Warrior of the Altaii

by Robert Jordan

  At last Harald realized that this was not the usual banter of the gates. “Why all this questioning?” he growled. “Are you afraid that forty Altaii lances will take your city?”

  The officer swallowed hard, his face paling. Stumbling backward he raised his hand. Suddenly we faced a dozen crossbows, the bowmen spread in an arc across the gateway. There were shiftings behind me, men loosening swords in their scabbards, freeing lances.

  I studied the men before me, and I knew that this had not been planned. They were uncertain and as nervous as their officer. Besides, had they meant to kill us, had they had orders to do so, there would have been more of them. Even if every crossbowman hit his mark, there would still be twice their number of lances to cut them down and ride away.

  “Enough,” I said. “It has been the custom of our people for centuries to come to the Twin Thrones when we passed your city, to let your people know that we come for trade, not fighting. You know that as well as I do. Now you have two choices. The first is to tell your men to fire. You will not kill all of us. Some will live to ride back to our tents with word of what happened here. Then my spirit”—I freed my lance from the stirrup socket—“and your spirit will see how many Altaii lances it takes to tear down the walls of Lanta. Otherwise, stand aside. We enter now.” I kneed my horse forward.

  For just an instant he hesitated. Then he broke. “Stand aside,” he shouted. Seeing us bearing down on him he forgot his dignity and scrambled out of the way, falling on his face in the dirt.

  The crossbowmen split, moving to the sides of the road in confusion. We moved from a walk to a trot and went through them in a cloud of dust.

  Once past I raised my fist, and we slowed again to a walk. The bowmen made no move to hinder us. They stood watching as the dust of our passage settled around them.

  From the Outer Wall to the Inner Wall was a distance of perhaps two hundred and fifty paces. All of that distance between the roads was a tangle of hovels, taverns and thieves’ markets called Low Town. It was always a noisy place, full of bargainers’ cries and drunken gaiety, where a man could have his purse cut three times and be propositioned seven times for acts he’d never before heard of, all in a five-minute walk. Now we rode toward the inner gate through an empty, silent quarter. Obeying some instinct natural to dwellers in such places, they had sensed the trouble at the outer gate and gone to ground. When we had left they would come out again.

  At the inner gate some dozens of Low Town peddlers seemed torn between obeying their impulse to run and staying to save their wares. These they had laid out for those people of the city who would come as far as the gate, but would never enter the city shanties. The guards there looked at us suspiciously as we rode through. They peered toward the outer gate, but seeing no signal or alarm they contented themselves with fingering their weapons and glowering at us as we passed.

  Harald released his breath in a rush, and I realized I had been holding my own. “We are in, Wulfgar, but I’ll tell you straight out that I don’t like it. Not at all. I have had words with the City Guard before at the gates, angry words, curses. I’ve never had anything like that, though.”

  “We had better hope the way out is no harder than the way in.”

  He looked at me as if he had not thought of that possibility. “Do you think it will not be?”

  “Loewin is in the sky during the daylight. The Wind is early this year. I saw a two-toed gromit in my tent three days ago.”

  “You’re a man of good tidings today. Have you seen blood in the wine? Has a dril entered your tent?”

  “I don’t know,” I said calmly. “I’ll check when I get back.”

  “Well, at least you’re willing to talk about getting back. I was beginning to think, with all the portents flying about, that we should just open our veins and have it over with.”

  “Not yet. Orne,” I called, turning back to the lances. “Bartu.”

  The two men moved up beside me. Neither looked like an Altaii, though both had been born in the tents. Bartu was short and bowlegged, with dark eyes. Orne was even taller than Harald, and his hair was as red as a sea rover’s.

  “Pass the word back to the others,” I said. “Be ready for trouble at any instant, trouble beyond the ordinary, but don’t get into any fights unless you’re attacked. Is that understood?”

  “It’s understood, Wulfgar,” said Orne. Bartu looked disappointed.

  “And stay away from the women.”

  Bartu made a sound of protest. It was an even gamble whether he loved women or fighting more. To be deprived of either was a hardship.

