To that no one had any argument, and they rode out, Suli barely able to hang on for his life. A little way down the road, Borric dismounted and fixed Suli’s stirrup leathers for him. Suli’s horse, sensing an inexperienced rider, was full of nasty tricks, so Borric could only hope the boy would survive any falls that were certain to come as they hurried away.
As they left the now-awake town of Jeeloge, Borric said to Nakor, “What was that?”
“Oh, a little magic trick I learned along the way,” said the grinning man.
Ghuda made a sign of protection, and said, “Are you a magician?”
Nakor laughed. “Of course. Don’t you know that all Isalani are capable of magic feat?”
Borric said, “Is that how you were able to get to the window? You floated up using magic?”
Nakor’s laughter increased. “No, Madman. I stood on the back of the horse.”
Feeling relief and exhilaration at this escape, Borric put heels to his horse, and the animal broke into a canter. A moment later, the others could be heard behind him, until a yell and unpleasant thud told them Suli had been tossed.
Turning around to see if the boy was seriously hurt, Borric said, “This may be the slowest escape in history.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JUBILEE
ERLAND STOOD SILENTLY.
No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t accept the scope of what he saw: the site of the first day’s ceremonies for the Empress’s Seventy-fifth Jubilee. For centuries Kesh’s finest engineers had refurbished, expanded, added to it, until it stood out as the single most impressive feat of construction Erland had witnessed. It was a gigantic amphitheater carved into the side of the plateau upon which the upper city—the Imperial palace—rested. It was built by the skill of artisans, the sweat of builders, and the blood of slaves, vast enough to comfortably seat fifty thousand people—more than the populations of Rillanon and Krondor combined.
Erland motioned his companions to walk with him, for it was still almost an hour before his own part in the formal drama of court was to commence. Kafi Abu Harez, his ever-present guide, was at his elbow to answer questions.
Finally Erland said, “Kafi, how long did it take to build this?”
“Centuries, Highness,” answered the desert man. He pointed to a place in the distance, near the base of the gigantic wedge that had been cut from the plateau. “There, near the edge of the lower city, in ages past, an Emperor of Kesh, Sujinrani Kanafi—called the Benevolent—decided that the prohibition against those who were not of true blood remaining upon the plateau at night prevented his citizens from observing some necessary Imperial functions, most notably those ceremonies to affirm Sujinrani’s benevolence, as well as public executions of traitors. He felt the object lesson was lost on many who would benefit from observing it firsthand.
“So he decreed that all that was of this plateau, including the lowest part of it, was, in effect, part of the upper city. He then had a small amphitheater created down there, about a dozen feet higher than it is today.” With a small sweep of his hand, Kafi illustrated his next remark. “A wedge of rock was then carved out, so that a court could be held in view of those not permitted to ascend to the upper city.”
“And it’s been enlarged several times since,” said Locklear.
“Yes,” said Kafi. “The entrance alone has been enlarged on five occasions. The Imperial box has been repositioned three times.” He pointed to the large area overhung by a giant canopy of fine silk, at the middle point of the large stone crescent upon which Erland and his party walked. Kafi halted the Prince with a gentle touch to the arm and pointed to the Empress’s private viewing area. “There She Who Is Kesh, blessings be ever upon her, will oversee the festival. Her throne of gold sits upon a small dais, around which her family and servants, and those of royal blood will rest in comfort. Only those of the highest nobility within the Empire are permitted in that area. To enter without Imperial writ is to die, for Her Majesty’s Izmali guards will stand at every entrance.”
Pointing out a row of boxes, each slightly lower than the one preceding as they moved away from the Imperial box, he said, “Those closest to Her Majesty are the highest born in the Empire, and make up the Gallery of Lords and Masters.” He indicated the entire level they walked upon.
Erland said, “Five, six thousand people could stand upon this level alone, Kafi.”
