Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (25 page)

 
          
"Ranches,"
Varent explained, "that provide the city's meat."

 
          
He
seemed enthusiastic, eager to reach his home city, his men no less so, and they
commenced the crossing of the plateau at a brisk pace.

 
          
They
encountered drovers, dark-tanned men in tunics and breeks of weather-beaten
leather bearing long lances and riding sturdy ponies, who called greetings as
they recognized the emblems decorating the wagon, but Varent steered them past
the ranches and they camped in the open still, for the two days it took to
cross the high grazing land.

 
          
Around
midmoming on the third day the plateau fell away in a sweeping slope that ran
down to a broad valley, farms and vineyards spread along both sides, the ribbon
of the Alda glittering silver blue all down its length. At the foot, where the
river met the sea, stood Aldarin.

 
          
Like
Secca—like all the cities of Lysse—the place was walled, its buildings
contained within the circle of the ramparts. Calandryll saw the paved road
running alongside the river, disappearing into great gates of metal- barred
timber, mangonels threatening the approach. On the farther side, visible from
the vantage point of the slope, was the harbor, spreading to either side of the
walls within the bay formed by the valley. Ships lay at anchor there, toylike
in the distance, the ramparts of the city extended in two sweeping horns to
encompass the bay, blockhouses at their extremities. It was a well-defended
place, clearly able to withstand siege, yet festive, the houses colorful, the
streets bright and busy.

           
The air was fresh, sweetened by the
perfumes of the vines and tangy with the salt smell of the blue-grey sea as
they followed a drovers' road that wound down the slope to join the highway. By
noon
they were at the city gate, halting as a
squad of mail-clad soldiers under the command of a captain raised pikes in
salute to Varent.

 
          
"Welcome,
Lord Varent," the officer declared, bowing. "Your journey was
successful?"

 
          
"Most
successful," Varent replied. "The Domm will be pleased with the
outcome."

 
          
The
officer nodded. "You require an escort, my lord?"

 
          
"I
think not," Varent said, smiling. "My own retinue is sufficient, and
I'd visit my palace before attending the Domm."

 
          
"As
you wish, my lord."

 
          
The
captain barked an order and the soldiers formed into ranks, clearing a way into
the city. Varent headed the column, Calandryll and Bracht behind as they passed
beneath the arch of tne walls into a broad market square, gay with stalls and
crowded, the folk there parting to let them through. An avenue paved in blue
stone led out of the plaza, running between warehouses, straight as the roads
bisecting Secca, opening onto more squares bright under the noonday sun, then
on through quarters that reminded Calandryll of his home, all bustling, alive
with activity.

 
          
Varent
turned onto a narrower highway as they approached the center and soon they rode
through gardens and past houses attesting to the elevated status of their
owners, set back behind protective walls, cool and spacious after the busy
streets. Varent halted before a magnificent edifice, its roof and upper story
visible beyond a wall of whitewashed bricks, its gates painted a vivid azure.
He shouted and men in tunics of blue and gold swung the gates open.

 
          
They
bowed, murmuring deferential greetings, and Varent rode between the gates into
the courtyard.

 
          
"Welcome
to my home," he said, dismounting.

 
          
Calandryll
and Bracht climbed down as servants came running to attend their master. Varent
turned to the Kem.

 
          
"No
doubt you'll wish to inspect the stables, though I assure you your horse will be
tended."

 
          
He
tossed his own reins to a servant. Calandryll found another waiting to take
his, but after a moment's hesitation he shook his head, eliciting a chuckle
from the ambassador, an approving nod from Bracht.

 
          
"I'll
await you inside."

 
          
Varent
seemed to find his refusal amusing and he experienced a flush pf embarrassment,
as though he had chosen sides. The animal was not, after all, his, though he
had groomed it and tended it—another of Bracht's lessons—since that first day
in the caravanserai. He smiled apologetically and followed the Kem across the
yard.

 
          
The
stables were set to the rear of the house, a long row of spacious stalls shaded
by a tiled portico, redolent of sweet-smelling hay and horseflesh. Varent's men
left the wagon there for the house servants to unload, leaving their animals to
the grooms and disappearing into the building. Calandryll unsaddled the gelding
and rubbed it down, checking that the manger was filled and the trough supplied
with sufficient water, grinning as it occurred to him that he had never devoted
so much time to a horse: it seemed Bracht's influence was rubbing off. Then,
satisfied, he joined the Kem and together they followed a patiently waiting
servant into the house.

 
          
The
building was smaller than the Domm's palace in Secca, but, if anything, more
luxurious. High windows admitted the sea-fresh air and the hall in which they
found themselves was scented with the plants that grew in great urns of jade
and malachite, standing on a floor patterned with blue and gold mosaics, the
walls a soft blue that merged with the cerulean of the ceiling to produce the
impression that they walked through a submarine garden. Beyond was a corridor
where marble busts stood in niches, each one lit by the sun that entered from
an artfully cut embrasure on the opposite wall, ending at a door faced with
beaten copper. The servant opened the door and ushered them through, into a
cool, airy room where Varent waited.

