moment of searing heat on Hieraxday had made flowers out of the
question. So much the better, Silk thought; this wind would surely
have stripped off every petal an hour ago. Even as he watched, a
long streamer of colored paper pulled free, becoming a flying jade
snake that mounted to the sky.
There the Trivigaunte airship fought its straining tether, so high
that its vast bulk appeared, if not festive, at least unthreatening.
From that airship, it should be simple to gauge the advance of
Generalissimo Siyuf's troops. Silk wished that there had been time
to arrange for signals of some sort: a flag hung from the gondola
when she entered the city, for example, or a smoke pot lit to warn
that she had been delayed. Rather to his own surprise, he discovered
that he was eager to go up in the airship himself, to see Viron
like the skylands again, and travel among the clouds as the fliers did.
There were a lot of them out today, riding this cold wind. More,
he decided, than he had ever seen before. A whole flock, like a
flight of storks, was just now appearing from behind the airship.
What city sent them forth to patrol the length of the sun, and what
good did those patrols do? Speculation about the Fliers had been
dismissed as bootless at the schola, until the Ayuntamiento had
condemned them as spies.
Had the Ayuntamiento known? Did Councillor Loris, who
wielded what authority remained to it, know now?
Might it not be possible to track Fliers in the airship, anchor at
last at that fabled city, learn its name, and offer whatever assistance
in its sacred labor Viron and Trivigaunte could provide?
(Buried, he had been wherever he had thought to be.)
A fresh gust, colder and wilder than any before it, roared up the
Alameda, shaking its raddled poplars like rats. To his right General
Saba stiffened, while he himself shivered without shame. He was
wearing the Cloak of Lawful Governance over his augur's robe; it
fell to his shoe-tops and was of the thickest tea-colored velvet, stiff
with gold thread. He ought to have been awash in his own
perspiration; he found himself wishing ardently for some sort of
head-covering instead. General Saba had a dust-colored military
cap and Generalissimo Oosik beyond her a tail helmet of green
leather topped with a plume, but he had nothing.
He recalled the broad-brimmed straw hat he had worn while
repairing the roof of the manteion--which would be missing more
shingles, surely, thanks to this wind. He had pulled that hat down so
that Blood's talus could not identify him later, and it had known him
by that.
(Dead by his hand, Blood and the talus both.)
He had lost that recollected hat somehow. Might not this wind
return it to him? All sorts of rubbish was blowing about, and
stranger things had happened.
His wound throbbed. Mentally he pushed it aside, forcing himself
to fill his lungs with cold air.
The shade had not climbed far yet, but what should have been a
bright streak of purest gold seemed faint, and flushed with brownish
purple. The Aureate Path was empty and failing visibly, signally the
end of mankind's dream of paradise, of some inconceivable fraternity
with its gods. For one vivid instant he remembered Iolar, the
dying Flier. But no doubt the sun was merely dimmed at the
moment, stained and darkened by dust. Winter was long overdue in
any event. Was Maytera Mint, who would be so conspicuously
absent from this, her victory parade, cold too? Wherever she was?
Was Hyacinth? Silk shivered again.
Far away, a band struck up, and ever so faintly he heard, or
seemed to hear, the sound of bugles, the tramp of marching feet,
and the clatter of cavalry.
That was a good sign, surely.
