The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2) (34 page)

Orishin ducked his head. "No, please, I am grateful, not you. I am happy to be of service. Let me come with you, Lady Iskra, into palace. I shall translate for you, make sure others do not lie, change your words."

Tiron studied the stall master. Who would know if he told the truth? His urge was to turn the man away, but Iskra nodded.

"We shall see," she said. "But if it is possible, I will ask that you accompany us."

"Thank you. Very good, very wise, yes." Orishin beamed at her and stood straighter. "We come to palace wall soon. The emperor, he is defended by household of - how do you say?" He tried a word in Agerastian that sounded like
charivari
, and frowned. "Please excuse me. Men who have had their manhood removed."

Iskra blinked, and Tiron nearly tripped. "What?" He stared at Orishin. "On purpose?"

"Yes," said Orishin. "Old custom that began long, long ago by Ascendant. Men who were allowed to leave Agerastos, go to Aletheia as diplomats, they had -" Orishin made a snipping motion with his fingers. "So that they not breed with Aletheian women, pollute Ascension cycle. Famous example of diplomat who did, had Aletheian son, big scandal. Ever since, all diplomat -" Again, he snipped.

Iskra shook her head slightly. "I have never heard of Agerastian diplomats."

Orishin sighed. "No, it stop long time ago. But become tradition. Diplomats have much... much honor, much prestige. Trusted men. Even after diplomats stop going through Solar Gate, tradition continue. Now they run emperor household, very powerful. Advisors, hold important government positions."

Iskra nodded slowly, as if that made complete sense, but Tiron couldn't wrap his head around it. "You mean," he said, "they cut off their... to prove they are, what, part of this group? This tradition?"

Orishin nodded.

"But - that was a punishment inflicted by the Aletheians," said Tiron. "Why continue it?"

"My friend, much that was once punishment had become our life. Live long enough with a thing, it become who you are."

Tiron opened his mouth to protest again, but couldn't think of what to say. He wished Audsley were here. Instead, he snapped his mouth shut and shook his head.
Incredible
.

The street merged with an avenue, and Tiron stopped thinking of the
charivari
. The avenue was paved with large white flagstones, all neatly aligned, and was divided into two great lanes by a central raised island of red-painted stone on which white marble columns rose every twenty paces. Beautifully carved statues of important-looking men topped these pillars, though Tiron saw a number which were disfigured or missing altogether. The houses that lined the avenue were grand, imposing timber buildings three stories tall, and the people who were walking here were beautifully dressed in sumptuous clothing of fine cloth in vibrant colors.

Everywhere he looked, something arrested his eye: rose-colored buildings with beautiful scaled domes, an empty lot of grass amongst which rose tombstones, a massive building with circular walls and a hundred slitted windows, a copper-plated fountain, ornately decorated carriages pulled by white steeds, a marching group of guards fifty strong, copper-skinned children clad in bronze bracelets and anklets and saffron robes racing in a gang across the street... He was out of his depth, without any points of reference, immersed without mercy in a culture completely not his own.

Yet old instincts continued to guide his eye. He looked for signs of trouble, sought information that could add context, that could speak to him about this world into which they had been plunged, and saw decay and abandon hidden behind the bright façade. The occasional pillar was missing sections of marble, revealing the gray common stone beneath. The horses looked malnourished, their ribs prominent. A group of men were angrily washing off a great glaring yellow eye with a slitted pupil that had been hastily painted on a wall. No water splashed from the copper fountain.

"There," said Orishin. "The palace wall, beyond the temple of Thyrrasskia."

Tiron looked ahead and saw a particularly imposing domed building. "Looks like a temple of Ascension to me."

"A former temple," said Orishin with a smile.

"What is Thyrrasskia?" asked Iskra, placing a hand on Tiron's arm.

"The Prime Mother, the original medusa, whose burning blood runs through our emperor's veins." Orishin spoke this in a rhythmic manner as if it were a catechism.

"Medusa?" Iskra grip on Tiron's arm tightened.

