solitude.
After a few calming breaths, Mara straightened and padded toward the exit. The curved wall cast a shadow angled inward she did not want to leave. She reached the edge of darkness, the city beyond awash in the gold of burning braziers and the strange blue lanterns hung from high lines.
“Where did everyone go?” she wondered.
She stepped from the shadow and into the wider lane. Beyond the curve, a pale wall rose above the buildings built snug against its side. An arch set within it opened like a titan’s mouth into Upper Sollan.
“Walls within walls,” Mara said. “This city fears itself.”
Through the archway, Mara caught a glimpse of the next district waiting patiently. Luxurious apartments connected by bridges crowded the street. Delicate fountains poured graceful arcs of crystalline water into glittering pools walled by blooming poppies and the delicate spears of lavender blossoms.
She bit her lip to keep her smile down, and for the briefest of moments, her fears and trepidation flowed away on her girlish giggle. Without another moment wasted in the darkness, she darted for the opening.
Each step she took brought the wide mouth closer. Iron braziers burned on either side of the archway, their flames beckoning her nearer like maidens teasing a patron. Not a single reveler or guard lingered at the entry. It was as if the Six had finally bestowed some small blessing upon her after a night tinged by glimmer and fear.
“Get back to your posts, you lazy fools!” a woman called, her voice a fiery lance tearing from beyond the arch.
All of Mara’s hopes vanished in a puff. She skidded to a halt and spun between two homes, crouching at a corner so she could peek longingly at the destination that was so close and so far all at once.
Clattering metal echoed near the archway. Long shadows stretched down the lane. Two tall men clad in shiny breastplates and metal greaves scurried to either side of the arch. One of the soldiers kicked a flagon, and the container spilled ruby wine that filtered slowly down the sloping road.
The soldiers stiffened and lifted their chins. They stared down the lane where Mara had just been sprinting like a fool. They pressed their hands against their legs. Their arms shook. Their skin glinted with sweat in the firelight.
A long shadow split the archway in half. The darkness bled down the lane and swallowed the snaking line of wine making its way past Mara. The shadow grew in rhythm with the footsteps of the woman who made it, her footfalls hard and steady.
Mara squinted and leaned forward just enough to get a better look. The woman strolled through the archway until her back faced the men. She had the body of a dancer and the stature of a general. She wore a pale mask with a hungry scowl framed by elaborate gold and a shimmering robe of white that hid every inch of her features. Around her neck rested a loosely coiled serpent, its scales pale shades of desert sands. Strapped to her side hung two swords secured in scabbards painted with swirling gold curves and strange symbols.
The masked woman paused, hand resting on her hip. The breeze toyed with her robe and sent it whipping around her ankles. She stared down the lane, the frozen scowl of her mask surveying Lower Sollan.
“Filth,” she said. “They are filth, these lower folk, getting drunk and tasting flesh for some dying goddess who couldn’t care less for them. Yet still they sing. Still they dance. Still they drink until cheap wine soaks their beards and saltwater gin rots their teeth. Pathetic.”
Mara did not know much of Sollan. Patrons did not speak of politics at the House of Sin and Silk, and Olessa’s protective shadow kept much of the world at bay. Even then, she knew beyond a doubt the robed woman standing in the lane was a priest of the Serpent Sun.
Waves of power billowed from the woman as if her very soul rejected the air of Lower Sollan. Behind her, the two soldiers shifted
After a few calming breaths, Mara straightened and padded toward the exit. The curved wall cast a shadow angled inward she did not want to leave. She reached the edge of darkness, the city beyond awash in the gold of burning braziers and the strange blue lanterns hung from high lines.
“Where did everyone go?” she wondered.
She stepped from the shadow and into the wider lane. Beyond the curve, a pale wall rose above the buildings built snug against its side. An arch set within it opened like a titan’s mouth into Upper Sollan.
“Walls within walls,” Mara said. “This city fears itself.”
Through the archway, Mara caught a glimpse of the next district waiting patiently. Luxurious apartments connected by bridges crowded the street. Delicate fountains poured graceful arcs of crystalline water into glittering pools walled by blooming poppies and the delicate spears of lavender blossoms.
She bit her lip to keep her smile down, and for the briefest of moments, her fears and trepidation flowed away on her girlish giggle. Without another moment wasted in the darkness, she darted for the opening.
Each step she took brought the wide mouth closer. Iron braziers burned on either side of the archway, their flames beckoning her nearer like maidens teasing a patron. Not a single reveler or guard lingered at the entry. It was as if the Six had finally bestowed some small blessing upon her after a night tinged by glimmer and fear.
“Get back to your posts, you lazy fools!” a woman called, her voice a fiery lance tearing from beyond the arch.
All of Mara’s hopes vanished in a puff. She skidded to a halt and spun between two homes, crouching at a corner so she could peek longingly at the destination that was so close and so far all at once.
Clattering metal echoed near the archway. Long shadows stretched down the lane. Two tall men clad in shiny breastplates and metal greaves scurried to either side of the arch. One of the soldiers kicked a flagon, and the container spilled ruby wine that filtered slowly down the sloping road.
The soldiers stiffened and lifted their chins. They stared down the lane where Mara had just been sprinting like a fool. They pressed their hands against their legs. Their arms shook. Their skin glinted with sweat in the firelight.
A long shadow split the archway in half. The darkness bled down the lane and swallowed the snaking line of wine making its way past Mara. The shadow grew in rhythm with the footsteps of the woman who made it, her footfalls hard and steady.
Mara squinted and leaned forward just enough to get a better look. The woman strolled through the archway until her back faced the men. She had the body of a dancer and the stature of a general. She wore a pale mask with a hungry scowl framed by elaborate gold and a shimmering robe of white that hid every inch of her features. Around her neck rested a loosely coiled serpent, its scales pale shades of desert sands. Strapped to her side hung two swords secured in scabbards painted with swirling gold curves and strange symbols.
The masked woman paused, hand resting on her hip. The breeze toyed with her robe and sent it whipping around her ankles. She stared down the lane, the frozen scowl of her mask surveying Lower Sollan.
“Filth,” she said. “They are filth, these lower folk, getting drunk and tasting flesh for some dying goddess who couldn’t care less for them. Yet still they sing. Still they dance. Still they drink until cheap wine soaks their beards and saltwater gin rots their teeth. Pathetic.”
Mara did not know much of Sollan. Patrons did not speak of politics at the House of Sin and Silk, and Olessa’s protective shadow kept much of the world at bay. Even then, she knew beyond a doubt the robed woman standing in the lane was a priest of the Serpent Sun.
Waves of power billowed from the woman as if her very soul rejected the air of Lower Sollan. Behind her, the two soldiers shifted
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