The Sword Of Midras Part 14

Well, to begin with, Trevan said as he moved to the outer doors and threw them open wide. I believe I will introduce this Obsidian captain to our city"since he will enjoy our hospitality from inside the city walls for quite some time.

Youre inviting me to stay?

Oh, I absolutely insist. Trevan bowed slightly as he spoke. As will every guard of the Legion on every wall and at every gate.

Aren stepped out of the main doors of the Athenaeum and onto the colonnade that made up the front porch, and stopped at the top of the broad stairs.

The avenue curved before him, bending on his right around the wide base of the citadels outer wall. Its battlements were sheer and smooth, standing straight up out of the ground and rising thirty feet up to an overhang. The masonwork of the stones that made up the outer wall was so expertly set that, even with Arens keen eyes, it was nearly impossible to distinguish the seams between the stones. The citadel rose another sixty feet above the top of the outer wall, the curve of its tower sweeping around a central dome that gleamed in the morning light.

Aren turned and looked to his left. There, the avenue continued its gentle curve to the right, between an amazing variety of small, independent buildings, crammed uncomfortably close to one another. The majority of the buildings were of wattle and daub construction: dark, wooden frameworks filled in with a combination of wood strips, mud, clay, and straw. The others were of wood or stone construction. Most had flat walls and squared corners, but there were a number of others whose curved lines were far more organic and that tried, in their small way, to emulate the citadel that towered above them. Of those that were set at the edge of the street, however, they all appeared to have one feature in common: the main floor represented a shop, craft room, or other place of business, with the living quarters situated on the floors above it. Above the doors of each of these establishments, Aren could easily see the ornate signs depicting the various services or goods being offered at each shop. He realized at once why each sign was situated high above the street: for the avenue was so filled with people, they would easily block the view of any advertis.e.m.e.nt situated any lower.

The ebb and flow of the people in the street seemed to be at its greatest, however, directly across from the Athenaeum. There, the citizens of Opalis moved like a river into the opening between the walls of the citadel to the right and the end of the line of shops on the left. Beyond them lay their great open market. Aren could see the stalls and small tents set up in a sprawling hodgepodge. Toward the leftmost edge of the market, Aren could make out the great fountain that formed the central supply of water into the city.

Opalis was indeed a city far more opulent and beautiful than Aren had ever seen. He remembered that there had been a number of discussions among the command staff of General Karpasic regarding this mysterious city located at the farthest reaches of their maps. Stories from some of the trade caravans coming out of South Paladis told of a city filled with unspeakable wealth and treasure. Given the extraordinary and magnificent citadel of the t.i.tans, it was obvious to him that the city lived up to the legends told about it. Yet, the city was defended by an inadequate number of warriors along a single wall of defense. Once that single wall was breached at any point, there was only the outer wall of the citadel remaining, with the surrounding city lost. To the captains trained eye, this was indeed a juicy and incomparable fruit, ripe for the picking.

Aren had given his word that he would not act against the city for two months. However long he had in the city, he could occupy himself with learning more about this place, its so-called t.i.tans, and, more important for him, more about this strange, cursed sword that seemed to be more trouble for him with every pa.s.sing day.

Do you know where you will be staying, Loremaster? The commander was speaking to Zhal as they, too, stepped onto the porch.

The last time I was here, the loremaster said, a slight wistfulness in his voice, there was a charming little inn under the Westwall near Elders Hall. I thought I might try there. Then I believe we should begin our investigations in earnest later this afternoon. Will the captain be in your charge?

He will be with me, Trevan replied.

Then perhaps you might bring him back here to the Athenaeum about the second hour after noon, the loremaster said.

We shall both be here, Trevan replied as he stepped forward to stand next to Aren. The commander gestured toward the street with his left hand. May I show you to your quarters, Captain?

I would be grateful to you, Commander, Aren replied with a slight nod.

Aren followed Trevan down the steps and into the teeming street, a smile on his lips. He had promised to do no intentional harm to Opalis or its citizens for two months, but he had not promised to remain here. Evard would find him and free him of the city in eight days time, and he could then proceed northward and deal with the ridiculous command of General Karpasic.

Evards last communication through the homunculus had been most illuminating. General Karpasic had been ordered to move his replenished army out of Hilt and march northward up the broken road into North Paladis. There was something in the region that was vital to the Obsidians. Although Evard was not clear as to what the objective was, nevertheless it was good news so far as Aren was concerned. It meant that the general and his army would be marching as far from Opalis as possible.

