Drakenfeld

by Mark Charan Newton

  From a steep hillside, Venyn City plunged down to an estuary, which was currently cluttered with large shipping vessels. The water was murky at best, containing the scrubbed-off dirt from a thousand dubious souls. It was only further out to sea that the water became a true and brilliant blue.

  Thanks to the wind, the hills facing the sea were relieved of the stifling, oppressive heat, which caused such discomfort to the city dwellers. Conspiring winds and the searing sun made the streets full of hot, damp dust that accumulated on the cracked lips of the beggars taking refuge in the shadows of decrepit buildings. Hundreds of starving dogs slunk in the alleyways or lay like the dead in whatever small shade they could find. Even the fat palm trees growing in the tropical gardens seemed to wilt in the humidity.

  Over the centuries, Venyn had seemed to suffer the indifference of its gods, with invading nations plundering its spoils then abandoning its people. It had once been the centre of the grain route, but when cheaper prospects were found elsewhere the money dried up and Venyn then found itself as far from prosperity as was possible for a city. The refuge of the desperate, the debauched and the degraded, it was not a pleasant place to live any more, but somehow people scraped an existence. Legal or otherwise. It was no surprise the Sun Chamber had sent me here, a criminal base, a country of unrest. Agents and officers only tended to come together in larger numbers when a major crisis presented itself.

  Crime on this scale wasn’t considered a crisis when it was part of everyday life.

  Despite the heat, the dirt and the stench of rotting refuse – I couldn’t hate the place. I had been working here for six years. How many times had I narrowly avoided being killed on the streets in this city: escaping a mugging, loosening the grip of a desperate homeless person, or politely, then more firmly, resisting the calls of the men and women leaning out of the windows of a dockyard bordello?

  The Sun Chamber had spies, but they were always on the move, always walking in circles higher than my own; and they tended to contact us only when they needed to. I could rely only upon my own skills – and later, Leana’s – and that was the point. After all, it was the reason I came here in the first place, to build something of a reputation for myself.

  While I wouldn’t miss trying to bring order to one of the most corrupt cities of the Vispasian Royal Union, I appreciated that this often forgotten corner of Vispasia had, at least, sharpened my senses and honed my skills as an officer of the Sun Chamber. Though we had not exactly cleansed the streets of all nefarious activities, I liked to think, looking back, that where there had been disorder there was now some structure.

  These dirty, ancient streets were now a more civilized place. While not being one to dwell on my successes too much, modesty being one of the precepts of Polla, having weighed up my performances I felt I could at least leave proud.

  There was almost always a Sun Chamber officer stationed in every large town and city throughout the Vispasian Royal Union. Presumably my replacement would find the city still a challenge. He or she would have to build up their own local network of confidants and learn the hard way that Venyn City was tough work.

  The Sun Chamber, a vast and bureaucratic organization, enforces the Treaty of Royal Blood, a two-centuries-old law that bound together the eight nations of Vispasia in union. The treaty came off the back of the bloody wars that resulted from the collapse of the old Detratan Empire, in which the continent sustained huge losses of life. One by one the nations decided it would be best for all if they maintained peace. Even to this day, royals head twice a year to the Council of Kings in Free State, central Vispasia, in order to debate matters of continental trade and politics. The alliance is not an easy one, and now and then a king may threaten to withdraw his nation from the union, but peace has been maintained. In that time, the Sun Chamber had acquired land of its own, developed a vast network of agents and officers, so much so that more senior figures, far above the rank of officer, were often depended upon to give advice on trade and commerce.

  Officers worked alone, though we could hire whoever we wanted to assist us. With firm persuasion, local politicians, judges and even princes could be made to behave; and our badge of office was feared accordingly. Or so we were told during our training – more often than not, local officials didn’t give a damn about deceiving their own superiors or the people they served. Generally we would bring matters to the attention of local lawmakers and let the matter be dealt with internally wherever possible. Nations should sort out their own affairs – or, at least, it should appear that way.