"Why yes," said Orishin, smiling blandly. "We here in Agerastos have returned to the ancient ways. The beliefs from before Ascension." He then pointed ahead, cutting off the conversation. "See? That gatehouse. That is where we go."

Tiron looked forward and saw that the great avenue opened up into a massive square that was dominated by a central plinth that rose some thirty yards into the sky, a vast snake carved in a spiral up its length. A bronze statue of an imposing young man clad in imperial robes and holding aloft a scepter crowned with a medusa's head was set at its peak. It was a breathtaking work of art in scope and style, and Tiron couldn't help but wonder how they'd raised the statue so high.

"The Emperor Thansos the First," said Orishin. "As he looked forty years ago."

Beyond the plinth rose a great white wall, easily ten yards tall but without crenellations. It probably wasn't thick enough to allow men to walk atop it, guessed Tiron. A gatehouse projected from its front, and a full complement of guards was keeping a crowd at bay before it. Beyond the wall Tiron saw what must have been the former temple to Ascension, shaped in the form of a pyramid and glowing rose under the sun. Its peak, Tiron saw with a shock, had been hacked off, leaving behind a rough platform. He snorted. If that didn't announce the Agerastian position, then nothing did.

Captain Patash, who had been leading their group at a quick pace, dove into the crowd in front of the gatehouse without hesitation, barking out orders that caused people to skitter aside, some tripping in their haste to get out of his way. Again Tiron and his group were subjected to curious stares, some resentful, some guarded, and voices called out from the safety of the crowd in anger. Tiron half-expected fruit to be thrown.

The captain marched up to the guards and bowed with his fist over his heart. His counterpart did the same, and they then engaged in quick conversation. The gatehouse captain glanced coldly at Iskra several times, then nodded and gestured for them to proceed. Patash led them past the two dozen guards into the gatehouse, but instead of passing through into the grounds beyond, they turned left through a doorway and entered a high-ceilinged room.

Tiron kept filing away pieces of information. Over twenty armed guards at the entrance to the palace spoke of unease on the part of the emperor. What did the crowd out front want? Were they protesters or petitioners?

The room into which they marched was mostly bare, and they passed through it quickly into a second, where a man in white robes fringed with purple was sitting with a quill in hand, biting the corner of his mouth as he stared down at his parchment. He had a round face with the Agerastian copper skin, no beard or mustache, and great sloping shoulders like a bear's. He set his quill down as they all filed in and rose to his feet.

Captain Patash explained the situation concisely, and the man folded his hands over his stomach and considered the group. Orishin, Tiron noticed, had faded to the back.

"You claim to be Ennoian nobility?" The man's voice was precise, his accent sharp, his Ennoian fluent.

Iskra stepped forward, eyes glittering, elegant and effortlessly controlled. "No, I do not claim. I am Lady Iskra of Ennoia, along with my personal guard, come to see Emperor Thansos the First on a mission of diplomatic sensitivity."

The man - a charivari? wondered Tiron - did all but sneer. "You claim to have used a Lunar Gate to reach Agerastos. A clever claim. No ship has docked from Ennoia, yet your men are soaked. Clearly you came by water. A small ship, I would guess. Why the lies? What did you hope to achieve? You must know that you do yourself no favors with such easily detected falsehoods."

Iskra betrayed no impatience. "You know my name and title, ser. It would be considered courteous to offer me yours."

The man drew himself up, sucking in his gut and smoothing down his purple sash. "I am Councilor Asashas of the Fifth Rank, overseer of the First Gate and the humble servant of Emperor Thansos. Now, answer my questions. You tire my patience."

"Then know this, Councilor." Iskra's voice hardened to steel, and Tiron fought the urge to smile. "Your insults will come back to haunt you once I have spoken with the emperor. I speak no falsehoods. I came through a Portal that opens to a forgotten cistern beneath your city. I am a lady of high rank in Ennoia, the nation with which your army now struggles, and I come with terms that might change the very course of the war. Escort me at once into your emperor's presence, or find yourself summarily demoted from the fifth to the sixth or seventh rank when the emperor learns of my treatment."

