City of Death

by Laurence Yep

  The vizier’s guards hovered just beyond the skirmishers who were swirling around like angry bees. An officer with enough braid to be a hotel doorman hailed them. His bulbous nose reminded Bayang of a potato.

  “We’ll take charge of the prisoners now,” he called. His long hair crept out from under his helmet and his black beard wagged when he spoke. His men were just as shaggy though their uniforms were all neat and tidy. The vizier and his supporters thought the long hair and beards made them look more like their revered ancestors.

  “My Keeper has ordered me to deliver her guests to Princess Maimantstse, not to you.” Captain Warpamo nodded to his companions and they began to descend toward the palace.

  The vizier’s guard hung in their path. “My Lord Vizier is also in charge of justice.”

  “Why would the vizier want us?” Leech asked Kles.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s trumped up charges to go after someone,” Kles said.

  Captain Warpamo continued to move downward. “As far as I’m concerned, I am simply escorting Lady Scirye and her friends home. They are not criminals so they do not come under your master’s jurisdiction.” At a nod, he and his escort began descending.

  The dragon thought the two groups were going to collide in midair, but at the last moment the Wolf commander swerved aside. He circled about, watching in frustration as they passed and then barked out a sharp order.

  The Wolf Guards below them began to descend at the same pace and appeared to be a white-uniformed wall.

  As surreptitiously as she could, Bayang began to move her claws in a spell to increase her size a bit more, her lips barely moving as she spoke the ancient words. Almost immediately, she felt a searing pain where the ward was, as if someone had stabbed her with a dagger heated in flames.

  The griffin mages had done their work too well and the ward held. She ground a paw against her leg. She was trapped in this size.

  There would be no escape from the vizier.

  17

  Scirye

  A trumpet began sounding a fanfare, the notes trilling up and down excitingly. The vizier’s men screened the musician from view, but Scirye saw how they looked at one another in confusion.

  Captain Warpamo scowled. “What’s going on?”

  Suddenly, the Wolf Guardsmen beneath them frantically dodged to either side as a large white war griffin burst through their ranks. The griffin’s feathered wings and shaggy winter hide made it seem more like an angry cloud than a creature. Upon his back was a rider in a leather riding outfit and helmet.

  It took a moment to recognize Árkwi. Tall—nearly seventeen hands high—with a body that was powerful and yet still with some of the graceful lines of a racer, his dignity and wisdom made him the natural leader of all the imperial griffins—not just because he was the mount of the griffin master.

  Scirye felt her heart skip when she saw the familiar features of the rider. “Is that father?” It was from him that she and Nishke had gotten their sharp noses and broad chins. She just hoped the features gave her the same air of strength that he had.

  “It appears so.” Kles folded his forelegs as a second rider followed close on the first. This griffin was jet black, the sunlight creating a sheen on its muscles. It could only be her mother’s griffin, Kwele. “And that avenging angel would be Lady Sudarshane.”

  Scirye felt a lump in her throat. In trying to prevent the theft of the treasures, Badik the dragon had injured her as well as killing Nishke, Scirye’s sister and her daughter. When Scirye had last seen her mother, she was lying injured on the museum floor. Had she done the right thing in leaving her there to chase after the dragon who had killed Nishke? “She ought to be in a hospital, not up here,” Scirye said, feeling both worried and guilty.

  The third rider wore a scarlet uniform with gold braid on the coat and stripes on the trousers. As he sounded the last notes of the fanfare, he banked to the side.

  A plump woman rose at a more stately pace upon a tawny, golden griffin that looked as if a sun were melting. She was dressed in a quilted red and blue silk jacket and trousers and a tall, cylindrical furred cap from which a pheasant feather waved in the wind of her passage. Fixed to the front of the cap were the crossed axes of the empire.

  “Ah, Captain Nanayor, how kind of the vizier to send an escort for my guests,” she drawled lazily to the Wolf captain. “My dear brother, your emperor, and your master, the vizier, were worried about what to do with them, so I offered to take them into my custody until we can clear up this little misunderstanding.”

