Dark Empress (18 page)

She had little time to marvel, however. The carriage was escorted to the ornate gateway where the God-King’s personal guards stood. Here, the cataphracti on their armoured horses bowed and took the rest of the escort with them, riding off to the rear to some unseen barracks. As Asima watched with interest, a unit of the God-King’s guard appeared through the arch of the gate after a short pause, and took up position around the carriage and the wagon behind them. There had been a full minute in between guards when any passer-by could have approached the travellers and it was a testament to either the reputation of the God-King’s guard, or the law-abiding nature of the citizens that the carriage remained unvisited throughout the handover process.

An officer gave the order and the guards began to march forward, the carriage trundling between them, beneath the great decorative arch of the Royal Gate with its aviary. Within, the palace was a maze of beautifully-tended and carefully organised gardens and lawns, punctuated by scattered trees that smelled of fresh citrus fruit. Between these gardens stood various ornate and beautiful white and pink buildings, with apses and arches and rows of windows. A grand theatre rose from behind a row of poplars, the seating visible between the trees.

The carriage rolled forward along a wide pathway, between two great structures with ornate windows. Inside, the wittering of the two girls was becoming hard to ignore, overriding the sounds from outside. Asima sighed and pushed open the grill on the window, drawing aside the net that kept the sand out during desert travel.

One of the God-King’s guards walked alongside only a few feet away. She smiled at him, though he kept his eyes firmly forward.

“Am I allowed to ask anything?”

The guard remained stony silent and Asima sank back into her seat. The place was beautiful and exciting, and she was genuinely interested in the buildings they passed. Still, there would be time for her to learn more later.

The column continued on through the gardens and between buildings for a full five minutes before coming to a stop in front of a huge building. Square and unexciting, this structure stood at one edge of the peninsula, a steep incline running from its foundations down to the sea and the rocks below. Regardless of the inaccessibility of the slope, the defensive walls had been continued precariously around above the waterline on a ledge.

After the wondrous buildings of the palace complex, Asima was a little disappointed by the great, grey, square edifice, which showed little evidence of decoration or exterior windows, they being few and far between.

She made to enquire of the guard as the carriage door was opened but then changed her mind. He would not answer anyway and she had no intention of showing an enquiring mind in front of the vacant passengers that accompanied her.

She had made sure she was ready and was therefore the first to exit the carriage. Stepping lightly down to the fold-out stair, she alighted with the soft crunch of gravel beneath her sandal. She raised an eyebrow questioningly at the guard but, before she could ask anything, a sharp feminine voice snapped from nearby.

“Do not dawdle. Your belongings will be brought on. Now follow me and be quick about it!”

Asima, keeping her face carefully neutral, stepped around the carriage to see that the doors of the great square building had opened. Guards stood by the entrance, but the figure addressing them from the doorway with its jarring hawk-like voice was not exactly what she had imagined. Instead of the gaunt, thin woman with a stern topknot that she had seen in her mind’s eye, the figure in the doorway was a middle-aged man, quite rotund and dressed in elegant silks and satins. As she hurried toward him, the other three hot on her heels, she studied the man. He was wearing makeup and, she had to admit grudgingly, it was beautifully chosen and applied.

As she came to a halt before his upraised hand, she glanced through the door behind him and was relieved to see that the interior of her future home was, in fact, beautiful. Gardens and lawns could be seen within, surrounded by porticoes and balconies. Of course. This was not designed to be dull for the occupants, but to hide the glories that lay within.

She smiled.

“Wipe that inane grin off your face, girl!”

The portly man sighed in a feminine fashion and placed his fists on his hips.

“I am Mishad, your overseer and tutor. I can see we have a lot of work to do, so we’d best get started. You have a long afternoon ahead of you, ladies, but first we had best peel you out of these ‘things’” he eyed their attire with distaste, “and have you bathed, oiled and perfumed. Then perhaps my nose will unblock itself.”

As he turned, the guards approached to close the doors behind them.

“You will note that the guards do not follow us,” he said as he walked through the arched hallway toward the garden. “There are no guards within the building. No men are permitted within the harem.”

Kala blinked and turned to tap Asima on the arm surreptitiously.

“Why is he allowed in then?”

Asima sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Once we’ve had a little rest, Kala, and we’re alone, I’ll explain it to you.”

In which advancement is earned

The Dark Empress rode through choppy waters. Samir stood near the prow. He had been aboard for several weeks now and things were not improving. That first morning he had taken the beating of a lifetime, though he still remembered with satisfaction how, when they had been pulled off him by the first officer, he had inflicted enough damage on his attackers that four of them were unable to take their place rowing for a few days.

Now, as he prepared to haul on the rope when the shout came, he was still a little bruised and numb. That first day had been a lesson to his ‘equals’ on board. They had attacked him a number of times since then, but these days they did so in small groups with someone on lookout and they only attacked when they were sure of catching him off guard. On the bright side, they stuck to body blows these days in an attempt to keep their bullying hidden from the elders.

Such behaviour was a double edged gift or burden for Samir. He had to be watchful and had avoided several attacks through his quick wits, and periodically suffered a flurry of clandestine blows. But despite this, he still considered there to be upsides. That he was worthy of such effort suggested that they felt threatened by him, which was a powerful thing to know. It also cleared his conscience. There was nothing that would stop him using them when the opportunity presented itself. And thirdly, he was pretty sure that one of the crew, a man called Marcus with one eye and a scarred scalp, was aware of the troubles. He had caught an occasional look from the man and was at fairly sure he had a potential ally there.

