‘Then,’ she said, drawing him to her, ‘the time for talking is over.’
Chapter 6
She stood, her aged body swaying before the hearth in his chambers; the sparks of a thousand colours dancing in the flames from the powder she had thrown among them. The heady aroma drifting into the room caused his head to swim, but she breathed it deep into her chest, head thrown back and arms hanging limply by her sides.
She snapped erect, face swinging towards him, eyes blank but still boring into his. Her voice, as hoarse and soft as ever, was made ethereal by a monotone, distant and detached, as though she spoke from another plane.
‘The elements start to align.’
‘What elements?’
‘Duty, he has ever possessed. The will to live, he has ever possessed. Love, now, will drive him with greater force in each. Old love and new love. And more.’
‘What more?’
‘The factors must meet. The forces must collide.’
‘And will they?’
‘They move to converge.’
‘How long? When?’
‘It will happen when it happens. Fate regards time like man does not. Destiny knows no when, but only what.’
‘But it will happen?’
‘It must. Or all is lost.’
He paused. The one question above all he must have answered. The one question above all he was terrified to ask.
‘He will prevail?’
‘He alone can answer that. And only in his deeds.’
She collapsed.
He shuffled to her. Placed a cushion under her head. Drew a blanket gently over her.
It was ever thus.
He sat.
He stared into the flames.
He thought.
****
A dozen days’ sailing, normally a pleasure to Brann, dragged to seem a dozen weeks. Coming after a ride of four days to the east coast through the domain of the neighbouring, and helpfully friendly, warlord, the time to their destination stretched interminably. The ship they had boarded – one of several retained by Einarr in his ally’s port for eastern travel – was different from the bigger vessels Brann was accustomed to when travelling on the open seas. This was shallower and open, the more traditional longship of the Northern peoples, and better suited to travel that could involve the varied environments of sea and river, of ports and shallow beaches. It was not so suitable for the transport of horses, but in a city their own legs were all they required; should they have to ride from the city, enough of their funds remained to facilitate it.
They had sailed south-east to where the sea cut into the land like a giant estuary, so wide that they were three days into it before land could be seen to either side, and even then, at the limit of their vision, it narrowed no more in the leagues they passed. At its head, the great saltwater River Den – more really a narrow (if a width of a half-day’s sail could be described as such) and gently winding section of the sea – led to the strip of land known as the Kiss of the Two Seas, where the similar, but shorter, River Der led from the opposite side of the Kiss to the Inner Sea, an offshoot to the north of the Sea of Life on whose encircling shores sat most of the lands of the ul-Taratac Empire. Upon the Kiss stood the city of Derden, the northernmost city of the Empire and their destination, and they could not arrive soon enough.
Brann stood, as he had done every hour of the past few days, at the prow. Half of his thoughts filled by a face in the candlelight of a small stone room, the other half willing into sight the city he knew lay ahead. Today he saw it, a smudge on the horizon ahead.
Grakk came to stand beside him as the favourable wind filled the square sail, the sleek hull slicing through the water and the ship feeling as though the city pulled them towards it ever faster. The sensation suited Brann’s mood.
The pair watched as the smudge became shapes, and the shapes resolved themselves into buildings.
And what buildings they were.
The first they could discern were the dockside structures, sturdy and functional in any other port but here they arched and angled with a beauty crafted with an artist’s eye, reaching into the water on curving piers of pale stone as if giant fingers offered a welcome grasp of safety to approaching vessels. As they neared further and saw deeper into the city, wonder after wonder competed for attention, slender spires soaring to needlepoints or magnificent towers standing in grandeur of ornate solidity, arches and buttresses curving in breathtaking arcs or curving amongst each other in intricate complexity. And domes: everywhere mighty domes vied each to outdo all others in awesome size, or vivid colour, or inventive architecture. It was a fraction of the size of mighty Sagia, the beating heart of the Empire, but Derden was its superior in grace and beauty.
