There was no sign of anyone in the square until a Tarmak guard called a question. It was answered by another voice somewhere close by. A Tarmak warrior stepped out of the shadows of the wall and gestured to another who stepped out of his place and opened a large door in the wall. Linsha realized with a start there were probably dozens of warriors stationed silently in the corners, doorways, and arches that led out of the square. The hushed group of wet women began to move reluctantly toward the door, driven on by their guards. Linsha and Callista moved after them.
The guard who had spoken to her earlier extended his spear and blocked her way. “Drathkin’kela. You do not go there. You-” he pointed to Callista and herself-“You go to Akeelawasee.”
“Yes,” Linsha said crossly. “You said that earlier. Isn’t that where they’re going?”
He laughed a deep rumble of enjoyment. “Those? They are slaves. Tribute from the Akkad-Dar to the Emperor. Our glorious emperor will take them himself. If any survive, he may keep them or give them to his guards.”
Linsha’s brows lowered. “What do you mean ‘if any survive?’ ”
The Tarmak made a sharp sound of derision. “Human womans are too small. Fragile. The Emperor is a powerful warrior. He is not… gentle.”
Linsha looked disgusted. “He is not a lightweight either.”
“Poor things,” Callista said softly, her large eyes filled with sympathy for the women disappearing through the door. Her hand tightened even more on Linsha’s arm.
“This way.” The guard pointed his spear toward the hall on the far side of the square. Taking the lead, he walked across the smooth cobbles, fully expecting the two women to follow.
Linsha took one last look at the women from the Missing City then followed him, her arm steady under Callista’s apprehensive grip.
Halfway across the square they came to a series of narrow bridges that spanned a stone-laid waterway where a river had been diverted to flow through the square in a gentle arc. The effect was serene and added a balancing element to the large open stone space. It also provided an excellent way to slow down an enemy trying to attack across the square. Linsha wondered what other tricks the Tarmaks had disguised in this place.
As they walked across the remaining distance to the stairs at the great hall, Linsha took a closer look at the statue posed at the foot of the stairs, then she took a second look. Although the artist’s execution and interpretation of his subject had been fanciful and a little too exotic, the basic shape was all too familiar. The statue was of a dragon that stood crouched protectively, one taloned foot upraised and its toothy mouth open in a snarl. Its wings were half furled; its cold eyes stared malevolently at passersby.
Linsha stopped at its feet and looked at the head ten feet above her. “I didn’t know this land had dragons.”
To her surprise, the guard bowed low before the statue. “No dragons here. They are sacred to Amarrel. This was Methanfire, dragon of the Akkad-Dar’s father.”
The Dark Knight’s dragon. A blue, if the painted scales were accurate. Linsha’s thoughts roved back over everything she could remember about the Tarmaks and dragons. Except for the previous warlord, the Akkad-Ur, she had never seen one on dragonback. The general had also worn a necklace of dragon’s teeth and a mailed shirt of dragon scales. Where had those come from, and why had he worn them? Were they trophies from a kill or a way to honor dragons? On the Plains, the Tarmaks had aided Thunder in killing Iyesta, then they abetted in the death of the blue. They tried to coerce Crucible into joining them, then nearly killed him. What did the Tarmaks think about dragons? She really didn’t know. She would have thought they hated the great beasts, but here was one practically venerated in the front porch of the emperor’s palace. The guard had said they were sacred to Amarrel. Amarrel, she remembered, was the demigod Lord Ariakan had supposedly impersonated in order to convince the Tarmaks to join him. Maybe it was his influence that sparked this respect for something the Tarmaks seemed to both love and hate.
