Topper spun to him. «You answer civility with arrogance, Lieutenant. You'd do well to shed the noble hauteur.»
Smiling, Paran gestured. «Lead on, escort.»
In a whirl of cloak Topper stepped through the arch and vanished.
The mare bucked as Paran pulled her closer to the arch, head tossing.
He tried to soothe her but it was no use. Finally, he climbed into the saddle and gathered up the reins. He straightened the horse, then drove hard his spurs into her flanks. She bolted, leaped into the void.
Light and colours exploded outward, engulfing them. The mare's hoofs landed with a crunching thump, scattering something that might be gravel in all directions. Paran halted his horse, blinking as he took in the scene around them. A vast chamber, its ceiling glittering with beaten gold, its walls lined with tapestries, and a score of armoured guards closing in on all sides.
Alarmed, the mare sidestepped to send Topper sprawling. A hoof lashed out after him, missing by a handspan. More gravel crunched-only it was not gravel, Paran saw, but mosaic stones. Topper rolled to his feet with a curse, his eyes flashing as he glared at the lieutenant.
The guardsmen seemed to respond to some unspoken order, slowly withdrawing to their positions along the walls. Paran swung his attention from Topper. Before him was a raised dais surmounted by a throne of twisted bone. In the throne sat the Empress.
Silence fell in the chamber except for the crunch of semi-precious gems beneath the mare's hoofs. Grimacing, Paran dismounted, warily eyeing the woman seated on the throne.
Laseen had changed little since the only other time he'd been this close to her; plain and unadorned, her hair short and fair above the blue tint of her unmemorable features. Her brown eyes regarded him narrowly.
Paran adjusted his sword-belt, clasped his hands and bowed from the waist. «Empress.»
«I see,» Laseen drawled, «that you did not heed the commander's advice of seven years ago.»
He blinked in surprise.
She continued, «Of course, he did not heed the advice given him, either. I wonder what god tossed you two together on that parapet-I would do service to acknowledge its sense of humour. Did you imagine the Imperial Arch would exit in the stables, Lieutenant?»
«My horse was reluctant to make the passage, Empress.»
«With good reason.»
Paran smiled. «Unlike me, she's of a breed known for its intelligence. Please accept my humblest apologies.»
«Topper will see you to the Adjunct.» She gestured, and a guardsman came forward to collect the mare's reins.
Paran bowed again then faced the Claw with a smile.
Topper led him to a side door.
«You fool!» he snapped, as the door was closed soundly behind them.
He strode quickly down the narrow hallway. Paran made no effort to keep pace, forcing the Claw to wait at the far end where a set of stairs wound upward. Topper's expression was dark with fury. «What was that about a parapet? You've met her before-when?»
«Since she declined to explain I can only follow her example,» Paran said. He eyed the saddle-backed stairs. «This would be the West Tower, then. The Tower of Dust-?»
«To the top floor. The Adjunct awaits you in her chambers-there's no other doors so you won't get lost, just keep on until you reach the top.»
Paran nodded and began climbing.
The door to the tower's top room was ajar. Paran rapped a knuckle against it and stepped inside. The Adjunct was seated at a bench at the far end, her back to a wide window. Its shutters were thrown open, revealing the red glint of sunrise. She was getting dressed. Paran halted, embarrassed.
«I'm not one for modesty,» the Adjunct said. «Enter and close the door behind you.»
Paran did as he was bidden. He looked around. Faded tapestries lined the walls. Ragged furs covered the stone tiles of the floor. The furniture-what little there was-was old, Napan in style and thus artless.
The Adjunct rose to shrug into her leather armour. Her hair shimmered in the red light. «You look exhausted, Lieutenant. Please, sit.»
He looked around, found a chair and slumped gratefully into it. «The trail's been thoroughly obscured, Adjunct. The only people left in Gerrom aren't likely to talk.»
She fastened the last of the clasps. «Unless I were to send a necromancer.»
He grunted. «Tales of pigeons-I think the possibility was foreseen.»
She regarded him with a raised brow.
«Pardon, Adjunct. It seems that death's heralds were: birds.»
«And were we to glance through the eyes of the dead soldiers, we would see little else. Pigeons, you said?»
He nodded.
«Curious.» She fell silent.
He watched her for a moment longer. «Was I bait, Adjunct?»
«No.»
He fell silent. When he closed his eyes his head spun. He'd not realized how weary he'd become. It was a moment before he understood that she was speaking to him. He shook himself, straightened.
