The Great City. Kingdom of Dehn
Halfway between the eighteen and nineteen bells, Praster's heavy hand rapped on the door. Inside, Karloh and Lenard were drinking Greyland wine, known realmwide as some of America's finest. Deep, vacuous silence had long fallen between the two men. The cracked lamp on the table was dry and since neither felt inclined to entreat the innkeep for oil, only three small candles bathed the room in a low, undulating glow. Karloh watched his companion's wraithlike face.
"Enter," Karloh called. Praster shoved open the door and ducked beneath the threshold. His skin was swamp green and glistened with sweat. "Sit." Karloh gestured to an oak chair at the near end of the table, poured a half-crystal of the strong wine and nudged it towards Praster. Praster seized the glass ravenously and drained it in one long pull. "Food?"
"Stomach's still churning like a broken spoke."
"We're going out tonight. Or at least, two of us are. I was going to take you, but if you aren't up to it, Lenard can go instead."
"I'm up to it, Captain."
"You don't look it. But if you think you can be less baggage than a two-legged mule, I insist you eat in the commons while the cook is serving. You'll need some ballast for your stomach; it's hard to know how long this will take."
"If there's wine left, I have all I require."
"Wine and work on an empty stomach make for a poor result. I think Lenard will do just fine." Praster's temples flexed as he clamped his teeth. "Or maybe I should send a stable boy for more Bravahli?"
"I'll eat some bread, Captain," Praster said slowly.
"Good. Do it soon. We leave at the next chime of the bell."
*
Inky blackness cast over the Great City. A late-evening storm blotted the sky with clouds. Though the Tortured Man was at full light, his anguished face would be no guide. The cloak of night, however, was perfect for moving unseen.
Though it was growing late, a city never sleeps. They could hear the jeers and the clanks of ceramic mugs from the taverns. "Maybe tomorrow night," Karloh had promised his companions. "If we can get done everything we need, we'll spend a few ovals on some ale."
To stave off the suspicions of the constables and tax collectors they would need to earn some Dehnish coin soon. It was imperative to draw as little attention as possible. Businesses in Dehn were subject to some of the highest tax rates in all of America. The more profit reported, the higher and higher their tax block, and the agents of the throne were experts at collecting it. It was said to be rare in Dehn for a business to cook their books, as the punishment for theft from the throne, as with many other crimes, was death.
The Courtyard of Helgar in Dehn's centertown was named after the Restored God of Death and was without question the busiest execution locale in the realm. The nickname "the Red Stairs" was syndicated across all four kingdoms for the blocked steps leading to House Calazar's execution rock. So much blood had been spilled there, according to legend, that the rocks themselves had taken on an indelible crimson hue.
Spies, thought Karloh uncomfortably as he and Praster crept through the dark brush, or even suspected spies, meet their end with their chests pressed against that rock. The stone grandstands in which fans of public execution came to witness the blood were encircled with steel pikes topped by the spoils of recent beheadings. It was said that some thirty pikes surrounded the Red Stairs and always fresh heads to keep each other company.
A stiff wind was blowing off the bay, groping like icy fingers. Karloh wore a thick wool robe over his boiled leather corslet to ward off the chill. A long knife hung from his belt and a ballshot with a pouch of thirty steel shots. He did not carry a sword. Too cumbersome, he'd decided before storing it underneath his bed back at the inn. Our success will be in stealth not combat. The only likely result of fighting of any type was a one way trip up the Red Stairs.
Moving silently but efficiently was difficult in the black of night despite the years of hard training. The distant bells at the godshouse rang twice, marking the hours it took to negotiate the treacherous terrain. The Tsar had walled in all of the land surrounding the castle grounds and soldier's field, shielding it from view behind tall mounds and high parapets. All approaching roads were barred and well-manned watchtowers stood sentinel over the entire outer border. It would not be easy for the two of them to complete this mission.
And this will be cake compared to the second objective. But that was a problem for later....
