The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (34 page)

‘I have to stock my boat,’ he said. ‘And then I will leave.’

‘How long will you remain?’ asked Jahan.

‘An hour. Maybe two.’ Akhir frowned. ‘You do not want to go?’

Apprehension made Jahan’s lips curl. ‘No. We will go.’

But he didn’t move.

‘Jahan?’ probed Lukien. ‘What’s wrong?’

Jahan looked uncomfortable. ‘All of this. It is more than I expected. It is so big! It is nothing like my village. And all these people. I have never seen so many.’

‘Jahan, this is what you wanted – to see Torlis.’

‘Yes,’ Jahan agreed.

Still he did not disembark. Akhir made a face of displeasure.

‘I can take you back with me if that’s what you wish,’ he said. ‘Those were good animals you gave me. But tell me now. If you are riding back with me, I will buy enough food for us all.’

‘I’m going,’ said Lukien. ‘I have to. Jahan, go back with Akhir if that’s what you want.’

Jahan shook off his apprehension with a laugh. ‘Go back? No, Lukien. How would you find your way without me?’

‘I don’t think I could,’ said Lukien with a grin. ‘Come on, then.’

They said good-bye to Akhir, wishing the boatman a safe journey home, then stepped off his shaky vessel onto the dock. The wooden structure gave a groan beneath them, directing them toward the beach where dozens of fishermen and boys waded into the water or stayed ashore mending nets. Not far ahead of them, the crude homes of mud brick glowed orange in the sunlight. Stepping off the muddy bank and onto a crowded street, Lukien pointed with his chin toward the palace in the centre of the city.

‘There,’ he said softly. ‘That’s where we’ll find him.’

Jahan’s nervousness grew. He licked his wind-chapped lips as he surveyed the looming palace. Around it stood scores of lesser buildings, all beautifully constructed of gleaming stone and precious metals. It would be a long walk, but Lukien could tell it was not the distance daunting his friend.

‘Lukien, what will you say to him?’ Jahan asked. ‘Have you thought about it?’

‘I will tell him the truth,’ said Lukien. ‘That I’m looking for the sword, and that I’ve come a long way to find it.’

‘But look at us. We have nothing to offer. We’re dressed like peasants.’ Jahan smoothed down his garb, trying to make himself presentable. ‘The Red Eminence is rich and powerful. I think perhaps I should not have come.’

‘Why?’ Lukien asked. He paused in the middle of the avenue, turning toward his companion. ‘Because the city frightens you? Jahan, it frightens me, too. I’m the real stranger here.’

‘No Lukien. The place you come from is not so unlike this. I have listened to your stories. Your city of Koth is a great city like Torlis. And I’m . . .’ Jahan dropped his eyes. ‘I’m a villager.’

‘You’re the founder of your village, a Simiheh. Your people are proud and respected in their part of Tharlara. You should tell the Red Eminence about your people, Jahan. If he doesn’t already know about them, then he should.’

Jahan tried to smile. ‘The Simiheh are proud. I will tell the Red Eminence about my people, if that’s what he wishes.’

Satisfied, Lukien took the lead as they made their way through Torlis’ crowded lanes. He wore a hood to shield himself from onlookers, but occasionally earned a surprised glance from those who had never seen his like before. Though large, Torlis was not like Koth, with its myriad of peoples. Instead, the people of Torlis were all the same, with skin like caramel and dark, narrow eyes. They dressed themselves in robes similar to Jahan’s, though better made, and the women wore their hair long and adorned themselves with jewelry. As they entered a market, the noise of chattering patrons filled the square. Merchants stood behind tables laden with dates and rice, shouting above the din while caged birds chirped incessantly and dogs ran between the stalls. Old men sat around game tables, smoking pipes and laughing, while boys in long, striped gowns herded sheep through the market. Exotic smells filled the air, making Lukien hungry, but he had very little coinage left to splurge, and so decided to forgo the market’s many treats. Jahan, who had left down his hood, let his head swivel on his shoulders, taking in every sight and sound. Still, the people of Torlis paid the pair little attention. Too involved with their day to day business, they offered only cursory stares.

