by Garon Whited
“Something about a genie bleeding to create palaces of crystal, I think. Then the genie died and it all fell apart. Somehow, it was all my fault.”
Something is going to kill the mountain? Firebrand guessed.
“That’s what I was thinking. Blood and I go together, and the mountain grew in a sort-of crystalline fashion; it’s a rock, anyway. I’m not sure how killing me would have any effect on it, though. I’ll look into it the moment I get back from Carrillon.”
I’m not sure how everything would fall apart even if the mountain died. Doesn’t stone tend to, you know, sit there? If it stopped being alive, we’d be stuck with a mountain, right?
“Yeah, I don’t get that part, either. It was clearly a disaster of epic proportions, not the passing away of my pet rock.”
Maybe there’s something bad that happens if the mountain dies? Firebrand guessed. It’s a really big pet rock. Big enough the world might notice?
That cold feeling of fear came to visit me, settled in, made itself comfortable.
“I can think of something,” I admitted, slowly, “that could kill the mountain and injure the world. I’d rather not, though.”
If you say so. Precautions will be taken, right?
“Yes. And maybe I can get Mary to do the dreaming from now on. I think I hate doing this.”
Fair enough.
“And I’m probably going to do it again.”
That’s my Boss. You keep on being stubborn. Bad dreams aren’t going to get the better of you!
I got out of bed—well, rolled off the edge of the platform—and stretched. Piles of furs and blankets do not a mattress make. On the other hand, I felt much more rested. Enough, at least, to conjure up a small spell to do some wood-burning before sunset. I inscribed “In the hands of the minstrel Tyma, my name is KINGSMACKER.”
Yes, it sounds stupid when you say it like that. It sounds much more impressive and portentous in Rethven. It’s kind of like, “Quidquid Latine dictum sit, altum viditur.” Anything said in Latin sounds profound.
Sunset started and I hit the waterfall immediately. I was going to be in a hurry again as soon as I died.
The Kingsway was wider. It also had low railings. The footpath had a slight curve downward in the middle, like a shallow gutter. The railings continued the curve upward, almost making it a half-circle. Another week and it would be a long tube. I made a mental note to get a big ball of rock slightly smaller than the interior. Not for anything in particular, just… you know, in case. A few barrels of lubricant could be funny, and a few barrels of kerosene less so. Those might not be bad ideas, either.
Bronze carried me down without incident and almost without sound. She didn’t like the stairs at the end, however. They were broad, wide, and shallow, but she doesn’t like going down stairs. She’s perfectly fine with going up a flight of stairs, but down annoys her. I have no idea why.
Tianna was waiting for us at the Temple of Fire. She had a traveling bag with her, which I tied to the saddlehorn. I also had her move back when she tried to take the front position.
“No,” I told her. “I’m in front.”
“I’ve ridden Bronze before, Grandpa. Besides, I want to see.”
“You’ve ridden Bronze when she was taking it slow and easy,” I countered. “Besides, even with the aerodynamic spell I’m going to use, I expect it to get more than a little breezy. You may be glad I’m a windshield.”
“She wasn’t exactly walking when we rode between Karvalen and Mochara.”
“She also wasn’t trying.”
“We’ll see,” she answered, but let me swing her up behind me. I prepared spells for the teardrop-shaped air shield and a couple of gravity-distorting ones.
“What’s this?” she asked, reaching out to touch Kingsmacker, where it hung from my belt. The spell didn’t recognize her as Tyma, so it sounded off with one of the recorded messages.
“I am Kingsmacker, meant only for the hand of the minstrel Tyma! In her hands, my name comes true!”
Tianna dropped it before it got out the second word.
“What in the name of the elder moons is that?” she demanded.
“A present for Tyma. I’m hoping to do some fence-mending while I’m in Carrillon.”
“Seriously? By giving her a stick meant for smiting kings?”
“Smacking kings,” I corrected. “Yep. I have an idea. You can call it stupid later; everyone else will. Now hold on,” I advised. She did so.
