The Silver Lake (9 page)

The huge main refectory wing was filled to bursting when they arrived. Estavia’s warriors numbered nearly ten thousand at full strength, and although most were stationed at the nine village towers around Gol-Beyaz or at Anavatan’s many gates, there were usually upward of seven or eight hundred people taking meals at Estavia-Sarayi at any given time. The kitchens, staffed by dozens of Oristo’s stewards, were enormous.

Lining up before the long, central table, Kemal tossed Jaq a slab of tripe before helping himself to a piece of flat bread liberally spread with quince jam, a slice of sheep’s cheese, and a handful of dried figs. Weaving his way through the crowds to the blue-and-gold-tiled Cyan dining hall, he glanced around for Yashar but didn’t see him. Kaptin Julide, however, saw Kemal, and pointed at an empty cushion across from her.

“Good morning, Ghazi.”

He took the seat with a resigned expression. “Kaptin.”

“Tea?”

“Thank you.”

“Bazmin, tea.” She gestured and her delinkos caught up the large, silver urn from the center of the low table and poured Kemal a cup. Allowing him to take a single sip, she then caught him in a firm stare.

“You’re to attend Assembly this morning.”

He sighed. “Yes, Kaptin.”

“There shouldn’t be much more than damage reports from across the city; Lazim-Hisar reports no signal from the lake towers, the walls are secure, and the city garrisons survived the night intact, so you’ll have no more to say than anyone else. You should be out of there in less than an hour.”

“No movement from the north, Kaptin?”

“The northern watchtowers report the strait’s empty of all movement—friend, foe, and fish alike. Which makes sense on Havo’s First Morning. We’ll know more about the smaller harbors when we hear from the coastal garrison later today, but it would take some pretty powerful magics to sail across the northern sea during Havo’s Dance. These first spring storms are always the worst once they push past the strait into open water. Relax and enjoy the boredom for a few more days, Ghazi. Cyan Company is being deployed south to Anahtar-Hisar next week, and there’ll be plenty there to keep you occupied.”

“Yes, Kaptin.” Draining his cup, Kemal picked up his bread and jam with a distracted frown. Last season they’d driven several suspicious-acting ships away from the Bogazi-Isik Strait to the north—Estavia’s naval kaptins had been certain they were scout ships. Betting was three to one in the temple that the northern powers of Rostov and Volinsk were taking an interest in Anavatan and its profitable hold on the southern route through the walled-off and guarded silvery Gol-Beyaz Lake once again, but Elif and the temple-seers disagreed; Rostov and Volinsk had been at war for over two decades and showed no signs of mending their earlier alliance. The towers of Anahtar, Kapi and Kenor-Hisar, however, had reported increased activity on the Deniz-Hadi Sea to the south, and their traditional trading partners and sometime allies of Thasos and Ithos Islands had been distinctively nervous all winter. If a new power were rising to the south, they had to be ready to meet it. The bulk of the Battle God’s fighting companies would be stationed at the southernmost towers this season especially since their ancient enemies, the Yuruk nomads of the Berbat-Dunya wild lands to the north-west and the Petchan hill fighters of the Gurney-Dag Mountains to the southwest, had been defeated so thoroughly in the last decade that they were now at a fraction of their earlier numbers. But, like most of the rank and file drawn from the western villages, Kemal believed they were making a mistake in ignoring these regions.

“But no one asks us, do they, Delin?” he asked Jaq, ruffling his ears.

“Ghazi?”

“Nothing, Kaptin.”

“Then we’ll see you at the Invocation.” With a nod, Kaptin Julide withdrew, her delinkos in tow. Kemal was left to stare into his empty cup as if the few remaining tea leaves could show him the future. As he reached for the urn, the hazy form of a child outlined against the city’s dark, cobblestone streets rose up before his eyes again, then winked out in a spray of mist. He nodded. Something
was
happening, it just wasn’t happening to the south.

Nor to the north either,
his mind supplied.

No, he agreed, it was happening here. He just wished he knew what it was and what he was supposed to do about it. Suddenly no longer hungry, he tossed the rest of his breakfast to Jaq, then followed the kaptin from the hall.

Across the city, as the rising sun painted the many battlements and minarets of Anavatan with broad streaks of fire, Brax and Spar scrambled onto a stone pier overlooking the Halic-Salmanak, the freshwater strait that separated the Northern from the Western Trisect. As a new set of priests began to sing, calling the sworn to the Morning Invocations, Brax handed the younger boy a piece of bread they’d managed to barter for yesterday’s purse.

“The streets’ll be bare in a moment,” he observed, watching a school of mercan fish swim by. “Anyone not singing at Gods’ll be at breakfast.” Squinting up at the cloudy sky, his expression grew thoughtful. “We could sniff around the market and see what Havo left us.” He shot Spar a quick glance. The younger boy had been quiet and withdrawn all morning, but the dark circles under his eyes were fading and he’d attacked his breakfast with his usual appetite. “Or maybe slip in through some hostel’s back door and check out their kitchens? What do you think?” he continued.

Spar stared out across the water, then nodded slowly.

Satisfied, Brax stood, dusting invisible crumbs off his tunic before leaping from the pier to the soft, white sand below. “Meyhane-Kopek’s the closest,” he observed. “We could see if anything’s been left lying around and if not, we could always beg some work at Ystazia-Cami. All those outdoor stalls in the main courtyard must have gotten tossed around pretty well last night. They might need help putting them back together, yeah?”

Spar nodded. Work wasn’t as profitable as lifting, but it was safer. He was glad Brax was keeping their options open. As the singing ended, he clambered down and followed the older boy through the deserted streets toward Meyhane-Kopek, his eyes darting this way and that, alert for any sign of danger. As Anavatan began to shimmer with a faint silvery-yellow glow as the sworn evoked the power of their Gods, he shivered. Gods were a frightening unknown and the unknown was always a danger.

