Mark Newton: Retribution

People stared at us as we rode by, so much so that I was beginning to wonder if we had breached some local etiquette. Due to their relative isolation, the people of Koton — or at least Kuvash — possessed a distinctive look. Their faces were generally broader, their hair darker than was usual in Tryum. It was unsurprising to see so few foreigners, since the place was away from major trade routes. The locals wore dreary clothing in shades of brown, grey and black, and some wore necklaces of animal bones. Others, perhaps of a different status, wore either leather or metal cuirasses, which had been crafted to look like snakeskin. In the centre of their breasts was a medallion featuring the stag from the nation’s banner.

People I took to be members of the City Watch carried bows, much like the famous mounted archers of Koton. Their horses, too, had decorative bridle fittings. In addition to a red cloak and blue tunic, the soldiers wore scaled leather cuirasses. However, their shields were some of the most elaborate I had ever seen, crafted to display some carved and painted face. Presumably this was once to frighten enemies on the battlefield, and had now become ornamentation.

We made our way through the complex, spiralling lanes of the city and arrived at the main gates of a white-walled compound. Its crenellated top must have been a good twenty feet high. After we dismounted, I had a quick conversation with some armed and helmeted soldiers. Dressed in the same reds and blues, they were manning the thick iron double gate that towered above us. Initially I tried speaking to them in broken Kotonese, but they gauged that Detratan was my natural tongue and, surprisingly, they preferred to use that language. And used it well.

‘It is a more cultured speech,’ one said. He had nervous mannerisms and bright eyes that couldn’t quite meet mine. He was too busy staring at my Sun Chamber brooch of a hollow, flaming sun. ‘So our queen tells us,’ added the other, much older one. He wore a ring fashioned as a small silver snake, and his beard was long and grey.

‘Does she indeed?’ I asked.

The two guards shared a glance. They didn’t reply to that question.

‘So is this where she lives?’ I continued. ‘Beyond these gates.’

‘Sort of — this is the Sorghatan Prefecture,’ the old guard replied. ‘Queen Dokuz Sorghatan lives further in, in her own palace. This is a rich district, and a lot nicer. Much safer than out there. Food’s better and you can drink the water without fear.’

People, horses and carts continued to roll by behind us, and the guards looked fiercely over our shoulders as if they were about to be besieged by invaders. A few people, curious as to what was inside, stepped closer to get a look at the gates, but the guards moved them on with sharp prods from their weapons.

‘They should know their place,’ the younger guard said.

‘Are the people not permitted entry?’

‘Only on certain days according to the Astran calendar, and even then we’ve been told to use our discretion and filter out the real riff-raff. There’s a lot of them, mind you. Only reputable traders and the like are allowed in. The queen keeps finding more and more reason to allow them in, but they’re better off out there, aye.’

My brooch was sufficient proof of my status as an Officer of the Sun Chamber. It was part of the myth that preceded us wherever we were despatched. Although I had other papers should it have been required, we were permitted in, and we walked our horses through the gates.

My breath was taken away by the sight before me.

Here was a new city entirely. Gaudy, golden colonnades stretched into the distance on each side. Lanes were paved with precision and the people who strolled along them wore resplendently coloured cloaks, fine boots and tunics. The smell of sweet incense came from large brass braziers that stood burning at street junctions. The buildings were made entirely of bright, clean stone, with barely a wooden beam in sight. A solitary man was brushing the spotless street.

This region reminded me of Regallum, the wealthiest district of Tryum, except — and I found it hard to believe — everything here was even more ornate. There were temples with garish bronze statues standing outside of a god I didn’t recognize.

Not too far away a palace loomed up on a higher level than the rest of the city. It was more impressive than even Prince Bassim’s ziggurat in Venyn City, where Leana and I had spent so many years honing our street skills. Could it have matched the royal residence in Tryum? From here it appeared white-walled with a flat, black roof, and featuring elaborate golden gargoyles and other decorations, the details of which I could only guess at from where I stood.

It was turning into a warm day, not unpleasantly hot. A few clouds scudded above the hills in the distance, but otherwise the sun was out, causing the golden statues to shimmer like otherworldly beings.

I asked a young boy for directions to the entrance to the royal palace, and he guided us politely to the main avenue.

‘It’s at the end,’ he said, and I spent a moment following his instruction.

As I tried to thank him he dashed away along the road.

‘He did not even ask for money,’ Leana observed. ‘What strange children they have here.’

A wide straight road guided us towards the gate of the palace. Stalls lined one side of the road and on the other side was a gap, which opened down onto a large river. The water had been used to form a moat around one half of the palace. Down below barges moved along the water, others unloading their cargo, while up here among the stalls people were bargaining furiously. It looked as though there was a healthy trade in goods such as silverware, rugs, leatherwear and tack for horses. I turned back to look at the river. Some way away was a bustling inland port, possibly another settlement entirely.

After walking our horses up the hill and along the busy thoroughfare, navigating the eddies of customers and traders cajoling and haggling, we turned a corner and arrived at the palace. Enormous walls rose up. At the top, forty feet above, four soldiers in ceremonial clothing walked up and down behind the crenellations. We stood looking up, assessing what looked to be a largely decorative structure with no real capability of withstanding a siege. Only then did I notice that we stood alone — none of the locals dared to come within twenty feet of the palace walls.

‘Well, this is it,’ I announced to Leana, ‘now we just have to find a way inside.’

The soldiers on the walls were looking down at us and, shortly, a small doorway opened and several guards marched out and surrounded us. They were wearing different colours from the City Watch, purple and gold, and carried highly polished glaives.

Leaning towards Leana, I whispered, ‘They’re certainly a colourful lot.’

‘State your purpose for being here, foreigners,’ came the command.

Foreigners, indeed. We were representatives of the whole continent . Our badge of office should have been enough to permit us into the most sacred of spaces. No sooner had I revealed it to him than his countenance changed entirely. ‘My name is Lucan Drakenfeld,’ I began, ‘and I’m an Officer of the Sun Chamber. .’

Leana and I had been waiting in a small, well-lit antechamber at the front of the queen’s magnificent palace for at least two hours. It was a wood-panelled room with tall candles in sconces and vibrant red rugs. A stag’s head of considerable size was positioned on the wall to one side, one of many hunting trophies we had seen. While I looked at the colourful portraits of those I took to be of the queen’s family — one of whom appeared to be her militant father — we continued to wait by a splendid fire. Every few moments we were reassured by guards that Sulma Tan would ‘soon be here’. More periods of waiting and looking at the paintings followed.