The desert man nodded. “Perhaps more. This level reaches down and embraces the floor below, like arms surrounding a body. At the distant end we will be a full hundred feet below the Empress’s throne. Come, let me show you more.”
The desert man, wearing robes of the darkest blue and starkest white for the formal ceremonies, led them to a railing looking down upon another level. As they walked, nobles who would precede Erland’s party in being presented to the Empress hurried past, a few taking a moment to offer the Prince of the Kingdom of the Isles a slight bow. Erland noted the half dozen tunnels that opened onto the broad walkway behind the boxes. “All of these can’t originate in the palace alone, can they?”
Kafi nodded. “Ah, but they do.”
Erland said, “I would think the safety of the Empress would supersede the convenience of those nobles needing to come down here once or twice a year. Those tunnels are an invitation to any invader seeking to enter the palace.”
Kafi shrugged. “It is academic, my young friend. For you must understand, that for an invader to threaten the tunnels, they must hold to the lower city, and should any invader hold the lower city, the Empire is already lost. For if they hold the lower city, the might of Kesh is already dust. This is the heart of the Empire, and a hundred thousand Keshian soldiers would lie dead before an invader came within sight of the city. Do you see?”
Erland considered this, then nodded. “I guess you’re right. Being a nation born upon an island, in a sea sailed by a dozen other nations … we look at things differently.”
“I understand,” said Kafi. He pointed to the area between the down-sweeping boxes and the floor of the amphitheater. The stone had been cut in descending, con-centric crescents, so that a grandstand had been chiseled from the rock of the plateau. A dozen stairways from the floor upward to the level just below the boxes were already filled to capacity with colorfully dressed citizens. “There is where the lesser nobles, masters of guilds, and influential merchants of the city will sit, upon cushions or the bare stone, all around. The center is kept clear for those being presented to the Empress.”
Kafi said, “You and your party will enter there, Highness, after the nobles of Kesh and before the commoners, as Ambassadors of all nations will. The Empress has favored you by placing your delegation before all others, an admission that the Kingdom of the Isles stands second only to the Empire of Great Kesh in majesty upon Midkemia.”
Erland cast James a wry look at the offhanded compliment, but only said, “We thank Her Majesty for the courtesy.”
If Kafi shared the sarcasm, he kept that fact well hidden. Moving on as if nothing impolitic had been said, he continued, “The common people of Kesh are permitted to view the festivities from across the entrance, atop roofs, and many other vantage points.”
Erland looked out over the lower city, where thousands of commoners were held back by a line of soldiers. Beyond the street that crossed before the amphitheater people crowded upon the rooftops of buildings and into every window providing a vantage point. Erland found the sheer number of people in one place breathtaking.
Gamina, who had been silently walking beside her husband, said, “I doubt they can see much.”
Kafi shook his head. “Perhaps, but then, before the rule of Sujinrani Kanafi, they saw nothing of court ceremony.”
“My lord Abu Harez,” said Locklear, “before we continue, could you and I discuss the speech my Prince has prepared for this day, so that we might not inadvertently give offense?”
Kafi saw the transparent request for his absence, but given there was no reason n
ot to agree, he let Locklear lead him away, leaving James, Gamina, and Erland relatively alone. Several Keshian servants hovered nearby, taking care of the many details of preparation. A few of them were agents of the Imperial Court, no doubt, thought Erland as he regarded James. “What?”
James turned and leaned upon the marble railing of the gallery, as if looking out over the vast amphitheater. “Gamina?” he said softly.
Gamina closed her eyes, then her voice came into Erland’s head. We are being watched.
Erland had to force himself not to look around. We expected that, he replied.
No, by magic arts.
Erland forced himself not to swear. Can they hear us speaking this way?
I don’t know, she replied. My father could, but there are few with his power. I don’t think so.
James’s voice said, “Spectacular, isn’t it?” while his mental message was, I’m going to assume they can’t or you’d sense it. And I don’t think we’re going to be under any less scrutiny anytime soon, so we might as well hope that we’re right.