Iskra's tone and self-assurance lent her words a whipcrack of authority. Tiron watched as Asashas withered beneath her glare, then felt a flicker of admiration as the man regrouped and adopted a scowl that was almost convincing.

"The only thing keeping you from being thrown into a dungeon and interrogated at my pleasure is the very civility you insult! Now, I am a reasonable man. Tell me what these terms are, and I shall personally see to it that they are relayed to the emperor while you enjoy some refreshments here at the gatehouse."

"Insolence!" Iskra's voice was as sharp as Captain Patash's bark. "Is there a tenth rank? If not, you will be the first, unless you are cast out instead into the street as an example to all other arrogant and over-reaching councilors who fancy themselves diplomats when in truth they are nothing but fools."

The councilor's face drained of blood, his lips thinned, and he finally dropped his gaze, unable to hold Iskra's any longer. He glanced down at his robes and flicked away some dust, took up his quill, and then placed it back down on the table.

He looked over at Patash, who managed to conceal a subtle smile just in time, and said something quickly in Agerastian. The captain bowed, nodded to Iskra, and then gestured that she should follow. Their group summarily filed out of the councilor's room.

"I'm surprised you didn't try to stab the man with his own quill," murmured Tiron to Iskra as they walked out.

Iskra smiled with quiet satisfaction. "The day I'm unable to handle a jumped-up gate guard like Asashas is the day I renounce my Sigean ancestry." She glanced back to Orishin, who had slipped unobtrusively alongside them. "What did he say to Patash?"

Orishin smoothed down his goatee, clearly nervous, keeping his eyes on the floor as they were led through the first room and back out into the gateway. "He order that you be taken to an advisor of the fourth rank in the Hall of Pigeons."

"Is this a suitable progression?"

Orishin arched an angular brow. "Yes, if you are relative of a condemned criminal."

Iskra's lips thinned. "Most amusing. To whom do you think I should go instead?"

Orishin narrowed his eyes in thought. "Captain Patash, he could take you direct to Councilor Juntosh of the Second Rank in the Hall of Peacocks. Juntosh report to Councilor of the First Rank, who can take you to Chamberlain, who can take you to Emperor."

Iskra nodded, and moments later they emerged into a broad expanse of garden, where the grass was trimmed short and divided by straight paths of crushed white stone. A small building with a domed roof stood in the center of the garden, while a longer edifice with a colonnaded facade ran the length of the wall to the left. The walls closed at the far end of the garden around a much grander second gatehouse.

"We are in First Garden, Lady Iskra," said Orishin, noting the direction of her gaze. "There are three before you reach palace."

"Captain Patash."

Iskra's voice was clear and confident. She simply stopped walking, and everyone else staggered to a halt. The captain turned, brow furrowed, and Tiron decided that he liked this man with the deceptively soft face of a shopkeeper.

"I know that I have no right to ask this of you," Iskra went on, "but I request that you take me to Councilor Juntosh of the Second Rank in the Peacock Hall. You are fully aware of the implications of my being taken to the Hall of Pigeons. I ask only that you use your own discernment and decide what is the most prudent course of action: blind obedience that will ultimately reflect badly on all involved, or discretion based on your own assessment of my character and intent."

Iskra looked to Orishin, who nervously smoothed his goatee with both hands before launching into a stream of Agerastian accompanied by vigorous gestures and nods.

Nearby, people streamed from the first gatehouse to the long building to the left. Occasionally, important-looking officials left the center building and marched toward the second gatehouse. There was a constant flow of traffic, yet Iskra and her group formed an island of stillness around which people moved warily.

Captain Patash smoothed the rounded tip of his nose again. He pursed his lips and considered the nine guards who surrounded their small group. Tiron realized that he was holding his breath. How they approached the emperor was of critical importance. Their own status would be directly affected, which in turn would boost or imperil the chances of their success.