‘The Mirror City,’ breathed Grakk.
Brann frowned, but was unable to tear his eyes away from the scene to let his companion see his puzzlement. ‘The what?’
He could hear the grin in Grakk’s voice. ‘It is two cities that are one.’
‘So is Sagia. The City Above and the City Below.’
‘This is different. This is the way they meant it to be.’
Brann groaned. ‘Enough fragments of truth! Just tell me, please.’
‘The impatience of youth,’ Grakk lamented. ‘Very well, it is thus: the Kiss can be ridden in one half of an hour and, on this side, sits the city you see, while on the opposite sits one identical, where our meeting, we are told, will be held. From the first building to the last, every time a structure is built in one, its likeness must be built in the other. One city, in two parts, each the mirror of the other.’
‘Why?’
The edge of his vision caught Grakk’s shrug. ‘Because it is the way this place has been built.’
‘But why start doing it?’
‘The story is that in the dawn of time, before man took his first breath, twin gods set up home here, each building on the opposite coast of the Kiss. It was only when their palaces had been completed that each saw the other’s and saw that the structures were as identical as the builders themselves. The palaces are long gone, if they were ever here at all, but the tradition has remained. After all this time, no one wants to be the one to break it, so everyone builds twice over.’
Brann shook his head in wonder. ‘The beauty! It is easy to imagine the hands of gods in this.’
Grakk laughed. ‘The beauty springs from the hands of men or, rather, their purses. The Der and the Den link the lands on the east side of the Sea of Life with the lands of the North, saving the journey west through the length of that sea and then north and around the Vine Duchies. Time and distance govern profit and loss, so a vast amount of trade passes through this city, with merchants keeping boats in both ports, and the Carter’s Guild here, who control the passage of goods and people from one coast to the other, being among the richest families in the Empire. Where the passage of trade is beholden to a single location, then that is where wealth abounds, and wealth seems to carry an obligation of ostentation. Thus, the beauty of the buildings before you.’
Brann whistled. ‘It is indeed remarkable, and all the more so for the fact that we only see but one half of it.’ His eyes roved across the scene once more. ‘And the domes?’
Grakk’s hand fell on his shoulder as the man faced him. ‘You can always tell the wealth of a city by the number of men who try to buy their way to heaven. This city has more temples than any other. Never mind the priests, there are clerics and acolytes here who live better than royal families in other parts of the Empire.’
Brann shook his head in disbelief. ‘And Sagia is happy with such wealth in another city?’
Grakk smiled. ‘The Empire is happy with the taxes from such wealth. Even just such as those the merchants declare.’
Sail down and oars dipping into flat water, they slid between the piers and towards a gap in a wall, its top twice the height of any ship’s mast, that curved away, left and right. The opening was wide enough to allow the passage
of four ships abreast so one longship glided through with ease, dwarfed not only by the walls but the space between them.
But scale was redefined by the sight that greeted them. The walls formed a great oval; the basin within the size of a small lake, with berths around its edge for more than a hundred ships.
‘The mooring place of the elite.’ Grakk’s tone was impressed. ‘Our Lord Einarr has influence indeed.’
Brann stood in silence, absorbing the scene surrounding him. Masts swayed around the edge of the vast walled basin, like a tranquil clearing in the centre of a private copse. Nowhere was there the raucous racket inherent to every dockside he had visited before; here, instead, busy purpose was lent an effortless air by calm efficiency.
‘This is a place of wonder,’ Brann breathed. ‘It is like a heaven.’
Grakk turned to him and Brann found gravity in the eyes that looked into his. ‘Did you learn nothing in Sagia, young Brann?’
Brann frowned. He stared back, beyond the rowing men, into the open water, as if his sight sought the past. ‘I learnt many things,’ he said softly. ‘Only some of them I care to remember.’
Grakk was patient. ‘What built this place?’
‘Trade.’
The head shook. ‘Trade brought that which it is built upon.’
