Chronicles of the Last Days Chapter 8

Chapter 7

L

ate in the afternoon, while Iola took another petitioner, Darna was waiting in the garden. The ambassadress’s bell rang three times, a short gap, then two more rings. That was the signal she’d arranged with Gallia, who had told her a little more about the ruling of Tiadun while they waited for Gallia’s “girl at the palace” to come for her instructions.

The elder priestess who was officially in charge of watching the gate jumped up to scold the messenger who’d tried to disturb the Most Blessed One while she was with a petitioner.

“I’m sorry,” the young priestess said. “I didn’t realize. I only brought a message.”

“Come back with it later.”

Darna heard no more as she closed the door of the secret passage behind her. She was plunged into total darkness. She’d forgotten to bring a lamp. She considered going back for it, but as her eyes adjusted, she could detect a faint glow far ahead. She made her way carefully along the length of the passage and stopped just inside the storeroom door. No one was there, but she could hear someone pacing outside the storeroom. She waited until the footsteps faded around the corner, then hurried through the storeroom, into the corridor, and to the old sanctuary. There, a young woman in priestess robes was waiting for her, carrying a bundle tied with a cord of blue-and orange-dyed leather.

Not a very subtle signal

, Darna thought.

She raised her eyebrows, at which the young woman stood to nervous attention. She was wearing robes, but she had the bearing of a servant, not a priestess.

“My mistress said we’re to go out through the back gate,” she whispered. “Would you change here?” she asked, thrusting the package toward Darna.

Darna shook her head. There were too many eyes and ears in the temple. There would be just as many in the palace, but surely she could find some hidden nook along the way. Without saying anything, she started out toward the back courtyard, the nervous servant trailing in her wake. She slowed down, remembering that she was supposed to be disguised as an elder priestess, not one who should be doing her part to fill the treasuries by lying on her back with petitioners. She shuddered at the thought. Never again. The thing in her belly struck, and she had to stop while the disguised serving girl stood by, looking uneasy.

She was glad when they were out of the temple, but the streets of Anamat felt less joyful than was usual for a night so close to Midsummer. The bones of the celebrations were still there: bonfires and drumming, dancing and pickpocketing. Somehow, it all felt more chaotic than usual. Darna led her messenger along a quiet street to a deep, unoccupied doorway off an alley. There, she changed into servant’s garb. The dress fit her well enough, though it was a little long. She wished she still had her stick, to thwack her way through the crowds, but the assassins would be looking for a woman with a limp, so perhaps it was just as well that she didn’t have it. She and Gallia’s serving girl made do with their elbows when they crossed the market squares, and reached the kitchen gate just as the last glow of sunset was fading from the sky.

At the governor’s palace, the usual familiar greetings among noblemen had been supplanted by wariness that made itself felt even among the kitchen staff. Gallia’s girl led Darna directly to the room where the best serving dishes were kept. A maid was there, polishing silver goblets.

“This is my auntie,” said the young woman who’d fetched Darna. “She’s here to help serve tonight.”

“Start with polishing those bowls,” the maid told Darna, barely looking up. “We’re to bring them out for the last course.”

“I’ll go ahead to see if they’re ready,” Gallia’s girl said. That was the last Darna saw of her that night. There was too much to be done for the other servants to question where Darna had come from, or even to ask her name. She ghosted the maid she’d been introduced to through the kitchen, out to the hall, and back again. She positioned herself among the serving maids setting out for the chamber where Calar would be dining. Many of the servants knew one another, but some did not, having just come in from the countryside with one prince’s retinue or another. As the moon was rising, they lit the lamps in their newly polished sconces and took their places in the relay to the kitchen.

Darna was not perfectly positioned, but at least she hadn’t drawn attention to herself. Her legs, though stronger than they’d ever been before, felt tired already from her rush across the city and the unaccustomed running to and fro on stone floors. She stood in the shadow of the doorway as the governor and his guests entered, standing flat against the wall with the other servants.

Her cousin and uncle were already drowsy from drink. They lolled in their seats as soon as they took their places at the table. They would not be looking for her among the servants, even if that was where they’d last seen her, nor would Parnet take note of an old serving woman. Tiagasa and Giri, sitting side by side, were another matter.

“Go around with the wine,” someone whispered to Darna.

She obeyed. They began with an ewer of aged Helanum wine, some of the best. It smelled so good that she almost wished she’d sampled a bit to steady her nerves, but there’d been no chance and a strong drink might have made her clumsy, too.

