Nathaniel held the reins of the courier horse tightly in a white knuckle grip as it galloped along the well travelled track to the main road. Bouncing to and fro from atop the saddle with knees already weak and failing to support his heavy body, he was immensely thankful for the earthen construction of the path that the great distance from the city had necessitated. He dreaded the sharp, repetitive shocks that were an inevitability on Maegwyn’s hard, cobbled streets. His body was going to be painfully sore for a certainty the following morning.
The crisp repetitive clattering sound of hoof on stone broke the spell of silence cast over the sleeping outer city. Its residents, primarily the laborers of the city lay sleeping in their ramshackle homes of timber and thatch. A general malaise had long fallen over what had been a once active underclass as their ranks were swelled by recently released serfs, following the Empress’s abolishment of that evil custom, while the available work within the city dried up due to the majority of the city’s affluent employers being stripped of their wealth outright or fleeing the city. Passing between decaying homes on the main thoroughfare to the city’s curtain wall, the quiet seemed even deeper than usual, many of the indolent peasants having been conscripted into the growing ranks of the Home Guard.
He eyed the lifeless collection of weathered shelters with some compassion. While the Empress had been the savior of many within the Empire with her general deposition of the oftentimes tyrannous nobility, not all had benefitted equally from her reforms. The Empress was more interested in breaking ground in far off lands that had hitherto been wild and unsettled than attracting new wealthy patrons to Maegwyn to spur its revival. The remaining peasants could only wait for the day that an imperial crier came to enlist settlers to settle in newly charted towns or hope for even the meagerest of employment from the artisans still left in the inner city. These people, already half abandoned by the Empire, would be the first casualties in the event of invasion. Their homes in the outer city lying far beyond the protective embrace of the city’s curtain wall would likely be reduced to so much rubble in the event of an attack. The survivors, already impoverished, and in many cases starving, would be displaced, becoming a helpless band of refugees cast adrift in a bloody war.
“Halt! Who goes there at this benighted hour?” A voice rang out from above as Nathaniel approached the Eagle’s Gate, the southern gate of the city’s curtain wall. The voice was youthful but tired, clearly unused to the drudgery and long hours imposed upon the city’s defenders.
Looking up, Nathaniel saw the cleanly shaven face of the youth that had challenged his approach peering out from an aperture in the gatehouse tower. It was almost midnight, and the squat stone structure was only barely illuminated from within and from the feeble light cast by the flickering torches of those curious men patrolling atop the wall that had been drawn to the commotion. These were clearly newly inducted men of the Home Guard, inexperienced and poorly suited for guarding the gates of the city at night, being unable to even recognize the second most important man of the Empire.
“Look here you lout” Nathaniel answered back, impatient at the delay caused by their inexperience. Who else would be coming through to the inner city at this late hour when only just prior to his arrival they had let through the courier, on the very horse Nathaniel now rode, bound for his manse. Inwardly grumbling, he proffered his right hand towards the sentry now leaning down from the tower, the burning crown of the Empress imposed upon the gripped sword of the Lord Protector emblazoned upon its face, the mark of his rank.
“Ah… No offense m’lord. Open the gate for the Lord Protector!” The sentry cried, ordering the gate to be opened, before bowing low in apology.
Nathaniel gave the mad a curt nod as the wooden gate swung wide, allowing him into the inner city. At least the watchmen hadn’t been so untrained as to be unable to recognize his badge of office. Perhaps in several months time, if they survived that long, they would even reach half the level of competence demanded by the imperial legions, he though with a wry grin. On second thought, if this was the level of the city watchmen the defense of the city and its inhabitants will be trying indeed, his expression sobered at the idea.
In sharp contrast to the dead quiet of the outer city, the inner city was teeming with life even into this late hour. While most shutters were closed to preserve heat in the chill autumn weather, a faint glow emanated from dozens of buildings alongside the main road, catching on the drifting smoke in the air spat by dozens of forges and kilns. Being largely populated by skilled artisans, merchants, imperial functionaries, and the various apprentices of each it had weathered the economic hardships brought on by the Empress’s ascension with far greater alacrity than the common laborers of the outer city. A few groups, namely those merchant dealers in luxury goods and the likes of silver or goldsmiths, had seen a marked reduction in clientele following the general disempowerment of the nobility, with many abandoning the city for greener pastures elsewhere. However, the majority of the inner city’s populace had always been blacksmiths, ironmongers, tanners, and other such practical trades that had found new patronage supplying the endlessly ravenous imperial legions.
