“We will sleep in the grass,” said Iardu.
Khama stopped halfway to his hut and turned to look at them. Hisk aiv›
“Hawks always bring trouble,” he said, and went inside to seek his wife.
Mumbaza sat like the King of Cities on its precipice above the turquoise sea. Its docks were vast marble quays lined with ships from every nation, a forest of multicolored sails and vessels of every size, from lean coast- huggers to round-hulled behemoths. The city kept a standing navy as well, a fleet of two hundred war galleons patrolling the coast for leagues, each flying the sign of the Feathered Serpent. Carved into the surface of the pale cliffs, the Upward Way climbed from the docks directly to the Seaward Gate in a series of terraced switchbacks. The city was unassailable from the sea thanks to its lofty position, and no nation had ever been foolish enough to assault the Upward Way.
Andoses watched from the forecastle of the Sharkstooth as the glittering bluffs grew larger. The pearly domes of the city could no longer be seen this near to the seawall, though from farther out Mumbaza had shone brilliant as the sun itself. Soon the eager crew would bring their ship to anchor, and the Cloud sailed close behind. Fifteen days from Murala to this proud capital. Of course, a day had been lost in salvaging men and provisions from Dairon’s Spear, but the weather had favored the voyage. Andoses longed to feel solid ground beneath his feet. He had sailed the Golden Sea many times, but always for pleasure trips of a day or two. Two weeks of crowded decks, cramped quarters, and sea rations was more than enough. In the palace of the Boy-King there would be splendor and luxuries to enjoy.
After seeing the terrible thing from the depths that destroyed the Spear, Andoses no longer trusted the sea. What other ancient horrors slumbered down there? He thanked the Gods of Cloud and Sky when the port of Mumbaza finally came in view. He might never look upon the calm waters of the sea again without thinking of the leviathan and the splintering galleon. The men who wailed and died like helpless insects. The rotten reek of the beast on the wind. He still smelled it at times, or imagined he did.
So many deaths. But Vireon had emerged more the hero. The men worshipped him now. All to the good of Shar Dni. With Vireon at the head of the Four Nations, men would rush into battle as if the Gods themselves rode at their backs. All Andoses needed to complete this masterpiece of a plan was the allegiance of the Boy-King. Undutu and his royal mother Umbrala must join the cause. How could they refuse? Five Princes came now to their doorstep, and Vireon the Great among them. The Killer of Serpents… the Son of Vod. Yes, the Mumbazans turned Prince D’zan away when he sought refuge here months ago… but he was no longer a lone, scared boy running for his life; he was a key member of the Alliance of Nations. This was history, gathering like stormclouds about Mumbaza’s wharves, brewing up a storm of glory.
Andoses left captain and crew to their duties and went to prepare himself. Soldiers lined the decks, peering upward at the cliff road. They, too, were anxious to tread the land again. Inside his cabin he donned a shirt of golden mail over a blue tunic with white trim. His leggings were white leather, and his boots black as coal. The sapphire at the forehead of his turban-helm was polished; it gleamed brightly in the small mirror he used to oil his beard and mustache. A cloak of sea-blue silk bearing the White Bull of Shar Dni completed his wardrobe, along with the jeweled scimitar on his broad belt. He marched on deck, ready to fak, in ce Boy-King and the Queen Mother.
The Cloud moored itself alongside the Sharkstooth, and he saw in its forecastle the other Princes arrayed in their finery: Vireon in snow-tiger cloak and silver mail shirt over a black tunic, the sword of a Giant on his back; Tyro in the green-gold mail of Uurz, the sun emblem at his breast, a helm of gilded bronze hiding his dark curls; Lyrilan in his scholar’s robes of jade silk, golden belt and bracers, and even a longblade hitched on his side; D’zan in jet with silver trim, purple-cloaked and with the golden sword and tree emblem of Yaskatha on his breast, the bright hilt of his greatsword rising above the left shoulder; and Vireon’s woman, Alua the Sorceress, looking every bit a northern queen in a gown of white and gossamer, gold hoops glimmering on her neck and fingers, bright as her hair… a vision of frosted beauty with midnight eyes.