In Estavia-Sarayi’s huge central parade ground, Kemal, now fully dressed in deep blue tunic, sandals, and leather armor, stood beside Yashar, the fingers of his right hand resting easily against the pommel of his sword. Around him, the Battle God’s warriors stood as still as statues, each company occupying the position it would hold on the battlefield: archers from Verdant and Turquoise Companies on the flanks, Sable Company, with its many powerful seers, to the rear protecting the long line of delinkon behind them, the lines of mounted Bronze Company cavalry on their huge warhorses at the vanguard, and the four infantry companies of Azure, Cyan, Sapphire, and Indigo in the center. Those who no longer actively served the God through age or infirmity rested on long, marble benches beneath the encircling line of cinar and poplar trees to one side. Kemal could just make out Elif seated with her hands resting on Jaq’s broad shoulders, but she too, like the rest, remained motionless, waiting.

The muted notes of Usara’s Invocation filtered out to them from different parts of the temple complex. Both the Hearth and Healing Gods maintained contingents of followers at Estavia-Sarayi to support the warriors in their protection of the city. The Battle God’s song would not begin until first one and then the other had ended. But it would be soon. As the last note faded, a single mounted figure crossed the courtyard. The waiting companies tensed.

Marshal Brayazi had served as the temple’s supreme commander for over a decade and as kaptin and ghazi-priest in Bronze Company for thirty years before that. Her long black hair, bound in several thick braids, was streaked with gray, and her face, nearly as dark as the Battle God’s own, was deeply lined, but she still carried herself as stiff and straight as an arrow. Her black eyes swept across the assembled companies; then, in one swift motion, she drew her sword, standing up in the saddle to call out the first, loud note of Estavia’s Invocation. A moment later they heard the answering call from far out on the Bogazi-Isik Strait as the admiral of Her Battle Fleet joined in. Across the city and from every tower along the shores of Gol-Beyaz, each kaptin took up the call, adding the strength of their voices to their marshal’s.

Estavia’s power rippled through the assembled warriors. Another call, another thread of power, and Kemal felt a chill run up his spine. His sword arm tensed. She was near; he could feel Her hovering just beneath the surface of his awareness. Another note, this time deeper and richer than the two before it, and he saw Yashar’s head tip back, the tendons in his neck standing out with the strain, his teeth shining brightly through the dark thickness of his beard. His own chin began to lift. Around him, the warriors shifted and moved as their God’s presence began to flow through them. A third note, a fourth, and his muscles began to shake with the steady buildup of power. As always, he felt his own will begin to wash away under the overwhelming need to do Her bidding as a blood-red fog washed across his vision, and his fists clenched with the sudden fierce desire to do battle, to kill and maim the bodies of Her enemies in Her name. Finally, the power grew too strong to be contained, and he and every other warrior in the courtyard jerked their weapons free as Estavia burst into being above them with a crack of displaced air.

Red eyes blazing, She spun Her swords above their heads and, as one, Her people raised their own weapons to meet them, bolts of deep-red energy crackling down the blades like gouts of fire. Kemal jerked as his own sword sent a rush of power shooting through his arm and it was all he could do not to turn his blade on the others. Instead, he rode the sensation, feeling his entire body stiffen in response to Her power. He felt invulnerable, unstoppable, and drunk on the power of Her touch. The feeling grew, became almost unbearable. Then, as fast as She’d come, Estavia’s presence exploded into the morning sun and vanished. Around him, the others staggered about the courtyard before discipline brought them back into formation. But Kemal was left reeling from the violence of Her passing, unable to speak, his vision spinning with the knowledge that something hovered just beyond his understanding, something he was supposed to know, something he was supposed to do. Before he could reach out for it, Marshal Brayazi held her sword aloft for one more heartbeat, then shot it back into its scabbard. The Invocation was over.

Breathing hard, Yashar threw one arm over Kemal’s shoulders to support himself as the assembled broke into a hundred ragged groups, many of then heading for a private corner. “That was better than sex,” he panted. “I hope we get to kill something soon. I don’t think I can take many more of these peacetime Invocations.”

Kemal could only hold his head groggily as Jaq bounded across the courtyard to swipe his tongue across his face.

“She’s angry about something, anyway,” his arkados continued. “Get down, Jaq. I swear She nearly blew my head off. That’s a good sign.”

“Your head?”

“Both heads,” the older man chuckled. “And on that note...” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Kemal shook his head, his eyes still glassy and unfocused. “I can’t ... I have to do something.” He frowned. “I have to ... go to Assembly?”

Yashar’s dark eyes showed a flash of annoyance, then he shrugged. “Well, better you than me. Find me later—Cyan’s on the east wall today—and you know they fixed the lock on the second sentinel box door.” His hand caressed the back of Kemal’s neck. “So if that bloodless lot at the Citadel doesn’t suck all the vitality out of you,” he whispered, “I soon will.” After kissing him fiercely on the palm, the older man then strode off with a jaunty whistle, pleased by the growing flush of desire on his arkados’ face. Breathing hard, Kemal bent his head to his knees, his sense of confusion fading before the familiar ache in his groin caused by Estavia and exploited by Yashar. He wasn’t too sure he could survive many more peacetime Invocations either, he admitted. The afterimage of Her presence still burning brightly behind his eyes, he made himself straighten, then headed for the west gate stables at as fast a pace as he was able, Jaq at his heels. If Kaptin Julide was right, he’d be back from Assembly before he lost his erection. After that, he would worry about whatever else he was supposed to do.