She circled the table, filling goblets as she went. She filled every goblet except Giri’s. He held his hand over the cup as she passed, not looking at her, his gaze intent on Tiagasa. They spoke in low tones so as not to be overheard.

“I am not surprised that you don’t go yourself. You are fastidious, like my lord governor.”

“Perhaps more so,” Giri said. He smiled at Tiagasa with a warmth that went beyond diplomacy. Darna wondered why Tiagasa didn’t know that the governor

had

gone to Iola for a change.

“I will see that you find what you need to know, but it may take some time,” she purred.

“I need some token to return to my king,” Giri said. Darna had to move on, so she heard no more.

The princes of Getedun and Galamun were there, scowling across the wide board at Calar, whose armies and allies had ridden roughshod over their land and despoiled their temples.

“We will escort them on the return journey,” the prince of Getedun was saying quietly to his neighbor. “We can take tribute from him in recompense, though I hope he will agree to pay it freely. I don’t want to raise an army.”

“We may have to. Did you see his forces?”

Darna heard nothing else of interest as she circled the table that first time. When the soup course was served, all of the talk seemed to turn to food and wine. When the minstrels came, the conversation ceased almost entirely. Darna was clearing away a platter of meat at the end of the table when she saw Girizit excuse himself, leaving Tiagasa with a kiss on the hand. Parnet observed that kiss with a frown, but his ear was taken by the prince of Lemirun, seated on his other side.

“I have no truck with these Cereans, not since my late father’s mistake,” the prince of Lemirun said, “but two of their ships sailed to my harbor a moon-round ago, wanting to trade. You should not blame Calar too much. It’s not entirely his fault.”

“He should know his obligations,” Parnet said distractedly.

Girizit went around the table and leaned over to speak to the man seated beside Darna’s cousins. The man – apparently Calar’s Cerean advisor or supervisor – excused himself and followed Girizit to one side of the room.

“I’ve had a message; come,” Girizit said to him in Cerean.

Darna hurried into the servants’ corridor and handed her platter to a maid who was taking a moment’s rest. “Can you take this to the kitchen for me?” Darna said. She was gone before the other woman could answer. The Cereans took the main corridor, toward the palace’s front courtyard. There was no reason for a serving maid to go there, especially not one who’d been engaged to serve at the night’s feast.

Darna untied her apron and tucked it under her arm as soon as she could, on a quiet stretch of corridor, but a maid carrying a pile of bed linens came along just then. “Kitchen’s back that way,” she said.

“Sorry, I lost my way,” Darna said, trying to look more confused than she felt. She never lost her way. That was one thing her encounter with Salara hadn’t changed.

She took a few steps toward the kitchen to avoid arousing suspicion as the other maid scurried away. By the time she felt safe enough to double back, she’d lost the trail of the Cereans. They’d been heading toward the front of the palace, so she did too, listening as she went. Just to one side of the main entry yard, the corridor passed a quiet and unremarkable garden, a perfect spot for a quiet conversation. She slowed as she approached it, going as quietly as she could, grateful that she was no longer needed a stick to walk. As handy as it had been, it was noisy.

“We have the men; we could do it now,” one of the Cereans was saying in a whisper.

“We are not pleased,” Girizit said.

“The duke has what he needs here. He will not wait on the king’s permission.”

“He should have waited for it,” Girizit said. “This territory is for the king, as is that province you approached on the king’s behalf. He will take this city.”

“If it’s left for him to take,” said a third voice. Darna knew that voice. It sounded just like Harzet. Was he alive still? He might have seen her run from the gate. She stood stock still, her heart beating more loudly than it had before. She knew they couldn’t possibly hear her, arguing as they were among themselves. She pressed herself against the wall and crept closer.

“You have men, I have men, but we are not together,” Giri said quietly. “I tell you, the Duke is a traitor. What’s more, we can’t rely on your man in that province. I’ve learned that he hasn’t even taken the throne.”

From what Darna had seen, the Cerean armsmen who rode with Calar, plus his own forces, outnumbered the men at Giri’s command – not by much, but if either Cerean force had the upper hand, it would be Calar’s, an army through and through, rather than one wearing the false front of a merchant fleet.

“Forget that; we could make ourselves rich, rich and free,” Calar’s Cerean said.

Harzet chuckled mirthlessly.

“His taking the throne waits only for this formality, some trial.”

“And when will that be?” Harzet asked.