The last thing he needed was for an invading army to complicate his escape.

General Milos Karpasic sat astride his heavy destrier war-horse, contemplating the crossroads directly before him.

To either side of him sat the captains of his staff, each one astride their own courser war-horses and, as per his orders, resplendent in their battle armor despite the vast plain before them being completely devoid of any enemy. Each of these captains held with dogged determination to a strained silence as they waited upon the general.

Behind the general and his captains, the mighty Westreach Army of the Obsidian Empire stretched backward along the ancient road toward the pa.s.s through the Blackblade Mountains from which they had marched only the day before. They had broken the encampment early, formed into their ranks and files, and ordered into their columns along the road. The army had been less than an hour into their planned march when the scouts had returned with news of the crossroads just ahead. This discovery had brought all progress to a complete halt as the general had ridden forward with his captains to contemplate the crossroads.

Now the archers, foot soldiers, sappers, mounted knights, wagon teamsters, cooks, coopers, weaponsmiths, armorers, pikemen, lancers, and a train of a.s.sorted siege engines all waited anxiously in the rising heat of the morning to learn if the column would be turning right or left at the crossroads. The special units"elves, satyrs, fauns, and the newly delivered trolls"felt little interest in which direction was chosen, as they were a vast minority in the army. The humans of the Westreach Army, however, were invested very keenly in the decision.

So everyone looked to the captains.

And the captains looked to the general.

My lord general, Captain Halik said quietly, although in the silence, his voice sounded like thunder.

Captain Halik, the general said. You are disturbing my deliberations.

I beg your pardon, my lord, Halik said, clearing his throat but determined to press on. I do not understand the need for deliberation.

Captain Halik seems to forget himself, offered Captain Gorn.

May I remind Captain Gorn that our orders from the Cabal of the Obsidians was specific and explicit, Halik said, frustration creeping into his voice. We were directed to march from Hilt, follow the old road north through the Dragonspur, and follow the Sanctus River into North Paladis to the place where it joins the Fortus River.

Yes, Halik, and once there, we are to encamp and hold that location until we receive further instructions from the cabal, sneered Captain Odman. We are all perfectly aware of our orders.

General Karpasic was barely listening to the argument raging around him from his captains. He was aware that they were talking about orders and plans and duty, but he was concentrating on his own problem and how he might deal with an unfortunately messy mistake.

The general believed he was magnanimous enough to admit he did have some faults. However, he would never admit that to anyone else; doing so, he convinced himself, would be a terrible blow to the troops who so adored him. To himself, however, he would from time to time revel in the humility of admitting he was not perfect. Oh yes, he had faults.

Yet if there was one thing he was good at, it was self-preservation.

Captain Aren Bennis had served him well but, on reflection, perhaps too well. The captain was always overstepping his authority, showing off by appearing more competent than his superiors, and consistently calling attention to himself through public displays of victory, conquest, and achievement without sharing credit with those who had supported him in spirit.

After all, thought the general, if it had not been for Milos Karpasic, Captain Bennis would never have had the opportunity to lead his warriors in the first place.

So the time had come to be rid of the ambitious Captain Bennis, and the scout Syenna had provided him the perfect opportunity to do so without incurring the ire of the captains deadly and powerful friend among the Obsidian sorcerers.

But something had gone wrong with the plan.

Karpasic had his own sources among the Obsidians. It was through them that he had learned that the ever disobedient Aren Bennis had refused to disappear quietly, which would have so easily cleaned up the whole mess. Now he was on his own, it seemed, which was certainly far worse. But fate had provided the general with an unexpected opportunity, as the troublesome captain was even now being moved to a place that was just barely within the reach of the generals forces.

A lot of unfortunate things can happen in the confusion of battle, the general thought, especially when youre on the wrong side of the battle line.

In the field of battle, situations often become fluid, General Karpasic said at last. A commanders prerogative is an important a.s.set.

But were not in battle, Halik said. Were stopped on a road in the middle of nowhere, debating a junction!

No, Captain Halik, we are not debating a junction. The general smiled. We are considering an opportunity.

Opportunity? Halik was stunned.