The Adjunct stood before him. «Sleep later, not now, Lieutenant. I was informing you of your future. It would be well if you paid attention. You completed your task as instructed. Indeed, you have proved yourself highly: resilient. To all outward appearances, I am done with you, Lieutenant. You will be returned to the Officer Corps here in Unta. What will follow will be a number of postings, completing your official training. As for your time in Itko Kan, nothing unusual occurred there do
«And what of what really happened there, Adjunct? Do we abandon pursuit? Do we resign ourselves to never knowing exactly what happened, or why? Or is it simply me who is to be abandoned?»
«Lieutenant, this is a trail we must not follow too closely, but follow it we shall, and you will be central to the effort. I have assumed-perhaps in error-that you would wish to see it through, to be witness when the time for vengeance finally arrives. Was I wrong? Perhaps you've seen enough and seek only a return to normality.»
He closed his eyes. «Adjunct, I would be there when the time came.»
She was silent and he knew without opening his eyes that she was studying him, gauging his worth. He was beyond unease and beyond caring. He'd stated his desire; the decision was hers.
«We proceed slowly. Your reassignment will take effect in a few days time. In the meanwhile, go home to your father's estate. Get some rest.»
He opened his eyes and rose to his feet. As he reached the doorway she spoke again. «Lieutenant, I trust you won't repeat the scene in the Hall.»
«I doubt it'd earn as many laughs the second time around, Adjunct.»
As he reached the stairs he heard what might have been a cough from the room behind him. It was hard to imagine that it could have been any
As he led his horse through the streets of Unta he felt numb inside. The familiar sights, the teeming, interminable crowds, the voices and clash of languages all struck Paran as something strange, something altered, not before his eyes but in that unknowable place between his eyes and his thoughts. The change was his alone, and it made him feel shorn, outcast. Yet the place was the same: the scenes before him were as they always had been and even in watching it pass by all around him, nothing had changed. It was the gift of noble blood that kept the world at a distance, to be observed from a position unsullied, unjostled by the commonry.
Gift: and curse.
Now, however, Paran walked among them without the family guards.
The power of blood was gone, and all he possessed by way of armour was the uniform he now wore. Not a craftsman, not a hawker, not a merchant, but a soldier. A weapon of the Empire, and the Empire had those in the tens of thousands.
He passed through Toll Ramp Gate and made his way along Marble Slope Road, where the first merchant estates appeared, pushed back from the cobbled street, half hidden by courtyard walls. The foliage of gardens joined their lively colours with brightly painted walls; the crowds diminished and private guards were visible outside arching gates.
The sweltering air lost its reek of sewage and rotting food, slipping cooler across unseen fountains and carrying into the avenue the fragrance of blossoms.
Smells of childhood.
The estates spread out as he led his horse deeper into the Noble District. Breathing-space purchased by history and ancient coin. The Empire seemed to melt away, a distant, mundane concern. Here, families traced their lines back seven centuries to those tribal horsemen who had first come to this land from the east. In blood and fire, as was always the way, they had conquered and subdued the cousins of the Kanese who'd built villages along this coast. From warrior horsemen to horsebreeders to merchants of wine, beer and cloth. An ancient nobility of the blade, now a nobility of hoarded gold, trade agreements, subtle manoeuvrings and hidden corruptions in gilded rooms and oil-lit corridors.
Paran had imagined himself acquiring trappings that closed a circle, a return to the blade from which his family had emerged, strong and savage, all those centuries ago. For his choice, his father had condemned him.
He came to a familiar postern, a single high door along one side wall and facing an alley that in another part of the city would be a wide street.
There was no guard here, just a thin bell-chain, which he pulled twice.
Alone in the alley, Paran waited.
A bar clanked on the other side, a voice growled a curse as the door swung back on protesting hinges.
Paran found himself staring down at an unfamiliar face. The man was old, scarred and wearing much-mended chain-mail that ended raggedly around his knees. His pot-helm was uneven with hammered-out dents, yet polished bright.
The man eyed Paran up and down with watery grey eyes, then grunted, «The tapestry lives.»
«Excuse me?»
The guardsman swung the door wide. «Older now, of course, but it's all the same by the lines. Good artist, to capture the way of standing, the expression and all. Welcome home, Ganoes.»
Paran led his horse through the narrow doorway. The path between two outbuildings of the estate, showing sky overhead.
«I don't know you, soldier,» Paran said. «But it seems my portrait has been well studied by the guards. Is it now a throw-rug in your barracks?»
«Something like that.»
«What is your name?»
«Gamet,» the guard answered, as he followed behind the horse after shutting and locking the door. «In service to your father these last three years.»
«And before that, Gamet?
«Not a question asked.»