“In two nights’ time. A girl bastard of the old prince. It’s unspeakable what these people think is a strong hand. Do you know they let their women rule between princes?”

Neither Giri nor Harzet answered that.

“We must go to the king,” Giri said, before the agent of the Duke of the Southern Reaches could make more of a fool of himself. “This plunder will be of no use to us if His Highness condemns our souls.”

If Giri was ever going to rebel against his king, he would have done it a long time ago. Darna wondered if she’d actually heard Harzet, or if it had been another man who only sounded like him.

“You think our king has that power?” the other man said after a while. “Soon, you’ll be seeing the Theranians’ dragons.”

“You seek their magic too; don’t condemn me for believing in its power,” Giri said.

“I seek to profit by others’ belief in it. Their lizards have no power over me,” the other man said.

“The things I saw in Slaradun would cool your blood for this trade.” That was definitely Harzet, then.

“We will take what we can,” Girizit said tiredly, ignoring Harzet’s warning. “We need not destroy the city.”

“The city is as good as lost even without your help,” Harzet said. “Ride your troops in or wait for the sea to take it, it’s all one to me.”

“But there is that little matter of the trial to come, to establish my princely ally on his throne.” The man sounded exasperated. “The governor must uphold it. He cannot hand a province over to a whore.”

“The Theranians don’t see things that way,” Harzet said, letting every word drop slowly but to no effect. “The ones you call their whores are surprisingly learned, better educated than some of even our courtiers, and certainly more learned than these Theranian princes. I was among the best students of my esteemed teacher; I know learning when I see it.”

“Not that it’s done you any good, without our king’s blessing,” Giri said.

Harzet muttered an oath and paced away from the other two.

“Tiadun stands. It is good farming land, if nothing else.”

“The duke may be content with good farming land, but the king is not,” Giri said. “He has farmland in plenty. He seeks what only this place can offer. Besides, Anamat is not the same as Slaradun, and you, Harzet, are a traitor and an exile.” He shouted that last.

“A fate you might share some day, slave of the king.” Harzet’s voice was close to her, too close.

“I will never betray him as you did.”

“I’ll leave now, then, and save my own skin,” Harzet said. “May you boil in the lava of the dragons’ wrath.”

The Cerean who’d come with Calar laughed. “The dragons have no wrath. They are nothing.”

“Shush,” Giri said. From his voice, Darna could imagine him clutching his cap to his head and looking fearfully at the sky, just as he had when they were scrapplings. “They can hear you, even if these fool Theranians cannot.”

“You’re superstitious like a woman, as slaves should be.”

Darna heard Harzet’s footsteps turn back toward the others, but before he could say anything more, a guardsman with a torch approached with quick steps.

“Are you gentlemen lost?” the guardsman said from the passageway. “I’ll show you back.”

Harzet, Giri, and the other Cerean said nothing.

“Come this way!” the guardsman shouted, as if speaking more loudly could make them understand.

“It’s all right,” Girizit said in Theranian. “I know the way.”

“I’ll show you along.” The guardsman and his torch advanced, straight to where Darna stood.

Harzet was last among the trio, but he saw her first. “Darna?” her name was out of his mouth before he reached the corridor. “I thought you were dead. You look close to it. You are not well?”

By that time, Giri was looking at her, too. “Darna. If that’s supposed to be a disguise, it’s not a very good one,” he said slowly in Theranian. “I told you to stay away from the palace, but you never did heed my warnings. I must say, I’m glad that you’ve come to hear this little play. It will be interesting.”

“Your word is worthless,” Darna said levelly, in Cerean. “I have to be going now.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I think I have an offer that might interest you. We wouldn’t like to see your province ruled by our rebellious duke.” The flash of a dagger glinted at his side. Darna wanted to run. She knew she should not hear Giri’s offer, but she found herself nodding. Giri took a few steps away from the others and went on in a whisper: “Your unfortunate uncle could meet his brother’s end,” he whispered. “I could arrange it. All you must do is to pledge…cooperation.”

“Never,” Darna said.

“I’ll see you at the tribunal, then. It would be so much easier if Calar were dead. Remember, I can arrange that. Easily.” Giri stepped back but waited while the other two Cereans looked at her in full light of the torch and the risen moon. The palace guard stood uneasily beside them.

Calar’s Cerean smiled a satisfied smile and gave her a nod, then started away, leaving the befuddled guardsman looking back and forth between Darna and Harzet.