 
          
Here,
the walls were white, the floor polished wood laid in chevron patterns, a
hearth set with unlit logs to one side, windows to the other. Varent lounged in
a nigh- backed chair, the light accentuating the fine-drawn planes of his
aquiline features, his feet thrust out, dusty boots resting on a lacquered
stool. He smiled as they entered, rising to fill three silver goblets with
rich, red wine, gesturing at the seats arranged in a semicircle about the hearth.

 
          
"A
toast," he declared, "to our safe arrival. Azumandias cannot touch
you here."

 
          
Calandryll
accepted the goblet he offered, Bracht the other.

 
          
"I
suggest we eat," Varent said. "Or would you prefer to bathe?"

 
          
Bracht
said, "Eat," and Calandryll nodded his agreement.

 
          
"So
be it." Varent settled himself comfortably and sipped his wine. "The
servants will show you to your rooms and provide anything you wish. I must
leave you for a while—the Domm will require news of my dealings with Secca, but
I shall likely return late, if not tomorrow. One thing I would impress on you,
however—so long as you remain within these walls Azumandias cannot harm
you." He glanced at Bracht, an expression part warning, part apology, as
though he understood the Kem s dislike of sorcery. "I have set spells to
ward this place, but outside you are in danger. Azumandias must surely leam of
my arrival and will watch this house. Do not leave here, on peril of your
lives!"

 
          
"Azumandias
is in Aldarin?" Bracht asked.

 
          
"Perhaps."
Varent shrugged. "Certainly his agents are—and his power is considerable,
as you know."

 
          
"Why
not kill him?" the freesword demanded bluntly "Put a blade between
his ribs and have done with it."

 
          
Varent
laughed.

 
          
"Would
that it were so simple, my friend. But it is not Azumandias is a mightier
wizard than I can hope to be and he guards himself with magic. And there are
laws in Aldarin—the punishment for murder is the gallows."

 
          
"The
man who sent those demons against us respected no laws," Bracht
retorted.      .

 
          
"No,"
agreed Varent, patiently, "but what proof
is
there Azumandias sent them? Save for you and Calandryll, they came
and went unseen. And should I produce you as witnesses, Azumandias must know
for sure you are here. At present, he must wonder. At the least, but unsure
where you are."

 
          
"It
takes no wizard to guess we'll be here, Bracht argued.

           
"Probably," Varent nodded,
"but he cannot be certain. I have estates beyond the city and I might have
secreted you there. While you remain behind my walls he cannot know for
sure."

 
          
"Your
servants?" the mercenary demanded. "The men who rode with us? They
might talk."

 
          
Varent
beamed approvingly. "Your caution is admirable," he applauded,
"but you need not fear on that score— my people are trustworthy. They will
give nothing away."

 
          
"And
when we leave?"

 
          
Varent
raised a conspiratorial finger. "When you leave," he said, "you
will go swiftly to the harbor. A ship will be waiting and with luck you'll be
gone before he knows it."

 
          
"When
will that be?" Bracht asked.

 
          
"Soon,"
promised Varent. "I must locate a suitable vessel—a trustworthy
captain—before you may safely depart."

 
          
"So
until then," Bracht said slowly, "we are prisoners."

 
          
"Hardly
prisoners," Varent chuckled. "Honored guests. I think you will find
your sojourn comfortable enough."

           
Bracht grunted and drained his
goblet. Calandryll asked, "What of the charts?"

 
          
"The
charts," smiled Varent, "Yes, the charts. Immediately my business
with the Domm is concluded we must study them. Then I must find a ship. Likely,
I shall be required at the palace most of tonight. In the morning, then?"

 
          
Calandryll
nodded, satisfied. Varent said, "Now, shall we eat?" and rose,
ushering them from the room.

 
          
He
was an agreeable host, maintaining a flow of casual conversation throughout the
meal that precluded any further discussion of their plans, and Calandryll found
himself relaxing, enjoying his sophistication and ready wit. Bracht remained
taciturn, but that was not unusual, and he offered no objection when Varent
declared that he must attend the Domm and left them in the care of his
servants.

 
          
They
were shown to adjoining rooms, where baths were drawn and women in fine silk
robes waited to assist them. They were attractive, but Calandryll dismissed the
pair intent on bathing him and climbed alone into the tub, disturbed by their
presence: their fair faces and luscious bodies reminded him of Nadama. It was
strange, he mused as the hot water lapped about him, that he had not thought of
her in days, yet it was her rejection that had set him on this path. Had she
preferred him, would he still be in Secca? Certainly, he would not have nin from
the palace to get drunk in the Sailors Gate; and if he had not done that he
would never have met Bracht; perhaps Varent might not have offered him the
means to escape the destiny decreed by his father. Reba had outlined the path
he might take, but that was not predetermined, and if Nadama had accepted his
suit he might never have taken those first steps along the path that brought
him here.

 
          
He
wondered what his father did now. Did watchmen scour the city? Did patrols
search the countryside? Perhaps Bylath had news from the caravanserai, but what
if he did? Would he send a mission to Aldarin, demanding the return of his
errant son? Would even Bylath dare accuse Varent of aiding his escape? It
seemed unlikely: political expediency would surely override the risk of such
insult. And Varent need only deny it: the Domm of Aldarin was hardly likely to
suspect his own ambassador. So he was safe under Varent's protection.