"Can't argue with that," Sarraya ceded.
"At least you said one intelligent thing so far today," Tarrin noted dryly.
Sarraya leaned back so Allia's neck wasn't in the way, then stuck her tongue out at the Were-cat with all the indignancy she could put behind it.
"You'd better fade out," Tarrin warned. "I don't think we should give ourselves away."
"At least you said something smart," she returned with a wink, then her form faded from view as she enacted her natural magical ability to turn invisible.
Tarrin looked out at the warehouses as the wind changed, carrying the smell beyond them onto the docks, and the smell of the largest city in the world was realized. In reality, Dala Yar Arak didn't smell as bad as some cities, but the press of so many people in one place was unmistakable in the smell of the city. The overpowering smell of people permeated everything, seeped down into the very cobblestones, covered every finger of ever wall. Layered over that singular smell were the smells of human living, waste and excrement, the rats and insects that found a living with humans, the smell of dust and animal dung, the smell of that sand-colored stone. The air was tinged by the salty smell of the sea, and the smell of dead fish that always invaded cities that made a living from fishing was present, but in no way as predominant as it was in other port cities.
And so they began. After filing off the ship and forming up, the circus was on the move. Pipers and musicians heralded their approach as they marched down the street. And there was energy. Dancers swayed along the street as the crowds formed at the sides, catching the eyes of dark-robed, turban-wearing men, acrobats tumbled and somersaulted to the cadence of the pipes, and the rest of them marched along behind them, doing their best to catch the interest of the onlookers. Some, however, didn't look very happy. Allia moved along with a calm, almost arrogant expression, letting the Arakites stare at her and gasp and point as she went by. Camara Tal, who was right behind the Selani, got no fewer points and whispered comments, for Tarrin doubted they had ever seen an Amazon before. To his surprise, some of the spectators threw small coins in their direction, which were adeptly scooped up by the acrobats as they performed in front and to the sides of the main party. And in front of it all was Renoit, the megaphone in his hand, barking to the crowd in an enthusiastic voice. He spoke the West's common language, Sulasian, but Tarrin didn't doubt that many people in the crowd could understand it. An Arakite that wanted to do business in the West had better understand Sulasian. Tarrin looked at the spectators, and saw immediately the fundamental difference between Arakite society and the West.
They stood with the Arakites. Men and women wearing old clothes, sometimes ragged, wearing steel cuffs on their wrists or around their necks. That was how a slave was identified. Most were swarthy-skinned themselves, but some of them had the fair hair or skin of a Westerner, or even a curious yellowish skin and very narrow eyes and coal-black hair that absolutely had to be Easterners. Many of the older ones had wrinkles and lines around those collars or cuffs, a sign of the many years they had been there, and some of them had scars from when they were put on, when a red-hot steel rivet was hammered into the steel cuff or manacle, burning the skin of the slave as it heated the metal it then secured. Because there was no way to easily take a cuff or collar off, it made it easy to find runaway slaves. And if that didn't work, the scars they left behind marked them forever. He could see them, with their hopeless eyes, staring on in a kind of sad reverie, seeking to lose themselves in the moment that the joy of the circus might provide them. Tarrin didn't really care about them, but his own memories of what it was like to be a slave gave him a fury-tinged compassion for those poor souls, doomed to a lifetime of servitude. He remembered what it was like to have no control, no choice. The manacles he wore on his wrists reminded him of that every day, reminded him so he never put himself in a position to have it happen again.
The morning marched on, and so did the performers. They didn't flag in the slightest in their exuberant displays of acrobatics or dancing. Deward's knives still moved with as much zeal as they did when he began the march, even after an hour of constant performance. They moved up from the warehouses and older buildings of the waterfront and into the heart of Dala Yar Arak, along wide avenues paved with ancient cobblestones. They stayed on that wide track, but Tarrin's eyes sought out the other streets, streets that were much narrower and unpaved, streets were less maintained buildings and houses resided. It was there that he saw the other side of Dala Yar Arak, the side not represented by the well dressed, groomed Arakites that lined the streets to watch them go by. He could see the poor, in their tattered clothing. He could see the slaves, with the metal collars locked around their necks or wrists, a sight that caused a powerful surge of anger to build up inside him, forcing him to close his eyes and struggle to retain control. The homeless, the beggars, and the children. There were so very many of them, children that looked debilitated by disease, bellies swollen in hunger, most of them naked and dirty.
