When they were still half a mile away, they heard a loud blare of trumpets coming from the city. The massive gates began to grind and slowly swung wide, revealing a score of armed cavalry. Behind them were at least fifty foot soldiers, each wearing a doublet bearing Cheville’s official crest: the morning sun rising over a walled city.
At the head of the company was a dour-looking man of at least seventy, with a long white moustache that hung down an inch below his chin.
“Jendarme Lamette,” Vaaler whispered to Shalana. “He was appointed head of the city guard forty years ago when his brother became City Lord.”
“Is his brother still in charge?”
“City Lords are only elected to ten-year terms,” Vaaler told her. “And by law anyone who has served cannot run again. But every incoming ruler since then has kept Jendarme on as Captain of the Guard. He’s a legend in the Free Cities.”
The old man raised a hand and the cavalry charged forth from the gate.
“I’m starting to have second thoughts about this plan,” Shalana muttered.
“Hold your ground but keep your weapons lowered,” Vaaler called out, knowing the clan warriors could react violently to even the slightest provocation.
The riders continued to bear down on them, breaking off less than ten yards away to encircle them in an impressive display of horsemanship.
Jendarme had stayed back during the charge, but now he spurred his steed forward. Two of the riders in the circle nudged their horses, who stepped smartly aside to make room for the captain to pass.
He stopped only a few feet in front of Vaaler and Shalana, close enough for them to see the deep wrinkles that lined his face and the gray cataracts that completely blinded one eye. Despite these signs of age, he carried himself straight in his saddle, his stature and movements those of a much younger man.
“Why have you brought this army to our gates?” he asked, peering down from atop his horse at the strange interlopers. Like his movements, his voice was forceful and strong.
“I request an audience with Lord Bonchamps,” Vaaler said. “About an urgent matter that affects us all.”
“Lord Bonchamps is not in the habit of meeting with Barbarians,” he said, giving Shalana and the others a disparaging look.
Shalana stiffened beside him, but she had enough control to hold her tongue. As for the rest of the honor guard, Vaaler was just glad they didn’t understand what the captain was saying.
In Torian, the city still paid a bounty for any Easterners killed or captured within twenty miles of the city. But Cheville was far enough west that the surrounding settlements didn’t have to worry about raiders from the Frozen East.
He’s probably just testing us, Vaaler thought, recalling the captain’s reputation. Pushing us to see how we’ll react.
“The clans are not your enemy,” Vaaler said aloud, his voice calm and confident. “And we both know the Order are the true Barbarians.”
“Is that why you’ve brought these refugees to our gate?” Jendarme asked. “Has the Pontiff turned her Purge away from Callastan and against her own people?”
“These are things we should discuss in private with Lord Bonchamps,” Vaaler insisted. “Not standing in a field with our weapons at our sides.”
“Escort them into the city,” the captain said, wheeling his horse around.
The riders closed in tightly around them, almost as if they feared Vaaler and the others might try to flee, and marched them into the city.
At least he let us keep our weapons, Vaaler thought as the heavy gates slammed shut behind him.
—
Shalana had never seen a city the size of Cheville. Most of the clans lived a nomadic existence, and even the strongest—like the Stone Spirits—only had settlements that were little more than permanent camps.
The people they’d liberated had all lived in small towns and villages; at most they’d have two or three main streets and a few dozen buildings surrounding the town square. In all of them, it was possible to see clearly from one side to the other, the view broken up only by a smattering of two-story structures.
In contrast, Cheville was a labyrinth of massive buildings and cramped, busy streets crisscrossing back and forth and extending in every direction farther than Shalana could see.
She was awed by the sheer crush of people on all sides. Even with their armed escort keeping the crowds at bay, she felt as if the sweat and stink of so many bodies crammed together made it hard to breathe.
There was a constant buzz in the air, the indistinct echoes of voices and footsteps and slamming doors emanating from every side street they passed. As news of their arrival spread, people began to line the way as they passed, their whispered comments a constant murmur adding to the general din.
Jendarme’s men led them farther and farther into the city, taking so many twists and turns that Shalana’s normally infallible sense of direction deserted her entirely.
It was all too much to process. Her mind began to spin, and her breath became quick and shallow. Her eyes darted from side to side, overwhelmed by the never-ending blur of faces and buildings on all sides.
She jumped as Vaaler’s hand wrapped around hers, then felt the momentary panic fade as he gave her a reassuring squeeze.
Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw the rest of the honor guard were faring better than she had. None of them seemed overwhelmed or alarmed, though several of them were staring with slack-jawed amazement at the wonders around them.
After what seemed like hours they finally reached their destination. She, Vaaler, and the others were shuffled into a long, wooden, single-story building. At first she assumed they’d been led to Cheville’s Long Hall to meet the City Lord, but she quickly realized that wasn’t the case: The building was too plain and simple to be used for any kind of important meetings.
The furnishings were sparse—some cots, along with a few tables and chairs. There were several small windows, and doors led out both the front and the back.
“Are we prisoners?” Shalana asked.