Shaking her head, she moved past the dragon statue and followed the guard and Callista up the stairs to a set of large double doors bound in brass and set in a frame of some kind of polished red wood. The guard pushed open a door and led them inside out of the rain. Linsha and Callista paused on the threshold for a moment, their mouths open in astonishment at the size and ornamentation of the vestibule. Mosaics in bright geometric patterns spread over the floors, and murals of Tarmak battles covered the walls. A row of gilded columns gleamed in the dim light. The guard turned left and hurried the two women on. Their eyes wide, they moved through broad corridors past more chambers and council rooms, and all the rooms that they could see were adorned with polished woods, magnificent wall hangings, and painted frescos of fantastic animals and bloody battle scenes. This was certainly more than either had expected.
The Tarmak had always struck Linsha as a race bent solely on destruction. It had not occurred to her that their civilization was quite ancient and somewhere in the midst of their warfare they had found time to build magnificent palaces and learn the deeper aesthetics of art and expert craftsmanship.
After some minutes of walking, they approached a set of large double doors flanked by two enormous guards fully armed with swords, knives, and small round shields. The doors were set in a round opening and carved into a screen of ornately twisting vines and flowers. A word spoken by their escort elicited a slight bow by both Tarmaks, and the door was opened wide.
A smaller male Tarmak in a simple white tunic and leather kilt hurried forward to meet them as if he had been waiting by the door for just such an opportunity. The warrior explained his mission. Linsha listened to his voice and caught the Akkad-Dar’s name. She also heard the odd title the guard had used earlier. The Drathkin’kela. What was that supposed to mean? Betrothed? Intended? Idiot? Whatever it was, it was enough to prompt the elderly Tarmak to jerk his head. For a second his eyes sought her face and an expression of astonishment flickered across his features. Immediately the look was hidden, and he clasped his hands and bowed low, revealing a bald head.
The guard bowed to Linsha. “The Akeelawasee,” he said and propelled the two women through the door.
Linsha turned around to ask him a question, but before the words were out of her mouth the doors slammed in her face.
3
Place of the Chosen
“Greetings, Lady,” said the servant by her elbow. He was an elderly fellow only an inch or two above her height. His wrinkled skin seemed more reddish than most Tarmaks and his ears were not as pointed. A simple sleeveless tunic of bleached linen hung on his thin frame, and a knotted blue rope was tied around his waist.
He bowed again and indicated the way down a long hall. “If the Drathkin’kela will follow me,” he said. Any hint of surprise was gone, and his expression assumed a bland servile mask under an awning of thick eyebrows. His voice, when he spoke, was soft and modulated as if trained to avoid giving offense.
Linsha took it any way. She was still feeling disgruntled. She crossed her arms and refused to move. “You speak Common well. Do you know more than just a greeting?”
“Assuredly, Lady. I speak several languages well, including Tarmakian, Damjatt, Nerakan, and your Common.”
She studied the man’s wrinkled face. He had light gray eyes, which he kept respectfully lowered. “Then tell me what this ‘drathkin-kela’ means. I am a Knight of the Rose, a trained warrior, not some silly female you can throw names at like a dog.”
He clasped his hands, a movement Linsha began to realize was a sign of respect. “Lady, the words are a title the warriors of the Akkad-Dar have given you. It means roughly ‘dragon friend’ or ‘chosen of the dragon.’ “
“Oh.” Linsha’s arms dropped and her hand moved to the dragon scales that hung on the chain around her neck. Her fingers clasped the scales under the wet wool of her tunic. “Is that a good thing?”
He gave her faint smile. “To them it is. Even though you are a human, you hav
e been granted a place in the Akeelawasee where you will be treated with honor and respect.”
“Even though I am a human,” she repeated dryly. He made no mention of her status as Lanther’s betrothed. She wondered if Lanther had told anyone yet. “You must have learned Nerakan and Common from the Dark Knights.”
The man nodded. “Sir Bendic tutored me. A very skilled linguist. He learned Tarmakian in a few months.”
“Tarmakian I recognize. What is Damjatt? I thought that was the breed of horse the Tarmaks use.”
A wry glint lit his pale gray eyes. His thin mouth lost its smile. “The horses were once ours. Our pride and joy.” He paused then went on. “My people are the Damjatt, the people of the high grasslands. We were the last free tribe to fall before the Tarmak military might. Now we are merely beasts of burden, like our horses.”
