dry desert air would bum holes in his lungs and he would be too weak to tramp the many hundreds of Tsan back to Livyanu. The warmth of his beautiful city of Tsamra, the moist sea breezes, the graceful colonnades set like crystal playthings amidst the feathered Ja'atheb- trees, the sipping of essences in the slumbrous afternoons when the sun made amber and russet tableaux of the halls of his temple of mighty Qame’el, the Lord of the Livyani Shadow- Gods… How he longed for them! — And how had he wandered so far from home, to this dusty relic of a city?
The streets of Lower Town were full of striding soldiers, babbling Tsolyani merchants, Milumanayani tribesmen in their dun-hued desert cloaks, Yan Koryani traders here in spite of the war (no one harmed merchants, unless it was proved that they were spies-not like Livyanu, where all foreigners were suspected, watched, and delicately shunted off to harmless pursuits), stem and hatchet-faced Mu’ugalavyani, sly Pijenani and cloaked Ghatoni, nonhuman Pe Choi from the Chakas and shaggy-furred Pygmy Folk from somewhere off to the northeast, a few Shen and Ahoggya and Swamp Folk and Pachi Lei, and a hundred others he could barely recognise. Khirgar was usually crowded, but the war with Yan Kor had made everything worse; and what with an Imperial Prince in residence, it was well-nigh impossible to find accommodations that left a man any shred of dignity. The place was crammed with all sorts of odd persons who would never have been let out of their temple districts at home!
Taluvaz checked his purse, saw that the bodyguards loaned him by the Livyani Legate in Khirgar and his own personal guard, a N’liiss warrior-woman who stood a head taller than most Tsolyani-or Livyani, for that matter-were all within reach. It would be unthinkably degrading to be touched by one of these rustics. He also swept a glance back at the slaves who bore the gifts he had selected for Prince Eselne. This time, he thought morosely, he would finish his business and be off home!
The guards at the gates of Upper Town admitted his entourage with no objections (but no proper deference to speak of). Here it was quieter, the narrow, wind-worn, many-storeyed clanhouses leaning against one another like old ladies exhausted from a day’s excursion. A matron in yellow and black appeared from one of the winding alleyways that passed for streets, and Taluvaz moved aside to let her and her following of clansmen by; throughout northern Tsolyanu-indeed, all of Yan Kor and Saa Allaqi- the women ruled the clans, made the marriages, and dictated policies to their menfolk. It would not do to offend such a matriarch. The north seemed to breed extremes: the Yan Koryani were dominated by women, while the wretched Ghatoni kept their girls penned up like Hmelu- beasts and allowed no female of any species to walk the streets!
“Each Tetel- blossom upon its own stem,” Taluvaz thought tiredly. He had been selected for his willingness to endure the irrationalities of other nations. At home it was one’s clan status and one’s rank within one’s temple that started a person out upon the road to power; these things showed upon one’s face-the Aomuz tattooes-and what one became afterward depended upon one’s ability to play at the subtle games of priestly politics and doctrinal rivalries that balanced one another so prettily. A man, a woman-what did gender matter? Or species either? Even the nonhuman Shen and the little Tinaliya, some of whom dwelt within Livyanu’s borders, were welcome to join in the dance-as long as they were obedient to the dictates of the Shadow Gods.
Another steep climb to the Gates of the Blue Fish, named, the guides had told Taluvaz, for some hoary local deity. The archway still bore a crumbling marble mosaic depicting the creature, scales, tail, pop-eyes and all. Some wag had climbed all the way up to paint a huge red phallus on the fish’s underbelly.
The edifices on High God Hill had once been arranged in a neat square around a central plaza: the armoury and barracks of whatever Legion was in residence to the left of the gatehouse at the southeast comer; the colonnades of the administrative offices opposite in the southwest; the temples of the Tsolyani gods crowded together along the crest of the hill in the northwest; and the Citadel of the Victories of the Emperor on the summit to the northeast, facing the windy deserts beyond which lay Milumanaya and Yan Kor. The fortress probably dated from the First Imperium, Taluvaz supposed, rebuilt by the Engsvanyali, occupied by some local dynasty of warlords during the Time of No Kings, and refurbished a dozen times more by the Tlakotani Emperors since the Second Imperium had come to power 2,358 years ago-if the chronology were in any way accurate. Taluvaz prided himself on being somewhat of a scholar; he enjoyed picking out the architectural and artistic details that identified each epoch.