Tarrin didn't care about adults, but children were another matter. Even his independent Cat side went out of its way to protect children. It was probably something of a reflex action, since there were so few Were-cats, a conditioned response to perpetuate the species by making even the uninvolved males protective of the young. Tarrin had started his life as a human, so that Were reflex had probably expanded within his dual mind to include the children of humans. That side of him sought to protect the young, any young, until such time that they could take care of themselves. Phandebrass said it would be bad, but that was almost unbearable. How could these Arakites turn a blind eye to the suffering of children? It was barbaric! But from what he knew of the Arakite society, barbarism was the standard. They were a people who paid money to watch men battle each other to the death in gladitorial combat. They were a people who had turned the enforced servitude and suffering of their fellows into a lucrative financial instution. They were a people totally subverted by greed and decadence, filled with a destructive need to reign over others, where only the advancement of self or family mattered, preferably at the detriment of his neighbors.
And people called him a monster.
In that moment of icy reflection, he decided that there would be no constraint. Not against these monsters. That he had already decided to do whatever it took to find the Book of Ages seemed totally justified to him now. He wouldn't so much as bat an eye over killing any of these people. They deserved it, as far as he was concerned.
"Calmly, my brother," Allia breathed to him. "You're drawing my blood."
Tarrin realized that he was flexing his claws, and they had driven into Allia's skin. He retracted them immediately and hunkered down in her hood, hiding his eyes from the sights beyond.
And on they went. The morning began to turn hot as the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky, but the indomitable performers continued with the same exuberance and energy they possessed when they first began. The city seemed to go on and on and on, a nearly endless procession of buildings made of a sand-colored stone, some of the larger and richer ones whitewashed or painted. People lined the streets, they looked out windows, and many of them stood on roofs and looked down at the spirited parade as Renoit led them deeper and deeper into the vast maze that was the streets of Dala Yar Arak. Tarrin looked up into the sky and realized that it was approaching noontime, and still the parade continued, moving towards some unseen goal that could be around the next corner, or ten longspans up a major avenue. Despite moving the majority of the morning, Renoit's performers proved their athletic endurance during the long, hot march, a march filled with strenuous activity. They were all sweating visibly now, but they showed no signs of slowing down. The dancers still sought to seduce the eyes of the men, and the acrobats and jugglers continued to awe and amaze the passing crowds with their displays of skill. Tarrin hunkered down in Allia's hood with Sarraya, the Faerie seeking relief from the heat and Tarrin hiding his eyes as they moved through what could only be a slum, a
part where the buildings were decayed and the streets were littered with broken stone, waste, and rats that were brave enough to mill about on the open street in broad daylight. The people standing to watch were desperately poor, wearing dirty, ragged clothing and carrying the stark thinness of malnutrition. They stared on with their hopeless eyes, eyes that burned into Tarrin's mind and forced him to get away from them. He was already outraged enough, he needed no more goading.
It was confusing. Why should he care about these people? They were human, they were strangers. He had killed people he had never even known before over the slightest provocation and not felt a whit of guilt, but these poor people generated the strangest feeling of shame in him, shame that his life had been generally good while they were left to suffer in a prison without walls. They didn't deserve this. Nobody did. He saw defeated people, slaves even if they wore no collar or cuff, people who had been cast into a yoke and had no control over it. He could identify with that feeling of helplessness. He had no idea who they were, and to be honest with himself, he felt no need to help them, because he could fathom the futility of such crusading. There were just so many of them. He just felt angry that they had been reduced to this, driven down into the depths, had their hopes and dreams crushed by the brutal fist of reality.
