Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

Ancel pined to go to her, but if he moved, he would upset the boat’s current balance. He forced himself to hold his position and watched, his hands clenched, his eyes moist, and his heart feeling as if someone stabbed him.

The boat struck the far bank. Kachien flopped to one knee in a boneless heap.

Ancel tried to yell, but the words he uttered were a dull croak. “Help her.”

Early the next morning, Ryne and Sakari emerged from the Sang Reaches and entered Astoca. They crossed the wide Tantua River, which meandered through the Mondros Forest miles to the east, before it split into several smaller tributaries forming the Sinking Swamps and the Great Rainbow Lakes to their immediate south. Skiffs, fishing boats, sleek river dancers, bulky ferries, and the occasional warsailer traversed the Tantua’s murky waters. Most headed in the direction of Castere. Ryne skirted the swamps, and they soon arrived at the citadel built between the Rainbow Lakes.

The rising sun sparkled in dizzying colors off the glassy stones littering the lakes’ floor. The sight took Ryne’s breath away. Boats by the hundreds dotted the expanses of water. Twin gigantic statues, one of Hyzenki and the other of Aeoli, both holding massive swords raised to the heavens, adorned each lake.

Perched on the islands between Lake Benica and Venica sat Castere. The city’s Outer Ring to its Inner Ring rose in a mountain of structures which began with wooden shacks followed by stone edifices in blue and violet shades and culminated with the spires and towers of the King’s castle at the city’s peak. Tiles or shingles covered roofs that sloped down or peaked up. Even this early, people streamed like foraging ants across the white bridges spanning the many tributaries, streams, and canals that carved paths through the city’s Outer and Mid Ring.

The Mid Ring began where the Outer Ring ended a mile into Castere at the first of the city’s two encircling ramparts. The hundred-foot edifice marked the Mid Ring’s border, and although considered one wall, it was two, separated by huge gates in each cardinal direction. Once, what was now the Mid Ring had been the poor slums of the Outer Ring until Castere rose to prominence and the hovels spilled outside the first wall. Stone structures had replaced the shanties, and the slums had shifted until the Outer Ring lay outside the fortification. Ryne could see the process may well repeat itself again.

Two miles inside the Mid Ring stood Castere’s second rampart, two hundred feet high, which encircled the Inner Ring. This structure only had two gates located at the north and south ends. Guard towers and crenellations spread across both walls. From atop the hill they traveled, the ramparts resembled a giant eye with the lakes at its corners and the city as the iris. The Crying City, indeed.

Ryne pictured himself marshalling legions to defend the city. The mountainous design and its position with the lakes defending its flanks made the citadel difficult to take. As Ryne descended down to Lake Venica’s shores, he couldn’t help but wonder if an army the size of the one Jaecar reported could sack Castere.

“Anything that rises may fall. Whatever man has built, the gods will tear down,” Sakari said.

Ryne frowned. Had he spoken aloud? Or was it just Sakari appearing to read his thoughts again? He gave his friend a sidelong glance. “Either way, it would take a long siege even with the numbers Jaecar described.”

“Maybe.” Sakari pointed across the multicolored stones littering Lake Venica’s shores out to the glittering crystal waters. “Will they help them?”

Ryne eyed the towering statue of Hyzenki, his beard to his waist, rising in the middle of Lake Venica. “Have the gods ever helped anyone?”

“Yet, you pray to them.”

Ryne could just see the tip of the sword the statue’s twin-the goddess Aeoli-held high in Lake Benica. Against the backdrop of the wall across the lake stood the ordered temples dedicated to the two gods of Flows. “Maybe, I’m just hopeful.”

“Or maybe you believe,” Sakari replied.

Ryne opened his mouth, but before he answered, he realized Sakari was right. He’d seen too much not to believe in divine power or the gods’ hands meddling in men’s affairs. Why he himself prayed only to Ilumni, he didn’t know. It just felt right. He shrugged the thought off and peered out across the lake to the massive docks that stretched over five hundred feet out into the lake.

Longboats, ferries, and flat cargo carriers sailed between Castere and the outlying settlements along the shores or sat at docks. Rows of oars rose and fell in a rhythm more like flapping wings than wooden planks. Vessels approaching Castere had to travel between the passage the Mid Ring’s ramparts formed a quarter mile into each lake. The passages led to the Eastern and Western gates and the docks beyond. Each gigantic metal portcullis and the chains and gears that hoisted it, said to be imbued with Mater so the gate would never rust, was the only way to reach Castere proper from the water.

“Do you think the walls, the gates, and those would be enough protection?” Ryne pointed to the Astocan warsailers-sleek ships with easily dismantled square sails-practicing formations. The Waterwall-a depiction of a huge ocean wave with a storm brewing above-emblazoned the sails.

“I would not attack Castere from the water. The lakes themselves would prove weapons for Astoca’s Namazzi Matii.”

“Indeed,” Ryne agreed. “But the question remains still. Would it be enough?” A wide Cardian vessel bearing sails with the Maelstrom emblem of Cardia steered a wide berth around the warsailers.

“I doubt it. Eventually it will depend on sustenance.”

Ryne grunted in agreement. Castere would be able to hold as long as they had supplies. Once they used up their stores, the real fight would begin.

They continued past Lake Venica onto the wide, main causeway. People in the thousands from across the kingdoms traversed the road. Were those Alzari in their tight-fitted garb among the crowds, with their heads down, feet dragging from their defeat? They looked like them, but Ryne couldn’t be sure since they wore no war paint. His attention shifted across the masses to swarthy Harnans, some near as tall as he, ebony-skinned Cardians, aloof Astocans, hairless and yellow complexioned Banai, tall, slim Felani with their short, cropped hair, and even pale-skinned and fair featured Granadians.

Various languages and too many accents to count filtered from the crush of people calling to each other or involved in murmured or heated conversations. Wheels trundled on earth and flagstones, hooves clopped, feet shuffled and stomped, beasts of burden called, all coalescing into an unintelligible tumult. Sweaty odors, the aromas from scented oils and perfumes, and the smell of animals and their droppings combined for a hodgepodge of scents.

One constant held true along the road. People made way for Thumper and Ryne. They both dwarfed any other creature on the causeway, be it dartan, slainen, or horses drawing wagons. After another hour of travel, they reached a queue of wagons and drays at the Outer Ring.

Guards in azure armor, the Waterwall insignia on their surcoats, inspected each wagon. This lent to the crowds bunching closer to a makeshift wooden gate built on the main causeway. The other smaller roads were also guarded. Normally, there were few guards and few inspections until the main gates at the Mid Ring. To one side, soldiers questioned several travelers who Ryne could now confirm were Alzari from the smudged remnants of war paint on their faces. Other soldiers spoke to any man or woman wearing armor or bearing arms. These, they led away down a clear side of the causeway separated from the main by wooden barriers. A few soldiers pointed in Ryne’s direction, hands reaching for sword hilts while others unlimbered their bows.