  Orne nodded, and the two of them slowed to fall back into the lances.

  “Do you really expect trouble here?” Harald asked.

  In truth it was not the place one would usually expect to be attacked. The streets were crowded. In the market square outside the Mar’yan Arena busy merchants making deals for the shipment of thousands of gold imperials’ worth of goods rubbed shoulders with beggars selling sweets for a copper.

  A few, perhaps those soon to leave on caravans that would try to cross the Plain, eyed us anxiously. Most ignored us. In this city a few horsemen from the Plain could cause no stir. Such could not compare with the travelers from distant lands who thronged the streets. Indeed, fully half of those I saw seemed to be from some far place.

  A dealer in gems in the purple and red of Tyria, his people trailing behind, pushed past a group of Hyksos from the south. Merchants from Tallis and Asyat argued loudly over bales of snow-crawler fur. Two sea rovers from Telmark or Varangia haggled over the price of fish. A hooded Tafawri warrior sat before a tavern sipping tea, disdainful of entering with unbelievers, oblivious of the crowd around him.

  No, there was no attraction in a few men from the Plain. Or there should not be. Why then did I have this feeling that somewhere there were those who watched us, as I might watch the pieces in the Game of War?

  And then we were at the huge square that was the center of the city. On that broad expanse of polished stone there were no crowds, no bargainers, no noise. There was nothing but the wide, empty square and the place we sought. The Palace of the Twin Thrones, the palace of the Queens of Lanta.

  II

  INTO THE PALACE

  The palace gave the appearance of frivolous beauty, of crystal towers and huge expanses of wall inlaid with gems from every land known to man. It glittered in the sun, twinkling from a thousand facets, and beneath the glitter was a fortress.

  The Palace Guard, the men who stood watch on the walls and gates of the palace, were also splendid to see, nearly as much so as the palace. Their armor was covered with precious metals and set with gems. Some of the officers appeared to be covered with jewels from head to foot. There were rumors that they were chosen for their looks and promoted for their vigor in the beds of the queens. Whether that was true or not, it was well to remember that they had held the Twin Thrones inviolate for over a thousand years. In that time, no one had taken the thrones by force, and those who had tried had screamed away their lives in the dungeons beneath the palace or been impaled on its walls.

  We crossed the square at a gallop. The guards at the main gate of the palace shifted uncomfortably as we approached, and more than one hand went to a jeweled sword hilt. It seemed that no one in Lanta wanted to see Altaii warriors this day. That bothered me not at all. The Altaii go where they will, when they will. Indeed, it is said we are most often seen when least expected.

  Harald and I reined in before the gate, and our lances broke to either side behind us. For a moment they seemed to mill around aimlessly, but when they stopped they had formed two lines, back to back, one facing the palace and one facing away. Their lines were not the straight, rigid lines of a Lantan formation, and I heard some of the Palace Guardsmen laugh. They had no service with the caravans, or they would have known that those undisciplined riders could take ten times their number of well-ordered city troops.

  I dismounted and handed my lance and reins
to Orne, and Harald and I approached the gates together. Almost without thinking I eased my short swords in their sheaths. There was the smell of trouble in the air, the sharp, brassy smell of blood.

  “Are you certain it was a two-toed gromit?” Harald asked.

  “It could have been a three-toed.”

  We both spat to ward off the evil of such a thing. Everyone knows the three-toed gromit is a sure and certain harbinger of death.

  “You like to live dangerously, Wulfgar.”

  The guards before the gate drew up in a four-deep formation, spears aimed at our chests. “No one is allowed to enter.”

  It was impossible to tell which one of them had spoken. Leather and armor creaked as the lances shifted position. My hands went again to my sword hilts, and briefly I wondered if it had indeed been three-toed. The sands of a man’s life may run out at any time. Their number is known to no one. And that smell was growing stronger.

  “These—ah—people are an exception.”

