Lynn Flewelling - The Bone Doll's Twin

“Think of it, Ki. Someday we’ll be out there, you and I. We’ll stand on the deck of some ship and look back at this shore and we’ll remember standing here right now.” He held up his hand.

Grinning, Ki grasped it. “Warriors together. Just like—”

He stopped in time, but Tobin knew what he’d meant. Just like Lhel had foreseen, the first time she’d met Ki on that snowy forest road.

Tobin looked around again. “But where’s the city?”

“Couple miles north, Your Highness.” It was the blond wizard. He saluted Tobin, then disappeared back into the milling ranks.

They followed the road over the hills, and before the last light faded in the west they crested a final rise and saw Ero shining like a gem above her wide harbor. For a moment Tobin was disappointed; at first glance it didn’t look at all like the toy city his father had made for him. There was a broad river flowing past it, for one thing, and the city was spread out over several rolling hills that curved around the bay. On closer inspection, however, he could make out the undulating line of the city wall ringing the base of the largest one. The Palatine crowned this hill and he thought he could make out the roof of the Old Palace there, glowing like gold in the slanting sunset light.

For the first time he seemed to feel his father’s spirit beside him, smiling as he showed Tobin all the places he’d taught him of. This was where his father had gone when he’d left the keep, riding on this road, to that market, to that hill, to those shining palaces and gardens. Tobin could almost hear his voice again, telling him tales of the kings and queens who’d ruled here, and the priest kings who’d ruled all the Three Lands before them from their island capital, back when Ero was nothing but a fishing village beset by raiders from the hills.

“What’s wrong, Tobin?” Tharin was looking at him with concern.

“Nothing. I was just thinking of Father. I feel like I know the city a little already—”

Tharin smiled. “He’d be pleased.”

“There’s a lot more to it, though,” Ki replied, ever practical. “He couldn’t make all the houses and slums and all. But he got the main ways right.”

“See that the pair of you stay out of alleys and side lanes,” Tharin warned, giving him a sharp look. “You’re still too young to be roaming the streets on your own, day or night. I’m sure Master Porion will keep you too busy to wander very much, but all the same, I want your word that you’ll behave yourselves.”

Tobin nodded, still taken up with the wonders spread out before him.

Setting off at a gallop, they rode along the edge of the harbor and the salt air cleared the dust from their throats. An enormous stone bridge spanned the river, broad enough for the column to ride ten abreast. On the far side they entered the outskirts of Ero, and here Tobin discovered for himself why the capital was called Stinking Ero.

Tobin had never seen so many people crowded together, or smelled such a stench. Accustomed as he was to nothing worse than cooking smoke, the mingled reek of offal and human waste made him gag and clench his teeth. The houses that lined the narrow streets here were rude hovels, worse than any byre in Alestun.

And it seemed that everyone here was maimed somehow, too, with stumps where hands or legs had been, or faces rotted with disease. Among the many carts on the road, he was shocked to see one loaded with dead bodies. They were stacked like firewood and their limbs shuddered with every bump. Some had black faces. Others were so thin their bones showed through their skin.

“They’re headed there,” Ki said, pointed to a column of black smoke in the distance. “Burning ground.”

Tobin looked down at the jar of ashes hanging against Gosi’s side. Had his father been hauled away in a dead cart? He shook his head, pushing the thought away.

Passing a wayside tavern, he saw two filthy children huddled next to the body of a woman. The bodice of her ragged gown was torn open to show her slack breasts and the skirt was pushed up over her thighs. The children held their hands up, crying for alms, but people simply walked past them, paying them no mind. Tharin noticed him staring and reined in long enough to flip a silver half sester their way. The children pounced on the coin, spitting at each other like cats. The woman settled it by rearing up and cuffing them both away. Grabbing up the coin with one hand, she cupped a breast in the other and flapped it at Tharin, then walked away with the children whining after her.

Tharin looked at Tobin and shrugged. “People aren’t always what they seem, my prince. This is called Beggar’s Way here. They come out to fleece country folk coming to market.”

Even at this hour the road to the south gate was crowded with carts and riders, but the herald blew his silver trumpet and most of them gave way.

Tobin felt embarrassed and important all at once when Tharin greeted the captain of the guard at the city gate in his name, as if he were a grown man. Looking up, he saw Illior’s crescent and Sakor’s flame carved on the gate head and touched his heart and sword hilt reverently as they passed beneath.

Inside the city walls the wider streets were paved and provided with gutters. This did little to improve the smell of the place, however, as householders could be observed emptying their slop buckets out of front doors and upper windows.

The streets leading up to the Palatine sloped steadily upward, but the city’s builders had cut terraces in the hillside for the larger marketplaces, parks, and gardens. Otherwise, houses and shops were stacked up the hillsides like the painted blocks of Tobin’s city. They were tall rather than broad, four or five stories some of them, and built of timber over stone foundations, with roofs of baked tile.

Despite all his lessons, Tobin was seldom sure of just where they were. As Ki had said, there were a thousand side ways off the main routes and no way of knowing what street you were in without asking. Glad of his escort, he let Orun take the lead and turned his attention to the city as night fell around them.

In the lower markets the shops were already putting up their shutters for the night, but higher up many were open and lit by torches.

There were still beggars and dead dogs, pigs and dirty children, but now they also met with lords and ladies on horseback who carried hooded hawks on their fists and had a dozen servants in livery at their heels. There were Aurënfaie, too, and these must have been lords as well, for they were dressed finer than the Skalans themselves and Lord Orun bowed to many of them as they passed.

Actors and musicians in outlandish clothes performed by torchlight on little platforms in the squares. There were maskers and pie sellers, drysians and priests. He also saw a few robed figures wearing strange, beaklike devices on their faces; these must be the deathbirds Arkoniel had told him of.

Merchants sold their wares from poles and pushcarts and open-fronted shops. Passing through one wide courtyard, Tobin saw carvers of all sorts at work in booths there. He wanted to stop and watch but Orun hurried him on.

There were wizards, too, in robes and silver symbols. He saw one in the white robes Arkoniel had warned him about, but he looked no different to Tobin than any of the others.

“Hurry on,” Orun urged, pressing a golden pomander to his nose.

They turned to the left and followed a broad level way until they could see the harbor below them, then turned again and climbed to the Palatine Gate.

The captain of the guard spoke a moment with Orun, then raised his torch and saluted Tobin.

Inside the walls of the Palatine it was dark and quiet. Tobin could make out little more than a few lighted windows and the dark bulk of buildings against the stars overhead, but he could tell by the way the air moved that it was less crowded here. The breeze was stronger, and carried the smells of fresh water, flowers, shrine incense, and the sea. In that moment the kings and queens weren’t just names in a lesson anymore. They were his kin and they’d stood where he was standing and seen all this.