“If you were the last,” Callista put in, “who was the first?”
“The Keena. They relied too heavily on their jungle to protect them.”
Linsha tilted her head in thought. The name sounded familiar to her. She had heard that before. Then she had it. Lanther had called in a Keena to seal their betrothal before they sailed, and a pair of Keena had guarded the dragon eggs when Lanther showed them to her. “Are they priests?” she asked.
“Those that survive. They are a deeply religious people, and those that still remain have found a place among the Tarmak as priests, seers, scholars, and… other things.”
Linsha snorted an unladylike sound. The Tarmaks obviously hadn’t treated their neighbors any better than they treated the people of the Plains. Feeling disgruntled, she strode forward without waiting for the servant or Callista. “What is this place?” she demanded as they hurried to catch up.
“It is the Akeelawasee,” the Damjatt replied.
“Which means what?”
“The Place of the Chosen Ones, Lady.”
Linsha glanced around. They were walking down a long corridor already dark with evening shadows. A few oil lamps spilled pools of light on the stone floors and illuminated delicate murals and decorations painted on the walls. It was so quiet she could hear the rain pounding on the roof. “Chosen for what?” she finally asked.
“For the emperor and the royal family. These females-or women as you call them-are the wives, daughters, concubines, and family of the emperor.” He stopped before a large door, threw it open, and waved the two women in. They stepped onto a gallery that overlooked a large room. Bright light filled their eyes, and a swarm of sounds buzzed around them.
Linsha blinked in surprise and looked down. She’d had no real previous conceptions about the Tarmak women. In the war for the Plains she had only dealt with the warriors and their ferocious, bloodthirsty lust for war. She’d never given the females much thought. A “Place of the Chosen Ones” brought to mind images of pampered women lolling about indolently on soft pillows waiting for their master’s pleasure. She hardly expected something that reminded her of a Solamnic training facility. The white-painted room was brightly lit with lamps that hung from the high timbered ceiling and cast a yellowish glow over the space below. Spread across the room were several dozen tall, muscular women engaged in various forms of exercise and physical training. All had tanned skin, dark hair, pointed ears, and all looked as fit as warriors.
Linsha stared.
The servant saw her face and tried to explain. “Lady, among the Tarmaks, all are instilled with an ideal of military virtue and discipline. The males are taught to fight and the females are expected to bear children to continue the glory of the Tarmak Empire. In order to bear healthy children, the women must also be healthy, so they are given vigorous exercise, a simple diet, taught faultless discipline, and-”
Linsha cut him off. “Oh, really? Faultless discipline? What about that one?” She pointed to a far corner of the room where an altercation seemed to be in progress. The young woman she had seen on the docks with Lanther had come in through another door and interrupted an older Tarmak woman working with stone weights. Her loud, insistent voice drew everyone’s attention.
“Well,” the servant said quietly, “possibly except for that one.”
“What is your name?” Linsha demanded. She didn’t mean to be so brusque, but nervousness and her bad mood were making her short tempered.
He hesitated, watching the conflict below with some nervousness, then said, “In this place I am called Afec. I am the apothecary and one of the elder slaves of the Akeelawasee. I have been told to bring you to the Empress.”
Linsha glared at the two Tarmaks arguing in the corner. “There is one?”
“Assuredly. Tzithcana is the Emperor’s first wife. She is the… matriarch. Is that the word?”
“Yes, if I understand what you mean.”
Afec hunched his shoulders and looked worriedly at her.
“Lady, if I may say. It would be best if you would obey the Empress’s commands. You are under the Akkad-Dar’s protection, but in here the Empress is the supreme ruler. If she does not accept you, you will not live long enough to lodge a complaint.”
A sudden shout from below brought the room to a standstill. Every person watched as the young Tarmak woman stalked across the room to the foot of the gallery stairs and pointed up at Linsha. She burst into another furious stream of Tarmakian. She must have said something shocking because the women around her gasped and stared up at Linsha.