Fighting through the chokingly thick smoke spat from the combined industrial emanations of the city, Nathaniel finally reached the foot of the Palatial Hill, upon which the city’s inner wall lay, marking the division between the inner and upper city. While a gatehouse did exist dividing the two parts of the city, the gate was locked upon and the gatehouse unmanned except in times of enemy attack. Not that there was anything in the upper city worthy of stealing anymore, he thought with a snort as his horse began climbing the hill.
The upper city was built around the Palatial Hill in a spiraling pattern, ascending the hill with gradual incline as the road gently corkscrewed to the summit. As the horse climbed, the sound of toil so present in the inner city faded away to be replaced by deathly quiet. In contrast to the outer city that was merely sleeping or disinterested, the upper city held a perpetual aura of quiet gloom even into the day. Stifling the feelings of unease that had always made themselves apparent when he passed through on his way to the palace, Nathaniel rode on, passing by row after row of the dreary, decrepit shells of townhouses and mansions that had once been a sight of splendor. The dwellings of the fallen nobility that had once resided in the capital, exerting so much influence in both the court and the vitality of the city, now law dormant, their decay husks more diminished every year from the changing of the seasons as they fractured and crumbled to dust.
Despite the return to stability of the Empire in the wake of the ascension of the Empress, all but a scant few of these great houses had been left abandoned. The dread atmosphere of the upper city, carefully cultivated during the time of the purges of the aristocracy discouraged all but the most stout hearted of the newly wealthy. Here and there, unblinking eyes stared out from within the shadowed confines of crumbling homes, squatters taking advantage of the unfortunate circumstances that had befallen previous occupants to secure a more structurally sound, if slowly decaying none the less, home than the ramshackle abodes of the outer city. Oftentimes the crumbling ruins served well to conceal their shady dealings or serve as inconspicuous store rooms for goods of dubious legality. Occasionally, when their presence so close to the palace grew too much to bear, the Home Guard would root them out, with the club when granting mercy, and the sword when not. For the most part however, the squatters were left alone, the Empress finding great humor in the defilement of the seats of power of her vanquished foes at the hands of the vermin of society. Riding out of the deathly quiet of an abandoned square, Nathaniel finally reached the crest of the hill and the imposing palace that lay atop it.
Built from stone excavated from dozens of quarries throughout the Empire, the palace resembled a patchwork quilt of mismatched colored stone. Designed as both functional seat of governance and nigh unassailable fortress in equal measure, the palace contained an imposing outer wall looming high over the rest of the city interspersed with crenellated towers and covered with ramparts granting a commanding view of not only the city itself, but also the network of farmland and pastures radiating outwards from the city far into the horizon. Contained within the palace wall were dozens of interconnected buildings consisting of audience chambers, offices, barracks, servants quarters, store rooms, anything and everything to achieve its purpose as both military base and center of administration.
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At the center of the maze of buildings stood two great structures. The first was the palace keep, a squat, functional fortification built atop the underground cisterns and store rooms that housed provisions enough to provide the defenders of the city with food and water for up to a full year under siege. It’s thick stone bulk was heavily reinforced with supporting timber and entirety of the fortress was ringed with arrow slits and murder holes granting it an intimidating aura that in times of conflict would strike fear into the hearts of all those intent on conquering it. The roof of the keep was bare and flat, featureless save for crenellated walls and a bridge connecting to the other great structure, the Spire.
Built at the pinnacle of a small plateau divided from the rest of the Palatial Hill by a series of deep ravines worn away in ages past by a raging river, that flows through them to this day acting as a natural moat, the Spire rose up, seemingly impossibly high into the sky for the stonework of mere mortal men. It’s graceful twisting patterns of cut stone spiraling up its outer edge lent it an otherworldly appearance. It was home to the personal rooms of the Empress, along with a vast repository of accumulated knowledge the content of which even the Lord Protector remained ignorant of.
Finding the guards of the palace gates far more competent and alert than the feeble boys at the Eagle’s Gate, Nathaniel pulled through and into the palace without a word, merely offering a nod of respect at the men as he passed through. Their competence was hardly surprising as the famed Empress’s Shield were the only men allowed to man the walls of the palace and guarantee the safety of the Empress. A steward awaited him at the inside of the gate. He was an older man, clothed in a neutral grey and brown cloth the style of which was popular among the imperial administrators, possessing a calm demeanor. Despite his passivity, a trace of sweat on his faintly trembling brow reflected his inner turmoil. It would appear that whatever had prompted the summons was a rather grave matter indeed.
