Not Rees, not Chido, none of them in that raffish band of young bloods could get me to the Jikhorkdun to see the sport. Casmas licked his shining lips and vowed he would plunge his hands and arms elbow deep into golden deldys. Tothord, the Elten of the Ruby Hills, shouted eager wagers with Nath Tolfeyr. This Tothord, a dark-visaged man of about Rees’s age, much dissipated, had recently lost a younger brother in battle on the southern front. He was anxious to see vengeance taken out on any of his country’s enemies.
In our dissolute group we were continually being joined by men from the wars, home on some kind of furlough, and we listened to their talk, before they set off again for fresh dangers and battles. Mostly it was the younger sons who joined the army and the air service in Hamal; those who took the titles and the land remained at home. But, even so, I found out that Trylon Rees was personally raising a regiment of cavalry, equipping and paying them at his own expense. He spent a considerable time in deep conversation with hard, tanned men, Hikdars and Deldars mostly, as they reported the progress of training on his estates of the Golden Wind.
“You’ll ride with me, Hamun?”
This presented a quandary.
“I would be honored, Rees. When-?”
“As soon as my officers have licked the regiment into shape, I shall report myself to the Queen. No doubt some stuffy Pallans will give me my orders. But then, Hamun! Then I shall be off to strike a blow for Hamal!”
I hated the sound of all this.
“Which front-?”
“Who knows! Who cares! I detest wars and I love a fight. I shall not live long, I think, once we are engaged.”
And I admit I felt a twinge of regret at his words, these words of an enemy of my own land, and a friend, for I perceived them to be true.
From then on Rees took it for granted that I would be going with him and his fine new regiment off to war.
Most of the raffish gang with whom we passed our time refused to join. They had the security of rank and position and privilege, and they were of that character of men to whom watching other men going off to do a job — or to go to war — came always as more sweet than going themselves. Chido ham Thafey, screwing up his face so that for once its chinlessness became unnoticeable, stoutly declared that, by Krun, he would go with Rees. He’d be a staffer, a galloper, and go haring on his zorca all over the battlefield with vitally important messages, and by his own prowess sway the course of the fight. Rees nodded, and smiled his lion smile, and said, yes, and did not disabuse young Chido. Other factions running in the sacred quarter also were being drawn more and more into the war. News from the southern front merely confirmed that the armies of Hamal were still slowly pushing south into the ancient kingdoms and Kovnates there. From the Mountains of the West came grotesque stories of horror. But from Pandahem came the most thrilling news. Thrilling, that is, to any loyal Hamalian. I knew that Queen Thyllis had not been officially enthroned and crowned and had not taken up the symbols of her power. She was waiting for the psychological moment. A great victory, with its attendant triumphant parade and review and celebrations in the Jikhorkdun, this would be the time she would choose to be crowned Empress of Hamal.
So while these friendly enemies, or inimical friends, of mine shouted and raved in the Jikhorkdun and the prisoners from Pandahem met their various unpleasant ends, I set about worming my way into the confidence of a Hamalian Air Service officer. He was Hikdar Nath ti Hainlad, a jovial, wide-girthed man with reddish hair and veins breaking on his nose and cheeks. For a bottle and a wad of cham, which he chewed even as he drank, a fascinating contortion of his scarlet cheeks, he was willing to talk about the sky ships. I listened. I learned a great deal, facts and figures I had hitherto never dreamed existed, as we sat on a cool terrace facing south overlooking the Black River. We were in the Horters’ section of the city, where I had once lived with Nulty, west of the old walls that secluded the sacred quarter, to the east, on its V of land between the two rivers.
Going back to The Thraxter and Voller had proved fruitless, for the landlord of the inn had no knowledge of the whereabouts of Nulty, and all my possessions had gone, Havil the Green knew where. Even though I now wore a dandy’s ineffable outfit of gray trousers and green over-frilled and ruffled shirt, with a blue coat slung carelessly from golden cords over one shoulder, I drew quizzical glances. The story of how I, the Amak of Paline Valley, had fled from the duel with the Strom of Hyr Rothy had grown in the retelling. I answered all with a haughty look down my nose. Strom Lart was off to the wars. The landlord did say, heavily: “When he returns, Notor, he will seek you out.” To which I replied: “Let him, by Havil the Green!”
So I sat and sipped good Kregan tea while this Air Service Hikdar Nath swilled the wine I paid for, and we talked.
It was mostly technical information, and aerial tactics, for I posed as a man anxious to join the air service, and I will tell you of these technicalities when the time is ripe. I felt I had not wasted my day as I returned to the sacred quarter and a roistering night with Rees and the others. It was essential that I spend some nights out on the town gambling and drinking, as well as out on the town spying, so as to preserve my cover.
The city of Ruathytu, the capital of Hamal, the most powerful empire on the continent of Havilfar, is undeniably an impressive monument to power and glory and easy living. Aqueducts span the sky bringing sweet water from the hills. Broad avenues slice cleanly through the mass of buildings. There are colonnades, and arcades, small hills festooned with villas. There is much riotous vegetation, flowers, and the tinkle of fountains is never silent. Zorca chariots and sleeth riders throng the ways. The inhabitants sport jewels, and fans, and bright shawls and scarves. There are awnings of a bewildering variety of colors, ornate domes and terraces — a whole kaleidoscope of color and movement in the declining rays of the twin suns Zim and Genodras.
And yet, to me (who have seen on Kregen Sanurkazz and Zenicce and Vondium, as well as many another bright city), Ruathytu possessed no joy of living, no zest for life, no overriding sense of freedom and pride. Oh, the Hamalians boasted of their fine walls and towers, their domes and aqueducts, but I felt the place as a deadening weight upon me. I changed this, as you shall hear; but then — ah, then how I longed for Valkanium and the cool terraces on Esser Rarioch!
The main Arena in Ruathytu is situated midway between the old walls secluding the sacred quarter to the east and the Walls of Kazlili to the west, and about the same distance south of the River Havilthytus to the north. The island whereon sits the palace of the emperors in its artificial lake scooped from the river lies to the northeast, northwest of the sacred quarter. Great processions pass down the broad Boulevard of Victory from the water gate opposite the palace island to the Jikhorkdun. This is the Arena reserved for the nobility and the gentry. There are other Arenas in Ruathytu, of course, so that the guls and the clums, even, shall be sated with blood. .
The Maiden with the Many Smiles shone clear above me as I turned into the Street of Sweetmeats and headed for the tavern of Tempting Forgetfulness, moonlight pink and golden all about me, and the shadows plum and purple beneath the balconies. I could hear the sounds of roistering from the inns and taverns by the way, and drunken parties staggered past, shouting and singing. I kept my hand close to the hilt of my rapier. The sacred quarter was beset with sudden affrays, steel twinkling in an alley, a corpse stretched upon the stones for the Hamalian watch to find, blood congealed and black in the moonlight. The alley by the tavern lay half black, half gold.