Even the slums were brightly painted. White, of course, was to match the Palace, but in reality the slum dwellers could only afford whitewash. In other places, as divisions were divided and subdivided, buildings could end up with a m?lange of colors that made the eyes bleed on a sunny day.
I could only hope the kwajiin were not color-blind.
Most refugees sought entry through Whitegate, but I refused to go into the capital as a beggar. We recovered Urardsa and Dunos from their fellows and headed for Bloodgate. As would be expected, soldiers warded the entrance to their section of town. A variety of mercenaries and xidantzu loitered outside that gate, but I decided they were beneath my notice. The sort of people I needed would not have been intimidated by some princeling’s foot soldier.
Those I dismissed likewise dismissed me, confirming my conclusions about their worthlessness.
Before we made to enter the city, I’d commanded all of my companions to wash up and put on their best robes. Despite days on the road and hard fighting, they cleaned up well and looked presentable. From the glances they exchanged, their appearance was a surprise, and I might have even seen growing signs of attraction between a few of them.
That suited me fine. It was good they should enjoy what little life they likely had left.
I, on the other hand, did not clean up. My robe, which had once been white, now had a grey cast to it, save where blood stained it deeply. I’d done nothing to induce the pattern, but I did enjoy the striping effect. Given my crest was that of a tiger hunting, it seemed appropriate.
And, like a tiger, I kept my whiskers, which had grown in very dark. Being charitable, I looked as if I’d been dragged all the way from Derros behind a dung cart. The only thing anomalous about me was my wearing two swords. Of course, that could have been taken as braggadocio, and I did not mind that either.
Being underestimated in some situations is an asset.
A guardsman bearing a spear moved to block my way. “You’ll wait here like the others.” He moved with a swagger and sneered as he spoke. Some of the loiterers laughed, but the smarter among them just watched.
Deshiel intervened. “This is our master, Moraven Tolo.”
The guardsman stared blankly at him. “It would not matter if he was Prince Cyron arrived with all the Naleni troops he could field. Until the Prince issues a call for xidantzu and others of their ilk, you wait here. Or, you go to Whitegate, surrender your weapons, and get fed.”
Deshiel’s hand dropped to his sword’s hilt, but I restrained him with my left hand.
The guardsman laughed.
My backhanded slap snapped his head around, then dumped him on his ample buttocks. The other guards at the gate came instantly alert. They lowered their spears and prepared to advance and drive us off. Luric Dosh stepped forward and began to whirl his spear slowly, which gave the guardsmen pause.
With the same hand I’d used to slap him, I pointed the fallen man to the stone circle just outside Bloodgate. Circles such as this could be found throughout the Nine, most commonly outside the larger cities or towns. This one was large, as befitted a capital, easily thirty feet in diameter. Many duels had been fought in it, and the signs of the aftermath were easily seen.
Mystics had left their mark, for when Mystics dueled, the circle contained the wild magic that their actions released. Outside that circle, the world was just beginning to awaken in spring. Inside the flowers were already in bloom. I especially liked the goldenrod for how it glittered, and I imagined the metal blossoms might ring prettily were I to slice through them. The Iron-bells, on the other hand, might dull a blade.
The guardsman scuttled back from me. “I don’t care who you are, you don’t come in.”
Again I pointed to the circle.
“I know my duty.”
Deshiel bowed toward him. “Indeed you do. Are you willing to die in its performance?”
I gave him no chance to reply. I strode forward as if I were the Prince. The recumbent guard said nothing more and his fellows parted before me. My people followed and a couple of the loiterers made to follow us.
I pointed to one and Ranai drew her sword. He continued to follow. She did the guardsman’s duty for him, and we walked deeper into the city with no one else in our wake.
I could feel Moraven’s distaste for the city, but I liked it. The tall buildings reduced the sky to slender ribbons of blue. The crowds had not yet filtered into the red division and likely would stay out, as it would be the first point of attack. The warriors who lived here kept it clean, and even the yapping dogs slinking through the streets looked as if they’d recently been washed.
What I found most fascinating in the Illustrated City were the small murals painted on the homes. Most had no wording, and were often painted in a stripe no more than a foot high. One warrior’s house, for example, showed him in Virine livery, cutting down a Viruk. By this alone he would be known. Little symbols showed his current rank and affiliation and, at this house, his mural was the fourth in a sequence, showing military service going back generations. While each was bright with new paint, the styling of the figures remained appropriate to their era, so each building became a living history of those who resided there.
By contrast, Quunkun remained naked stone. Its smooth walls had no decoration, but it needed none. Everyone was expected to know the history and deeds of the Telanyn Dynasty-and the emperors who had reigned there before them. The Telanyn had assumed control of Erumvirine when Prince Nelesquin died in Ixyll. Though they had been overthrown twice since the Cataclysm, they found their way back to the throne after a generation or two. Once by acclaim, once by marriage and murder-both equally effective.
The palace’s tall towers thrust like spears into the sky, but drew no blood. They remained as ineffective as Virine spears often were, and that boded ill for Kelewan. We strode across the wide circle of white marble and mounted the steps, only to be stopped by smartly dressed warriors whose spear blades flashed silver in the sunlight.
A captain held up a hand to stop me. “You go no further without authority.”
I reached into my robe and tossed a piece of filthy fabric at him. He recoiled and let it fall to the steps. There it unfurled itself in all its tattered, bloodstained glory. Though it had been pierced and clawed, no one could mistake the insignia of the Iron Bears.
The captain knelt, touched the cloth, then picked it up. “Come with me.”
I followed him through the doors and waited for my people to join me. I moved slowly enough for them to take in the palace’s heart, which had struck men dumb with awe since before the Empire fell. We entered beneath a massive dome a hundred feet high. Before us and to both sides, stairways started up, then split three ways, crisscrossing in a dizzying webwork of catwalks. A dozen thick pillars supported the dome, and into each one had been carved the image of a god, emperor, or prince. Only one lacked decoration, having only an empty alcove. A statue of Nelesquin had been there, but had been pulled down and smashed in the Cataclysm’s wake.
The captain started up the western staircase and I followed him around to the north. When he continued on further, I cut up the northern stairs and ignored his calls to return. The others followed, becoming more alert than before, but they let him pass when I waved him forward.