When the Zephyr began to descend, the city of Dara loomed ever larger. They were close enough for Lucian to make out men in the towers of the high wall. Carts drawn by horse-like creatures with long necks rolled over the widely paved highway leading through the city’s gates. Swarms of people crowded the busy streets, avenues, and alleys. There were easily thousands in this city. Tens of thousands. The mages could only be a small fraction of the population, an aristocracy of Mage-Knights and Mage-Lords to rule over these masses. Lucian had known that already, but he hadn’t expected there to be so many non-mages.
“How are there so many people?”
Fergus watched below, as if he himself couldn’t believe it.
It was Cleon who ended up answering. “Psyche is where the Worlds send their human trash. Criminals, miscreants, and scum. This is all of them, plus their progeny. Dara is growing all the time. When I left, it was already bursting at the seams.” He watched the packed streets. “The Sorceress-Queen, as much as I hate her, is highly effective at keeping the people in line. She took a lot of people with different backgrounds and built an empire with them. And the tool she uses to do that is fear.”
As they passed over the streets, the shadow of the Zephyr fell upon the roiling crowds. Many stopped what they were doing to look up into the sky. As much as Lucian didn’t want to be impressed, he was, even more so since this city had been built with nothing more than human labor and most likely magic when the occasion called for it.
It was clear where they were heading: directly ahead, toward a large palace built into the slopes of the gargantuan mountain, a shimmering palatial complex basking like gold under the sun, with multiple walls, halls, bridges, and high towers. Lucian was awed at the sheer size of it. The scene was all too familiar from his dreams, but in person, it loomed so much larger.
Now, he was here in the flesh. There could be no waking up, no relief at the realization he was thousands of kilometers away from this dreaded place.
The Golden Palace of Dara awaited.
37
When the Zephyr touched down, the ship’s deck became a swarm of activity. Men on the ground chained the ship to thick bronze stakes to keep it from floating away. Crewmen and Mage-Knights arranged themselves in two lines, forming a corridor running from the entrance of the forecastle to a large boarding ramp. The crewmen and mages stood ramrod straight, bronze spears and round shields polished and gleaming in the late morning sun.
Lucian and the others had yet to receive instructions, so they waited by the railing.
Mage-Lord Kiani appeared from the forecastle and approached them, inspiring a scowl from Cleon.
“You are in the residence of the Sorceress-Queen Ansaldra Dara. If you threaten anyone within these walls, I have her Majesty’s blessing to deal with it as I see fit.” He smiled nastily, though that smile seemed to be mostly reserved for Cleon. “I’ve been tasked to lead you to your rooms personally. The Queen will see you next at the soiree.”
“If only it could never be again,” Cleon said.
Mage-Lord Kiani ignored the jibe, calling over his shoulder. “Holden! Decker! Get your Mage-Knights here, posthaste.”
Within seconds, no less than twelve Mage-Knights stood before them, in a wide array of colored robes – blue, red, green, and more. Lucian realized that if it ever did come to a fight, their numbers and specialties would counter just about everything the four of them could throw at them. They were in the Queen’s house and home, surrounded by her Mage-lords, Mage-Knights, bodyguards, hoplites, and sycophants. One false move and Lucian knew they would all be dead.
All his friends, anyway. She still needed Lucian alive.
There were well over a hundred hoplites in bronze armor, spears, and shields standing ready to receive their ruler on the airstrip below, forming a corridor leading to the palace’s side entrance.
“What are we rotting waiting for?” Cleon asked.
“Quiet,” Mage-Lord Kiani growled. “Do you really believe you would disembark before her Majesty?”
Cleon was about to respond, but Serah placed a hand on his arm, which was thankfully enough for him to keep his mouth shut.
At that moment, the door to the forecastle opened, revealing the Queen and retinue of Psionic Mage-Knights. Today, she wore a violet dress, with a floating train shimmering with amethysts. Coupled with her pale skin, it gave her an ethereal appearance as she walked between the column of hoplites toward the boarding ramp. Her face watched Lucian impartially as she passed.
Once the Queen made it to the ground, each pair of guards flourished their spears at her passing. By the time she was entering the side entrance to the palace, Mage-Lord Kiani nodded at Lucian.
“It’s time.”
Lucian stared him down a moment before moving for the ramp. There was no use in fighting him. All they could do was bide their time and await the right opportunity. The walk to the paving stones below, followed by the long gauntlet through the guards, seemed to take forever. They were like statues, their expressions stonelike. Lucian kept focused on the entrance ahead. Already, the fast-moving shadow of the Mountains of Madness was starting to fall over the palace grounds and the entirety of Dara below. It was amazing how quickly the city went from golden sunlight to faded twilight.
As they passed the threshold, they found themselves in a long arcade lined with gilded marble columns, with a violet carpet extending tens of meters into the distance. Mage-Lord Kiani and his retinue of Mage-Knights led them through corridors, halls, and past massive tapestries and paintings. Lucian wondered how the Sorceress-Queen had managed to find the resources for such luxury.
Lucian looked inside a pair of open doors on the right to see a massive ballroom and an army of liveried servants setting up a long table