Yes, agreed Gamina. I wasn’t aware of the magic until I went looking for it. It’s very subtle. And good. I think whoever is using it can hear what we say, perhaps even see how we act. But if they could hear our thoughts, I think I would know.
Gamina closed her eyes a moment, as if dizzy from the heat. James steadied her for a moment. I don’t think it’s a mind, or I would have sensed purpose behind it.
What do you mean? asked Erland.
I think we are under the focus of a device. Perhaps a crystal or mirror. My father has used several in his studies over the years. If that is so, then we can be seen for certain, and either our lip movement is being read by one so trained or we are being heard aloud. Our thoughts are safe, I’m certain.
Good, said James. I’ve finally gotten word from our agents down here. It was a demon’s own time getting word to me.
“I wonder how long we’ll be expected to stand during this ceremony?” said Gamina absently.
“Hours, no doubt,” commented James. To Erland he said, We’ve walked into a stew and it’s rapidly coming to a boil. There’s a plot to overthrow the Empress’s rule; that’s our agent’s best guess.
Feigning a yawn of boredom, the Prince said, “I hope I can be alert throughout.” Mentally, he said, What does that have to do with plunging Kesh and the Kingdom into war?
If we knew that, we’d have a better idea who’s trying to start this revolt. I have a bad feeling about this, Erland.
Why?
Besides the obvious dangers, there are going to be a lot of soldiers in this city this afternoon. Each subject ruler will be bringing companies of honor guards. There will be thousands of soldiers not under the Empress’s direct command within the walls of Kesh for the next two months.
Charming, was Erland’s response. “Well, perhaps we should rest before this ordeal begins.”
James said, “Yes, that would be best, I think.”
Gamina spoke in both men’s minds. What should we do, James?
Wait. That’s all we can do, was his reply. And remain alert.
Kafi returns, observed Gamina.
The desert man, followed by Baron Locklear, approached and said, “Highness, your remarks will be doubly appreciated for their sincerity and brevity. After the ceremonies of this day, I fear you shall see that economy of speech is not an Imperial trait.”
Erland was about to answer, when Kafi said, “Look! It begins.”
A tall man, old but still muscular, entered the Imperial box and came to the very edge. He was dressed as all trueblood, in kilt and sandals, but he also wore a solid gold torque, which Erland estimated had to weigh as much as a suit of leather armor. He carried what looked to be a wooden staff covered in gold leaf, with an odd-looking golden design at the top. A falcon perched upon a golden disc.
Kafi whispered, though it seemed impossible to Erland anyone would overhear them, “The Falcon of Kesh, the royal insignia. It is only seen publicly at the highest festivals. The falcon gripping the sun’s orb is holy to the trueblood.”
The old man lifted the staff and brought it down upon the stones, and Erland was astonished at how loud the sound was. Then he spoke. “O Kesh, Greatest of Nations, harken to me!”
The acoustics were perfect in the amphitheater. Even those across the boulevard, sitting atop the buildings, could hear the man perfectly as the sounds of the crowd died away to a hush.
“She is come! She is come! She Who Is Kesh has come, and she graces your lives by her presence!” At this a procession of hundreds of the trueblood began slowly entering the Imperial box. “She walks and the stars yield to her splendor, for she is the heart of glory! She speaks and the birds cease their singing, for her words are knowledge! She considers and scholars weep, for her wisdom is certain. She judges and the guilty despair, for her gazes see into the hearts of men!” The enumerations of the Empress’s wondrous virtues continued in similar vein as more and more truebloods, of all ages and ranks, entered the Imperial box.
The men and women of the royal blood continued to enter the box and take their places as the Master of Ceremonies continued to intone the Empress’s virtues. Impressive, Erland thought, trying to establish contact with Gamina.
James’s wife lightly touched him on the arm, as she answered. Yes. James thinks so, as well.
