Ultess?”
The innkeeper took the coin, his brows creased in thought. “I don’t know you, sir, yet you know my name. I don’t think I have been recommended – in fact, I know this inn will never be recommended – so how do you know me?”
Baum nodded to the fist the innkeeper had wrapped around the coin. “Look more closely.”
Cassia saw his eyes widen momentarily, before they narrowed again. “How do you have this?”
“Because I served with Guhl,” Baum said, as if that explained everything. “As did you.”
Guhl? That was a name the old man had never mentioned before. Cassia tried to think whether her father had ever mentioned it in one of his stories.
The innkeeper still frowned. “That was long ago,” he said, more quietly. “Guhl’s dead now. Been dead for years.”
“I would be surprised if he were not,” Baum said.
Ultess hesitated, seemingly on the verge of movement, before slipping behind the curtain. He returned a moment later with a sealed wine jug and a pair of cups that were obviously part of his best service, not chipped or scratched. He set the wine on the table nearest the curtain, where their conversation was less likely to be overheard.
Baum smiled over at Cassia. “Meredith may need more help with our horses,” he said. “That boy looks too feeble to hold his own breath, let alone a bridle.”
She recognised a dismissal when she heard it. If Baum still had secrets that he wanted to keep then so be it. She slipped out onto the road to find the path that led around the back of the inn. Through the half-closed shutters she glimpsed Ultess and the former soldier, already deep in conversation. Everybody he knows seems to be an old soldier, she thought. The priest Dorias, Attis the moneylender, and now this innkeeper. Baum must have drawn up his plans so many years ago, yet he had everything in place. How much skill and forethought must that have taken? He could have been one of the greatest generals the world had ever seen, with a mind like that.
And Malessar had taken it all from
him. She looked around the street at the closely-packed tenements and, feeling sobered, went to find Meredith.
q
The boy did not have a name of his own, or at least, no name he was willing to share with her. He was so thin and gangly Cassia was unsure of his age, though his voice was shrill enough to suggest he had yet to reach puberty. Cassia wondered if he was the innkeeper’s son. There was no obvious resemblance, but then again it was difficult to tell under the boy’s shock of straw-textured hair.
He showed Meredith and Cassia where to stow their tack, although there was not much room left in the small shed that served as a stable once all three horses were inside. He was as skittish as a fly around the great beasts, ducking away from their hooves every time they moved, but the horses ignored him. And he surprised Cassia by offering to act as a guide for the duration of their stay.
“I do not need a guide,” Meredith said. “But I will need the use of this yard every morning at sunrise.”
The boy’s head jerked. “Yes, my lord!”
Cassia couldn’t hide her smile as the boy’s voice rose and fell like a kite. “I would like a guide,” she said. “At least for the first couple of days. I’d like to know where all the markets are, and the best places to hear storytellers.”
Meredith paused on his way back into the tavern. “You still wish to recite your stories here?”
She bridled. “You know I’ve been practicing them. And besides, Hellea will be different. Baum said so. They’re cultured here – they have a library.”
Meredith shrugged. “Men are the same the world over. Do you wish me to accompany you?”
“No,” Cassia said, trying to project confidence. “I won’t be in any danger.”
“As you wish,” Meredith said. He looked as unconcerned as ever and Cassia felt irritated by his attitude. Again. That had been happening more frequently since they left the bleak hills to descend to Elbithrar and the river. Nearly everything the lordling did or said got underneath her skin, a nettle rash she could not scratch.
She turned away to hide her frustration and gathered her meagre possessions, hooking the small pack onto the end of her staff. When she looked around again Meredith had disappeared and only the innkeeper’s boy remained, staring up at her from under his fringe.
“What?”
“Nothing,” the boy squeaked. He fled the stable and ran up the alley to the street. Cassia watched him until he flung himself around the corner, a tangle of limbs, always falling forwards. Cassia shook her head and reached for her staff.
q
At the centre of the city was a grand square, paved with slabs and cobbles, set in patterns that could only be seen in full by the gods themselves as they passed over the city. The populace flocked there to see the musicians and traders who pitched up in different places every day. The Emperor’s palace looked onto the square, which was bounded at each corner by one of the four temples of Hellea’s patron deities. Meteon, Casta, Ceresel and Saihri. The river, the great lake, fortune and the goddess who, legend had it, had given birth to the first Emperor, Manethrar. These four elements combined had made Hellea the most powerful empire in the world.
Cassia sat near the top of the steps to Ceresel’s temple, her knees pulled up against her chest, and gazed down into the square. Opposite her, behind the gaudy, florid colonnades of the temple dedicated to Saihri, more buildings loomed. A wide lane led to another open space that was used as the city’s hiring market, ruled over by an army of clerks from what used to be Pyraete’s temple. At this time of the day the market was lined with drunkards and listless, unemployed labourers, hoping against the evidence that they would be offered a job before the sun set. Cassia had stared up at the ancient temple of the God of the North with a sense of sadness, ashamed that such an imposing building could fall to such terrible misuse.