Bronze started her run.
We were out of the city, over the southwest bridge, and headed south along the canal track in about a minute. We didn’t take the central island—the road-like area between the canals—because people tended to camp on them overnight. Instead, we stayed on the canal’s side-road along the western bank. Tianna hunched down and admitted she was pleased to have me for a shield. I refrained from saying Grandpa knows best. She probably wouldn’t have heard me over the wind, anyway.
It’s even more eerie to be blasting along at highway speeds without a single hoofbeat. Wind, yes, like a motorcycle on the freeway, but without even engine noise. No, better yet: It was like falling.
Before long, we swung aside to avoid Mochara and intercept the coast road. Bronze skidded slightly—and soundlessly—on the hard surface as she merged, throwing blue-green sparks. This reminded me yet again to do something for her traction.
Bronze didn’t care. She tossed her head and extended her neck.
With nothing in front of us but unbroken road, I activated the aerodynamic shell and the gravity-shifter. Suddenly, the screaming wind diminished to a light breeze and the road ahead seemed downhill. Bronze blew a vast plume of flame into the air and shifted into high gear.
I’ve said it before and will say it again. I need a speedometer. I’ll settle for a stopwatch and mile markers. The force of air against our shield taxed it severely; I pumped more power into it. All I could think at that moment, though, was maybe she really could hold her own against a police car. Even if it did manage to catch her, it would deeply—although briefly—regret doing so.
Behind me, all I heard was a sustained “Wheee!” sound. A whipping, flickering light came from behind me, too, as though a flag of divine fire flew behind us. I was afraid to look back; I might turn into a pillar of salt. Instead, I concentrated on shoring up our air shell.
The road bore straight to the mountains before it started to snake around on the slopes. It clung to the mountains, curving gently and then leaping across gaps in arched bridges. It was never quite a tunnel, but was usually recessed heavily into the mountainside. There were also large side-sections, pull-offs from the main thoroughfare, easily long and wide enough for a whole caravan of wagons. Some of them were even occupied by travelers encamped for the night. I can’t even imagine what they made of us as we passed by. We were a vibration in the ground and a fiery whoosh and a lingering trail of smoke. And a scream of glee, of course.
I still don’t know how she can sustain such a sound. It’s obviously not only a little-girl thing. Circular breathing? Training as a singer? A miracle?
About halfway through the mountain range, we encountered a gate. Someone built a small castle on the side of a mountain and fortified a chunk of road. Beyond the gate was a short tunnel, then another gate leading to the rest of the road. Judging by the smell—ultra-keen nose, you know—it was manned by galgar.
Bronze wanted to just go through it. It wasn’t capable of stopping her. I nixed the idea; Tianna might get caught by twisted bits of metal as we broke through. Bronze agreed and slowed in good time.
“Hello the gate!” I shouted. A head popped up over the wall. Big nose, greasy hair, galgar.
“A copper for you and a copper for the horse.”
I drew Firebrand and held it up. It burst into flame. Bronze reared and blew a plume of fire to go with it. Tianna wrapped her arms around my chest and held on.
“Open the gate! ” I bellowed. A few loose stones rattled down the mo
untainside. The sentry clapped hands over his ears and squeaked in terror. Undead lungs, undead vocal cords. When I’m loud, I’m inhumanly loud.
Besides, I don’t much care for galgar, orku, trolls, ogres, or elves. I think they were lucky I didn’t jump to the battlement, kill everything in reach, and open the gate myself. I might have, if I didn’t have Tianna to think about.
Sadly, they decided to open the gates and let us through.
We raced onward. Not long after, we cleared the mountains and followed the bypass road to go around Baret. I suppose we could have gone through the city, but doing so always involves explaining who you are and why you’re traveling at night. Fortunately, there’s a bridge north of Baret crossing the Caladar. It has a gate, but the guards are only there to collect the toll. Bronze slowed to a fire-breathing halt, pawing impatiently at the ground, and the gate-guards let us through.