  Even if she hadn’t seen the thick lips that was a mark of the imperial family, Scirye knew that the woman was Princess Maimantstse. Kles had served her before he had been sent as a tutor to Scirye. Next to her brother, Emperor Kanishka XII, and the vizier, she was the most powerful person in the empire.

  “But—,” Captain Nanayor began to protest.

  “I’m afraid, though, that if you tried to land with us, you’d raise a frightful clamor and wake my brother from his nap. And we really can’t have that.” The princess fluttered her hand as if she were shooing away a pesky little puppy. “You are dismissed.”

  “But—,” the Wolf captain tried to object a second time.

  “Or do you think it’s all right for you to disturb my brother?” Though her tone sounded gentle enough, there was a hint of steel beneath her words.

  “Yes, I mean, no.” Captain Nanayor circled nervously in the air as if he were having his griffin chase its own tail.

  The princess smiled sweetly. “Then I suggest you stay right here and protect us from any menacing pigeons.” A kick of her heels sent her griffin in a barrel roll that let it slip smoothly into position at the head of Scirye’s group so she could lead them through their would-be captors.

  The Wolf Guards didn’t wait for a command from their captain but streamed out of the way, as if Scirye and her friends had suddenly developed the plague.

  When the princess led Scirye and her friends past the dumbfounded guards, Scirye’s parents and the trumpeter settled in at the rear.

  Kles sprang into the air and did a loop of exultation. “You haven’t lost your talent for tweaking the vizier’s nose, your highness.”

  “Everyone should have a hobby.” The princess held up a hand with a glove that covered her entire forearm so Kles could settle onto it. He took such obvious pleasure in her company and she in his that Scirye felt a twinge of jealousy. As if reading her thoughts, the princess looked over her shoulder at the girl. “Ah, and you must be Lady Scirye. I barely recognized you. Has Kles been behaving himself?”

  “I couldn’t live without him,” Scirye blurted out. She couldn’t keep the envy from her voice. “He’s like my right arm.”

  The princess studied her, not without some kindness. Then, waving her arm to dislodge Kles, she said regretfully, “Of course. He’s indispensable. I didn’t mean to deprive you of his company.”

  “I live to serve,” Kles mumbled, but his head hung a little guiltily, like a man who’d been caught by his present girlfriend as he flirted with his previous one. And when he landed on Scirye’s shoulder, he coiled immediately around her neck, draping himself over both shoulders as if to make up for the lapse.

  “You rescued us just in time, Your Highness,” Bayang said. “Thank you.”

  “My old friend, the Keeper, radioed me when you left, so I had my servants keep an eye out for you,” the princess explained. “I thought the vizier might try something, so we got ready to fly, and when I saw his vultures take off, I knew I had to nip their mischief in the bud.”

  Scirye glanced with satisfaction at the vizier’s guards milling about in a confused mass above them. Then she inclined her head toward the princess. “Your Highness, we really need to leave now to catch the true thieves.” For Leech and Koko’s sake, she used English rather than the New Tongue.

  “We know all about Roland and Badik,” the princess replied, switching to flawless English. “Your parents
received a long telegram from Lady Miunai and they shared it with me.”

  Lady Miunai was the mother of their friend, Roxanna, whom they’d met when they’d chased Roland to the Arctic wastes.

  “So you already know that it’s urgent we reach the City of the Dead?” Scirye asked.

  “That was the other thing I was debating with my brother and the vizier,” the princess replied. “My brother agreed to dispatch troops.”

  “Then we can go home,” Koko whooped.

  “Roland and Badik still haven’t been caught,” Bayang said grimly. “Their airplane might be at the airport.”

  “I’ve already made inquiries and they’re not there,” the princess said. “They might have landed in some deserted area. But before we can deal with them, we need to get the charges against you dropped.”

  Leech bristled. “We’re not thieves.”

  “You must be Lord Leech,” the princess said. “I know you aren’t.” She smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid the vizier is trying to hurt me by hurting my friends.”

  “I could send him a rash,” Māka suggested. “Just a teeny patch but in a very uncomfortable place.”

