0593071492 (F) by Stella Gemmell

Author:Stella Gemmell [Gemmell, Stella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

DAWN WAS A bright splash of coral in a sky of bird’s egg and navy blue, but Dol Salida did not enjoy it. It was a long time since he had last appreciated a sunrise. Once again he had played urquat far into the night until his opponents had staggered, beaten and yawning, to their beds. From then until the first chirrup of the new day he had updated his files in his meticulous, tiny hand, drawing on information gleaned by himself during the day, and by Sully, who roamed the City for him now Dol was marooned on the Shield, far from anywhere.

Time was when the old cavalryman had limped the streets of the City, disregarding the pains in his leg and hip, sucking in the fetid life-force of the alleys and lanes, the canals and culverts, markets, temples, inns and boarding houses, mansions and hovels, each day reclaiming ownership of his City for himself. He had lived and fought for it all his life and he could do no other.

But now he was caught in a two-fold trap. His new, powerful but empty position as the empress’s first counsellor kept him glued to her side, for each day she needed to consult with him, on anything and everything, on troop movements among the remaining regiments, on the new embroidery for the library chairs, or on the precise meaning of a word she believed one of her military chiefs had used in a slovenly way. Archange enjoyed his company; Dol knew that. She often claimed she liked to have young people around her, but Dol didn’t believe it for a heartbeat. In truth she enjoyed sharing the company of someone who understood the pains and frustrations of being old, although, he thought, he understood nothing else about the woman.

And secondly, he was trapped daily, hourly, every moment, by the pains in his leg. It had been injured fifty years before when, as a young trooper, he had been thrown from his mount during a battle, now long forgotten, against the Odrysians at the eastern frontier town of Markusia. With an old soldier’s nostalgia, and flexing his new-found power in the palace, he had earlier in the year sent a troop of soldiers to investigate the town. Just dust and ruins, had been their curt report. And a few goats. Goats mean people, he had thought angrily. The townsfolk were just hiding, understandably. He was tempted to send the soldiers back, then, in a rush of common sense, had decided against it. What was the point of terrifying a handful of peasants just to satisfy a passing whim?

He had been thrown off the horse, a black mare called Darkest, but his foot had caught in the stirrup and the fool animal had dragged him half a league before stopping. The hip and knee joints had been entirely disconnected and he had spent more than ten days in misery until they healed sufficiently for him to walk again. But he never walked properly, without pain.

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