Tyro hailed him across the narrow interval of water, and Andoses waved. Then the gangplank was lowered and he walked onto the quay, an escort of ten hand-picked guards behind him in the silver-and-blue mail of Shar Dni. Each of the Princes would have ten such guards, representing all the colors of the Alliance. A small but effective show of unity; entering the city with any more soldiers might be considered a hostile act. So Tyro had settled on this number, and Andoses thought it good. As his boots clicked across the marble wharf, mingling with the caws of seabirds, he thought suddenly of wine – the rich dark wines of Mumbaza were highly prized in every realm. Soon he would taste of that fine vintage and feel like a Prince once again. As soon as they climbed that army of stairs. He breathed deep of the clean sea air, steeling himself for the long vertical walk.
A company of Mumbazan soldiers led by an officer in a cape of crimson feathers greeted the five Princes. There was no advance word of their coming, so messengers must be huffing up the steps even now carrying word to the palace. The officer gave a short bow, his hand resting on the hilt of his curved sword. His powerful body appeared carved from obsidian, and he went bare-chested like all the Men of Mumbaza, though his leggings were loose pantaloons tucked into tall boots. A circlet of gold, the sign of his rank, held back the mass of braids and beads that was his hair. This was the common fashion of Mumbazan men.
“I greet you, Princes, in the name of Undutu, King of Mumbaza, Lord of the Feathered Serpent, Master of the Pearl Coast. I am Antuu, Marshall of the Port.” His voice was almost musical, steeped as it was in his exotic accent.
Andoses had arranged to speak for the five. The game now began.
“Evenbliss to the King and Queen Mother,” said Andoses, removing his turban and tucking it under his arm. “Greetings to you, Marshall Antuu. We are five Princes from the north, come to see the King on a matter of utmost urgency. We bring tributes of gold, jewels, and fine silk for His Majesty.” He introduced each of the Princes by his respective name and nation. The Marshall bowed to each one in turn, and lastly to Alua. He kissed her hand in the manner of a suitor. Some things remain the same, no matter where you travel, thought Andoses. Alua smiled like a young girl, something she did quite often. Andoses had never known a sorceress before, but in all his visions and readings, he had never imagined one with such an aura of innocence. The woman was almost annoying in her girlishness.
Then the long climb be lth segan. The heat of the day was great, but strong cool winds blew off the sea. This made the great stair more dangerous, yet the heat more bearable. Andoses led the train of Princes, and each of his ten guards carried a chest of wealth for the Boy-King. Marshall Antuu and twenty of his white-cloaked spearmen led the way, and twenty more Mumbazan soldiers brought up the rear. They were both formal and careful, these Mumbazans.
Andoses looked out across the sea as the great ships grew smaller. At this pace, the embassy should reach the palace by the afternoon. The rest of the cohort, and the crews of the two galleons, would come up later to enter the city. Every man among them would enjoy the pleasures of Mumbaza. The stay here would be some recompense for the terror they had endured on the voyage.
He focused on the tall granite steps, taking them one after the other. Vireon soon overtook him, walking without a trace of effort. If he had not been with Alua, he might have ran up the great cliff-stair and waited for the entire procession. The man was truly touched by the Gods… or the Uduru, if truth be spoken. The blood of Vod not only flowed in his cousin’s veins, but also the strength and vitality of a Giant. Perhaps even more than one. Andoses envied his stamina and power – what it must be like to be Vireon – yet he must settle for being Vireon’s cousin and friend. If he lived to be a hundred years old, he would still be telling the story of Vireon and the Sea-Serpent, and there would still be wonder dancing in his eyes.
After an interminable period of mindless legwork, the company gained the top of the cliff and gathered before the massive gates of the city wall. They stood open as if to honor the new arrivals. The Feathered Serpent motif wound across the surfaces of the mighty doors, a masterwork of raised gold. How many thieves had tried to chip some of that gold away for their own pockets? How many had died trying it? The city wall was built of white stone that gleamed like mother-of-pearl. Looking over his shoulder, Andoses saw the tiny ships far below, and he turned away lest vertigo overtake him.
Now the pearly city lay before them, domed temples with roofs of milk-white chalcedony and terraces of bright malachite; slim towers of marble crowned with beryl and amethyst; hanging gardens ripe with fruit vivid as jewels; winding streets of pale stone where fresh-water fountains danced and laughed at the sea. The people in the streets were icons of dark beauty, their lean bodies glistening like statues of ebony. Women carried woven baskets on their heads, full of round fruit luscious as their ample breasts. The Mumbazans wore gold, copper, and bronze