“I don’t think so,” Vaaler said. “There are no bars on the windows or doors, and they didn’t disarm us. I think this is an old guard barracks.”
Shalana wandered over to the window and peered out. The entire building was encircled by armored soldiers carrying long pikes.
“If this isn’t a prison, then why the guards?”
“Just a precaution, I’m sure,” he said though she could tell even he was starting to have doubts.
“So what do we do now?”
“I guess we wait for Bonchamps to come see us.”
Several long, slow hours slid by. Inside the city walls darkness came quickly as the sun set, and they eventually found themselves sitting in a room full of shadows as time dragged on.
Their forced vigil was eventually broken by a knock on the front door. A second later it swung open and Jendarme strode in. Behind him came a half dozen guards, each carrying a softly glowing lantern.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting in the dark,” he said, though his brusque tone didn’t sound apologetic.
While the first guards hung the lanterns on small hooks protruding from the walls around the barracks, several more came in carrying wooden trays of food. As they set them down on the nearest table, Shalana’s stomach growled loudly. It had been many hours since their last meal, but in all the strangeness of the city she hadn’t realized how hungry she’d become.
Jendarme jerked his head toward the door and the guards left, leaving the captain alone with them.
He trusts us, Shalana thought. That’s a good sign.
“Where is Lord Bonchamps?” Vaaler asked. “Is he on his way?”
“Our City Lord is a vain, pompous, craven, selfish little man,” Jendarme said, his voice dripping with venom. “And he sees no reason why he should meet with you.”
“We share a common enemy in the Order,” Vaaler said. “An enemy that may soon turn its attention to the Free Cities o
nce they’ve finished with Callastan.”
“Lord Bonchamps’s simpering advisers believe we should remain neutral in this affair for as long as possible,” Jendarme explained. “They seem to think if they ignore this problem, it will go away on its own.”
“You don’t believe that, though,” Shalana said.
“Why would anyone listen to me?” Jendarme snarled. “I’m just a doddering old fool too far past his prime.”
“Please,” Vaaler said. “If Lord Bonchamps will just meet with me for one hour, I think he will see that an alliance will benefit us all.”
“Our vainglorious and self-serving ruler would rather spend that time currying favor with the merchants guild, or cozying up with the city nobility, or taking bribes from those rich and powerful enough to dream of being his successor.
“To clarify,” Jendarme concluded, “Bonchamps only meets with those who can further his political influence or line his coffers. And, sadly, you have nothing to offer him.”
The captain’s barely contained rage obviously wasn’t directed at them but Shalana couldn’t help but feed off his anger.
“Cheville is enormous!” she blurted out. “There must be ten thousand people inside these walls! How did such a pathetic excuse for a leader gain control over the fate of so many?”
“I didn’t vote for him,” Jendarme spat. “But for the next eight years I must follow this sniveling sack of excrement’s orders. Unless the Old Gods take pity on me and finally send me to my grave.”
“So what will happen to us?” Vaaler asked.
“Tomorrow morning I am to escort you back outside the city walls, and you and your followers will return to your homes.
“If you refuse to disperse,” he continued somberly, “Bonchamps will turn his soldiers loose on you.”
Shalana could only shake her head in helpless frustration, unable to find the words to articulate the anger she was feeling.
“Many of my followers are refugees,” Vaaler said. “Women and children. The elderly. Would Bonchamps really order his soldiers to slaughter them?”
Jendarme turned away and didn’t answer.
“I will see if I can find food for you to take with you,” he said as he walked slowly toward the door. “I know some merchants—good people—who might be able to donate a cart or two filled with provisions.”
That won’t last a single day, Shalana thought. Not when we have so many mouths to feed.
The old captain opened the door, then turned back to them one last time.
“I’m sorry,” were his parting words. “There is nothing more I can do.”
—
Vaaler barely slept that night. The cots in the barracks were comfortable enough; he’d gotten so used to sleeping on the ground they almost felt luxurious. But he couldn’t stop his mind from racing.
When the guards arrived at the morning’s first light to bring them breakfast, part of him wanted simply to refuse to get up from his bed. But there were too many people counting on him for him to surrender.
There has to be some way to get Bonchamps to hear me out! he thought, silently chewing his food.
“There is still hope,” Shalana said, reaching across the table to take his hand. “We can go to the other City Lords. Maybe one of them will help us.”
Vaaler appreciated her efforts to lift his spirits even though he knew it wasn’t true. It would take them at least three days to travel to Accul—the next closest of the Free Cities—and his followers were already running out of food.
Even if Jendarme somehow finds enough supplies to keep us going, we’re running out of time. Callastan will fall any day, and the Order will reclaim the Crown.
“Cheville was our best chance to help Keegan,” he said. “And I failed.”
“Failure is not a word you easily accept,” Shalana reminded him. “We will find another way.”
She said it with such earnest belief that Vaaler could almost believe it was true. Swallowing the food in his mouth, he reached across the table and drew her in close so he could plant a long kiss on her lips, oblivious to the stares and coy smiles of their honor guard.