Brooding over that for a while, he felt Allia stop. He rose up with Sarraya and peeked over her shoulder, and he found his breath catching in his throat. They were on a lush, beautiful field of grass, five times the size of Aldreth, and beyond it stood a compound of such opulent magnificence that it took his breath away. A gate that looked to be gilded with gold, protected by an army of men carrying pikes and wearing extravagant uniforms. To the sides of the gate was a wall painted cloud white, a wall some thirty spans high and with men standing at regular intervals atop it to keep out the unwanted. Beyond the gate was a huge open garden of every type of flower and tree imaginable, with several small buildings to the sides of them, and at the far end of it was a massive, towering castle with those bulbed towers rising like a forest over a facade made of brilliantly sparkling crystal. It shimmered and sparkled in the sunlight, dazzling and overpowering all onlookers with its tremendous beauty and majesty. The building itself rested upon more land than Aldreth did, and it rose story over story, a hundred spans into the sky before its walls began to give way to the towers that went on for another few hundred spans. It overshadowed everything around it, dominated the massive, sculpted compound in which it rested, towered over everything else in the entire city with its ostentatious grandeur. One tower rose above all others, a formidable tower seemingly made of pure gold, upon which rested one of those bulbous domes that definitely was either plated or gilded with gold. From the top of that tower, Tarrin thought that one could see all the way into the desert. It rose to a dizzying height, higher than the Tower of Sorcery, higher than anything he had ever seen in his life. To stand on a mountaintop and look down on the land had to be the same thing as standing at the top of that tower and look down upon the city. The building truly was a mountain, a manmade mountain of crystal and gold, standing proudly in the middle of a city of paradox and suffering.
"My gods," Sarraya breathed, gaping up at the monstrous building.
"Unbelievable," Tarrin said in the manner of the Cat.
"What is that place?" Allia asked in consternation to Phandebrass.
"That, my dear, is the Imperial Palace," he replied. "We set up here three years ago. I say, at least when the tent is up, you can't see that blasted thing. It unnerves me, it does."
"A palace? You mean the Emperor lives there?"
"Only the Emperor and his Empress," he nodded. "I say, there's an army of servants, slaves, and guards, but it's not like other palaces or castles of monarchs. Only the Emperor and Empress and their marked servants may enter that palace. It is death to so much as be caught on the grounds without invitation."
"Then where does the Emperor conduct business?"
"He doesn't," Phandebrass replied. "I say, the empire is run by a million beaurocrats and lackeys. The Emperor only handles the largest issues. He leaves the details of running Yar Arak to his sycophants, who do a terrible job, if I may say so. For every day of real work done around here, there's fifty days wasted to plotting, scheming, and backstabbing against other ministries, departments, or co-workers, there are."
"Ridiculous," Allia grunted. "How can one rule a nation and have no care for its needs?"
"My dear, you just summed up everything that's wrong with Yar Arak," Phandebrass smiled. "Now then, let's help get the tents set up, so we can get some rest."
Tarrin lounged off to the side with the drakes and Sarraya, forming a relaxed knot of scales, fur, and blue skin as the others went about the business of setting up the five tents that would serve the circus. The largest was the performing tent. There were four small tents as well; two of them served as the quarters for the performers, the third was a storage tent, and the fourth was Renoit's personal tent. Like Tarrin, the drakes enjoyed the dry heat, rolling on their bellies to soak up the sun's warmth, but Sarraya spent her time huddled against Tarrin's side, using him as a shade against the sun as it began to creep down towards the western horizon. He didn't remember seeing the drakes join the procession, but they obviously must have done so. Then again, Phandebrass was marching towards the rear of the group, since he wasn't actively performing, and the drakes were notorious about riding along with others. Odds were, they were sitting on the tents as they were carried behind the performers. Tarrin accepted Chopstick's nuzzling absently, letting the drake lick him behind the cheek before the little dragon plopped down against him and settled in to take a nap. It draped a wing over his back, which Sarraya immediately pulled over herself to form a protective cover against the sun beating down on her.