Brann nodded slowly. ‘Wealth.’
Grakk smiled. ‘So think of those you saw with wealth.’
‘Power. Levels of power.’
‘Correct. And wealth and power bring comfort and pleasure in some—’
Brann’s words came slowly as his mind worked through Grakk’s prompting. ‘And in others, it breeds fear, suspicion, excess, arrogance.’ He thought back to the fighting pits of the City Below, and to those baying in the crowd. ‘And a desperation for something with more of an edge than pampered luxury.’
‘So while this may appear idyllic…?’
Brann nodded. ‘All is not what it seems.’
‘May not be what it seems. Some handle well a life of wealth, some not so well. But when something may not be all it seems, what is it that we do, young Brann?’
Brann’s gaze returned to the city. ‘We stay wary.’
Grakk frowned slightly. ‘We stay wary at all times. At times like this, we repel the deception that seeks to smother our wariness. Look not at the ornate veil, and not at the face behind, but into the eyes in that face. Therein lies the truth.’
Brann smiled softly. ‘Still, I am eager to see at close hand such marvels of architecture.’ As Grakk rolled his eyes in exasperation, Brann laughed. ‘Fear not, my walking font of wisdom. I may like to look at a sword of exquisite beauty, but I will always choose the one best able to keep me alive and others dead.’
Grakk looked ahead, and sighed. ‘There may be hope for you yet, youngster. And that hope is about to be tested.’
The hull bumped against a quay of perfectly dressed stone.
It was a quiet group who sat in two carriages on the journey from one city to the other, and an even quieter one that sat in a noisy tavern a short while after reaching the far city, which astonishingly did exactly mirror the first. Or did the first mirror this one? Or did they mirror each other? Brann was finding it hard to think. The faces around confirmed to him that the others had been as overwhelmed as he by the soaring structures of vivid colour or blinding white; the great squares of monuments and fountains; the wide streets of smooth blocks and teeming flowerbeds; the exotic spices and incense and perfumes that wafted from buildings and stalls and passers-by alike, and the people, the breathing embodiment of the affluence of the city, clothed in fashions and gems designed to display value, and carrying themselves with the assurance brought by opulence and authority as they leisurely moved or were carried or lounged in outdoor eateries where being seen seemed more important than consumption.
Mongoose set down her drink, the silver tankard more suited to a great lord’s hall than a run-of-the-mill inn. ‘It’s too much. I hope we achieve our aim and can move on soon, for I am not sure how long I can endure this.’
Brann understood; the relentless assault of wealth on every sense almost overpowered him. ‘An abundance of what is good makes it commonplace to those accustomed to it and overwhelming to those unfamiliar.’
Philippe smiled. ‘I must say, dear boy, I wouldn’t mind finding out whether I could become comfortable in such finery.’
Hakon dropped the clean bone of a fowl he had never before heard of onto his platter and wiped a sleeve across his face to remove the grease from his stubble. ‘I could tolerate such food, also.’
Sophaya cleared her throat. ‘It has other advantages also.’ She smiled innocently at the questioning looks. ‘All I will say is that our coffers have benefited remarkably from the walk from the quayside. In fact, a particularly smug gentleman would revise his attitude were he to realise he has more than paid for this meal that Hakon is enjoying so much.’
Brann waited for Hakon’s guffaw to subside before continuing. ‘Not one of you is under any obligation.’ He met all of their eyes earnestly. ‘I mean it. I am honoured that you choose to travel with me, but choice it is: you need never feel obligated to stay on this course should you wish otherwise.’
Hakon burped. ‘And miss your terrible jokes? I didn’t say the food was that good.’ He reached forward and tore a leg from one of the several roasted and glazed birds on the table before him. ‘In the meantime, however…’
Brann looked at Mongoose. ‘In any case, you should get your wish. We have one day’s grace before the Council meeting. Whether we meet with success or otherwise, the need to stay in this place will be no more.’
Cannick took a long drink. ‘So, do we know what we are doing yet?’