Their embrace was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Vaaler turned just in time to see it swing open and Jendarme stride through. Though it was hard to tell beneath his long, flowing moustache, the old captain appeared to be smiling.
He was followed in by several more guards, then a tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed man in his early forties.
“I am Lord Bonchamps,” he said, tilting at the waist just barely enough for the action to be considered a bow. “Ruler of Cheville.”
His voice was deep and rich, and his eyes almost seemed to sparkle as he spoke.
This man refused to help you, Vaaler reminded himself. Just because he’s charming doesn’t mean he’s your ally.
“Please accept my most sincere apologies for what happened yesterday,” Bonchamps continued. “There was a breakdown in our lines of communications. Isn’t that right, Captain?”
“Exactly, my lord,” Jendarme agreed, with no hint in his voice of the animosity Vaaler suspected he truly felt. “A breakdown in our communications.”
“I would never have kept you waiting so long,” Bonchamps apologized, “had I known you were next in line for the Danaan throne!”
It was all Vaaler could do to keep the shock from showing on his features. Beside him, Shalana arched an eyebrow in surprise but otherwise maintained her composure.
“I never gave you my name,” Vaaler said. “How do you know who I am?”
“I understand the need for secrecy,” Bonchamps assured him. “Someone as important as you must keep a low profile. I myself know this all too well.
“But now that the rest of your delegation has arrived, the truth can come out.”
Vaaler had no idea what Bonchamps was talking about but decided to play along. Whatever was going on, at least it had convinced Bonchamps to come meet them.
“As you can guess,” Vaaler said, putting on his most noble airs, “I would not have come here unless I needed to speak with you on a matter of great importance.”
Bonchamps nodded vigorously. “Of course, Your Majesty. Of course. And I am eager to hear what you have to say. But wouldn’t we be more comfortable if we continued this discussion in my offices?”
“As long as we go there immediately,” Vaaler pressed. “Time is of the essence.”
“Excellent,” Bonchamps said with a decisive clap of his hands. “The rest of your people are already there waiting for us.”
Shalana flashed Vaaler a quick look. Even though she didn’t speak, he knew her well enough to know what she was thinking.
Your people? Who is he talking about?
He answered with the faintest shrug of his shoulders. I have no idea.
Bonchamps spun on his heel and vanished through the door, followed closely by a pair of guards. Jendarme stepped forward but paused before following.
“I could have done more to help you yesterday if you’d just told me who you were,” he whispered to Vaaler though not angrily.
Before Vaaler could ask any questions, Jendarme was off.
“What’s going on?” Genny asked in Verlsung.
“We’re not sure yet,” Shalana replied in the same tongue. “But it could be good news.”
Or very, very bad news, Vaaler thought as they followed the captain out of the barracks.
Once again a squadron of guards escorted them through the city, but this time Vaaler didn’t feel like they were prisoners. The soldiers around them had the hyperawareness and puffed-up importance of a King’s personal guard. Not surprising if they believed he was one day going to take over the Danaan throne.
But what happened to make them think that?
The Danaan had always had a mutually beneficial relationship with the Free Cities. There was regular trade between the North Forest and Cheville, and a handful of adventurous Danaan would sometimes even travel to the human settlements if they sough
t out an exotic, but relatively safe, vacation.
Despite this, the Danaan had always kept the Free Cities at arm’s length. Human visitors were barred from the North Forest, and they shared as little information about their kingdom as possible.
The Free Cities were probably aware that a Danaan army had invaded the Frozen East, though Vaaler doubted they knew how spectacularly the campaign had failed. And he was almost certain they wouldn’t know that the Queen had exiled her only son.
They shouldn’t even know who I am at all, he thought as they wound their way toward the heart of the city.
He was still struggling to make sense of it all when they reached the City Lord’s offices. Bonchamps led them inside, with Jendarme following a step behind. They passed through a number of architecturally stunning and opulently furnished rooms until they reached a set of bronze double doors.
A ceremonial guard stood on either side, a scene that reminded Vaaler of his childhood in the Danaan palace. The guards pulled the doors open to reveal a large conference hall dominated by a massive table carved from the same pink stone used to construct Cheville’s walls.
Seated around the table were several Danaan, including a man Vaaler recognized immediately: Andar, the Queen’s High Sorcerer.
It’s a trap! Vaaler realized.
Somehow, the Danaan had discovered he was in the Southlands, and they’d sent Andar and the others to find him.
Was this Bonchamps’s plan? Turn me over to the Danaan so they can drag me back to Ferlhame and try me as a traitor?
Even as all of this was running through Vaaler’s head, he couldn’t help but notice that Bonchamps, Jendarme, and everyone else still seemed calm and relaxed. If a trap was being sprung, they seemed to be unaware of its existence.
Andar pushed his chair back from the table, popped to his feet, and rushed forward, speaking quickly. The other Danaan remained seated, trying to appear calm, though Vaaler could see the nervous way they regarded his honor guard.
Behind him, he sensed Shalana and the others tense up as well—the only other time any of them had ever been face-to-face with the Danaan was on the field of battle. To their credit, however, they remained calm as the High Sorcerer approached.