So now it had become a waiting game. He just needed the opportunity to present itself and give him the ‘leg-up’ he was looking for. In the meantime, the enmity of these boys was useful in ways they were unaware of.

He peered into the spray and the mist, which hung low over the sea here and meant they were nearing Lassos. Samir was eager for a glimpse of this almost mythical place. The ship had docked there four days after his arrival but, at the time he’d been suffering rather badly, with three broken ribs, a puffed up and closed eye, an immobile arm and numerous cuts and bruises. The ship’s doctor had refused to let him leave the room put aside for him until he could pass three very simple tests of strength and agility. He’d almost passed one at the time and been put back down by the doctor until he was better healed.

Since then, the Dark Empress had been back out on another, unfortunately unproductive, patrol for weeks, before returning to its home port.

As a child in M’Dahz, he and Ghassan had heard of Lassos, of course. The pirate isle was infamous in legend of the southern continent. Somehow, though within only a few days’ striking distance of numerous ports, the mysterious island had remained hidden from the navies of two empires and numerous inquisitive explorers. Some said that the island moved; that it drifted on the mist. Samir had his doubts.

He’d always had his doubts about the ‘reefs of the dead’ also, though weeks onboard had now shaken that from him. Subtle and careful questions around some of the older sailors made it perfectly clear that, whatever he might think, they themselves were in no doubt. And so, as they now approached this most mysterious island, Samir realised he was holding his breath in anticipation of what he might see.

“You: get aloft!”

Samir turned in surprise, but it seemed the pirate’s command had been addressed to one of the other young mates nearby. Samir returned his attention to the prow and tightened his grip on the rope.

“All hands prepare!”

There was a long moment of ominous silence, made all the more uncanny by the mist that was now beginning to envelop the prow of the ship. Samir listened desperately and kept his eyes peeled. He could now see only twenty yards in front of him and, as he quickly turned his head, at most a third of the length of the deck stretching out behind him before it became lost in the wispy grey.

He whispered a quick prayer to the luck goddess and peered ahead once more.

“Bring to!” the cry went up from the stern. Commands were relayed in short order around the ship, but Samir was already hauling on the rope and beginning to furl the sail before he was told.

As the rope tightened, he found himself drawing close to one of the men he didn’t know, who was busy doing something arcane with a rope on the other side of the mast. Samir smiled at the man, but was ignored as he continued about whatever the task was.

He continued to haul on his rope and turned briefly to look out over the prow. The ship was slowing to a halt now as the sails, already deprived of wind in this still environment, were furled. The twenty or so rowers who had been sent to their seats ten minutes ago were rowing gently against the direction of travel, bringing the whole ship to a halt.

Samir dropped the rope in an instant, the cord burning his hand as it ran through his palm until he caught it again.

“Back!” he bellowed as loud as he could.

The man nearby looked up in surprise and then followed Samir’s gaze and dropped his own rope, cupping his hands round his mouth.

“Abaft! Take her abaft!”

The man rushed over to Samir, who stood, gripping the rope, mesmerised with fear at the jagged, black, glistening rock that drifted toward them with slow and deliberate momentum. Behind them, desperate orders were bellowed out.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…”

He looked around at the voice and realised the man next to him was making signs to ward off evil.

“Gods won’t help now”, Samir said quietly and grasped the tip of one of the half dozen spare oars that were sheathed beneath the rail down the side of the ship near the front. Hauling on it, he heaved it over the rail, surprising himself with the strength he appeared to find from nowhere.

Gritting his teeth, he jammed the oar in a dip between the rails and aimed for the rock that was now almost upon them. Throwing all his weight behind the oar. With a worrying cracking and crunching noise, the oar struck home on the rock. For a horrifying second Samir was convinced it had broken at the end of the blade and they would run afoul of the hazard. Then the full, solid wood of the oar shaft hit the rock and Samir was physically lifted from the deck by the blow and hurled several yards back against the mast.

As he picked himself up, he realised the other man had gripped the oar and was desperately fending off the rock. The now desperate rowing and careful manoeuvring, combined with the push of the oar, turned the ship slightly and the rock came alongside, drifting along the side of the hull like a menacing sea beast. The man let go of the oar and the item dropped into the water and bobbed away. Slowly, once again, the ship came to a halt.

The man was saying something to Samir, but his attention was otherwise engaged. The young man stared out from his position at the rail into the mist.

This was no solitary rock. The reefs were here and as dangerous as imaginable. Glistening obsidian points rose from the turbulent waters, white froth dancing around them and fading, only to be replaced by more as the next wave hit. The rocks were everywhere. Ahead of them and beside them, behind them somehow and, he turned to confirm this… yes, at the other side too. How in the name of the seven faces of Ha’Rish had they got here, right amid the rocks?

His mind reeled. It was, he supposed, theoretically possible for a ship to fit in some of these narrow gaps between the pointed hazards, but the Empress was not a small ship and it would be difficult under even the best circumstances. In the mist? Never.

But the reefs, regardless of their danger, were only rocks.

Samir’s gaze only took them in in passing.

Figures stood on the shards. All around them. Figures in dark, wet, drab clothes. Many appeared to be wearing grey robes like those of a priest, but duller and darker. And wetter. And infinitely more frightening. The silent figures watched the Dark Empress as she sat, motionless, among the rocks and the mist.

Toward the rear of the ship someone was shouting orders. Sounded like the first officer. The commands were very precise; how many degrees the wheel needed turning; how many rowers should begin and in which seats; how many strokes a minute the man at the drum should beat out.

None of the commands would affect Samir in his role here, not that he would be listening even if they did. His attention was riveted on the figures staring at the ship; staring, he felt, directly at him, or into his soul. He shivered.