Farlander by Col Buchanan

next in line for the throne. He could not afford to appear weak.
    ‘Coming?’ asked his grandmother, as she climbed down from the palanquin.
    Kirkus tore his gaze from the mammoth spike, and in particular the patches of rust that stained it. He stared at her for several beats of his heart before her words sank in.
    He shook his head, and watched as the old priestess wandered about the market, accompanied only by her personal slaves, freely sampling sweets and local wines. She declined an armed escort, staking her life on the intimidating power of her white robes alone, which parted the crowds everywhere as she went.
    For some time Kirkus merely sat where he was and savoured the possibilities, playing fantasies in his head of those citizens that took his fancy. At last, when he was certain of who he wanted, he rose to his feet.
    More quietly this time, he pointed out those who had caught his attention: two pretty sisters with manes of blonde hair sweeping down almost to the ground; a fat butcher who handled his cleaver like a veteran, and might offer some fight; a young man who reminded him of his boyhood friend Asam; an old fishwife with a body still lean and strong and interesting.
    The Acolytes swept through the crowds, snatching those indicated where they stood. Shouts went up, only to be lost in the general clamour of the marketplace. Kirkus watched the ensuing commotion, following its stirs and eddies spreading throughout the square. He was mesmerized by it all, as distraught friends and relatives clung to those being taken away from them, crying out for help from others crowded around them. Each was apprehended in turn and the sounds of alarm rose higher, finally beginning to usurp even the din of the busy marketplace itself.
    Kirkus knew, in that moment, that for the rest of his long life he could never grow bored of days such as this one.
    As Kira returned accompanied by a hamper filled with choice goods, she left behind her a market square of depleted stalls and baskets still spinning where they had been dropped, their owners shouting as they fled the scene, intent on passing the alarm to adjacent streets. Behind the palanquin, the sense of shock felt by the newly acquired slaves emanated like a palpable force as in turn they were fixed to chains.
    Several streets later, a man dressed in the faded leathers of a courier rode up to the head of the column, his striped zelback made jittery by the brooding atmosphere all around. The rider spoke briefly to the Acolyte captain, then handed down to him a scrap of folded paper, before he turned and kicked his mount into a canter, heading away.
    Kira read the note with growing bemusement in her eyes.
    ‘It would seem that word of our arrival has stirred more than just fear in this city. Listen to what it says: This evening, when you meet with High Priest Belias, study closely the fit of his robes. You will find underneath only a charlatan. ’
    ‘Is it signed?’ asked Kirkus, only partly interested.
    ‘ A loyal subject of Mann .’
    Kirkus shrugged. ‘It is the same everywhere we go,’ he remarked, disdainfully. ‘The high priest doubtless has his enemies, and now they hope to jostle for position while you are here.’
    ‘You have a fine mind when you put it to some use. You may well be right, but closely observe the man, anyway. It is a skill you must learn, to discern the true believers from the false, and yet another skill to know how to deal with them if they prove to be untrue.’
    ‘We then dispose of them, what more is there to know?’ he replied, while his attention returned to the surrounding street, searching still.
    ‘Sometimes,’ she crooned from behind her mask, ‘your lack of imagination truly startles me. We must work on that fault.’ She snapped her fingers, drawing the Acolyte captain to her. ‘I think we will go to the high priest’s mansion now,’ she instructed him. ‘I wish to rest there for a while, before we dine with this man who