Bloodbound by F. Wesley Schneider

Author:F. Wesley Schneider
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2015-10-04T16:00:00+00:00

24

THE UNINVITED

JADAIN

The sun rose across a green desert of rye. Oasis-clusters of small farmhouses sat far back from the road, purposefully discouraging visitors.

The hills of Kavapesta had leveled, leaving the horizon broken only by the Hungry Mountains behind and occasional marches of tangled trees—old growth left to divide the vast properties of local lords. Dual paths sped our travel, the hard-packed earth of the New Surdina’s final furlongs, and—never more than a few dozen yards away—the steep banks of the Vhatsuntide River. The chilly water dashed in reckless white bursts over rocks and fallen branches, obviously just as eager to escape Amaans county as we were.

As the sun rose, the morning mists lifted. Gradually, a singular tower formed on the horizon, a lofty thing like a lance driven into the ground by its grip. I’d never laid eyes on it before, but I knew it immediately.

“The Palace Tower.” I pointed ahead.

On the driver’s bench next to me, Tashan raised his eyes and nodded.

He seemed underwhelmed, but he hadn’t spent his entire life seeing it on nearly every pennant, crest, gate, and courthouse. The tower adorned the royal seal, being the pinnacle of Stagcrown Palace, the original home of Ustalav’s royal court. Something between history and legend said that Soividia Ustav, the nation’s first king, raised the tower so he could see across the lands he’d conquered and personally keep watch against the barbarians he’d driven out. The tower was a symbol of the king’s protection, the light in its highest window reminding the people of their lord’s endless vigil.

At least, that’s how it was on all the royal crests.

In truth, the Palace Tower was much shorter than I’d imagined. Although still easily the tallest structure in the city taking shape below it, the tower probably didn’t afford a view of more than a few dozen miles even at its highest point. Beyond the unrealistic physical possibilities, modern politics made the tower the symbol of a lost legend. Stagcrown Palace hadn’t served as the capitol since the royal court moved to Caliphas more than forty years ago. Since then, the palace was maintained as a royal holding, but it didn’t have any function I knew of. Certainly no light shone from the tower’s height this morning.

The tower wasn’t the only vacant structure. In the surrounding fields the homes of peasants gave way to manors surrounded by sprawling gardens and wrought-iron fences. I recognized these from the Caliphas countryside, the homes of nobles cleaving to the royal court. But even as grand homes clustered close, the countryside was no less empty.

We passed empty gatehouses and quiet fields. Gardens sought to escape over crumbling walls, often crawling to the very edge of the road. Many of the manors looked like they were sleeping—or worse—no glass reflecting from their window-eyes and ivy growing like the beards of vagabonds.

That’s not to say nothing moved in those sad little empires. Armies of crows and pigeons bivouacked on roofs and between hedgerows, frequently skirmishing in both sky and field.

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