Yes, Captain, an opportunity! General Karpasic urged his horse forward and then turned it to face his captains. An opportunity that comes seldom to any true warrior. An opportunity to take the initiative, to obtain a prize before it can be claimed by anyone else and all in the name of the Obsidian Cause. In one move"one bold move"we will be able to pay our army in inestimable plunder, secure our flank, and resupply our forces. What greater service can we do on behalf of the Obsidian Cause?

Where are you taking us, General? Halik asked with dread.

Why, north to the Sanctus River"the general grinned"as we have been ordered.

Halik let out the breath he had been holding.

And we will get there, the general finished, by way of Opalis.

CHAPTER.

18.

Innocents Six days Ive been here. Aren frowned. Six of the most miserable days of my life.

The late afternoon sun had just dropped below the western horizon, casting beautiful, soft shadows among the buildings of Opalis under its afterglow. Laughter sparkled through the air as groups of shop owners and craftsmen, some with the lamps already lit in the windows of their homes above, went about the work of closing for the day. Vendors, whose business time was only just beginning, were wheeling their carts to and fro along the great curve of the Muse Way"that great circular avenue that carried the carts and citizens around the outer ring of the city"each looking for their favorite place from which to sell their prepared foods and art.

The most miserable days of your life? Syenna rolled her eyes as she popped another small, steamed dumpling into her mouth from the greenleaf basket in her hand. She managed to talk around it as they strolled past the Fields Gate in the direction of Elders Hall. Ive watched you march through the mud in the rain, try to set up your tent in the midst of a blizzard so strong that it might have blown your horse away, and even watched you make your way across parched land where the only standing water would kill you from the smell alone. Now youre trying to tell me that youre miserable here?

Aren looked balefully about at the gentle evening settling over the streets of Opalis.

Very well then, Captain Bennis, Syenna said, turning angrily toward her charge. What is so terrible about your life here in Opalis?

Why dont you call me Aren anymore? The captain folded his arms across his chest, considering her thoughtfully. You used to call me Aren.

Ive called you a great many things in my time, Syenna continued to press her argument. And dont try changing the subject. Tell me what is so terrible about spending an evening under pleasant skies in a peaceful city filled with art, music, and good company"yours exempted, of course.

Dont you see it?

No! I dont!

Aren placed his fists on his hips in frustration, gazing down and to the right as he considered how he might explain what he was feeling.

Its all that Trevans fault, Aren exclaimed.

The commander of the Opalis Legion? Syenna laughed in disbelief. Hes the one who gave you permission to wander the city streets on your own, over my rather strenuous objections, might I add.

All part of his nefarious, diabolical plan, Aren insisted.

Letting you out of your prison cell during the days and evenings Syenna was so far nonplussed by the captains arguments. How is that nefariously diabolical?

He didnt just let me out of my cell. He lent me these clothes so I might move about the town without upsetting anybody, Aren said insistently. He was dressed in a clean tunic with a fitted leather vest. Then he rather adamantly insisted I wear this this thing, this He gestured toward the scabbard at his hip.

The blade of the Avatar? Syenna urged.

Yes, thank you This blade of the Avatar on my hip every time I leave the barracks. Aren huffed. That Trevan would allow a prisoner as dangerous as me to walk about the city without an escort in my view, is recklessly irresponsible. To allow me to do so armed, I believe is evidence of some serious mental deficiency.

So, tell me how you proved him wrong. Syenna said as she reached into her small leaf basket for another dumpling. Tell me which farmer you murdered in his bed or what blind beggar you have robbed here in Opalis on behalf of the great Obsidian Cause.

None of them! Aren railed.

None of them? Syenna smiled.

Because Because Aren struggled to speak the words. Because I I care about them.

You? Syenna looked at him skeptically. Oh please!

I know! Its terrible! Aren said. He pointed toward a clean little shop on the west side of the street and then beckoned her to follow him toward it. Here, for instance.

Syenna looked up at the sign over the front of the shop. The Brothers Ta.s.silo and Toschlog?

Thats right. Ta.s.silo is a flax merchant originally from Port Crucible while Toschlog was a tailor originally trained in Aerie. Each of them came to Opalis on business"one from the east and one from the southwest"and by absolute coincidence arrived in Opalis on exactly the same day. Both of them walked into a shop called Petersons Linens, one hoping to sell flax to manufacture cloth, and the other one hoping to buy cloth to manufacture clothes. And it turned out, to their absolute amazement, that the shop was run by twin sisters, one named Alice and the other named Alex. Well, one convenience led to another, and in time each of the men married one of the sisters, and they all decided to rename the shop. As you see, it is something of a private joke.