Linsha felt her temper straining at the bit. She’d had about enough of this female and her vitriolic verbal attacks, and she still didn’t know what galled this woman so. She started to move forward when a hand brushed her arm.
“Drathkin’kela-” Afec said in a low-pitched warning.
“My name is Linsha Majere,” she snapped.
“Lady Linsha, the Empress demands respect, obedience, and self-control. Do not react to Malawaitha. The Empress will deal with her.”
Linsha’s green eyes flashed with anger, but the sense of his words reached her. If she had to live in this place for now, it would be better to abide by their rules and strive for a good impression. Perhaps the Emperor did not mind if she tossed a warrior in the harbor, but the Empress might not appreciate a brawl before she’d even met Linsha.
Linsha squared her shoulders under her wet clothes, lifted her chin, and indicated for Afec to take the lead. With Callista behind her, she marched down the steps and walked onto the padded floor of the exercise hall.
The tall Tarmak woman charged up to her, her mouth already forming the words of a loud accusation. Her face flushed with anger, agitation, and hurt.
Linsha stopped and waited. She made no reply or effort to back away; her expression remained unmoved. Unflinching, she glared at the Tarmak’s face as the woman vented her anger in no uncertain terms. Linsha just wished she could make some form of reply.
“Malawaitha!” The name snapped like a whip across the woman’s loud tirade.
Linsha was impressed to see the fiery, volatile woman abruptly snap her mouth closed and stand straight, almost in perfect Solamnic attention. Silence filled the room to the rafters where the sound of rain drummed on the roof.
From the far side of the room, the large woman strode across the floor. Watching her approach, Linsha knew without a doubt this was the Empress of the Tarmak Empire. No other female in this room compared in height, breadth, or air of arrogant self-assurance as this first wife of Khanwhelak. She moved toward the small group like a warship at ramming speed with full sails and oars. Her broad face was suffused with irritation and anger; her gray eyes darkened like an approaching storm.
Linsha did not even wait for Afec’s cue. Clasping her hands, she bowed low to the Empress. Callista and Afec quickly followed suit and remained that way as the Empress swept up.
Only Malawaitha waited a moment too long to bow. A powerful backhanded blow knocked her to her back. She lay on the floor without a word or a tear, staring up at the matriarch like a child who finally realized it was time to be silent.
Th
e Tarmak Empress snapped a question. Afec bowed even lower and his calm, soothing voice gave an answer.
Linsha, her nerves tight as a bowstring, could only wait. She had experienced this same feeling of wary, tense obedience the first time she met Commander Ian Durne, the captain of Lord Bight’s personal guard. He had exuded the same unquestionable authority and iron control as this formidable woman.
The Empress drew a deep breath into her ample chest. There was none of the soft-cheeked, white-haired, gentle-voiced grandmother about her. She was taller than Linsha by a head, probably twenty years older, and as weathered as oak. Her dark hair had become mostly gray and was pulled back in a tight bun for exercising, accentuating the austere lines of her face and the force of her gaze. Born into a militaristic society and raised in the Akeelawasee she was a handsome female, muscular, and seemed well satisfied with her position as first wife. She said something to Afec that included the title “Drathkin’kela.”
Afec said to Linsha, “The Empress demands to know what you have around your neck. Jewelry is not normally permitted here.”
Linsha’s hand flew to her throat and touched the gold chain that gleamed at the neckline of her tunic. Reluctantly she pulled out the two dragon scales. One brass scale from Iyesta and one bronze scale from Crucible hung from the chain that had been a gift from Lord Bight. She didn’t know why Lanther allowed her to keep them since he despised Crucible and was partly responsible for Iyesta’s death, yet he had never tried to take the chain from her or even suggest that she put it away. She hoped the Empress would be equally as understanding. She stood warily as the matriarch reached for the scales and fingered them thoughtfully.
Return of the Exile l-3 Page 3
