break up a riot of red-faced men. The men,
fearing the end had come, had evidently decided to storm the harem and take the
women before the invaders put them to the sword, but now the soldiers were
doing that for them. The gathered men screamed and fought back, several pulling
down an armored soldier and beating him with stones.
Davril rode up and knocked the men
away, cracking several on their heads. Cursing him, they converged on his
camel, perhaps meaning to pull him down, too. The Lady and her fellow priest Wesrai
rode up and scattered them. The soldier, bloody but alive, rose from the dusty
cobblestones and thanked Davril, then remounted his horse and rejoined his
brother-in-arms. Up above, the harem girls, clad in colorful swatches of silk
if clad at all, watched the fight fearfully from the mansion’s terraces.
Davril passed through the Arch of
Midnight, skirted the Ziggurat of Niard, was engulfed by the Plaza of Dreams
with its topiaries and elaborately-sculpted hedges, and finally the golden
towers of the Temple
of the Sun materialized ahead, rising from beyond the shop fronts and
residential apartments where drying clothes, strung from one terrace to another,
fluttered in the wind. The Light-House rose highest and proudest of all, right
from the center of the Asqrit compound. A more ancient structure, grim and dark
and hulking, it did not match the gilded domes and towers of the Asqrites. From
here Davril could smell the sea and just vaguely hear the pound of the surf.
The Arch of the Sun stopped him. It
was the only entrance to the grounds surrounding the compound of the Temple of the Sun. High
above, in the top chamber of the Light-House, a bright red-orange glow shone
out from the highest chamber. Just what was the Jewel of the Sun?
Doors sealed the Gate. Soldiers,
mercenaries employed by the Asqrit priesthood, the Brotherhood of the Golden
Plumage, thronged the walls surrounding the temple grounds, and their golden
armor flashed brilliantly as the Gatekeeper, on the wall near the gate, shouted
down, “Who goes there?”
“The better question is why the
gates are closed,” Davril shouted back. “Aren’t they supposed to be open—always?
So that any may worship at any time?”
“These are not normal times. The
priesthood has ordered the Temple
sealed to prevent looting and despoiling. Now be off. We’ve disbursed several
crowds already and will not shrink from disbursing you.” The soldiers near him raised
their javelins meaningfully.
Davril glanced down at the
cobblestones and saw fresh blood stains. Flies buzzed about, and there came an
acrid odor, even over the salty stench. The pounding of waves against the shore
broke louder in the background.
Davril hesitated. If he revealed
his identity, the soldiers might slay him. On the other hand, they were not
loyal to General Hastus but to the priesthood, and the priesthood had very
close ties to the imperial family. It was the emperors that had made the
worship of Asqrit the most popular faith in the Empire, after all, and the emperor
and the High Priest of Asqrit historically had many private dealings. What’s
more, Davril really had very little choice.
“I am Lord Davril Husan,” he
declared, using his most lordly voice, “Emperor of Qazradan! And you will obey me!”
“Don’t try my patience,” the
Gatekeeper said.
Davril rode forward so that he was
directly beneath the Gatekeeper. “I am Davril Husan,” he said. “If you disbelieve me, and I can understand if you do,
then summon Father Elimhas. He will recognize me.”
“You want me to disturb the High
Priest at a time like this?”
In his most commanding voice,
Davril said, “Fetch him now!”
The Gatekeeper swallowed, then, as
if hardly believing himself, barked a quiet order to one of his soldiers. The
man slipped away. Minutes later an aged, portly figure mounted the stairs that
led to the top of the wall and stared down at Davril. Elimhas shaded his eyes
with a hand and
fearing the end had come, had evidently decided to storm the harem and take the
women before the invaders put them to the sword, but now the soldiers were
doing that for them. The gathered men screamed and fought back, several pulling
down an armored soldier and beating him with stones.
Davril rode up and knocked the men
away, cracking several on their heads. Cursing him, they converged on his
camel, perhaps meaning to pull him down, too. The Lady and her fellow priest Wesrai
rode up and scattered them. The soldier, bloody but alive, rose from the dusty
cobblestones and thanked Davril, then remounted his horse and rejoined his
brother-in-arms. Up above, the harem girls, clad in colorful swatches of silk
if clad at all, watched the fight fearfully from the mansion’s terraces.
Davril passed through the Arch of
Midnight, skirted the Ziggurat of Niard, was engulfed by the Plaza of Dreams
with its topiaries and elaborately-sculpted hedges, and finally the golden
towers of the Temple
of the Sun materialized ahead, rising from beyond the shop fronts and
residential apartments where drying clothes, strung from one terrace to another,
fluttered in the wind. The Light-House rose highest and proudest of all, right
from the center of the Asqrit compound. A more ancient structure, grim and dark
and hulking, it did not match the gilded domes and towers of the Asqrites. From
here Davril could smell the sea and just vaguely hear the pound of the surf.
The Arch of the Sun stopped him. It
was the only entrance to the grounds surrounding the compound of the Temple of the Sun. High
above, in the top chamber of the Light-House, a bright red-orange glow shone
out from the highest chamber. Just what was the Jewel of the Sun?
Doors sealed the Gate. Soldiers,
mercenaries employed by the Asqrit priesthood, the Brotherhood of the Golden
Plumage, thronged the walls surrounding the temple grounds, and their golden
armor flashed brilliantly as the Gatekeeper, on the wall near the gate, shouted
down, “Who goes there?”
“The better question is why the
gates are closed,” Davril shouted back. “Aren’t they supposed to be open—always?
So that any may worship at any time?”
“These are not normal times. The
priesthood has ordered the Temple
sealed to prevent looting and despoiling. Now be off. We’ve disbursed several
crowds already and will not shrink from disbursing you.” The soldiers near him raised
their javelins meaningfully.
Davril glanced down at the
cobblestones and saw fresh blood stains. Flies buzzed about, and there came an
acrid odor, even over the salty stench. The pounding of waves against the shore
broke louder in the background.
Davril hesitated. If he revealed
his identity, the soldiers might slay him. On the other hand, they were not
loyal to General Hastus but to the priesthood, and the priesthood had very
close ties to the imperial family. It was the emperors that had made the
worship of Asqrit the most popular faith in the Empire, after all, and the emperor
and the High Priest of Asqrit historically had many private dealings. What’s
more, Davril really had very little choice.
“I am Lord Davril Husan,” he
declared, using his most lordly voice, “Emperor of Qazradan! And you will obey me!”
“Don’t try my patience,” the
Gatekeeper said.
Davril rode forward so that he was
directly beneath the Gatekeeper. “I am Davril Husan,” he said. “If you disbelieve me, and I can understand if you do,
then summon Father Elimhas. He will recognize me.”
“You want me to disturb the High
Priest at a time like this?”
In his most commanding voice,
Davril said, “Fetch him now!”
The Gatekeeper swallowed, then, as
if hardly believing himself, barked a quiet order to one of his soldiers. The
man slipped away. Minutes later an aged, portly figure mounted the stairs that
led to the top of the wall and stared down at Davril. Elimhas shaded his eyes
with a hand and
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