The Capital

 They rode through the afternoon and for most of that time Tex and the captain absorbed themselves in conversation about the gorgonids they rode and the horses with which the foreigner was more familiar, the practice and accouterments of riding, and the captain inquired at length about stirrups and metal shoes and other things unheard of in his country, repaying the answers with knowledge that seemed mundane to himself but was a marvel to Tex. The prince, for his part, overheard the whole discussion in a detached, distant way and said nothing, so absorbed was he in his own musings.

The villages they passed grew in size and number as the day wore on as if the great city toward which they traveled had fallen from some other place and these settlements were debris scattered by the impact. Then Anu Ra waxed on the horizon, first the mud brick facade of its walls with their packed earth core, then stables and way stations and the scattered homes of farmers along the irrigation canals. They passed along a dirt track beaten flat by streams of traffic that poured continuously through the main gate, a tall structure richly decorated with painted clay tiles depicting on one leg a warrior with spear raised overhead and on the other a serpentine monster rearing to strike.

Close-packed workers' tenements stood to both sides of the road, divided at intervals by a courtyard with a well or an open-air marketplace, smoke curling from the chimneys of forges and bakeries. This urban landscape prevailed until they crossed the canal that connected the city to the Pharor River, for beyond the bridge the buildings were larger, the foundations and road of stone, the road lined with date palms such that those in the entourage were hardly touched by sunlight in that quarter. To their right rose the many-terraced Temple of the Moons, a mountain among the lesser buildings at its base, altars to lesser gods and large basins where worships could perform ablutions. Long ramps climbed its side and converged on the altar at the summit, a massive slab of granite where priests in their brilliant blue robes, hardly more than specks at that distance, performed arcane rites. On the other side was a second wall containing the citadel that was the palace. It was a stark place in comparison, with slit windows and crenellated roof that spoke to the threat under which the royal family lived. The ground before the wall had been cleared so that nothing could overtop it and the gates set into each section were squat, heavily built, unornamented things. The guards on watch wore armor of bronze scales fastened together into a mail coat and carried tall, rectangular shields on which were geometric designs in the royal colors of purple and gold. They stamped the grounding spikes of their sarissas on the paving stones in salute as the prince rode through the arched gatehouse.

Once they were inside and had dismounted the captain took their gorgonids to the stables, leaving the three alone and each in their own way at a loss concerning how to proceed. Tex was almost wholly ignorant, Neteth knew, and Asphodel would be unwelcome. Still, he told himself, he owed them at least the courtesy of a good host and had resolved to have them fed and put up for the evening in his quarters, for in another watch or so it would be sundown.

“Welcome back,” said a familiar voice, and the prince turned to see Ubashekar hobbling toward him. Despite his age he retained some trace of youthful vigor and clasped Neteth's shoulders with surprising strength as he inquired solicitously about what had happened.

Neteth gave, in abridged form, an account up to the point of his capture, at which the sukallu noted the reversal in fortune that he had returned with a captive.

“Yes, none other than their leader, Hati.”

“Is that so?” Ubashekar asked. “I beg your pardon, but... certain matters must be attended to, and better if I do so summarily.”

“Go, then. You'll hear the full story soon enough.”

“I do hope so. I have been waiting since this morning for news of your well-being. And I look forward to hearing from your guests as well,” the sukallu said and then, once the necessary genuflections had been performed, departed.

“Where's he off to?” Tex asked.

“He oversees many functions of the house, including the dungeon. He'll want that bandit's side of the story as well.”

“Guess we won't be seeing him again,” Tex said laconically.

“Most likely not.” But the question of Hati's fate was soon pushed from his mind as he detailed to servants what he needed, and in an hour all three had washed off the dust of the road, put on new clothes, and were ready for the evening meal.

The palace had a hall for feasts, yet the king chose to summon the prince and his companions to a small room with a table hardly large enough to seat them all, on which was laid out a simple but carefully prepared meal of mutton shank and unleavened bread and barley soup. The king welcomed them politely and asked that they not worry overmuch about formality, being new to his country's ways and friends of his son - “I assume,” he added with a smile that belied the silent tension in his eyes. He was not an old man yet but his hair was beginning to gray and his strength had been waning some time. His long reign had taken much from him, including what had once seemed a bottomless wellspring of energy and this current incarnation, for all his wisdom, still yearned for the old days when the world had been simpler. Sometimes he stroked his beard, a nervous gesture he had stopped noticing long ago.

“I've heard some of the story from Pashurnipal,” he said.

“And I will tell you everything. But first,” Neteth said, and gestured toward the others in turn, “this is Tex, a traveler from far afield who came to my aid. The other is Asphodel, a fellow captive who helped us escape.”

The king scrutinized her. “Where are you from?”

Seeing her hesitation, Neteth spoke for her: “She is a citizen of Zannu.”

“Is that what she tells you?”

“She tells me hardly anything. However, you can plainly see she is a foreigner and from the south.” He glanced at her long, raven-black hair.

“I see.” The king picked at his food, cutting meat, breaking the bread into little pieces, and hardly ever bothering to take a bite. “Do you know how fortunate you are?”

“Less than I would like. Those criminals completely spoiled my hunt.”

“Never mind that. You shouldn't have been out alone in the first place. Do you listen to a word I say? The whole kingdom does but for you,” he said, then sighed and some of the fire left his voice. “I should have taken you on campaign. Then you would know what danger is. This world will snuff you out in an instant if you let it.”

“I know-”

“You might know, but you don't feel it.”

The king regarded Asphodel with the look of a man accustomed to being surrounded by enemies, his eyes burning with some inner intensity as though reflecting the alien light of worlds stranger still than Tanit-el. He had been forged in a rarefied environment, one with luxuries and authority any man would covet and had not for a single moment allowed himself to forget how easily all that could be snatched from him. In such moments he resembled a lone lion hunched over its kill. Then he turned his attention to Tex, who had long ago obliterated any trace of food in front of him and had leaned his chair back on two legs.

“I would like to speak with you and properly thank you for saving my son. But the hour is late and other things must be seen to.”

“I don't mind waiting til morning.”

The king nodded curtly, stood, and departed.

“That was pretty good,” said Tex.

Prince Neteth had his own opinion, though he didn't say. He was preoccupied, as he would be for much of the night, with foreboding thoughts of what the morning might bring.