The City

by John Stevenson

The sounds of flute, fiddle, drum and accordion filled the air in a cacophony of sounds, as did the aroma of cooked onions, meats and fish with tempting smells. The wide paved streets between fine houses and shops were packed with people; laughter and joy on every face. Each step they took they were jostled by dancers adorned with strips of brightly colored materials, bells and trinkets. They had just arrived in Quone and it was hard not to be swept up in the excitement and celebration, but Antony was feeling claustrophobic in the throng. He leaned close to Simeon’s ear and still almost had to shout to be heard. “We should try to find another way through?”

  Simeon knew the futility of answering and just nodded his head in agreement.

  They took the next side street, and after several dead ends, and failed choices they found a back way: running parallel that looked promising. Back from the main thoroughfare the lanes and alleys were less crowded, but narrower: some barely wide enough for a wagon to pass along. Not that any would where they walked to the side of the keeps approach ramp. Here even walking had become difficult, as it seemed the slope got steeper with each step they took. Here there were also piles of snow, whereas on the main streets it had been cleared.

  Antony’s feeling of being hemmed in had not eased; there were less people, but now the houses crowded him. They packed close together, channeling the noise to and past as if they were in a chasm, each time they passed a side road running back to the main thoroughfare. Reluctantly he knew that soon they would have to re-join the throng. He also noted that here in the poorer part of town many houses doubled as shops; opening their front room up for whatever trade or service the occupant could scrape a meager income from. His mind cast to the tales eagerly spoken amongst the poor country folk, of the opportunities, riches and prosperity that were theirs for the taking if they went to the city. What those telling’s omitted was that the riches were to be made from them, and this was the reality they found, slums and poverty. Claustrophobic and depressed, his mood wasn’t lifted even by looking up at the sky that rich and poor shared alike. Now intruding on the narrow strip of blue sky was the grim bulk of the fortress.

  While it’s growing and ominous bulk overwhelmed him, the inhabitants seemed less troubled. Used to the sight they ignored it, and everywhere there were celebration signs and symbols associated with the ageing ceremony that would commence within hours. Antony pondered on the thought that none realized that this ageing would be a day they would not forget for another reason.

  A short while later they turned a corner that took them into a wider street. On the one side were the usual houses, on the other; past an open grassed area, was the great wall of the keep. It soared into the sky, and they stood staring up, their minds somewhere between dread and awe.

  “Come Antony we draw attention,” Simeon took the others arm, pulling him forward, but that only drew their eyes to gentle curve of the massive stone blocks that ran smooth towards the gateway. They said nothing more, instead saving their breath for the steep climb back to the ramp, and trying to make their minds fight the oppressed feeling that had come over them. Though neither showed their thoughts to the other, the bravado of planning seemed less achievable in the raw light of reality.

  The side way they had taken had brought them close to the southern end of the wall, which in a way was not a bad thing for it had been in their minds to walk the entire length as a final check.

  What couldn’t be seen from this side of the wall was that the buildings of the keep had been placed on the back wall of a blind, river gully. Many generations ago it had overlooked, and served as refuge for a small village. With each dynasty that ruled, the fortress had grown up and out. The keep climbing higher and higher up the rock walls to achieve its present seventeen levels, and the site of the old village was now enclosed within a curtain wall and lake. The adjoining town had grown into a city and the keep in proportion; it was a massive by any measure a massive structure.

  Above and around the keep a sheer cliff face rose, towering hundreds of meters up the side of the mountain: past the snow line. To leap from above was the only way in; bar the gate; and to achieve entrance this way one would have needed to be a cross between a mountain goat and a bird.

  In their minds they had a bird’s-eye view, behind the moat and wall was an open parade ground; to one side were the barracks, stores and stables, and to the other the civil service apartments, kitchens and offices. To most people on their side of the barrier, none of these things could be seen.

  They had come to the bridge that crossed over the outer moats overflow. Gushing noisy water raced down the drain. It was much as they expected: a wide, deep pond enclosed the area to the front and sides of the gate. Access was over two consecutive drawbridges, the first to get to a fortified tower in the center of the water, and a second to reach the gateway. Wicked looking spikes jutted from the roof of the tower portal showing a portcullis could be quickly dropped in place. The actual gateway through the wall could not be seen, but the recesses were quite visible. They knew that representing the weakest point in the wall the gate was substantial. Comprising huge hewn logs bolted together with iron straps, it was withdrawn into a niche in one sidewall. When needed it could be drawn across the entrance and slotted into the opposite side. Even with the drawbridge down, there was not a ram large enough to more than dent it. They knew too that an area of charring showed that once an invader had tried to burn the gate down; they were foiled by the narrow grill above the entrance, where water; pumped up from the pipe, could be poured down; or alternatively boiling oil. It was almost easier to hack through the wall than pass a closed gate.

  Towards the left of the gate, the water surface bubbled. It was said that beneath was a barred tunnel that filled the pond from the river within the fortress. Rumor had it that oil could be poured into the steam and it would be carried out to cover the pond, where it could be set alight enveloping the entire entrance in flame. From all he could see Antony didn’t need telling that an army could not take this gate by force.

  But now it appeared peaceful. Less guard than they had expected, but that could be because they were on the city outskirts, checking the inflow. Passage in and out of the gate was almost unimpeded; if it only would stay that way.

  The walking became easier as they descended to the other end of the wall where it slotted into the raw rock of the mountain.

  Talk had it that only once had an attempt been made at scaling the wall. Though that had been a failure, here at the end they could see where, as a result, every crack and toe hold in the rock face had been chipped away or Cret'ed in for hundred meters further along and up. On top of this the steep incline reminded them that without raising the entire town not even the smallest siege machines had room to get close enough to even attempt to hurl a missile over it. The fortress truly was impenetrable: except for the front gate, and then only by subterfuge.

  In another ten minutes or so, after stopping to gather breath; or inspect some trader’s wares they came back at the gate. Here was the single place where the smooth wall was broken by any feature, by careful walking they estimated the diameter of the pond at a good eighty meters across.

  Looking again to where that water swelled up, disturbing the otherwise smooth surface they could only accept that the hidden create pipe was truly obstructed by many barriers of iron mesh spaced along its length.

  They looked again towards the center of the water and the tower, rising sheer from the depths. Had it stood any place other than here, it would have been the tallest structure in the district, but it now was dwarfed by the wall behind it. There were no windows in the tower until after the level of the highest of the surrounding houses.

  They looked more closely at the drawbridges connecting the wall to the tower, and the tower to the town. They were constructed of substantial timber beams. It was common knowledge that only rarely was more than one down at a time to allow access straight through, and the aging was one of those times. Then common folk would be allowed
to cross and enter the courtyard, where packed like fish in a barrel, they would witness the ceremony. But this year the fish would contain a few sharks. Once inside they would storm the armory, then the garrison, and finally the apartments. Back in the safety of Blood Mountain it had seemed so easy.

  Pretending to look at a store holder’s ware, they could see through the opening, the tiniest glimpse of the keep; far in the distance, or so it seemed.

  At its center some eight levels above the ground, emerged a waterfall, at the base of that fall a small lake where the water gushing from inside the mountain was caught and contained. From this pool it ran through ornamental moats either side of the courtyard before it fell into the Crete pipe under the wall. On this side of the wall they could clearly see that the overflow from the pond ran into a channel, beyond that there was a drain through the town to and past the outer wall. From there by stream and river, through field and forest until it finally merged with the inland sea. Whoever held the source of that water, held the city and the lands of Loc-Sie.

  It was a daunting scheme: but they had known that from the very beginning, and they couldn’t let the