“My apologies, sincere apologies,” Harzet said. “I did think that you had died. I am glad at least that you escaped with your fee.”

“That was worth less to me than he was,” she said.

“I miss him too.”

“Your fee?” Girizit chuckled. “Did you play the so-called priestesses of Anamat with our traitor, my scavenger friend?”

“I did not,” Darna said. It was a ridiculous question. “Your country seems to be full of nothing but traitors, and from what I’ve heard of your king, I can’t blame them. You should have been one of them. You could have stayed here and not gone back to your slavery. You understand nothing; you never did,” Darna said. “I must go. Your countryman’s so-called allies don’t like me, and I like them even less, maybe even less than I like you. When you go home to your king, again, don’t come back.”

“Oh, I’ll come back. And I’ll take you with me.” Giri leered.

“You have no power over me,” Darna said. Calar’s Cerean, the agent of the Duke of the Southern Reaches, had returned. He had his blade drawn. She saw it out of the corner of her eye and began to run for the palace’s front gates. Behind her, the guardsman with the torch scuffled with the Cerean, slowing him but not stopping him. Darna slowed to a fast walk.

Harzet raced after her. “Lady Planner,” he called to her as she crossed the yard. “I have wronged you, and for all your prying ways, I am glad to see that you still live.”

“Don’t lead them to me. Stop following me,” Darna said, exasperated. “If you would do me any favors again, let it not be like the favor you did to your most beloved friend. I’d rather live, even if I am mad.”

She reached the palace gates. The guards let her through, but they closed ranks behind her so that the foreigners could not follow. They would find a way to track her if they could, now that they’d seen her in Anamat. Harzet wouldn’t be able to stop them even if he was willing to try. She walked as quickly as she could across the market square, and then she began to run again.

Cerean assassins would be on her trail, or Giri’s slave traders. She slid into the hidden ways, weaving back and forth across the city. She turned down one street and then another and another again until she’d almost lost her bearings. She found a garden gate leading to a tunnel under a row of houses and emerged into a quiet, moonlit courtyard with a stair leading up to an attic door. There, she paused to catch her breath. She sat down on a stone beside the waterspout. She heard no sounds of pursuit. From beyond the courtyard came the sound of drumbeats and careful laughter, of bonfires crackling and of young people screeching with terror or delight. She closed her eyes and rested.

#

The sound of a footstep entering the courtyard startled Darna awake. She had fallen asleep with her head on a weathered wooden stair, as if some part of her had sensed that this place was safe from Calar and his agents. Dew soaked her dress. It was almost dawn. Someone was coming, stepping out of the passage and into the moonlight. She recognized him.

“Thorat? What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you that,” he said, “but I’m glad you’ve found us. Sunna was worried sick over you. Where did you go?”

“To the palace. The Cereans saw me; they know I’m here now. The tribunal is in two days’ time – the night after this, I think.”

“Come upstairs. I’ll explain to Sovara when she’s back, and send someone with a message to Sunna, who’s been looking for you all night.”

“Is this the place where –”

“Shh,” Thorat said. “What were you thinking, going to the palace like that?”

Darna picked herself up off the step and rearranged her crumpled dress. “I wanted to see them. I went to the palace dressed as a serving maid, as you can see, and overheard a bit of the Cereans’ chatter,” she said as Thorat led her up the rickety-looking stair. “Giri recognized me, and so did Harzet, the Cerean who was in Slaradun. Giri called him a traitor. There must be a lot of traitors in Cerea.”

“I should have been there,” Thorat said.

Darna shook her head. “You went to see Iola, didn’t you? Did you convince her to stay?”

“Not yet,” Thorat said. “Sunna wasn’t a bit happy that you’d left.”

Darna sighed. “Maybe I should have told her. It would have been safer.”

They paused on the landing. Thorat smelled of temple incense, and his stomach was making noises that sounded not at all pleasant.

“Wait here,” he said.

Darna nodded and perched on the railing. From the shape of the rooftops around her, she could tell that she was about halfway between the palace and the harbor, somewhere between the Pentangle and the East Canal, but beyond that, the exact location seemed somehow to not line up with what she expected. She’d never felt so disoriented in the city before.

“She found the courtyard on her own,” Thorat was saying from inside.

The Enatel let out a long, ragged breath and coughed. “Let her in, then.”