  The job sounded more glorious than it was in reality, especially for someone of my level. The rich leaned on the poor when it came to doing nefarious deeds – from tax evasion to murder – so we often saw ourselves travelling into some of the darkest parts of Union and talking to the most unfortunate people, in order to report it to our superiors, who wielded great control over the ebb and flow of Sun Chamber personnel.

  Sometimes I questioned the motive for being sent to various corners of the continent, though I remained committed no matter what the case in hand. For example, I did not know if capturing a man who smuggled women across borders for prostitution actually helped bind the nations together in political union, but I did know that it would help the lives of others, the women in question, and it certainly improved the local communities. We were always told that the crimes of the lower classes were often influenced by men and women much higher up in society, and therefore an officer in his or her first few years would often be ordered into the dingiest of slums alongside the local officials in order to hone their skills. Even in the Sun Chamber, one had to earn the right to speak among the politicians and royals.

  I had been brought up worshipping Polla, a truly honest and remarkable woman who later became deified, and who taught that our lives were little more than the sum of our good deeds over bad. By those criteria, my life here in Venyn City had been a good one, and in some ways I would miss the place.

  The next morning, once Leana had sold our horses, and the keys to our rented dockyard offices were returned to the landlord, we set off for Tryum.

  It would take us the better part of a month of travel to get away from this hole, if we cut across the continent. Instead, I regretfully opted to take a merchant ship carrying spices and cloth – at least we were told it was carrying spices and cloth – but I had spent far too long in the city to fall for such obvious tales. The captain of the ship, a lean individual with a philosophical expression, one etched permanently in place by the constant winds at sea, barely said a word to us throughout the journey. Which was perfectly fine with Leana and myself.

  He mistook us twice: first for husband and wife, secondly that she was some kind of slave. Leana’s scowl nicely liberated him of that opinion. Should I have pointed out that I was a member of the Sun Chamber, he would not have wanted to take me on board unless I paid twice the price. We could have commandeered his vessel, but it wasn’t worth the hassle.

  Besides, whilst at sea, it was wise not to anger the gods.

  It is said in most religions that one of the realms one may fall into after death is a violent, dark and oppressive location. I’m almost certain that we sailed right through that place.

  Seven nights we spent at sea, travelling north and east along the coastline, and it only took one night to convince me that my hatred of this mode of transport hadn’t lessened with time. I vomited at least five times on the first day and barely left our cabin, if indeed it could be called a cabin; it was a small hold that was used mainly for carrying who-knew-what decaying matter in rancid crates. Leana despaired of my weakness and, impatient and anxious, spent much of her time on deck, offering her assistance, and generally making herself far more useful.

  Most of the time aboard was a blur to me. I may have blanked it from my mind, or it may have been the bottle of strong wine from the captain’s cabin Leana had acquired so I might drink myself unconscious – all the rarer an act considering I didn’t often drin
k.

  My one fear during the trip was that the gods would curse me again and that I might suffer a seizure of the sort that came upon me in times of trial and tribulation – a physical weakness that had dogged me since childhood. On rare occasions the seizures would strike me during the day, but it was more commonly during my sleep. But instead only one intense headache came – usually a precursor to a seizure, like a premonition, though sometimes they occurred afterwards. Leana informed me there were no episodes, however, which came as a relief.

  My goddess, Polla, must have intervened with the sea gods on my behalf, for we arrived at night – alive – at a small trading town on the border of Detrata and the lush, green hills of Koton.

  My only memory of that night was the captain’s wild laughter as I stumbled eagerly towards land clutching my belongings, before falling with minimal dignity into a bush.

  We acquired horses and set off early, moving across hilly farmland bathed in the red light of sunrise. Gradually the styles of buildings, the crops, the living history, all became familiar once again.