“Kafi,” said Erland.
“Your Highness?”
“Would it be permitted for us to remain here a while?”
“As long as you make a timely entrance, there is no reason why not, Highness.”
“Good,” said Erland, smiling for the desert man’s benefit. “Would you answer a few more questions?”
“If I am able,” he answered.
And if you could chime in with what you know, James, he added.
Gamina relayed the message, for James nodded.
“How is it there are so many in the Imperial box, yet I have not seen any of the great lords and masters yet?”
Kafi said, “Only those related to the Empress by blood may join her in the Imperial box, servants and guards notwithstanding, of course.”
“Of course,” replied Erland.
Which means that there are at least a hundred or more people with a recognized, legitimate claim to the throne, added James.
Providing enough people die in the proper order, Erland added dryly.
There is that, chimed in Locklear.
Erland thought he had met a great many of those who were important to the Empire, but just the Imperial party alone numbered dozens of strangers. And the only one he had spoken to on more than one occasion was Lord Nirome, the stout and inadvertently comic noble who had greeted them at the boundary of the upper city as aide-de-camp to Prince Awari. Erland had been surprised when he discovered Nirome was related to the royal family. Then, upon reflection, it seemed a reasonable explanation for why a man so obviously maladroit would have a high post in the government.
The oddest thing about the man, however, was his being frequently in the company of many of the Empire’s most important men. “Kafi?”
“Yes, Highness?”
“What exactly is Lord Nirome’s function in the court? I notice he’s fairly close to the Empress’s family.”
Kafi said, “He has no formal position within the government, rather he’s something of an informal advisor to … well, nearly everyone. He has tutored both the Prince and Princess in the past, and he often is in council with the Empress, as well as with various functionaries. He’s … ubiquitous, I guess one could say. I know that he has kept the peace within the palace by acting as a conciliator on many occasions. He has a knack for building consensus, despite his comic manner. He is the only man I know who is on intimate speaking terms with Lord Ravi, General Beruck, and Lord Jaka; he seems to be a part of no particular faction. As for his place in the family, he stands second only to the immediate family, being the eldest child of the Empress’s dead younger brother, Lord Sh
akon, blessings upon his memory.”
James glanced at Erland and Locklear, and said, “After Awari, Sharana, and Sojiana, that would make him fourth in line for the throne?”
Kafi nodded, saying, “He would be, if it came to that. But I fear many more ambitious men than Nirome would push forth their claims to the throne if the two royal Princesses and the royal Prince were to fall.”
Erland said, “Like General Beruck?”
Kafi said, “Among many others. But his claim would be … clouded.”
James nodded. “The question of parentage?”
“Yes. But even if that were not the case, there are at least a dozen other cousins with claims as good or better.”
Dryly, Locklear said, “But none of them command the Inner Legions.”
Kafi said, “That is certainly true.”
Erland said, “Then for the sake of the Empire’s peace, we should pray for the health of Prince Awari and his mother and sister.”
With no hint of humor, Kafi said, “So I pray every night, my Prince.”
When the relatives had entered, the first discordant note intruded: suddenly black-clad warriors appeared. Each wore turbans of black, with a face covering that left only the eyes exposed. Long, flowing robes were designed for easy, quick movement, and each had a black scabbard scimitar at his belt. Erland had heard tell of these: Izmalis, the nearly legendary Shadow Warriors of Kesh. Tales had grown in the telling until they were regarded as almost supernatural. Only those most highly placed in the Empire could afford such as bodyguards. They were counted superior warriors, as well as spies of superior ability—and assassins if need be, it was whispered.
James attempted to sound casual as he said, “My lord Kafi, wouldn’t it be usual for the Empress to be surrounded by her own Imperial Guards?”
The desert man’s eyes narrowed slightly, but without any change in inflection he said, “It is considered more prudent to use Izmalis. They are without peer.”
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