Lady of the Haven (Empire Princess Book 1)

by Graham Diamond

  “How are you feeling?” she whispered.

  “Better, much better. They tell me I’ve been out of it for days.” He tried to clear a still-foggy head.

  “More than that, Commander,” said Alryc. He glanced briefly at the heavy bandage wrapped around Trevor’s leg. “We’ve been in Satra over two weeks.

  “What happened?” asked Stacy. “That morning we left you in the cave, how did you get captured by the Satrians?”

  The soldier sighed and tried to recollect hazed thoughts, “I don’t really know. I remember the snow, then there were sounds. The soldier you left behind went to look. Then there was a scream — his, I think. There were one or two of those things. It’s all so dim.”

  “The Satrians must have been searching the tunnels after they found us,” said Alryc to Stacy. “Either that or they were chasing things when they chanced upon Trevor.”

  “You’ll be all right now,” said Stacy soothingly. “And that’s all that matters. We have our leader back. They say your leg will heal and that you’ll be on your feet in no time.”

  “So they assure me,” he said rather glumly. “This morning I was visited by a man who called himself Sebelius. Seemed like a nice sort, very proper and all, but a nice sort.”

  “He’s the minister,” Stacy told him. “If it weren’t for him, I think we might all still be in chains.”

  “The minister?” Trevor was puzzled.

  “Kind of like a governor, I guess you’d say. Prince Sumavand gives the orders and he carries them out.”

  Trevor nodded knowingly. “This Sumavand, have you met him?”

  Stacy nodded. “We all have. He’s an unusual man. At first glance you’d think him a barbarian. But he isn’t. He’s a no-nonsense fellow, and he rules Satra by sheer will alone.”

  “Does he know about us? About why we came?”

  “He knows. I’ve told him everything about the Empire.” She turned away her eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” Trevor asked.

  Stacy sighed. “I can’t really explain it to you, Trevor. You’ll see for yourself, I’m sure. But this whole place...”

  Alryc’s face darkened, lips pressed tightly together in something of a scowl. “We’ve come to a strange land, Commander. As unlike our own as the sun from the stars. Here men view one another with suspicion and mistrust. Some have accused us of being spies.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense! Who would we spy for?” cried Trevor.

  “Very little around here makes sense,” grumbled Melinda. “They’ve been treating us this past week like honored guests, yet we remain prisoners.”

  “We’re being kept from contacting the ship,” added Stacy.

  Trevor tried to sit up but managed to raise himself only a few inches off the pillows. “Why?”

  “They keep telling us it’s not possible to travel during winter, that heavy snow forces everyone to remain within the confines of the shala.”

  “But you don’t believe that?” he asked.

  The girl shook her head emphatically. “Not for a minute! These people are not backward, Trevor. You should see the things they do! They harvest beneath the mountains, control the climate. They even grow flowers in winter!”

  “And their city, shala, as they say it,” added Alryc. “It’s the richest a mortal man will ever see. They have temples with walls of inlaid gold, jewels and statues of marble that dazzle.”

  “And a war machine like our Empire has never dreamed,” said Stacy. “Satra is a fortress of solid rock. And the tunnels below it lead across the lands to yet other shaleen. A vast network of underground cities that covers the breadth of this whole land.”

  Trevor took it all in slowly. “Sounds to me that a city that could do all this should be able to send a few men out into the snow.”

  “Exactly,” said Stacy. “But they don’t — or won’t.”

  “Why do you think they’re holding us like this?”

  Alryc glanced from one to the other. “If you ask me, I think they’re frightened of us.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Melinda. “They have well-armed soldiers crawling all over the place. They fight wars against things and Nomads continually. How can we harm them, a handful of strangers without weapons?”

  “There is more to fear than merely the blades of scimitars,” replied the stargazer. “We offer our hand to a people who are bred on suspicions. We tell them of mighty ships that ply our rivers; Satra has no ships. We speak of knowledge of the forests; Satra fears the forests. We tell them our understanding of wolves. Wolves are their enemies. All outsiders are their enemies. So then, they ask, who are these strangers with ships that sail the sea? Who are they who can speak with wolves and fight beside them?”