  Was it me that had changed, or Detrata? Now that I saw my home with a stranger’s eyes, I was far more aware of its context within the wider world. Upon my departure from this country, I was a young man somewhat sceptical of such a fragile, continent-wide set-up. To me, it shouldn’t have lasted for so long. Upon returning, and as I explained to Leana, I understood how Detrata fared far better within a united Vispasia than alone, even during the glory days of the Detratan Empire. There was no war to speak of and across the silent battlefields rode determined traders.

  ‘I hear your old empire mentioned from time to time,’ Leana said. ‘It was a cruel place. Vispasia is still a little like that abroad.’

  I considered my words carefully. ‘The old Detratan Empire was a savage period. The continent lurched between extremes of maniacal dictators, civil war and famine. Wars came, then out of peace Vispasia grew, a weird and wonderful royal democracy. That said, it is the best option for people here. Stability has been maintained for two hundred years and blood is rarely spilled to the extent it used to be.’

  ‘You have not addressed my point. All of these countries, they take their wars abroad still. They still make slaves of people from outside Vispasia. In fact, I could be one, if in life I had been even more unfortunate.’

  Eventually, I said, ‘I agree it’s a horrendous practice, but it’s better than it used to be.’

  We reached the summit of the Olosso Mountains about an hour after dawn and the full splendour of Detrata was laid out before us. These famous plains became flooded with memories. The vista of rolling hills, grasslands, hamlets and tiny, stone fortifications, brought back such a strong sense of nostalgia that I did not notice Leana speaking to me for several moments.

  ‘Are you feeling well?’ Leana asked, though it sounded more of an order to be fine. ‘You seem uneasy. A mild seizure?’

  I slid from my horse to regard the terrain and to take a good lungful of Detratan air. It was warm even at this hour of the morning, and the cool breeze was a pleasant relief. The air was not as humid here, and the place seemed far gentler than I was used to.

  I had stood at this same vantage point ten years ago. Like most young and optimistic people, I’d left with every intention of putting some distance between my father and myself, as well as making my mark on the world. At least I could say I had achieved something.

  ‘It seems so unfortunate,’ I said eventually, ‘to be confronted with such a glorious sight, when I should feel only sorrow.’

  Leana said nothing as she slid with skill off her horse, again making apparently athletic movements seem so effortless. She reached into her pack for a flask of water. Garbed in a similar fashion to myself, white shirt, brown leather doublet and heavy boots, she wore her dark hair tied back as if always being ready for combat, and regarded me with one of her unreadable expressions.

  Perhaps that’s why I found her the perfect travelling companion: we kept our wandering thoughts largely to ourselves. She took heavy gulps of water before offering the flask to me, but I declined.

  ‘Lucan,’ she said. ‘Why have you not noticed the man following? Half a mile back down the slope?’

  I glanced back down, following the line of the straight road along the yellow grassland until – some way in the distance – a figure on horseback came into focus. ‘It’s a road, like any other. He’s free to pass through.’

  ‘But you said this route was not frequently used, yet he has kept pace with us since our landing. He does not catch up or fall back. He remains the same distance.’

  ‘You’re right, I should have spotted this,’ I said.

  ‘Spirits save us,’ Leana added, but made no further comment about my lapse of judgement.

  ‘We’re in no hurry. We’ve made good time so far. Let’s hang back and let him pass. I’ve some bread in the bag, and some fruit – we should eat.’

  ‘And when he arrives here?’ Leana asked.

  ‘He could be an innocent trader.’

  Leana drew her sword.

  ‘He could simply be a traveller,’ I continued, ‘like us. Not everyone is out to attack us. Just because we represent the Sun Chamber does not mean we can draw blood for no reason at all. We are not barbarians.’

  We ate quickly, and waited behind a wind-smoothed stone outcrop as the figure came closer. Now that he could not see us, he gained pace considerably. It made no sense that someone would be after us – who in Detrata knew of our arrival?