Really? Syenna said. She looked into the warmly lit storefront nearly twenty feet away. Within, she saw a tall, thin man with curly dark hair who was fitting a new coat on one of the legion warriors of the city. Near him, a lithe woman with long ginger hair was refolding linens and setting them back on the shelf. Thats a charming story, but I dont see what it has to do with your being miserable.

Well, its not all charming, Aren said as he, too, gazed into the shop. Ta.s.silo occasionally gets very jealous of his wife, who enjoys working with customers in the shop, and Toschlog has never been able to figure out a way to reliably tell one sister from the other. And the truth is that Alice has trouble defending herself in loud arguments, while her sister can hold her own. So when Ta.s.silo occasionally confronts his wife with his jealous fears, it is often Alex who switches places with Alice to endure the argument, which is exactly the kind of confusion Toschlog dreads the most.

I see you know these people very well, Syenna observed.

Thats the point.

Whats the point?

I have never met these people! Aren complained. I walked into their shop two days ago. I asked Alex Toschlog about a new pair of trousers. She asked me to return later when her husband returned. Thats all that was said, and thats the only time Ive been in the shop. And now, every time I walk past, I wonder if Alice is all right, whether Ta.s.silo has found a way to express his love to his wife, and whether Toschlog has figured out a way to know which wife is which. I care about these people. I know these people, and they have absolutely no idea who I am.

Syennas eyes narrowed. And me? What do you know about me?

Nothing! Thats one of the most frustrating things about all this, Aren griped. Its like Ill walk up to compete strangers, know all about them in an instant, and yet with you, who has been practically standing next to me since I picked up this cursed, oversize cheese knife, it wont tell me a thing about you. Its like the curse is some sort of game, and the sword wants to torment me by not telling me the rules. Ive certainly thought about just tossing the thing as hard as I can into the nearest trash heap and walking away, but the thought always comes to me that it would have beaten me if I did"and I just cannot let this thing win.

Syenna tried to keep a smile from her face.

Sure, laugh at my problems; but it isnt just with Ta.s.silo and Toschlog, Aren remonstrated. He began walking northward along Muse Way, indicating the different shops and stalls along the way. Over there That huge, bald man with biceps the size of my thighs? Thats Ozen the armorer. He makes the most amazing greaves, but he also makes a point of visiting his mother every fortnight and still regrets not asking the Weber girl to dance with him at the spring dance ten years ago. And dance? How about Felicia, the girl over there, selling the meat skewers at her fathers cart? She used to love to dance until a horse was spooked in the marketplace and trampled her legs. It was painful for her to learn to stand again, and now she walks with an awkward gait, but still she dances in her room where no one can see, just so she can feel the music again.

So, what is your problem? Syenna demanded. These are people"good people"living their lives as best they know how. Why should their joy make you miserable?

Cant you understand? Aren pleaded. I know whats coming!

What do you know? Syenna demanded. What is coming?

What always comes. What I always bring, Aren said, his gaze shifting into the distance of his memory. I have stepped over the bodies of a thousand people just like them. Every conquest, every siege, and every occupation. Their faces were there, and I never saw them. I knew that they had died, but I never gave any thought to what might have died with them. I never thought about their hopes for the next day that would never come, the children who they would never see grow into their own lives, or the comfort that they would never give or receive again. Thats why I am miserable. The city is too great a prize to be left alone. Whether it is the Obsidians or the Norgard or some other city-state, it does not matter. One day and soon, Opalis will be taken by someone like me, and these people will suffer.

Syenna drew in a breath to speak but thought better of it.

You see? Ive hardly lifted a finger, and Ive already made a ruin of your evening. Aren shrugged and then allowed a wistful smile to play across his face. Let me make it up to you. There is this woman who always sets her trade just a little farther down the street. She goes by the name of Marissa Coals, although her last name is actually different. She does the most amazing charcoal sketches of peoples faces. Her life has not been the easiest. I think you will like her.

As Aren and Syenna moved down the curve of Muse Way, they could see that the evening crowd had pulled back from the side of the street, the sound of gruff shouts rising as they approached. Aren pushed his way to the front of the crowd, Syenna at his heels.