  “I see your point,” frowned Stacy. “Here, under their watch, we pose no threat. But if freed, if allowed to go back to our ship...

  Alryc nodded sadly. “I fear we have come to this wondrous city a thousand years too late. Suspicions are too deeply embedded. Perhaps Sumavand envisions a fleet of Empire ships crossing the sea to war upon him. Perhaps he envisions ten thousand hunters upon those ships.”

  “The prince is a good man,” insisted Stacy firmly. “He is not rash and always listens with an open mind.”

  The stargazer raised his brows. “Ah! But does he?”

  Melinda looked gloomily at Stacy. “Remember what we were told when we came? ‘Here you have come —’”

  “‘And here you must stay,’” replied Stacy, completing the thought. “But he knows about the ship. He knows Elias will look for us.”

  Alryc sighed. “He hopes they will lift anchor and sail away across the sea. But if Elias doesn’t, and I agree he won’t, the prince knows what will happen to him. The Ritual of War will deal with our companions. Things will sweep down, Nomads will ravish the ship. What chance will Elias and his pitiful band have against such armies? Even Satra itself reels under such blows.”

  Stacy put her hand to her mouth. Goosebumps crawled down her flesh. “Fara above! They’ll be slaughtered! They’ve got to be warned!”

  “It makes no matter,” drawled the stargazer. “They will be found. The white wolves already know of their presence; the Nomads must, also. The battle will come whether they search for us or not.”

  “I must speak to the prince again!” she cried. “He must let us send word!”

  “But what if Alryc’s right?” Trevor asked. “What if he doesn’t care?”

  “We’ll have to do it ourselves,” she whispered.

  “And how are we to do that?” wondered Alryc. “I have spent many hours pondering an escape. I have observed the passages and the gates that lead from the shala. The gates have doors of steel, and stern guards stand at every one.”

  “But we can try!” blurted the girl frantically.

  Alryc peered at her darkly. “You know what will happen if they catch us?”

  She nodded sourly. The answer was as clear as Satrian water. “The Rani will have her way. She will demand our deaths, and the prince will be compelled to assent.”

  There was a long moment of silence; each one thinking of the risks and consequences. It was Trevor who finally spoke. “Where are the others? Where’s Robin? And Kent? And Cicero?”

  “Robin is in the city,” said Stacy. “She’s asked to be taken to see the temple, but she knows to keep her eyes open. Kent must be around somewhere.”

  “And Cicero is kept carefully guarded,” said Melinda. “They may allow us some freedoms, but they’d never let a wolf free in their midst. The mere sight of him sent Sumavand’s court into a frenzy. They were terrified.”

  “Then he won’t be able to help us.”

  “Help us what?” asked Stacy.

  Trevor pushed himself up with his elbows. “From all I’ve gathered, no war begins until spring, right?”

  Stacy nodded. “They call it the Ritual. It starts when the snows melt.”

  “Good,” sighed Trevor. “Then we have plenty of time.
From now on we’re going to learn as much about this place as we can. We’re going to befriend the Satrians and be taught everything and anything about the shala. How it operates, where they hunt, how they control the entrances to the tunnels. And we’ll pool our knowledge. Every bit of information, no matter how trivial, will be noted. I want to know when the guards are changed, when troops are sent into the pits. I want us to learn the streets of the city as well as we know the streets of Rhonnda. Every alley, every gate, every bloody stairway.”

  “Sounds good,” grunted Alryc. “Given time we may learn a way to get out. But we must be careful. The Satrians watch us carefully. If they suspect —”

  Trevor dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “They want us to adopt their ways, don’t they? Let’s make ourselves eager. That knowledge will show us how to get out of here.”

  “So far they’ve been pretty tight-lipped,” ruminated Melinda.

  “Shaina, my ‘companion,’ is pretty open,” offered Stacy. “I know I can learn from her.”

  “That’s a beginning,” said Trevor. “Learn all you can. Make her trust you.”