  The princess glanced at the sorceress. “That would hardly become a follower of the True Path, now would it.”

  Māka paled. “You know about me?”

  “The Keeper warned me about you as well.” The princess smiled.

  As they descended, Scirye’s other friends introduced themselves, though the princess already seemed to know a good deal about them as well. Between Lady Miunai and the Keeper, there didn’t seem to be much that Princess Maimantstse did not know.

  18

  Scirye

  They landed within a small courtyard of green and blue tiles that showed Salene the moon god in helmet and armor leading their ancestors, who once called themselves the People of the Moon, against their enemies, the Huns.

  Graceful Greek columns stood at the front of Princess Maimantstse’s palace, but the statues decorating it were a mixture of Greek, Kushan, and Indian deities.

  As soon as Scirye climbed down from her griffin, she started to run toward her parents, but Kles fluttered in front of her. “Wait for the princess to give permission.”

  The princess waved her hand. “Of course you may.”

  “Thanks, Maimie,” Lord Tsirauñe said, using the princess’s affectionate nickname. “Welcome home!” And then he was engulfing Scirye in his strong arms and lifting her from the ground.

  Hugging her father was like hugging a tree trunk, and she felt a momentary pride. The griffin master might be part of the court, but he was no soft courtier. Daily flying had kept him fit, though he flew not for the exercise but because it was as necessary to him as breathing.

  When her father had set her back on her feet, Scirye put a solicitous hand on her mother’s arm. “Are you all right, Mother?”

  “That’s what I asked her,” her father grumbled as he stepped aside to let her mother have a turn.

  Lady Sudarshane’s hair fluttered beneath the edges of her leather flying cap as she embraced her daughter. “I’m not going to stay in a hospital like some porcelain doll when my daughter might be in danger.” At the moment, she didn’t seem like the poised, elegant diplomat that Scirye had always known but the hard-flying Pippal she had been before she had married.

  Scirye searched her mother’s face for some sign of pain, but even though there wasn’t any, Scirye knew her mother had an iron will that could cover up any hurt.

  “How did you get here?” Scirye asked.

  “I flew home by plane,” her mother said, “with Nishke.”

  Scirye thought of her brave, brilliant sister and felt as if there were a hole in her heart now that would leave her incomplete for the rest of her life. “I miss her so much.”

  “So do your father and I.” Her mother caressed her cheek, comforting her daughter just as she had done when Scirye was small. “But at least we have you.”

  Guilt and grief rose up like a tide within Scirye. “I should have been at Nishke’s funeral.” She almost sobbed with remorse on the last word. “Or at the hospital with you.”

  Her mother squeezed her even tighter. “You were there in spirit.”

  Her father patted her on the shoulder as if soothing a yearling. “You were doing what Nishke would have done if she were alive—chasing after the thieves.” Her father was a man of few words, more comfortable with his griffins than with humans, so this was a great compliment.

  “If half of what Lady Miunai’s telegram said about your adventures is true, you must have been terrified.” Her mother tenderly brushed a strand of hair from Scirye’s eyes.

  “I was,” Scirye admitted. When she saw the worry lines furrowing her parent’s foreheads, she realized that while she had been feeling bad for neglecting her mother, Lady Sudarshane had been feeling the same about Scirye.

  Clasping her mother’s hand, Scirye tried to comfort her. “But I wasn’t alone. And … and I also saw such wonderful things.” There were so many marvelous memories to share with her parents that the words came out in a rush. “I rode on a river of lava with Pele the goddess underneath the earth. And I wish I could show you the frozen sea up north with the winter moon shining on it. Or the dancers, oh, the dancers.” She felt her heart ache at the very memory of the ribbons of light gliding to a tune only they could hear.

  But there was only one part of her adventures that concerned her parents the most. “Lady Miunai wrote that you went into a coma after the goddess sent you a vision.” Despite her best efforts, Lady Sudarshane’s voice trembled slightly as she inspected Scirye for more signs of divine damage. “Are you feeling better now?”