The pattern of the place was spoiled now, alas, by accretions of buildings thrown up helter-skelter during the past millennium. The plaza existed only as an irregular patch of rutted stone around the stump of an Engsvanyali obelisk, and the clanhouses of the newly rich jostled each other for a place in its shadow. The army had built more barracks here, the priests an annex to this temple or that over there, the Imperium another hall of scribes and records in this comer-the place was an architectural Mnor’s nest: a jumble of glittering trash mixed in with real treasure! Such a hodgepodge would never be permitted at home in Tsamra.
The soldiers at the bronze-banded gates of the citadel were smart troops indeed: members of the Tsolyani First Legion of Ever-Present Glory. Here was something Taluvaz could secretly envy. The armies of Livyanu were far less imposing for all their rich armour and pretty Kheshchal plumes. This related to the matters Taluvaz had come to negotiate.
A soft-eyed, sandal-shod chamberlain took them on through halls of decaying and dusty Engsvanyali grandeur, past fountains that no longer played, into a vestibule of rose-tinted porphyry, and on to the Governor’s suite, now vacated for Prince Eselne, the Emperor’s second son. (And how did the Governor like that arrangement? Taluvaz wondered. The quarters the Governor now occupied were probably once a scriptorium or a library: vast, empty, and full of desert dust. The prerogatives of power…)
The outer audience hall was filled with people. Children ran amongst the carven columns and shrieked. Three soldiers had occupied the only available daises, documents scattered upon the floor between them, held down by a wine-ewer of scarlet Mu’ugalavyani glass and a brass tray filled with empty goblets. Five or six women sat crosslegged upon a figured Khirgari carpet in one comer, pausing in their chatter only to bawl unheeded commands at this child or that. These were probably the wives or concubines of the officers of the Prince’s court-or even of mighty Eselne himself.
A ghastly, squealing roar from the latticed windows along the side of the chamber made Taluvaz jump. Somebody must be peeling the hide from a Chlen — beast down there! This operation had to be performed every six months or so to keep the animals’ skin from growing ragged. The tanners then took the plates of raw hide, applied their smelly liquids and their secret skills, and produced the light, flexible, and immensely strong sheets from which armour, weapons, and a thousand other things were made.
The bellowing was followed by the heady scent of Chlen- dung: fright often caused the beasts to void their bowels. Taluvaz surreptitiously extracted his pomander of Kilueb-esscnce from his robe and pressed it to his nose. In the name of the Lords of Shadow, why so close to an Imperial residence? Prince Eselne was indeed supposed to be an informal, blunt, military sort of man, but this was carrying that image too far!
The chamberlain beckoned them on. The ornate doors at the far end of the hall gave upon a pleasant, polygonal room- probably in one of the comer towers-that overlooked the grey-brown deserts beyond. Graceful Engsvanyali pillars held up the painted vaulting of the ceiling, and marble lattices opened out onto a narrow balcony, its tiled floor shimmering with hot sunlight.
Within the chamber, two slavegirls pulled on the cords of the dusty sweep-fan that hung from the ceiling. A third ground spices in a mortar for Chumetl, the ghastly buttermilk concoction the Tsolyani favoured. Taluvaz wished fervently for a cup of wine, a tiny goblet of scented Tsuhoridu-hquem, or even a draught of cold water. He knew that he would be unlikely to get any of these; the Prince had his “common-soldier” military facade to maintain, after all.
There were two others in the room: a short, middle-aged military officer, and the Prince himself, now rising from his dais to greet his guest.
Prince Eselne hiTlakotani was impressive, a soldier from head to foot. He towered over his companion, brawny, bronzed by the sun, and as thick through the shoulders as any Chlen- beast. His sharply hooked nose and broad forehead bespoke the heritage of the most ancient and aristocratic clan of Tsolyanu, and his fierce, proud gaze was of the sort that would someday look most noble indeed upon a golden Kaitar. The women of the court, Taluvaz knew, called him “the Hrugga of the Age.”
Yet there was something lacking in this man; when one summed him all up, he seemed a bit bland and not quite fulfilled. The eyes were too far apart, the brow too unlined, the craggy jaw not as strong and determined as first impressions indicated. There were other names for Eselne in Avanthar: “the Chlen- beast in Azure Robes” and “the Two-legged Ahoggya” were two that Taluvaz had heard. This Prince would be as soft as warm wax in the hands of his advisors, the generals of his Military Party, and the Omnipotent Azure Legion. Once within the Golden Tower, he would make a splendid and heroic-appearing Emperor. But it would be others who would rule.
