The stone canyons of the city channeled sound in odd ways. Sometimes an altercation in the next street might be inaudible, but a catfight six blocks away sounded like it was happening next door. Tonight’s commotion was loud enough to hear anywhere in Daltigoth.
Rumors of meat for sale had drawn a hungry crowd to a shop in the butchers’ lane. The rumors proved false, but the angry crowd would not be denied. They began to ransack other shops in the quarter. City guards moved in to stop them, more hungry residents turned out, and a major riot erupted. Emperor Ackal V sent troops to quell the trouble, but the fighting continued. Confronted by armed warriors, the rioters hid, only to reappear when the soldiers had passed on.
The rioting was useful cover for the stranger in the fawn-. colored cape who moved carefully through the dark alleys. The streets were alternately crowded with looters, or empty of all but wreckage. The way had been impeded only once, by a large ruffian with a cudgel. Spying the slight figure drawing near, the man thought he’d found easy prey. A fast stroke, of the knife left him with his throat slit, dying while still on his feet. The caped stranger quickly wiped blood from the knife blade and moved on. The Empress of Ergoth could not be kept waiting.
The Inner City gate, flanked by burning braziers, was manned by two dismounted Horse Guardsmen. They crossed their spears, barring the stranger’s way.
“What business d’ya have here?” one soldier rasped.
The cape flipped back to show one hand holding a silver disk. Engraved on it was a coat of arms known to all. Both guards stiffened respectfully, and stood aside.
Beyond the gate, the fabulous mosaic that paved the wide plaza was nearly invisible, covered by the crowd of imperial guardsmen who stood ready to fend off any attackers who dared approach. The stranger walked boldly across the torchlit plaza. None of the disciplined soldiers broke ranks, but all eyes followed the figure’s progress across the vast courtyard. By firelight the palace’s marble steps resembled gold. The visitor nimbly ascended the broad stairway.
In all, the stranger was challenged six times. Each time, the silver seal turned aside all questions. Once inside the palace, the caped figure kept to side passages as instructed. The blaze of light coming from the audience chamber meant the war council was in session. Voices, loud and profane, rang through the open doors. No doubt Emperor Ackal V was busy haranguing his beleaguered warlords about the invasion.
Lesser corridors of the palace stood in startling contrast to the splendor of the public chambers. Devoid of decoration, the plain stone halls were musty and smoky, as though not recently cleaned. The stranger’s supple deerskin boots made little sound on the flagstone floors. Servants had no warning of a presence until the fawn cape swept into view. Trained not to wonder at odd goings-on, they waited silently, eyes cast down, until the phantom was gone.
The stranger’s destination, the solarium, was not easy to find. Located deep in the heart of the sprawling palace, it was guarded by hidden doors and misleading passages. Twice the stranger went astray and was forced to backtrack. At last, the solarium doors came into view: twin portals of blackwood, inlaid with the bold crest of the House of Ackal in solid gold.
The solarium housed a magnificent sunken garden. The splash of water in the fountains echoed off a corbelled ceiling twelve paces above the floor. By day, isinglass panels let in sunlight. Now, at night, hooded lamps lit the scene like ruddy moonlight.
Murmuring voices, barely audible over the play of water, reached the stranger’s keen ears. Following the sound as easily as a hound might follow a scent, the visitor soon arrived at a pool by the base of an artificial waterfall. Five women sat on a low stone bench there. All were identically garbed in pale green, loose-fitting robes, hoods drawn up to cover their heads. Four of them turned toward the newcomer, their wide eyes showing white in the dim light. The stranger advanced to the fifth woman and knelt on one knee.
“Your Majesty.”
The woman stood and unhooked her robe. The garment fell, pooling on the gold-streaked white marble tiles. Beneath it, the woman wore a close-fitting velvet gown the color of old blood. A matching headdress, stiffly starched, pulled her chestnut hair back from her face, allowing it to fall in a rich cascade to the middle of her back. She regarded the visitor with vivid green eyes.
“How did you know me?”
“Your companions were alarmed to see me. You were not.”
Valaran, chief consort of Emperor Ackal V, nodded once and dismissed her ladies-in-waiting with a wave of her hand. When she and her visitor were alone, she seated herself again on the stone bench.
“You are called Zala?” The stranger nodded, and Valaran added, “Let me see you.”
The cape was removed. Of medium height, with a lithe build, the visitor had chin-length black hair which she tucked haphazardly behind her ears.
Taking note of those ears, Valaran asked, “Which of your parents was an elf?”
“My mother was Silvanesti, Your Majesty.”
“You had no trouble reaching me?”
“No special trouble, Majesty. A riot rages in the New City.”
Finely shaped eyebrows knit in confusion. “Another one? Why wasn’t I told? That’s the third in ten days!”
“Have you not seen the fires, Majesty?”
“I rarely leave the palace’s inner core. I must get to the battlements more often.” Velvet strained through her fingers as Valaran clenched a hand in her lap. “By custom long established, the empress of Ergoth resides in seclusion. It is a custom my husband delights in enforcing.”
At the empress’s request, Zala told what she knew of the riot and its cause. “No fresh meat has come to the city for four days,” she finished. “It’s said the cattlemen up north are holding onto their herds, lest they fall into the hands of the invaders.”
“All the more reason your mission must be carried out without delay,” Valaran said. “You’re said to be an expert tracker and huntress. You’ll need all your skills. The country between here and where you’re going is no temple garden.”
Zala gave no response, since none had been requested, but her journey here from Caergoth hadn’t been exactly easy. Although the bakali invaders had not penetrated as far south as her native city, their approach had driven desperate refugees there to rob and kill. And there were nomads, plainsmen from the east, rampaging though the border provinces. Most of the once peaceful roads and fields were now highly dangerous to traverse.
From beneath her stone bench Valaran produced a small roll of parchment. She tapped it against one palm, regarding her visitor in frowning silence. Finally she asked, “Can you be trusted? If I give you a task to perform, will you carry it out?”
“I live by my word and deeds. I am known for this. Why else did you choose me?”
The slightly arch tone caused the empress’s eyes to narrow. “I chose you, half-breed, because I am forbidden to receive any male but the emperor, and you are the best of the few female rangers I could find. But know this: fail me, and your head will gather crows atop the Inner City wall!”
Zala knew the truth of that. One did not fail the House of Ackal.
Valaran rose. She continued to tap the small scroll against the palm of her hand as she studied the half-elf. In addition to raven-black hair, Zala had dark eyes, a pointed chin, and a short, straight nose. Her skin was fair, with a spray of tan freckles across her nose.
At last, Valaran said, “You’ll do. You seem strong. I imagine you look fetching enough without your hunter’s togs.”
Zala’s face grew hot. “What exactly is Your Majesty hiring me to do?”
“Find a man. One particular man. When you find him, you must convince him to return to Daltigoth. You will offer him whatever it takes-gold, honors, yourself-anything.” Valaran held out the scroll. “This is a description of him. Study it well.”
Zala tucked the parchment into her belt.
“Begin your search in Juramona, in the Eastern Hundred,” the empress said. “That was his home once, and