Weird. They didn’t ask who we were. They didn’t even ask for money. They opened the gate, stood aside, and saluted as we thundered over. I can only conclude human gate-guards are smarter than galgar. To be fair, the humans were also standing much closer. They had a much better look at us.
Then it was on to the Quaen river, across the bridge to the north of Formia, and a long, unbroken run to Carrillon. Five hundred miles, maybe? I don’t have an odometer, either. And the night wasn’t even half done.
Bronze slowed as we approached Carrillon, shifting from a blowtorch gallop to a more sedate running walk. She continued to blast fire from mouth and nose while cooling down. I let the mistreated air shield fail and took down our gravity-shifter.
“Grandpa?”
“Yes, Tianna?”
“Thank you for sitting in front.”
“No problem,” I chuckled. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, but I’ve never been on horseback this long before. When can I get down?”
“We’re almost to the city. Would you like to walk for a bit?”
“Please.”
We dismounted and Tianna ran one hand over Bronze’s nose, ignoring the—to her—harmless flames.
“I am so very sorry I doubted you.”
Bronze snorted a plume of fire in Tianna’s hand. It was completely understandable and Bronze forgave her.
We walked. Tianna worked the stiffness out of her legs and Bronze cooled more quickly. Ahead, I saw the eastern gate of Carrillon. The Oisen River branched at Riverpool and sent the Dormer River south. It ran along the eastern side of the city, much like the canals on the eastern side of Mochara.
Carrillon continued to grow since the last time I saw it. A spread of buildings—a suburb, if you will—mottled the eastern side of the river. The city would doubtless need a new outer wall, someday; that seemed to be the growth cycle. Build a town, put a wall around it, build more town outside the wall, put up a wall around that… like growth rings in a tree, in a way.
People eyeballed us from their homes or stood aside to let us pass. We didn’t attract as much attention as I feared, possibly because Bronze didn’t announce her coming with bells and metallic gleams. We were another pair of people with a big, dark horse.
Some of the outside-the-walls neighborhoods along the main road were a bit rough. No one bothered us, though.
The river could almost be crossed via any of a half-dozen partial bridges. The dead-end portions, out in the river itself, could each be completed by lowering its drawbridge from the city wall. Naturally, the drawbridges were up for the night. That struck me as odd. Cities this big, with this much traffic, don’t lock up for the night. Small towns, yes. Small cities with a bandit problem, yes. Large cities don’t close unless they are actively under siege. Was it the eastern suburb? Was it more of a ghetto than a suburb? Or was there a reason I didn’t know about?
I wondered whether we should go to one of the other walls. This could be inconvenient. If we could cross the river and circle around, the harbor area was probably wide open. For that matter, if it was an issue with the eastern burbs being a wretched hive of scum and villainy, crossing the river was our only real obstacle.
On the other hand, the bridges were illuminated all along their length. The guards would see us clearly. We could just ask to be let in. Offhand, I wasn’t sure what I would do if they told us to go away, but Lissette did tell me to visit. They might open up.
We mounted up and Bronze carried us to the end of a bridge.
There followed a bit of a shouting match while I tried to persuade the gate guards to lower the drawbridge. Hollering back and forth over a fifty-foot span of open water isn’t a recipe for persuasiveness. Besides, the guards were not prepared to be helpful. I don’t think they really intended to open up for anyone at that hour.
Finally, I gave up in disgust and turned around. We crossed the Dormer at the bridge upriver of the city—it was guarded and gated and the night rates were extortionary. I paid it without biting anyone’s head off, but the guards came closer to it than they realized. Then we tried again at one of the northern gates.
The low-rent districts aren’t limited to the eastern bank of the Dormer river. Carrillon’s outer wall is surrounded by them. No, let me take that back. Carrillon is a somewhat spread-out city, with some inner sections surrounded by defensive walls, but no outer wall surrounding the city as a whole. With that many people living outside the wall, the city has outgrown its walls.
As a result, we had to go through another low-rent district—the northern area isn’t exactly suburbs. It’s more of a less-fashionable and less-expensive part of the city.
