Thomas Harlan - The Gate of fire

– |Arad climbed a broad flight of travertine steps. Fat-bellied columns lined it, rising up to support a vaulted roof paneled with cypress and pine hexagons. Many lanterns blazed along the walls, though the palace was deep in slumber. The lower floors showed all the signs of a lavish feast and lengthy entertainment. The great hall that bisected the building was still being cleared by dozens of slaves. Many of the guests slept on couches against the walls, and some, in the rooms curtained off from the main hall, still celebrated. The watchful eyes of the Pushtigbhan were everywhere. A dozen of the stocky guardsmen loitered about the base of the grand staircase. Arad had shown the parchment and, again, was allowed past.

A hallway lined with sconces and flat wall panels showing scenes of the hunt and battle led him to a foyer. Here the floor was tiled with alternating silver- and gold-washed bricks. Arad looked around, marking the hanging silks and the fine stone and marble. Here, ostentation and raw wealth expressed the power of the Persian state. A memory came to him despite his resolute desire to keep all such things from his thought-a memory of a quiet garden and slim pillars of alabaster. That had been a place no less costly in construction, but it held grace and beauty and refinement. There had been peace there. This place was filled with nervous energy and the desire to impress.

But this stands, whispered the sorcerer, and that so-peaceful city is now filled with the bones of the dead.

Arad shook his head, trying to drive out the cloying words and the horror lurking behind them. It was useless. He paused, seeing that the main doorway out of the foyer was closed. No guardsmen stood before it, and there was a low mutter of voices beyond. The priest frowned and moved to the door, raising his staff to knock on the burnished cedar wood panels.

"Hold there, stranger!" The slap of sandals on the stone of the floor drew Arad's attention. He turned, lowering the staff. A short, round man in enveloping white and crimson robes hurried up, his face flushed red with effort. An orange sash over his shoulder and a heavily ornamented staff told Arad that the man was one of the magi, the priests of Ahura-Madza, the Lord of the Eternal Fire. This one's plump face was tight with suspicion, and his beard, trimmed short to make an arc along his chin, jutted forward belligerently. "What business do you have with the Queens of Heaven at this late hour?"

"Your pardon, Holy One. I come bearing a message for the Empresses from a close relative. I come late as I have just arrived from a long journey. Pray, is there someone to announce me?"

The magi drew himself up, puffing out his chest and rapped his staff on the floor with asperity.

"No one, not even another priest, may enter the presence of their Majesties without first passing me. These are dangerous times, and all precautions must be taken. If I say it, you may-perhaps-look upon the radiance of their Imperial presence."

Arad smiled faintly. The presence of the sorcerer had receded in the face of this new development, but the priest could feel mocking laughter at a great distance.

"Of course," Arad said, looking upon the little round man with interest. "What steps need be taken?"

The magi sniffed and frowned in concentration. Arad raised an eyebrow as he felt the patterns of force in the foyer shift and tremble. The little man commanded some power. The other man's breathing slowed, and a gelid sphere of pale white light sprang into being around the two men. For an instant, Arad felt the tendril of thought that tied him to the sorcerer weaken and bend, almost severed by the expansion of the ward. A burst of hope in his heart was stilled and then mercilessly crushed as the sorcerer wrenched the tendril of control out of phase with the ward that the little magi had established.

"I am not without powers…" the round-faced magi gasped for breath, and one hand drew a sign in the air-"I can ken threat and malice and falsehood."

The sign in the air hummed and buzzed, and Arad felt his skin crawl. The sign was the linchpin of an invocation of similarity. It was in the old language that the sorcerer spoke in his mind and called to harm and treachery and slaughter and betrayal. Arad stood silently, leaning on his staff. At last the magi huffed and puffed and let go of a long, shuddering breath. The sign faded away quickly, and the sphere of ward passed away as well. Arad blinked, seeing sweat beading the man's face.

"This is taxing to you," Arad stated. The man was strong, but his skills were poor and ill trained. Such effort as he had expended should have sufficed to lay low every miscreant within the palace and the grounds without. Yet it had found nothing, sliding aside from the sorcerer's skill like water over the surface of a granite boulder. "Are you well?"

The magi drew a rich-colored handkerchief out of his robe and dabbed at his forehead. "In the service of their Majesties, all men must give all that they can. You mean them no harm. I will announce you to their august presence. Do you have a letter or token?"

"Yes, Holy One." Arad gave over the sheet of parchment. "My name is Arad."

The little man nodded and took the sheet without looking at it, then opened the door. He did not think to introduce himself. The sound of flutes and lyres and people talking in overly loud voices spilled out for a moment before the panel closed with a click.

Harm? Dahak settled into Arad's mind, radiating smug satisfaction. For a moment Arad glimpsed dark buildings passing and the swaying motion of a horse between his legs. I have nothing but the most dear love for my nieces. It pains me, dear Arad, that we missed one of those puling maggots… later I will find how his marrow tastes.

The door opened again, much quicker than Arad would have supposed, and the little magi poked his head out and beckoned. Arad entered, his staff making a soft tinking sound on the floor of polished sea-green marble. His eyebrows rose again, taking in the unfettered opulence that oozed and spilled from the walls.

Five walls bounded the room, rising up a double height, and they were covered in rich, alternating panels of polished wood-both dark and light. Clear lanterns of colored glass burned, casting a shifting elusive glow over the men and women seated at ease within. Two thrones of gold dominated the room, sitting on a raised pedestal. During the day, tall triangular windows would allow light to flood into the room, silhouetting the high seat. Arad paced forward to the edge of an ermine carpet that lay before the thrones and the two women sitting in them. He bowed, kneeling and touching his forehead to the sea-green floor.

You are quite the courtier, dear Arad, the sorcerer thought, snickering, but his attention was elsewhere, on his horse, which was clattering up the rampart road on the palace hill. The gate captain had been easily swayed once Lord Dahak turned his attention upon him.

"Rise," came a languid voice, and Arad stood, looking upon the two young women who would rule this vast and strange land. To his left sat Princess Azarmidukht, a glittering creature draped in purple silk and jewels, and with long red fingernails. Like her mother, Imperial Princess Maria, she possessed a striking, strong face dominated by a fine Greek nose. She was not beautiful in a classic way, but the fervor in her dark brown eyes and the opulent display that her bosom made, glittering with amethyst and ruby and topaz, strove to overcome that lack. Her hair was invisible behind an elaborate crown of white gold and tiny pearls. Likewise, her face and eyes were carefully enhanced by artful paints. Arad bowed low again before her. "Glory to your name, Radiance of the World."

To his right sat Purandokht, her twin sister, though Arad marked that her eyes were a watery green. They did not match well with the floor, but he forbore mentioning this. Purandokht, too, was encrusted with finery and gold and gems of a thousand colors. Each sat at ease, though Arad could taste fear in the air from the courtiers and nobles who made up their court. To her, he bowed low again and then stood. "Glory to your name, Flame of the East."