  Scirye felt her parents anxiety swell around her like a balloon, and she was sorry to upset them so much. “Yes.”

  Her father cleared his throat. “The Lady Miunai also said the goddess marked you with a sign of her favor.”

  Scirye pulled off her glove. “I guess you could call it that.”

  Her parents stared uncomfortably at the “3” glowing on their daughter’s palm.

  Lady Sudarshane cradled Scirye’s marked hand as if it were a piece of delicate porcelain. “It looks like someone branded you. Does it hurt?” she asked, concerned.

  Scirye slipped her hand away from her mother’s and turned it over so the sign of the goddess’s favor was hidden. “No, we think it’s a clue. It might mean that Roland is looking for three arrows at the City of Death. We have to go there as soon as we can.”

  The princess had waited patiently while her parents had welcomed her, but she now interrupted. “First, though, we need to get these ridiculous charges dismissed. So, I’m sorry to break up your reunion, but I’m afraid I need to discuss strategy with your parents.”

  Scirye and her parents reluctantly broke their embrace. As she stepped away, Scirye bowed to the princess. “I’m sorry for all the trouble we’re causing, Your Highness.”

  “I owe that much to a hero of the empire,” the princess said and then turned to Kles’s kinsmen. “We are grateful for all the aid you have given Lady Scirye. So let me offer you all the hospitality of the citadel after your long journey.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” Captain Warpamo said with a stiff bow, “but with the lyaks roaming our lands, we need to get back.”

  They rose with great flaps of their wings that sent dead leaves and stray bits of snow swirling about. Árkwi and the imperial griffins accompanied them, separating from Kles’s kinsmen after a hundred feet to bank away toward the imperial eyrie.

  As they stood watching them disappear, a bearded, dark-skinned man in a quilted blue silk coat bowed low to the princess. “Your Highness,” he said in the Old Tongue, “the rooms are being prepared for your guests just as you commanded, but the dragon’s will take a bit longer.”

  Kles cleared his throat. “Please speak English as a courtesy to our friends.”

  The bearded man bowed to the lap griffin and answered in English.
“As you command, Master Klestetstse.”

  His obvious respect was such a contrast to the attitude of his own clan that it was no wonder Kles preferred the citadel to the eyrie. Here his intelligence and learning gave him status in the human court, not his size and strength.

  The princess smiled at Scirye and her friends. “This is my steward, Nanadhat. Just tell him what you need.”

  “Anything?” Koko squeaked with excitement.

  “Don’t drool on the floor, buster,” said a badger dressed in a light green wool robe. “Someone has to mop it up, and that someone is usually little old Momo.”

  Wetting a paw, Koko hastily tried to slick down some tufts of fur. “Just how did a doll like you wind up here?”

  “I was in a magic show.” Lifting a paw grandly, Momo struck a pose. “I was Mademoiselle Fifi, the Girl with a Thousand Faces. But while we were in Bactra our scummy manager took a powder with all our dough. The show broke up and, times being what they were, I took a job here, and boy, was I glad of it. So what’ll it be? Drinks? Snacks?” She sniffed the air and added disapprovingly, “Baths?”

  “Momo”—Nanadhat frowned—“how many times do I have to tell you not to be so familiar with Her Highness’s guests?”

  “Aw, have a heart. I haven’t seen another tanuki in a long time,” Momo said. Tanuki was another term for badger.

  The princess wrapped her arm protectively around the badger. “Let Momo be, Nanadhat. It’s refreshing to have someone who gets to the point.”

  Momo grinned insolently at the steward and then tapped the charm that the griffin mages had placed on Koko. “Is this a price tag or what?”

  Scirye took advantage of the princess’s good mood. “Your Highness, are these anti-magic charms really necessary?” She indicated the paper charms on Bayang and Māka as well as Koko.

  “No, of course not.” The princess motioned to Nanadhat. “Send for the High Mage to remove them.”

  Scirye held out the stiletto the Kushan consul had given her to defend herself during Badik’s raid on the museum in San Francisco. “Would you see that Prince Etre gets this back?”