On the other hand, given some of the less savory individuals roaming the streets, maybe the city’s defensive wall was more useful against the suburbanites than against actual enemies of the State. Even though the district was mostly permanent buildings—actual construction, not some knocked-together shantytown—I’m not sure I’d want Tianna walking through the area at night. I’m not sure I’d want to walk through it during the day.
The nearest northern gate had a guardhouse and a garrison of ten men. That told me all I needed to know about how they regarded the outer city. Dismounting and speaking politely went a long way toward getting us inside, but wasn’t quite enough.
They hadn’t heard of Tianna. They also didn’t believe me when I identified myself—I blame the beard. Firebrand, on the other hand, they recognized. Since it was in close proximity, they did what it said without hesitation.
As we rode in, I put a hand on Firebrand’s hilt.
“For future reference?”
Yes, Boss?
“The phrase, ‘Open in the name of the King,’ is acceptable. ‘Make way for the King before I burn your eyeballs to ashes,’ is not.”
Yes, Boss.
Tianna snickered; she heard the exchange. I ignored this with something resembling dignity while we proceeded to the Palace of Carrillon. We didn’t have to argue with gate-guards at any of the inner walls—the outer walls of Carrillon, when the city was smaller—because, I think, the gate-guards had some way to communicate. At least, if I was setting things up, I’d have arranged communications for the guards.
It’s possible I did, as a defensive measure for my home base. What else have I been up to?
The Palace opened the outer gates and let us into the courtyard without fuss. Tianna and I dismounted at the base of the steps. Bronze stood there with us, looking around. It was a nice place, this palace. Not up to the standards of Zirafel, but I’m a little—burp; excuse me—biased on the subject. Instead of big and solid, it was more sprawling and extensive. Someone designed it to be a mansion, added on to it, had a fire and rebuilt portions, renovated old pieces, and continued in like fashion for a few centuries.
Broad, shallow steps stretched the length of the portico. At the top, a pillared area sheltered the front of the building and had a pair of massive, giant-sized doors.
Why do people like super-sized doors in this sort of building? Sure, they have people-sized doors built into the big doors, but why bother to hav
e the big doors in the first place? Visiting giants? Or to intimidate visitors?
The main doors opened in slow, grand sweeps. A liveried gentleman came out to greet us. If they were trying for intimidation, the contrast ruined it. The doors were huge, but having a single man come out through them spoiled the effect.
“Good night to you both,” he offered, bowing from the top of the steps. “I am Hogarth. I will do my humble best to make you welcome.”
“Suits me,” I told him. I dismounted. “I am Halar. This is my granddaughter, Tianna, Priestess of the Mother of Flame, High Priestess of the Flame in the Fortress of the East.” I helped her down. “This is Bronze. And I am sure you know Firebrand.”
We’ve met.
“Of course,” he agreed, bowing deeply in acknowledgment. “If you will follow me?”
Hold it, Firebrand cautioned. The way it sounded in my head seemed a private statement.
What’s wrong? I sent back.
Hogarth, here, is about to be an idiot. He’s thinking he can really get in good with Thomen by killing you. After all, you’re a deposed king, and keeping you off the throne is a good idea. He’s certain he can set you up and then talk to Thomen in private—he’ll be rewarded, even if Thomen doesn’t take the opportunity.
Thomen? Not Lissette?
That’s who he wants to impress, Boss.
“Hogarth.”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps you would be so good as to get approval for your plan before you take it upon yourself to do anything rash. Since we were invited here by the Queen, we’ll wait here while you inform Her Majesty of our arrival.”
Hogarth bowed, backed away, and turned to walk quickly back into the building.
“Is this a problem, Gramps?”
“Maybe. Lissette wanted to see us, but she may not have made it clear to her underlings.”
“Weren’t they expecting us?”
“I think so, but I also think they need to be clear on how hospitable to be. Hogarth was planning on ambushing me to earn points. The staff may be a little confused on the purpose of our visit.”