  A short, bearded man with an oily voice stepped through a small door in the wall beside the gate. His tunic was of many colors, slashed after the fashion of Lanta so that other colors showed when he bowed to us. “You are expected, of course.” His eyes darted like a bird’s, and he couldn’t suppress a sneer as they came to rest on our plain and dusty garb. He motioned toward the door. “If you will come in. My name is Ara. I am seneschal of the Royal Palace.”

  I ducked through, then stopped so suddenly that he almost trod on my heels. “You have heard of what happened at the gate.” It was not a question. I was certain that he had.

  “Yes.” He smiled unctuously. “It was unfortunate. You may be assured that the officer in question has already been disciplined.”

  “That doesn’t concern me,” I said. “What you do to your officers is up to you. We are here to visit the rulers of your city, according to custom.”

  In truth I was interested, though I did not want him to know it. Whether they had actually done anything to the officer or not, they wanted me to think they had. They wanted to soothe us, and that was even more unusual than our reception at the gate. Lanta had never cared for our feelings before. I saw Harald’s ears pricking and shook my head.

  “If you have no interest in how the man has been disciplined, perhaps you would enjoy some wine and a chance to refresh yourselves after your ride. A girl, perhaps, fresh from the training pens of Asmara? Or two?” He smiled again.

  He smiled too much for my liking, this Ara, and I was beginning to get angry about these attempts to stop us from what should have been a simple visit. Also, I was beginning to tire of waiting for the lightning. If it was going to strike, let it strike.

  “Lord Harald and I came for a purpose. Enjoy the girl and the wine yourself. We will go to the great hall.”

  I started down the hall, and in a step Harald was with me. In two steps Ara was fluttering around us.

  “You cannot! The great hall is, ah, that is, it is being used for a ceremony at present, a most sacred ceremony. You will understand, of course, that outsiders, if you will pardon me for naming you so, cannot be allowed to witness it. My lords? My lords!”

  I turned to him, and he backed away hurriedly. “I have a mind to see this ceremony that is so secret. I suggest you cease hindering me before I forget your honorable position.”

  “It may mean your death,” the seneschal warned.

  “The omens say my life hangs by a thread. Perhaps I choose to cut the thread.”

  “But your friend—”

  Harald laughed. “If an Altaii chooses to die, what can another Altaii do but kill his slayer and die beside him?”

  “You are mad, both of you.”

  “If we are,” I growled, “it is our madness, and no concern of yours. It would be a shame to get blood on that fashionable tunic.” I fingered a sword hilt significantly. “The great hall?”

  “You would offer violence here, in the very halls of the palace?”

  “I’ll not only offer it, I’ll give it. And there’s been enough of this delaying. Lead us, or we’ll go alone, and leave you here for the guards to find.”

  His fingers plucked restlessly at his tunic, and he looked at us as if he had never seen the like before.

  “The great hall,” Harald prompted.

  “If I do,” he muttered, almost to himself, “both your heads and mine may decorate the palace walls by first moonrise. If I do not, you will surely—” He shook himself. “Very well, barbarians. It seems I have little choice.”

  “Lead, seneschal,” I said.

  Without another word he moved ahead of us down the hall, as if anxious to be done with whatever might come. He did not slow until we came to great wooden doors, their surfaces covered with intricate carvings. Four guards stood stiffly before them.

  “Open,” he ordered.

  The guards looked at one another doubtfully, and Ara made a harsh gesture. Slowly two of them moved to take handles set in the doors. Straining, they drew the doors open. From inside came music and the sounds of drunken revelry.

  “A ceremony,” I said sarcastically, and we followed Ara into the great hall.

  The musicians faltered in their playing, then raggedly picked up the tune again. Murmuring spread through the gathered nobles as they became aware of our presence. The dancing girls did not miss a step. They would be whipped if they did not perform beautifully, or if they stopped without command, no matter the reason.

  All that happened, but to me it was as if it happened somewhere else. My eyes were on the tall, carved ivory thrones at the end of the hall, or rather on the two women who sat in them. Eilinn and Elana, the Queens of Lanta.