  Stacy frowned. “She already does. But I don’t want to hurt her, Trevor. If we are prisoners, it’s not her fault. Shaina’s been a friend. The only one we’ve had in Satra.”

  “No one’s going to be hurt, Stacy. But the information she has can be invaluable to us. Let her be your guide. Let her show you everything. No one will question you with a Satrian guard on your arm.”

  Stacy nodded, understanding what had to be done. Trevor smiled and looked at the others. “We all know what we have to do. Melinda, speak with Robin. I’ll talk to Kent myself. If we keep our eyes open and our heads calm, we’ll make it out of here. Elias and the others risked their lives to get us here, now we’ve to do the same for them.”

  *

  It was a broad avenue, the air filled with the fragrance of spice from the stalls of Satrian merchants. Shaina led Stacy by the hand across a tiny tree-lined square to a domed building with large marble columns at the arched entrance, fountains in the open courtyard.

  “What place is this, Shaina?” Stacy asked, impressed by the ten-meter-high statues that flanked the entrance.

  “A temple, my lady,” came the reply as they made their way up the polished steps. “A temple of Kuba.”

  Stacy furrowed her brows. “Isn’t that another shala?”

  The girl laughed. “You know it is, my lady. The city of the Rani. Satra pays her homage with this temple of priestesses. You asked to see the priestess. Today she will dance. Today the Firebird rises from the flames. It’s an ancient belief that Kuba celebrates.”

  Stacy shrugged. The more she found out, the better. They passed through a filmy lace curtain and entered a large hall with polished marble floors. Tapestries hung from the walls, deep blue velvet with leaping yellow fires. There were tall, carved columns of white marble at the podium, brightly burning glowing globes suspended from the high ceiling.

  Already a small crowd had gathered, well back from the raised platform. Behind the platform hung a large silver disk, mirrorlike, engraved with the image of a mythical bird with enormous wings spread toward a golden sun. The crowd, mostly well-dressed Satrian women wearing dazzling jewels and elegant saris, stood solemn and quiet, awaiting the entrance of the priestesses. Suddenly Stacy’s eyes widened. There was a tall yellow-haired girl among the crowd at the front. Her head was bowed, her eyes closed in silent prayer. Sigried!

  “What’s the Rani doing here?” whispered Stacy, a bit shaken.

  “Shhh! She has come for the rites. The priestess is of Kuba, her shala. She is obligated to be here.”

  The soft lulling sounds of bells came from behind the curtain. Shaina fell silent as a long row of robed young women stepped from behind the curtains and walked in carefully measured steps toward the center of the podium. Their eyes were darkly painted, lips soft and full. On their hands were finger bells, tiny chimes that rang in musical variance. Gracefully, with a slight swaying of the hips, they took their places in a semicircle before the platform.

  Seductively the priestesses raised their hands above their heads. Then, in one broad sweeping gesture, they bowed, then knelt with faces inches from the floor, arms outstretched.

  From somewhere came the slow, steady beat of a drum. It rose steadily higher in pitch, then it was joined by another. Stacy stood breathlessly as a slim form, silhouetted by the shadows, moved from behind the curtains. Around her neck was a gold band in the image of a snake, with tiny rubies for eyes. The priestess shook her head in rhythm with the bells and long black hair shimmered. She wore a silken dress, flowing, cut low at the neck so that her breasts could be seen moving with every breath. Broad-hipped, shoulders high, her arms outstretched, the priestess of Kuba began to sway her hips. A mellow-toned flute flooded its sounds through the hall; the light from the globes began to fade. The room became dark, but as it did so a flaming torch appeared. The silver disk on the platform glowed and burned. All around the room dulled colors glimmered, blended with shadows and twisted into curious shapes.

  The priestess leaned forward, shoulders swaying, eyes blazing. She spun and her dress flared. Soft flesh was exposed, wide thighs, long legs. Her arms reached out, fingers beckoning.