Brann shook his head. ‘All we know is that the venue is a temple, and where to find it. Grakk and I will scout it out in the morning. Then we can all discuss our course of action.’ Laughter burst from all. ‘What?’
Breta clapped him on the shoulder, almost knocking him face-first into his food. ‘Even those of us who have not travelled with you for so long are well aware that the “we can all discuss” bit will comprise you explaining our tasks and us all nodding sagely in agreement.’
Brann saw agreement in each face. ‘Oh, right. Er, thanks.’
The conversation turned, mainly prompted by Marlo and Hakon’s bright chatter, to lighter matters, but Brann’s mood refused to settle. He ate a little more, then forced cheer into his voice to excuse himself to bed before the long day ahead on the morrow. Their chambers lay two floors above in the five-storey building, and his eyes fixed themselves on the top of the next step on each of the first of the four flights of stairs he had to climb to get there, as his thoughts were pulled far ahead of what might occur over the following two days.
One floor up, he froze. A pair of boots filling his sight was all the knowledge he had of a man before him. He cursed, reaching for the knife on his forearm. Before he could even lift his head, a sword-tip flicked up to rest beneath his chin, the metal cold against his skin and the sharp point tickling at this throat. The blade pressed up, lifting his head.
Konall stood before him, eyebrows raised and head cocked to one side in silent question. His voice was cold. ‘You were just given an indication of a small part of the esteem your companions hold for you, and you count it so little that you would let your life be taken with such ease.’ In one smooth motion, his sword was sheathed. ‘We need you to think, but not to let your mind close your eyes. You have more to offer than your ideas.’ His arm extended and a hand rested on his shoulder. ‘Look, I was trained from birth to fight, but still I should not be able to last a heartbeat against you. Yet I could have opened your throat before you even knew I was there, despite standing in plain view in your path.’
Brann shook his head. ‘I am sorry, Konall. I just cannot help thinking of Loku.’
Konall was puzzled. ‘Why? He is not a problem. After we have found our way to the top of this conspiracy, we will need a wa
y to occupy our time. We will find him.’
‘It is not that.’ He took a breath, gathering the thoughts that had been swirling and building. ‘It is the thought that when we first exposed Loku, then discovered his influence with the Emperor, we were stunned at the extent of his power, at what we thought he planned. But all we have learnt since is that he was just a small part of it; like a junior officer in one of the Empire’s millens and not the general we thought. He is as far from the top of this conspiracy, as you put it, as a fish is from the top of a mountain. Every further rung on the ladder that we discover proves this more.’ He gripped Konall’s arm and his eyes locked on those of the taller boy. ‘So all I can think is: just exactly how big is all of this?’
Konall stared at him, absorbing the words, then shrugged. ‘All the more reason to keep finding the rungs on the ladder, until we move from the fish to the top of the mountain.’ He frowned. ‘Although I understand your reasoning, the fact that you cannot climb a mountain using a ladder, and that a fish would die long before it had cleared the foothills, shows that you are overthinking all of this. Too many thoughts become like a crowd in panic, running in all directions and into each other. See not the vastness of what we face, but only the next few steps. Before you know it, your fish will be at the top of the mountain.’
Brann remembered an old general in the streets of Sagia. ‘I met a man once that you would like.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes it is hard, though, to stop thinking about the vastness of what we face.’
Konall nodded with serious consideration. ‘Then we turn to my other solution.’ He produced a flagon from inside his tunic. ‘The wine they serve in these southern lands is a feeble apology for a drink. Fortunately, in a city where the trade routes of a hundred countries meet, it is possible to acquire a particularly decent mead. At times like this, you need to clear the shit from your head. And the best way to do that is to retire to your room and have a friendly drink.’
Brann smiled and hurried to catch up as Konall turned without waiting for him and started up the next flight of stairs. ‘Friendly?’
Hero Risen (Seeds of Destiny, Book 3) Page 24