Leaving the market, Lukien discovered a wide, straight avenue leading directly toward the centre of the city. At the end of the road stood the palace. Carts drawn by oxen and donkeys filled the road. Triple-tiered homes lined the sidewalks. Lukien led Jahan down the avenue, marvelling at a temple ascending high above their heads. It was the one they had seen
from Akhir’s boat. The enormous image of the serpent’s head surveyed the city with its reptilian eyes, its stone tongue licking the air. Around the temple knelt praying worshippers, holding burning incense and chanting. Even with the help of his amulet, Lukien could not understand their words.

‘Look, Jahan,’ said Lukien. ‘What Akhir said about Sercin – did you know about that?’

Jahan craned his neck to better see the towering serpent. ‘I have never heard of a god named Sercin. But see – he is a rass. They are holy here, too.’

‘And the people here turn the river to blood,’ said Lukien, repeating Akhir’s claim. ‘Just like you said.’

‘It is the Red Eminence who makes the river bleed, when he kills the great rass.’

‘The great rass. Could that be Sercin?’

‘I do not know, Lukien.’ Jahan turned eyes toward the palace. ‘Come. The Red Eminence will have your answers.’

Avoiding the carts and beasts of burden, they took the sidewalks of the avenue, heading directly toward the palace. After a time the avenue changed, and the houses along its way surrendered to more splendid buildings. Here, there were few children playing and the homes were more elaborate. The dress of the people became finer. Taller spires reached into the air and broad-leafed trees shaded those along the walkways. Enormous edifices of limestone – monuments to past rulers, Lukien supposed – looked down at them from pedestals of polished rock, sitting like giants on gargantuan thrones. Passing the monuments, they came at last to the gates leading to the palace. Lukien paused, struck by the gates and the grounds beyond them. All around the palace stood gardens and fountains and meticulously manicured pathways. Butterflies fluttered among the flowers while men in white uniforms and saffron sashes guarded the lanes, their heads wrapped with cloths and pinned with jewels. Other men walked among them, looking like holy men in their simple, off the shoulder robes. The palace itself was set back from the gardens, its three spires achingly beautiful. The blinding-white surface of the palace contained a mind-boggling array of carvings, all climbing forever up the towers, reaching for the golden domes.

‘No one from my village has ever been here,’ Jahan whispered. ‘Or seen anything so beautiful.’

Lukien could not argue, for he doubted that he himself had ever seen such beauty wrought by human hands. The artisans of the palace had made more than a grand building of limestone and gold. They had made a miracle.

‘We should go,’ he said gently. ‘Are you ready?’

Swallowing his emotions, Jahan squared his shoulders and proceeded toward the gates. Lukien walked beside him, imitating his friend’s fearlessness. He had travelled for months and endless miles to reach this place. The hope that his journey had neared its end was overwhelming. Not wanting to hide himself, he lowered his hood to present his white face and golden hair. Inside the gates, a contingent of guards dressed in their perfect uniforms gathered to confront them, clearly surprised by the visitors. The guards held long, spear-like weapons of ebony topped with hooked blades. In their sashes were short, curved swords. Each wore a jewel in his headdress, all of them rubies except for one, who pinned his head gear with a diamond. A man of rank among his peers, the one with the diamond broke from the others to peek through the gate. He looked perplexed rather than angry.

‘Who are you?’ he asked. For a moment, Lukien did not understand his words. Then, as had happened with all those he’d met in Tharlara, the words became clear to him, magically translated in his mind. Lukien glanced at Jahan and saw that he too understood the guard, though their dialects were markedly different.

‘My name is Lukien. This is my friend, Jahan, a Simiheh from a village a long way from here.’

The leader of the guardians regarded Lukien curiously. A young man, there was innocence in his eyes. ‘You are strange looking. And your words . . .’ He looked at his comrades, who all had the same reaction. ‘They’re different, but we understand!’

‘Please don’t be afraid,’ Lukien cautioned. ‘I’m from a land far away, a land called Liiria. I speak differently from you. But I have a way to make people understand me.’

The guard turned to Jahan. ‘You are from the river lands beyond the city.’

‘I am Simiheh,’ said Jahan proudly. ‘My village is far from here. I took this man up the river so that he could see the Red Eminence.’

