As he walked down the path leading back to his cabin, Jacob Eveningstar began to hum. It was all he could do to keep from shaking.
CHAPTER 4
Crowds packed the streets of the far-eastern city of Veldaren, swarming the walkways on either side of the cobbled streets filled with horses pulling carts of merchandise. Soleh Mori walked among the people, buildings of gray stone on either side of her. The entirety of the developed sections of the city looked the same to her-cold, gray, and lifeless. She felt out of place among the unwashed hordes as she made her way to the castle. She wore an elegant, lime-colored dress of woven cotton and silk. The bodice of the dress was embroidered with miniature Gemcroft pearls cultivated off the coast of the Pebble Islands, and the hemline was rounded with stylish lace. The rest of those around her were dressed in sullied leathers and burlap, their faces streaked with grime as they perused the markets. Many of them were common laborers on their midday break, drawn in by the catcalls of vendors selling fruit, vegetables, and freshly butchered or salted meats. On occasion, Soleh would spot a covered wagon and see the occupants through the netting that hid them from view. These were the lords and ladies of the city, the high merchants, dressed in their expensive silks and satins, fanning themselves as they sat atop feather-filled pillows.
Soleh wished she could join them in their luxury, but as Minister of Justice in the capital city of Neldar, she needed the people to see her face, to know that she walked among them. They had to believe she existed in the same world as they did, even if it wasn’t true. Even if she felt dirty in their presence. So badly she wished to be back in Erznia, in her courtyard on the border of the forest, sitting beside the spring eating apples, drinking wine, and teaching her children the lessons of Karak. Only rarely had she gone back to visit over the forty years since she had been handed the mantle of Minister, and she missed it more than anything.
But this is my life now, as it has been for a long while, she thought. It had been Karak’s will for her to sit in judgment of the crimes of the populace, and Soleh Mori never questioned the will of her god.
The afternoon crowd steadily thickened as more and more laborers-bricklayers, smiths, gardeners, tailors, caterers, and house servants-exited their places of employ and joined the torrent of human flesh in Veldaren’s southern district. She knew she had to stay wary, for within the midst of the honest men and women were the liars and beggars and thieves. It was the price of a free economy. Though every man could readily earn himself a silver coin for a day’s labor, there were just as many for whom the concept of earning was a five-fingered proposition. That was why the men of the City Watch were stationed on every street corner, standing rigid in their dull, mailed armor. Their spears held high and their shortswords sheathed at their waists, they held a constant vigil. It was because of them that Soleh declined protection on her journey to the castle each day. There was plenty of protection around already.
The City Watch had once been her son’s responsibility. Thinking of Vulfram caused her heart to patter. She missed him terribly, missed his assuredness and sense of honor. Soleh fell into dreary bouts of loneliness far more often since her eldest boy had been granted the title of Lord Commander by King Vaelor five years ago and put in charge of the newly created military. She loved Vulfram entirely; none of her other four children came close, not even Rachida, her youngest, the legendary beauty who had fled Neldar at the age of eighteen. His visits were almost as rare as her journeys back to Erznia. And so Soleh’s dreariness grew, and only by gazing upon the many statues of her beloved god could she hold her depression at bay.
She passed by one of those statues, a nine-foot-tall likeness of Karak wearing his plate armor, the sigil of a lion emblazoned on his chest, a great flaming sword held skyward in his hand. Her hands reached out, her fingers caressing the smooth marble foot perched atop the base. A fluttering filled her belly, flushing her cheeks. Her husband Ibis had carved this statue and many others situated around the city proper. His workmanship was exquisite; he was a man with gifted hands. She would do well to return to his workshop in the Tower Keep when her workday was finished, so he could prove once more just how gifted those hands were.
The crowd parted slightly and the presence of the City Watch became more pronounced as the gates to the Castle of the Lion came into view. It was a majestic creation, built by the hands of Karak in the year before he disappeared. The wall of the castle stood thirty feet high, and the three towers behind it stood higher than that. The first was Tower Honor, the residence of King Eldrich Vaelor I. Tower Servitude housed the large royal staff, and Tower Justice was where the High Court was held. The dungeons were tucked away beneath it. The wall itself was constructed from giant hunks of stone wrestled down from the Crestwell Mountains, polished to a crystalline sheen at the top and engraved with drawings by the greatest artists of the nation. The sight of it took Soleh’s breath away, just as it did every time her eyes fell on it. The images of the unwashed masses fled her mind. Seeing the Castle of the Lion in all its glory only confirmed the heights humanity could reach when its passion for righteousness was strong. They had already accomplished so much in a scant ninety-three years, and for nearly half that time Karak, their guiding light in the darkness, had left them on their own. It only made their achievements all the more impressive.
Our achievements, Soleh corrected herself. You may be timeless, but do not forget you are one of them.
The portcullis was open, framed on either side by a pair of leaping lions carved from onyx. Their claws stretched out, their mouths frozen open in a primal roar. Civilians drifted in and out of the gate, some carrying goods for the king, some bringing food for the granaries. A few entered with heads held high, while others did so with the downcast gaze of the timorous. Still others exited the portcullis with tears streaming down their faces. Guards bordered either side of the entrance, ushering them all to move along.
Soleh approached the wide aperture, stroking the nose of the soaring lion on her left. The Palace Guard recognized her immediately, and the sound of plated boots clomping together rang out as they came to attention. She called out their names one by one, causing smiles to stretch across their faces. “Hoster, Jericho, Luddard, Smithson, Bardot, Crillson.” The men appreciated it when members of the First Families remembered their names, though Soleh knew she was one of the few who did.
She crossed the courtyard, passing through the crowd of jugglers, poets, puppeteers, and salesmen who made every day a bazaar on the castle lawn. She greeted as many as she could, whether she knew them or not, offering them broad smiles and good tidings. For a moment she reconsidered her longing to be back in Erzia, but then she came on the ominous oak door of Tower Justice, where she would be spending the rest of her day, and realized that the smiles and good tidings ended there.
Pushing open the door-it was tall, quite heavy, and creaked on its iron hinges-she strode into the vestibule. The tower was immensely wide, and the lower chamber was round, with a short ceiling. A staircase wound up the northern curve of the wall leading to the main courthouse above. Guards stood at attention, safeguarding the sixteen doors that lined the interior. Each of those sixteen doors led to holding cells that held up to thirty prisoners. Those prisoners would be her responsibility for the day.