"I hate all three of you," the Faerie growled vociferously as she hunkered deeper in the shade of Chopstick's wing. "It's not fair that I'm burning up while you lie there like a bunch of lizards basking on a rock."
"Suffer," Tarrin replied drowzily, leaning a bit more into Chopstick.
They finished raising the tents right at sunset. During the construction, robed Arakites stopped to talk with Renoit several times. They weren't there for very long, and all of them looked like they were officials of some kind. Sarraya had abandoned them as soon as the first tent was raised, flitting into it to enjoy the shade. By the time they were done, and some fires were set between the tents so meals could be cooked, the drakes abandoned the waning sun and moved in to where the food was. Tarrin yawned and stood up, then padded along behind them. He joined a large group of performers, along with all of his friends, as they sat around a large campfire and ate a thick stew Deward had stirred up in a large kettle by the fire. The conversation was light, expectant, merry, the sound of people tired from a long day of work, but happy that they were doing what they wanted to do. Someone played a flute sweetly, filling the campfire and the large group of people around it with light background music to accompany the meal. There were so many there that not everyone could sit near the fire, forming a loose circle of people sitting around it to use its light to see by. Tarrin and the drakes threaded through them absently, ignoring them for the most part, as they sought out specific people. The drakes took to the air and landed on Phandebrass' shoulders, and Tarrin jumped up into Allia's lap as she ate. The smell of the stew reminded him that he'd slept through lunch, and a skillfully raised paw pulled the wooden bowl closer to his mouth to get Allia's attention.
"Why should you be hungry, my brother?" Allia teased. "You did nothing but sleep all day."
"Sleeping can be hard work, Allia," Deward chuckled, picking up a small wooden plate and scooping a portion of stewed meat, carrots, potatos, and peas onto it, then coming over and setting it down beside her. "There you go," he grinned.
He jumped down to eat, but found himself besieged by the two drakes, looking to share in his bounty. He may accept them and like them, but when it came to food, it was every sm
all animal for itself. Tarrin put his ears back and hissed at them threateningly, a sign they immediately understood. They accepted him as well, but both of them knew exactly who and what he was, and knew better than to challenge him in any manner. They backed away from him cautiously as he settled down in front of the meal.
"Let's not be nasty, brother," Allia chided. "Deward, would you please?" she asked him in the common tongue.
"Of course, there is plenty for all this night," Deward said grandly, going to fetch two more plates.
After another of Deward's excellent meals, Tarrin licked his chops and laid down in Allia's lap quietly. He had to start tonight. There was no time to waste. He doubted the others would be ready to start, and that was something that he could understand. They'd spent the day setting up the tents, and they were expected to perform. He'd done nothing but sleep. He needed to get one of those amulets from Phandebrass and have someone give him a map of the city, so he'd know where he was going and how to get back. If they could fit a map of the massive city on one page, anyway.
Renoit stood, and the piper stopped playing. "Our hosts, I have spoken to them, yes," he began in a clear voice. "We are to begin our performing in two days. I had to explain why we are late, but they understood, yes. The sea, she can often be a dangerous mistress." He blew out his breath. "We will be performing once or twice a day up to the Festival of the Sun, and after that, we will perform for ten more days before departing. The agents, they have warned us that there is a chance that the Emperor and Empress may attend one of our performances. During the Festival, they are known to do this, yes. If that happens, I do not think I have to tell you to do your absolute best. And trust me, if they come, you will know it.
"Now then, let us eat and drink and celebrate our arrival," he said with a broad smile. "Tomorrow, no work will be done. It is our day of thanks for arriving safely, yes, and a day to prepare for the performances ahead."
Tarrin Kael Firestaff Collection Book 2 - The Questing Game by Fel © Page 94