Darna didn’t wait for Thorat to come back up and get her. She went inside and down the stairs into an open and strangely familiar-feeling room as long as three houses put together. Most of the hall was pitch dark except for a thin glow around the gaps under the eaves, flooded with dawn light. The Enatel held a dim lamp, but the others were snoring in bedding on the floor. They still smelled slightly of the mountain valley.

“I thank you for your hospitality, Lady Enatel,” Darna said.

“No titles,” the Enatel said. “How did you find this place?”

“I’ve always been able to find places, but I’d never found this one before.”

“The Cereans and Calar know she’s in the city now,” Thorat explained. “She went up to the palace.”

“The temple won’t be safe enough, not if they know you’re there,” the Enatel said. She peered at Darna. “Normally, if a young scrappling finds this place, I take it as a sign that he or she is to become one of us, but you’re too old, and a priestess already, but at least you know who we are already. You must keep our secrets if we’re to safeguard you.”

“I will,” Darna promised.

“Don’t even tell Myril,” Thorat said. “She knows that we exist, but not where we are in the city. Not even Iola can know.”

“Iola wouldn’t be able to find her way from the temple to the East Market,” Darna said. “Even when she was out in the city, she couldn’t go anywhere without someone to show her the way.”

“Now, now, no maligning the Most Blessed One,” Sunna said as she hurried into the room. “I certainly didn’t expect to find you

here

. You led the palace guard on a merry chase.”

“I’m sorry that I worried you,” Darna said.

“Was it worth it?” Sunna demanded, sounding annoyed.

Darna considered that for a moment before answering. “I’d have to say yes, it was, especially since I survived. I learned a few things.”

“Such as?” the Enatel prompted.

“The Cereans don’t get along with each other. One of them wants to be my ally – two of them do, actually, but I won’t be played by the king’s slave again.”

“Stay away from those Cereans,” came a gravelly voice from one of the bedrolls at the far end of the room. It was Vigda, sitting up and straightening her ragged clothes.

“I’m sure you know better than to trust those cap-headed enemies of the dragons,” the Enatel said. “Now it’s time we got these sleepyheads up. You might as well see if you can do anything with a sword, while you’re here. It will pass the time.”

“Well, I was pretty handy with a cane when I was a scrappling,” Darna said, but she was skeptical, and so was Thorat. Sunna ushered Darna over to the rack of swords and thrust one into her hands.

“There. You won’t learn much in a day, or even in two days, but there’s no harm in it. After all, it’s a princely pursuit.” Sunna paused, looking worried.

“What about Iola?” Darna asked.

“I’d rather send you to her than Calar,” Sunna said, “but the treasurers have other ideas. She might have to see him today.”

Darna shuddered at the thought of joining Iola in the rite herself. The image of Calar was distasteful too, but in a more common way. “I hope she makes his manhood wither like an old raisin.”

Sunna grunted as she adjusted her sword belt.

The morning light was streaming in under the eaves now that the sun had risen. It lit the rafters and the walls more brightly than Darna would have expected. In fact, it was rather like – “Sunna. Did you ever notice that this place is built exactly like the old sanctuary at the temple?”

“Exactly?” Sunna said. “It’s the same general kind of room, but I don’t know about exactly.”

“No, it’s the same,” Darna said. “The dimensions and the spacing between the beams and the orientation of the roof. It must be hundreds of years old – no one builds to this kind of symmetry anymore.”

“It’s not that old. It’s a copy,” the Enatel said.

“Of the old sanctuary at Ara’s Landing?” Sunna asked.

The Enatel shrugged noncommittally. “As far as I know, it’s a copy of our old hall, the one from before the Darkest Night – that’s when we ceased to exist, officially at least,” she explained to Darna. “That’s been gone a hundred years or more. This is only a copy, but don’t malign it by saying it’s like a priestess temple.”

Darna frowned. It was exactly like a priestess temple. The master planner would be overjoyed to find such a place. She wondered how it had been built, and if there was anything about it in the guild records. She wished that she could go see for herself, but she couldn’t go back to the guild now, not with Calar in the city and the tribunal coming.

While they’d been talking, all of the sleeping figures had gotten up and packed their bedrolls away in a pile at the back of the room. Garren arrived, carrying a big basket of bread, and Eppie made two runs down to the waterspout in the courtyard below. Sunna showed Darna how to hold her sword, and the Enatel came by and nodded approvingly.

“If you’re going to have someone stabbing you in the back, the least you can do is make it more painful for them,” she said. “Come on, we’ll show you how.”

#