‘A peasant and a foreigner?’ The guard shook his head. ‘The Eminence will not see you.’

‘Please listen,’ implored Lukien. ‘I’ve come a long way, many miles. I must see the Red Eminence.’

‘It is not possible,’ said the guard. ‘You are not expected, you are not of important families, you do not even bring gifts with you. The Eminence will not see you.’

‘But it’s important,’ Lukien argued. ‘Have you ever seen my kind before?’

‘No,’ the guardian admitted.

Lukien raised his voice just enough. ‘Then how do you know I am not important? I have business with the Red Eminence, probably something
you cannot understand. I have come a long way to bring something from my land, something of great value. Now, open the gate and let us pass.’

Lukien’s bravado caught the attention of others on the grounds, guards and holy men who came to gape at the strangers. One man in particular, far older than the rest, came to stand beside the man with the diamond headdress. Surrounded by young acolytes in flowing robes, the old man stared inquisitively.

‘What have your brought the Red Eminence?’ asked the guard, growing annoyed.

Lukien reached beneath his clothing and pulled out the Eye of God. ‘This.’

The gathered men gave a collective gasp of interest, instantly bewitched by the amulet. Lukien let it dangle before them, twirling it on its chain. As if on cue, the ruby jewel in its centre flared to life.

‘This is an artifact of powerful magic,’ said Lukien, unsure of the wisdom of his gambit. ‘It is from my land across the desert, a mighty land with great sorcerers. The magic of this amulet lets you understand my words.’

The guard stepped back, bewildered. Before he could speak, the old holy man came forth.

‘You are from across the desert?’ he asked.

‘I am,’ Lukien declared.

The holy man watched the Eye of God as it spun on its chain. Sunlight danced off the amulet and the old man’s shaved head. A tattooed serpent slithered on his neck, its head almost biting his ear, where a single earring dangled. His young acolytes bore earrings as well, but no tattoo.

‘That is a magic thing, you say? From your people?’

Lukien nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘And who are your people? What are they called?’

‘I’m from Liiria. That’s what my people are called – Liirians.’

‘Liirians.’ The old man chewed on the word, looking disappointed. ‘That’s not right.’

‘What do you mean?’

The holy man shook his head. ‘If you were the one, you would know.’

The old man turned and shuffled back toward the palace.

‘Wait!’ Lukien called. ‘What is it you want me to say? What answer are you looking for?’

‘If I told you that, then you would have the answer,’ laughed the man.

‘This amulet isn’t Liirian,’ Lukien rushed to add. ‘It was made by others, by Akari.’

The old holy man stopped walking. ‘Akari, you say?’

‘Akari, yes,’ said Lukien. ‘Does that mean something to you?’

‘Something, yes.’ The man looked at the guardian with the diamond in his headdress. ‘Let them enter.’

‘Karoshin?’

‘It is all right,’ said the holy man. ‘Open the gate.’

At the old man’s order the guards opened the gates for Lukien and Jahan, then stood aside for them to enter. Lukien went to the holy man at once.

‘Thank you,’ he said, still holding the Eye of God. ‘This amulet – do you know of it?’

‘No.’

‘But then how can you know the word Akari?’

‘My name is Karoshin,’ replied the old man. ‘I am a priest of Sercin. You have come seeking the Red Eminence?’

‘Yes. Will he see us?’

‘I will take you,’ said the priest. ‘You have many questions. The Red Eminence will have answers. Come.’

The acolytes were quick to surround their venerable leader as he headed toward the palace. Lukien and Jahan hurried after him. Behind them, the guards closed the gate but did not follow, and Karoshin did not turn to face them as he led them up the lane. The palace soared overhead, spreading its giant shadow across the gardens. Pools filled with colourful fish lined the way, reflecting the high, golden domes of the spires. The palace itself had a hundred different entrances, all of them arched beneath a roof that shaded the strolling priests. Vibrant tiles lined the archways, giving way to busy halls filled with busy servants. Karoshin led them beneath the roof and past a dozen arches until at last entering one, a splendid portal of shimmering bronze. Walking beneath it, Lukien marvelled at the way it reflected the light.