  The priestess of Kuba threw back her head. Her hair flowed wildly. She laughed seductively and swirled across the black floor, eyes flashing with mystery. She crouched and reached out as if to some unseen lover, ran her hands down her body and along the sides of her breasts. On her feet again she danced, swaying, sliding, faster and faster. The drums beat in frenzy. She unfastened a clasp from her shoulder and bared her shoulders. Oiled and smooth, the skin gleamed in reddish light. She cried wildly, thrashed herself down upon the floor and swung her hips higher and higher in time with the drums.

  From behind, the bowed priestesses rose and also began to sway, their large eyes flashing. The priestess of Kuba cried out to them in some strange dialect. Then like a whirlwind she threw up her head and arched backward. The other priestesses repeated the prayer, raising their arms above their heads. And together they spun to the music. The silver disk glowed more intensely, sending splashes of form and color dancing across the walls.

  The priestess turned in a slow circle, the drums began to soften, their pace ebbed. From somewhere above, a great light began to burn, first dimly, then more brightly, until it finally blazed like a white-hot sun. Stacy shaded her eyes from it, wincing.

  The priestess of Kuba lay sprawled across the floor, panting, totally still. The others lay prostrate at her feet. White light turned to red, softening until only the glow remained. The Firebird had risen from the flames. The dance was done.

  Stacy snapped out of it as if awakening from a dream. It did not take her long to realize that her trance was no different from that of the other observers.

  The priestess of Kuba, golden skin smothered in tiny beads of perspiration, stood, bowed fully to the Rani, hands across her breasts, then strode back behind the curtains.

  The Rani spoke quietly to her companions for a moment, then suddenly froze at the sight of Stacy. She approached with fire in her ice-blue eyes. “How dare you bring this one into the temple!” she flared at Shaina.

  Shaina bowed her head, her eyes fixed on the Rani’s. “Lady Anastasia has the freedom of the shala, Rani. The minister has given her the right.”

  “This is a Temple of Kuba! She has no right!”

  Stacy met Sigried’s glare evenly. “No blame rests with Shaina. I asked to be brought here today. If my presence offends you, I do not apologize.”

  Sigried fumed. “I told you once before, wolf bitch, if you speak to me, address me by my title! Slut! Who do you think you are?”

  Stacy felt the hand of Shaina tugging at her sleeve, pulling her away. She yanked free, resisting the urge to tighten her hands around Sigried’s throat.

  “My lady! Please!” cried Shaina. “She draws you purposely into an argument!”
>
  The Rani laughed caustically. “I need no pretense for this one! Be warned, Shaina! Keep your distance from her lest you be dragged down beside her!” And with a haughty swirl, hair tossing over her shoulders, she turned and strode through the now opened arched doors to the streets below.

  Shaina gazed at Stacy with fearful eyes. “Take care, Anastasia. The Rani is a powerful enemy. I should never have brought you here.”

  Stacy smiled warmly. “Her anger goes back further than today, Shaina,” she said, recalling the tip of the scimitar pointed at the yellow-haired girl’s throat. “But never mind her. She’s not going to spoil the day. What shall we do next?”

  As the Satrian began to answer, a sudden shrill blast of a horn rang through the shala. Shaina stood perfectly still, her hand unconsciously moving toward her hidden dagger. Twice more the blast came.

  “What was that?” Stacy asked.

  “The alarm, my lady,” whispered the girl.

  Stacy glanced toward the street. Everything seemed normal, Satrians busily moving along the square to the avenue. But from the corner of her eye she caught sight of mail-vested soldiers running down into what seemed a spiral stairwell leading underground. “What’s happening, Shaina? she demanded. “Don’t lie to me.”

  The girl bit at her lip. “There must have been a breach in the tunnels —” She cut the words short.

  Stacy stared. “What does that mean?”

  Shaina regained her composure and forced a weak smile. “Nothing we should concern ourselves with, Anastasia. There matters are swiftly dealt with. You need have no fear. But come! Let me take you to our gardens, I think you’ll enjoy them.” She literally pulled Stacy by the arm and brought her down into the square.

  There were no more blasts; the street remained quiet. But as they crossed toward the open boulevard, a Satrian soldier came racing toward them. Stacy recognized the man at once. It was Rald, the tall guard from outside Sumavand’s quarters.