  A few moments later and the ground began to vibrate under the horse’s hooves. I stepped out into the road casually while Leana remained waiting by the side with her bow, covering me. He carried a sheathed weapon and wore a scarf around his mouth, but struggled to control his startled horse. Unnerved at my sudden appearance, the horse bolted towards the horizon, hooves thumping into the sun-baked earth. His dust trails lingered in the air.

  ‘It is possible he was sent after us, but . . .’

  ‘Someone in Detrata does not like you much,’ Leana declared.

  ‘Or it could simply be nothing to worry about. Let’s not allow paranoia to plague my return home.’

  ‘You are far too trusting of people,’ Leana replied. ‘I have always said this is a problem.’

  Aqueducts trailed like stone tendrils down from the mountains towards Tryum, the main city of Detrata – it was these structures that enabled life to persist. Tryum did not suffer from the humidity of Venyn City. Here the heat was drier, more pleasant, and the air was not laced with particles of sand.

  But where there is life there is death, and we soon came across one of the peculiarities of Tryum, the Road of the Dead, a main causeway into the city lined with mausoleums. Flying from the ramparts of these buildings were the yellow banners of Detrata. The centre of each one featured a two-headed black falcon, along with the cross of the founding gods set within the avian’s breast. On each head was a crown, and various glaives and swords could be discerned behind the wings. The closer we came to the city, we saw families sitting in wide circles on the grass, or beneath the shade of a cherry tree, eating picnics while their children chased each other around the tall monuments. Statues of the dead were constructed here in all sorts of poses: some with a book underarm to lend an air of wisdom, others in full armour for a show of strength. One or two were surrounded by images of gods and goddesses, to represent how the deceased was untouchable or blessed.

  ‘Why do they eat here,’ Leana asked, ‘around the dead?’

  ‘Just because you die doesn’t mean you get out of your family duties,’ I laughed. ‘At least not in Tryum. Besides, it’s good to keep them involved, make offerings on their behalf, light incense to purify them.’

  She nodded approvingly at my response. Perhaps there were more similarities between the many religions of Tryum and her own tribal cults than I liked to give credit for.

  ‘These are impressive statues and buildings,’ she said.

  ‘This
is where the wealthy bury their dead. For the poor, the end is not so dignified. A swift pyre for the lucky. For the not so lucky, a bloated corpse in the River Tryx is the best one can expect.’

  ‘I am not sure I will like this place,’ Leana said. ‘I already miss Venyn.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Such differences are not good omens, spirits save us. At least in Venyn everyone had the same chance that they would end up like a bloated corpse.’

  ‘I’d suggest the ideal is for everyone to be buried in splendour.’

  ‘That would,’ Leana replied, ‘mean a lot more people having to eat out here.’

  The East Road was exactly as I remembered: first, a wide avenue of ancient poplar trees for half a mile, dappled sunlight across a busy road of traders and travellers and their belongings. Beyond stood the rectangular barracks of the King’s Legion, King Licintius’ private guard. When Licintius first became king as a young man, before I left, there were few soldiers in Tryum. The military was certainly out on parade today, in crests and purple tunics, their armour bright in the afternoon sun. Some were engaged in displays on horseback, busy with training regimes that they would probably never use. Others from the City Watch were marching along the edge of the road, behind the trees, offering an intimidating presence to any who would wish harm to the city.

  Towards the eastern fringes, on the lower slopes of the main hill, was the urban sprawl, row upon row of newly and poorly built housing. Tryum had become more heavily populated since I had departed, and I was surprised that people could live like this. Had it always been this way?

  We passed the statues either side of the road that led to a gate into Tryum. They towered up into an azure sky and were the founding gods: Trymus and Festonia, husband and wife, and Malax, the lord of the Underworld, who looked after the dead. Further along was a statue of Polla, the goddess of the sun and of the Sun Chamber – and to whom I gave a gentle bow.