They'd studied King Duquesne's Ahnalli maps, and Karloh had a good view from the pass before descending into the city. Mutually, they'd agreed their best approach was the brackish swamp lands along the coast. It would be messy going but it was dark, unpopulated and away from roads. Once they reached apex of the inlet, they would be directly below the assemblage of administrative halls on the edge of the field where House Calazar was gathering its armies.
When the rocky crags and steep embankments gave way to a softer strata, they found themselves quickly embroiled in deep meres of head-high grasses, sludge and cattails. Navigating away from the quagmire brought them dangerously close to the castle's main service road, which was still admitting the occasional carriage or squad of Dehnish infantry. They had no choice but to slog through the treacherous muck.
Lanterns glowed on the ship decks sailing up and down the harbor. Karloh rested after a particularly exhausting battle freeing his boots from heavy mud to watch a large and well-lit galley sail proudly out from the Royal Harbor toward open waters. Karloh tried to guess its size based on the lights. Call it one-hundred feet long and maybe thirty to the bridge. But whether it was for cargo, military or pleasure was impossible to say.
The two of them continued their slow progress.
"This genuinely is shit," Praster grumbled a few minutes later. The sounds of the city gradually faded behind them. Karloh's eyes adjusted to a dim, orange glow ahead. After persevering for another quarter-bell, the light brightened, and Karloh was almost fooled into believing it was the dawn starting to rise. Have we really been crossing this quagmire that long?
Finally, the mudflat relented to solid ground and the two of them halted to catch their breath. "That light ahead is flickering," Praster stated. At first Karloh couldn't see what Praster was talking about, but as they drew closer, he saw his companion was right. It's a fire. A big fire.
Very quickly after this realization, they came upon the first wall.
It stood out: an blacker line against an already black background. Karloh dragged his fingertips along the flat surface. As with the Great Highway, the rocks were so expertly and closely set that it felt smooth to the touch. There was no place at all to sink a toe or slip fingers in a crack for purchase. Karloh paced twenty yards in both directions and found the construction uniform.
"How tall is it?" Praster asked quietly.
"Maybe twenty feet." He exhaled slowly. "Silent and invisible," he whispered and Praster understood: they would use hand signals from here on.
Climbing the smooth wall was not easy. Using a small hammer and chisel, Karloh tapped hooked, iron pitons as thin as daggers into tiny crevasses between stones. Once the piton was in place he looped a hemp ladder onto the hook and stepped as high as he dared, trusting the piton would hold. Delicately balanced, he would repeat the process: hammering in the next piton, attaching a second ladder and transferring off the first one. It was a time-consuming progression, but the only way to climb anything too smooth for handholds.
After what seemed an eternity, Karloh finally reached the top and tugged on the rope three times: their signal everything was clear.
Praster followed slowly, clearly struggling in his boiled-leather armor. After a protracted battle, he rolled onto the top, panting with exhaustion. Karloh straddled the narrow wall with one leg dangling over each side. Praster cursed as he tried to emulate his captain, nearly falling twice.
Caution! Danger! Karloh signaled quickly. Understood, returned Praster, after getting himself situated. The glimmering firelight they had seen earlier was closer now, just behind a large hill crowned by trees. If they could make the top of that rise, Karloh guessed they would get a good, up-close look at House Calazar's fortress. The prize or which we've come all this way....
Silently, Karloh retracted the rope and flipped it over the other side. He made the signals for travel, this direction, silence. Praster formed his hand into the response, understood. Praster went first; Karloh keeping careful watch as he lowered himself cautiously. Here they were vulnerable; a single stray eye their direction and it was to the Red Stairs for them both.
Karloh felt three tugs on the rope and started down to join his partner. He was more nimble and descended much more quickly. Once on the ground, he led Praster through the grass to the summit.
Peering through the shrubbery, the castle was revealed at shockingly close range. The sheer scale stole Karloh's breath. It could be a city just on its own. Numerous lamps and torches illuminated its convoluted walls giving shape to the monster even in the blackness of the cloudy night. Numerous structures and towers were interconnected by a web of footbridges and wooden catwalks. At the far end, the network of stone masonry contoured up the mountain that stood guard like a god behind it.
