Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

Lord’s Highway was far beyond the few stone-paved roads in Anjuria-a work of major construction and planning, broad and well-maintained, obviously designed to move both armies and civilians quickly and efficiently from one location to another. Cambered to aid drainage to the ditches alongside, flanked by footpaths and in some cases additional bridleways, they appeared close to uniform. Braylar assured me that while there were lesser roads, the main highways connected every major city or outpost in every Syldoon province, and most roads eventually led to Sunwrack.

Regardless of the terrain, whether rocky, broken by ravines or rivers, hilly, or mountainous, the roads were there, a triumph of surveying and engineering, a network unlike any other in the known world. Even in some of the marshlands to the east, I was told they were built on piled foundations or supported by stone piers.

Passing through Thurvacia, with the land growing hillier and rockier, we crossed a number of steep ravines over sturdy bridges, and as we approached the third or fourth such ravine, I saw something else coming down from the higher hills to the west. It looked like another bridge at first, but as we got closer I could see that there was no traffic on it. Then I realized that it must have been an aqueduct of some sort, bringing water down from the highlands. I had only read about them before-while Anjuria was home to hundreds or thousands of windmills, especially near the Green Sea, aqueducts were another construction peculiar to the Syldoon Empire.

I was sitting next to Braylar, watching the aqueduct further down in the valley as we crossed a bridge, and he must have seen the wonder on my face and smiled as if he had built the thing himself. “You will find that the further north we go, there are fewer large rivers and lakes and the land is more hilly and mountainous, so it is necessary to bring water from wher ever it is found. The Empire would not persist without the aqueducts. They enabled growth and sustained it on a scale never seen before.”

“It’s large. Much larger than I imagined they might be, at least.”

“Bah! This is nothing. If we ever have cause to visit the province of Urglovia, there you will see aqueducts of impressive size. They are famous for them, and some are so wide that boats can travel down them.”

I stared at him, not sure if he was jesting or not. When he noticed, he said, “Truly. They are generally used for transport, and cross other bridges, ravines, or roads. The governor of the province, Munsellik, had a penchant for the dramatic, and he liked to sail a barge down the aqueduct, a floating manse. The aqueduct was broad enough for flatboats, but this barge was simply too much. Or the gods smote Munsellik for his vanity, as the arches gave way, the aqueduct collapsed, and down he and his entire gaudy party went, crashing to the bottom of the ravine below.

“The next governor took the lesson to heart, and after rebuilding the aqueduct, restricted movement on them to lighter and more humble transport. But the larger ones persist, in Urglovia especially. And you can still see the flatboats traveling down them.”

“That’s amazing.”

“That is nothing. Manses might be forbidden, but in the heart of the province, they have aqueducts erected simply to serve as raised channels for sport skiffs to race on.”

“But the water is precious, you said?”

Braylar replied, “So it is. And the Syldoon heart delights in ostentatious display and use of things. You will never meet a people more practical or vain in equal measure.”

I shook my head, trying to imagine the wealth, time, and labor it must have required to build such things. And this was just the first of many sights and sounds that would amaze and shock me in Thurvacia, heartland of the Syldoon Empire.

After what felt like a tenmonth of journeying, we finally neared Sunwrack.

Braylar told me to leave off translation and called me to the front of the wagon. Which was just as well-the iron-shod hooves and iron-rimmed wheels of our party made a terrible racket as we clacked, clomped, and clattered over the stone highway, which was hardly conducive to concentration. But those could almost be tuned out, drifting into a loud, but repetitive cacophony. However, the closer we got to the capital, the more other noises joined our own as we passed traffic heading away from the city, or those who stopped to let us pass-a donkey braying, a child crying, horses whinnying, and a hundred other intermittent and brief sounds that made it all but impossible to focus. I kept reading the same lines over and over with no comprehension to speak of, and my head was pounding.

And the day was hot and dry as well-even with the front and rear flaps open, there was no breeze to speak of, so my tunic was sticking to my skin in every conceivable spot. I’d been in bathhouses where I sweated less.

So I was all too happy to move to the front of the wagon. I threw my leg over the bench and was about to crawl over when I looked up and felt my breath catch.

Sunwrack. In all its ancient, dirty, beautiful, and exotic splendor.

“Oh do sit down, Arki. You look an ass straddling the bench like that.”

I did as he commanded and perched there, stunned. Until a short time ago, Rivermost had been the largest town I’d ever been in for much of my life. And then we journeyed to Alespell, baronial seat and home to one of the grandest fairs in Anjuria, and I’d been almost overwhelmed with the size and variety of sights and sounds. It was hard to imagine a more impressive city.

Clearly, I should have tried harder.

Alespell was a fortified city, to be certain, its defenses stout enough to withstand almost any assault-the walls, covered as they were in snails and plastered with gull droppings, were still impressive, tall and broken by towers every few hundred feet. But Sunwrack… its walls dwarfed those of Alespell, being at least fifty feet higher, maybe more, and there were so many massive towers they were impossible to count, each as large as most castle keeps, and flying a different banner at the top, incredibly varied in color and motif. While towers in Alespell typically had a silk standard on a pole on top to catch and snap in the breeze, these massive towers had the poles ringing the crown of the tower, with odd banners hanging down. The tops of the banners were embattled like the towers themselves, with the “merlons” of the banners being loops for the poles.

Hewspear was riding to the right of us and saw me inspecting the banners. “Pike Tower, Leopard Tower, Griffin Tower, Serpent Tower. Pretty much every charge you can imagine: eagle, elk, moon, fox, bear, crane, otter, falcon-”

“Goat, leopard, seastag, galley, stork, star wheel…” Vendurro offered, riding on the opposite side of the wagon with Mulldoos. “No dung tower though. Nor chicken come to think of it.”

“Though there is a Cock Tower, with its crowing charge resplendent for all the world to see,” Hewspear said, smiling all the while.

“I could really go for some chicken right about now. Or quail. Even a fried egg or five would do fine. Anything hot and greasy, so long as it ain’t dung.”

The smaller towers had normal crenellations, but the larger Towers that housed the Syldoon had fancifully carved merlons all along the embattlements, stylized representations of each Tower’s sigil.

Mulldoos said, “Hard to believe we’re home, eh, Cap? Haven’t seen the rest of the Jackal bastards in, what, more than three years is it?” He actually sounded relieved, weary, and maybe a touch wistful. I would have thought someone else had spoken if I hadn’t seen his lips move.

Braylar nodded, and for once, he looked almost at peace.

The whole exchange was so out of the ordinary, I had no idea what to make of it, before recalling what Vendurro had told me-this place was home to these men, in a way that I would never fully understand.