The speed with which their new and exotic prince had mastered his strange mount both amazed and delighted the men of D’alwah. They knew nothing of the mental orders which Hiero used instead of the countless hours they themselves had needed on the drill ground. Segi was by no means as intelligent as Klootz, but he was far from being stupid and took to his new rider at once.
When the exercises were done, Hiero usually took a ride on Klootz, and he always tried to go through the city. D’alwah City was far larger than Kalina, the only other city of the realm, lying many leagues to the south. From his studies and the incessant questions he asked, aided by a fair share of mental eavesdropping, Hiero had managed to acquire a considerable amount of knowledge about his new country. He had taken one all-too-brief trip to the coast and seen for the first time the great, white-topped breakers of the Lantik rolling in to the beach under the high, green dunes. It gave him a strange feeling to think that he was almost certainly the first man of his race ever to have seen both the great ocean of the East and that of the West. Across that foaming sea lay the ultimate in mysteries, Europe, the lost motherland of culture, the home of the original church, long sundered from the children of the western continent. But there was not much time for musings of this nature, on that day or any other.
As he rode through the crowded streets on the great morse, with two hopper-riding guardsmen in front and two behind, the crowds fell back respectfully and caps and helmets were doffed in salute to his rank. Indeed, he looked like a prince, for he was garbed now in purple silk, both the short blouse and the gold-embroidered kilt, while his leather boots were scarlet, as were the supple riding gloves. His beloved short sword hung on his back, but was held now by a cross-belt of gold links. A thin gold coronet supported the purple cap of maintenance. One snow-white osprey plume nodded above his head, secured to his cap by a gemmed brooch of great price. The D’alwahns liked color and what was new and interesting. Their pride was stirred by their new prince and by the bazaar gossip of his adventures and the manner in which he had appeared out of nowhere, bringing their lost princess back to them.
As he acknowledged the salutes by touching his cap, Hiero wondered who in the sea of dark faces did not mean the cheers and the congratulations hurled from every street and balcony. Among those white-toothed smiles and behind some of the shuttered windows lurked enemies, the more dangerous for being unknown. Of that he was certain. Try as he would, he could detect no worse thoughts than the usual leaven of envy from some of the poor and sneers from certain of the nobility who were obsessed with their own ancestry. This was only normal. Where are the real baddies, boy? he said to Klootz, who was preoccupied with picking his way over ancient cobbles slippery with modern refuse. Where are the Unclean? They’re here, Klootz, they’re here, that’s for certain. How do we find ’em, how do we smoke ’em out, before they come out and get us first?
A laughing, half-naked girl shouted something funny and coarse about a possible heir. Hiero shrugged helplessly in mock puzzlement, and the crowd screamed with laughter. Yet all the while, he never really relaxed. The enemy was clever, but not perfect. If he watched without ever letting down his guard, and if Luchare did the same, as he had carefully taught her, sooner or later a break might come. Meanwhile, he could only wait and observe.
There was much to observe. Now crossing a plaza before him were men of a religion other than Christianity—something he had not known, except for the Unclean. They worshiped God, but through another prophet, and they revered the crescent moon. They were Mu’amans, dressed in snowy white and with green, flat-topped conical hats. They had a big colony on the southwestern fringe of the kingdom and mostly stayed within it, being great herdsmen and famous breeders of the kaws, the long-horned cattle of the kingdom. For some reason, they despised the hoppers and would have nothing to do with them. But they were mighty runners and made up a fine corps of light infantry, being master bowmen and swordsmen of skill. With their kilts looped up, they could outrun even their own kaws and could keep up the pace for many hours.
Despite their alien rites, their loyalty had never been questioned. Aside from their clothes, they looked like any other D’alwahns, with tight curls and dark faces, sometimes broad of lip and nostril, at other times lean-faced and aquiline. They bowed as Hiero passed, but there was nothing subservient about them, and their sharp eyes carefully appraised him, his weapons and mount, but not his finery.
When they had passed, another company approached, this time a caravan of gaudily clad merchants newly come from the South and stained with travel. Some bore the marks of recent battle, and Hiero knew they would report, as all travelers did, to the court newsmen, whose business it was to know and collate whatever passed throughout the kingdom. Many of these newcomers bore a six-pointed star as a symbol, and Hiero knew them for Davids, the other odd religion of his new country. They seemed identical to all their fellow citizens, being both rich and poor and occupying all places in society. But, though believers in the one God, they had no prophets or saints at all, their priests relying only on certain secret books, never shown to any but coreligionists. Both they and the Mu’amans held high places at court, and some were hereditary nobles; but in private life they kept much to themselves and seldom intermarried with the mainstream of Christianity. Yet Lu-chare and Danyale trusted them implicitly. “I wish I could be as sure of my fellow churchmen as I am of the Davids and the Mu’amans,” the king had said bleakly. And indeed, many of both were in the royal guard and the local militia units which made up the realm’s army when assembled.
The street narrowed ahead, and Hiero saw that they were coming to one of the many high-walled bridges which crisscrossed the city. These bridges spanned the numerous canals which ran through the city and far inland as well, linking up a dozen sleepy rivers and also leading to the coastal marshes and estuaries of the Lantik itself. As he approached, Hiero again saw yet a fresh reason for the stone walls of these bridges and the similar ones which lined the canal system. A hideous scaled head, at least two meters long, with fanged jaws still agape in death agony, was thrust on a great iron spike at the bridge’s edge, the severed neck dripping scarlet blood into the gutters of the street. As he reined up, Klootz snorted in distaste, stamping his great hooves until the stones rang. One of the rearguard rode his hopper alongside and spoke with the easy familiarity of the long-service man.
“May be a new one to you, Highness. That’s a grunter and a damned big one, begging your pardon. I’ve heard ’em bellowing at the moon in the swamps so you’d think you’d go deaf. Funny, but there weren’t so many when I was a lad, or so I remember. Must be the bloody things are breeding more. We’ll have to build new walls, even in the out-districts, if all I hear be true.”
“Have they any use?” the Metz asked. “They look nasty as hell.”
“Well, the meat’s not bad if you cure it, though it tastes of fish. And the hide makes good shields and such, though it takes a powerful lot of curing. Whether it makes up for the folk and the cattle and hogs the buggers snatch up is something else. If the country folk don’t have a well, getting water’s a problem. Even a little grunter, not a third that size, can take a kid. I lost a young cousin off a barge some years ago; opened a hatch to look out and the grunter’s head come in instead. Hell of a thing, the way they keep swarming into the cities now. Gets worse every year.”