Even more breath-stealing, however, was what lie between them and the castle.
Fires of all sizes—small cookfires to massive, roiling bonfires—could be seen all across the vast field. The soldiers of Dehn scuttled through it like ants. There was a great deal of movement in the open ground adjacent to the sea of canvas tents. Karloh fished a spyglass—one of the rarest of King Duquesne's treasures—from his satchel for a closer look.
His jaw fell open as the image swam into focus.
Rows of slaves, chained hands and ankles, we being led in a long, snaking line to the training pitch. Some were crucified to tall posts and filled with arrows like grotesque hedgehogs. Others were unbound at the ankle so they could run free only to be slaughtered by mounted warriors for sport and practice. The few who remained were gruesomely burned or mutilated, though for what purpose Karloh couldn't fathom. Horrifying screams pierced the night from all points of the pitch.
Karloh remembered why the Boshovo were so feared, why even saying that word in certain parts of the realm was a faux pas severe enough to get you thrown out of a tavern or even into a fight. Karloh counted the fires to estimate the number of men gathered in the field. I'd call it ten thousand and feel good telling the King to his face. But why so many here now? He handed the spyglass to Praster who took a brief look before handing it back in disgust.
Perhaps a hundred feet from their hiding spot was the cluster of low, stone buildings surrounding a forty-foot watchtower. Karloh counted three silhouettes in the tower's upper turret.He signaled for Praster to follow and crawled low through the grass, their hooded heads just high enough to peer through where the blades thinned at the top.
Karloh got Praster's attention: Let's move, that direction.
Understood.
They moved at an excruciatingly slow pace until they reached the edge of the grass. They dashed across the shadowy gap to reach the outpost. In silence, Karloh pressed his back to the nearest stone building until Praster arrived at his side. Soundless as stone, they worked deeper into the shadows until they were beneath a small window.
"...dark as a waikan's cloak out there tonight. We're running night drills on the slough with J-squad. Lord Pettrahl is overseeing."
"Good," growled a deep voice.
Karloh felt a tap on his shoulder. Plan?
Listen.
"Lord Pettrahl, Lord Ukohl, and Lord Solloh are to move out in three days' time. They must be ready."
"Is it so soon?" the first voice asked uneasily.
"The Five Years Fair has begun and the Tsar wants the Northern Highway secure for the envoy's return."
"Oh, is that why?"
"It's not for me to question the Tsar, or you. The men are to march to Edmonton and establish camp just outside the city."
The second voice went silent for a long moment. "The White Throne might not approve of this, captain."
"That is between the White Throne and the Tsar."
"We could all be bravahli for the crows if it goes wrong."
Praster shifted his weight and tripped over something in the dark. Karloh seized him by the cloak and yanked him back into the shadows.
"What was that?" said one of the voices.
"It sounded like it came from outside."
Move out, Karloh signaled. He'd seen and heard enough. It would not do Rocklands or The Pike any favors if two Elects were caught on the royal grounds of House Calazar. Such a thing could be seen as provocation for war.
Keeping their heads low, they backtracked hastily to the rope. Karloh's blood roared in his ears when they arrived at the base of the wall. Much more quickly than before they were back up and over the wall. Karloh removed the pins from the rock as he downclimbed. Once at the bottom, he whipped the rope out of the open hooks on top with a flick of his wrist, and it slithered down to join them.
"Will someone notice those hooks on top?" Praster asked.
Karloh shrugged. "We'll be long gone one way or the other."
"Did you see everything you needed?"
"And then some. But there'll be more to see by day."
Praster nodded grimly. "Looks like they're ready for war. But why?"
Karloh shook his head. He didn't know. "The Pike must have suspected something, or they wouldn't have sent us up here." They looked at each other grimly. "Let's get back and get some sleep."