Ultess’s boy had abandoned her after showing her this far, disappearing into the crowd as though someone had jerked hard on a string attached to his wrist. He left her to explore the Emperor’s Square on her own. It was a more daunting prospect than she had first imagined. Everything happened at breakneck pace, and everyone shouted over everyone else. Cassia was buffeted through lines of stalls, pushed on before she had a chance to see what was on display. She tripped over feet and the edges of stalls, and over children that were dragged, crying, after their mothers. She had to dodge out of the path of horses, mules and handcarts, and once somebody even threw something at her, and she felt an object whiz past her ear.
After half an hour she’d had enough. All the temples were raised high over the square, with wide stone steps before them, but since Ceresel’s temple looked the quietest she took sanctuary there. The steps were dotted with beggars, all hoping the goddess would favour them with a gold coin – or a silver bell, or at the very least two copper tokens, not too badly clipped – and visitors to the temple hurried up and down, each harried silently by their own poor fortune, for why else would they bend a knee or make sacrifice to such a fickle mistress?
Nobody came to bother her or sweep her from the steps for making the place look untidy, unlike many of the temples she had waited at in other towns. In some places the priests would descend with their arms spread wide if a man looked reasonably wealthy, but when Cassia or her father approached, they came out with sticks.
If there were storytellers here, she had not found them yet. There were merchants galore in the square and its surrounding streets, but she had not seen a single storyteller. They could be near Pyraete’s temple, or maybe there was another square she had not yet found. If the stupid boy had not run off she would certainly have found them by now.
Her feet ached more than they ever had before, even when she had walked all day over the rough terrain of the North. The flags and cobbles of Hellea were bruising and unforgiving, and Cassia did not have the will or the strength to continue her search today. What little she could muster would be needed for the journey back to Ultess’s tavern. If I can find the damned place again without help. Stupid boy.
“Spare a penny?”
She shoved herself to her feet, pushing away from the voice at the same time. It was one of the vagrants from further up the steps, a gaunt, scarred man, his left hand bound in frayed, dirty bandages. His hair hung in lank strands around his shoulders, and it was hard to tell whether it was dark or greying under the dirt. His tunic might have been splendid, once, but time and the gutter had taken care of that too and the fine cloth was torn so Cassia could see his torso through the fabric. So many bruises and scars – she had never seen the like, not even on the most pitiful of veterans. Some of those scars were recent, as far as she could judge from their appearance.
The man swayed on his feet. He winced and his gaze flicked to one side, as though he listened to someone stood at his shoulder. Then he shook his head. “Only a child. Only a child,” he muttered. “Not right.”
And he heeled away, shambling along the steps in the direction of another seated pilgrim.
Cassia frowned after him. “I’m no child!”
He looked back. “Hah. Perhaps not. But I have no coin for those pleasures.”
Her mouth fell open, the retort unspoken as she realised what he implied, and she knew her face had turned red. She hoped nobody else had heard their exchange.
She hurried along the steps and grabbed the man’s arm. “I’m not a whore!”
She had expected her hand to close around little more than bone and flaccid skin, but the vagrant was surprisingly strong. He pulled his arm away with ease and Cassia stumbled. She would have fallen down the steps if he had not reached out to steady her.
The beggar’s eyes were clouded by drink, but the stare he turned upon her was hard and penetrating. “No,” he said, after a moment. “No, you’re no whore. But mark my words, girl, stay on these steps past dusk and you soon will be. Hellea’s no friend to country girls.”
She managed to free herself from his grip and backed away from him. The meaning of his wor
ds was not lost on her, and the sun ducking behind the rooftops brought a fresh shiver of panic. The temple steps were emptying; she realised. There were only a few pilgrims left, sat in a short line further down, near the square. And they were all women: barefoot, wrapped in threadbare cloaks. One of the women scowled over her shoulder at Cassia. She thinks I’m fresh competition!
“I didn’t realise,” she said, appalled. “I only wanted to rest a while. My feet are sore and . . .” she trailed off, helplessly.
The beggar sighed, his eyes softening a little. “This is not a good place to rest. Especially not after dark.” He looked her up and down in the calculating manner her father had often used. “You can’t afford a guide, I wager. You’ve come to make your fortune in Hellea, but you don’t know where to start.”
Cassia lowered her head. “I am so obvious, sir?”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” The beggar shrugged. “If you have lodgings at all, I would return to them now. Ceresel’s priestesses will fight for their position on these steps, and they hold grudges like scorned wives.”
“They don’t look like priestesses,” Cassia said. They looked anything but holy and blessed.
“Only what men call them in jest.”
Cassia hesitated, then sketched a jerky bow to the man. “Thank you for your advice, sir. If there is any service I may perform for you . . . ?”
He gestured at an empty jug that lay on its side further up the steps. “Unless you can spare a few pennies for another of those, girl. And I do not think you can.”
“No, sir.”
The beggar waved to the far side of the square. “Get gone then, girl.”
Cassia did not wait to be told twice. She headed for the eastern side of the steps, intending to avoid the prostitutes.
“Girl!” The beggar’s voice pulled her up short. “Do you know where you are going?”
She looked at the roads that led from the square, thought for a moment and shook her head.
The beggar muttered something under his breath. “Fine. Fine. I’m tired of these steps, and people aren’t as free with their coins as they used to be. Where are your lodgings?”