  According to their legends the city was founded by two sisters, goddesses who descended from the sky and ruled from the Twin Thrones. Each was succeeded by her eldest daughter, and that became the Lantan line of succession. Eldest daughter succeeded eldest daughter. If one queen died without an heir, then the eldest daughter of the other queen succeeded her, and the second daughter succeeded her mother. By such a thing had Eilinn and Elana reached the thrones, so that the Twin Thrones were indeed occupied by twins.

  By not so much as the smallest point could they be told apart. Silver-blond hair was braided identically, piled high and set with pearls that could have been duplicates, one of the other. Four identical green eyes surveyed the hall imperiously from faces that appeared to be mirror images. And yet I knew them. I had not been this way since they took the thrones, but I knew them. And somehow, I knew also, they were tied to the omens of my fate. If the dril picked my bones, it would be because of these two women. And if they did not—If they did not—Now, there was a thought to be reckoned with.

  “You may approach us, Ara,” said Eilinn.

  As the seneschal hurried forward to prostrate himself, the sweat of fear gleaming on his face, Harald touched my arm. “Look you what is here before us.”

  “Morassa,” I breathed.

  To the right of the dais on which the Twin Thrones stood, in a place of honor, sat three men I had never thought to see within these walls, much less seated on the right hand of the throne. Bryar sat there, the best-known war leader of the Morassa, and Daiman, who was thought to be their most successful raider, if there was such a thing among the Morassa. More importantly, Ivo sat there. Ivo, who sat on the right hand of Brecon, king of all the Morassa.

  “If you would clear the cattle dung from your ears, barbarian, perhaps you could hear when you are spoken to.”

  Eilinn’s scornful voice broke my chain of thought. The dancers had cleared the floor, the musicians were silent and everyone stared at Harald and myself.

  “You are bidden to attend our audience, to present your petitions and be entertained as befits your station,” she continued.

  My jaw tightened at the laughter that greeted her sally. Ivo laughed so hard to hear her class us with her vassals and petitioners that the great scar across his face stood out white against the red. I forced myself to re
lax, forced a smile to my face.

  “I am sorry, Your Highness. I was merely admiring the hangings of your great hall and wondering what we will do with them in the tents. I think that after they are cut up they will do for carpets.”

  There was silence in the hall. The nobles waited to see how the queens would take a barbarian who spoke of taking hangings from the walls of the very palace itself. When they smiled, Elana a bit stiffly, the rest roared with laughter. Ivo looked a bit disappointed. Perhaps he would rather have seen our blood on the floor and had it over with.

  “It would be interesting to see you do this thing, barbarian,” Eilinn said dryly. “When and how do you intend to steal the hangings?”

  “How must remain my secret, and as to when, not yet. But I will let you and your sister know when I do. It would be rude to do otherwise.”

  “Of course. You would not wish to be rude.” Her contempt was plain. Her sister, Elana, still watched us silently, as if we were some strange and rare animals. “You will be given places at the audience now, as I said.”

  Servants came to lead us to a place among the gathering, and as they did my anger rose again. Harald stiffened and would have spoken, but I gestured, and he went without the words I also wanted to say. His face, however, was as bleak as the Plain in midwinter.

  We were not seated at the head of the hall, among the ranking lords, as was our due. Not only were we placed with the merchants and lesser nobles, but at the very end of the hall, where a wandering beggar who had been brought in to amuse the gathering might be seated.

  Other servants came forward and, with great show, placed bowls of perfume on the floor around us, as if to shield our neighbors from the aroma of horses and leather. Platters of meat, small pieces, half burned and half raw, were offered to us, and goblets of sour-smelling wine. The girls who served us were untrained kitchen laborers dressed in greasy, ragged shifts of coarse cloth. Even the soldiers near us were being served by perfumed girls clad in sheer silks.

  The men across the hall from us were grinning openly, nudging one another and telling jokes behind their hands. Ivo did not seem to think much of it, but Bryar and Daiman laughed until they seemed ready to slide from their chairs. Bryar was spilling wine all over the floor.