“Her Majesty, the Empress awaits your presence m’lord… In the Spire.” The steward spoke carefully, emphasizing the location as Nathaniel’s face scrunched up in an expression of utter bewilderment.
He had never stepped foot inside the spire before, his secret conversations with the Empress being such that the isolated windowless chamber tucked away, deep within the palace was sufficient enough security. The only ones allowed within the Spire were the Empress’s personal handmaidens, and a few select individuals specifically at her invitation, namely her uncle or the occasional reclusive scholar. To be summoned to her very bedchambers, the situation must be absolutely dire, Nathaniel mused.
“I’ll guide you.” The steward said with a practiced bow, leading Nathaniel on through the twisting corridors to the very heart of the palace until he stopped at the base of the bridge spanning across to the Spire, turning to him.
“I can go no further, you must cross on your own m’lord.” With another bow the steward departed, gesturing for Nathaniel to cross the bridge.
He replied with an affirmative nod of his head, before stepping onto the bridge. Immediately upon standing atop the bridge. He felt the already chill temperature of the air plummet yet further, swift winds rising from the yawning chasm below and blowing with force across the length of the bridge.
Nathaniel wrapped his arms around himself to combat the frigid wind as he struggled his way across. As the buffeting wind pulled against his body with considerable force he struggled, grabbing ahold of the bridge’s firm stone railing to brace himself. He made the mistake of looking down as he grasped the railing. A seemingly endless channel of weather worn stone extended near vertically down the ravine, with a raging, roiling mass of churning water far, far below that was dizzying to look upon, overcoming his senses with intense feelings of vertigo.
It would be so very easy to fall here he thought, his body plunging into the depths, surely to be dashed against the rocks as he was overcome by the current. He felt oddly drawn in, as if he was called to gaze upon the depths, even as his senses were plagued with dizziness. Before his wayward thoughts could progress further, the wind intensified, all but throwing him back away from the railing for his act of hubris in gazing into the abyss. Still painfully chilled and clutching his madly beating heart, he staggered his way slowly and carefully the rest of the way to the Spire. Whereupon the other side he collapsed into a heap on the wide balcony to which the bridge connected, struggling to regain his breath.
Having never before been to the Spire, he had previously held some amount of curiosity regarding what went on within and what was held inside. However, after his ordeal crossing that blighted bridge across the chasm his former curiosity had drained out of him. The only feeling that remained was the desire to finish his audience as quickly as possible so that he may leave the heights, hopefully never to return. The entrance door upon the balcony suddenly opened, startling Nathaniel enough that he jumped up with a start.
“Easy there m’lord, Her Majesty wouldn’t want her Lord Protector dying of fright so soon after his tumble on the bridge.” Jested a feminine voice lightly, not bothering to conceal her mirth at his misfortune.
Nathanie’s ears burned red with embarrassment, to have stumbled to his near death attempting to cross a simple bridge was foolish enough, but to have done so in clear view of a mere servant… Perhaps it would have been better if he had just fallen over the railing instead, troubles of the Empire be damned.
“Never mind that, I have an audience with Her Majesty.” Nathaniel stated, his somewhat eager voice betraying the racing of his heart from his near death experience.
He did not deign to rebuke the insolent servant for her mockery, the Empress’s personal handmaidens were all highly trusted individuals that, in her eyes at least, were only somewhat below the members of her privy council in terms of rank no matter what the general populace’s views of them were. The woman, of aged appearance but still possessing youthful vigor, beckoned for him to follow along with her hand.
“Come along then, Her Majesty is waiting.” She said with a hint of impatience as Nathaniel groggily followed her inside the Spire, his head still spinning from the intense vertigo of the bridge.
Inside the tower, his eyes were met by a narrow corridor winding its way along the edge of the tower, a twisting staircase accompanying it as it spun upwards. Shut, evenly spaced doors were embedded in the wall at the center of the tower going all the way around. Above each door was a wooden nameplate, but whose labels were scrawled in no language he knew, consisting of seemingly random numbers and letters. This must be the Empress’s repository he mused, but the gods only know what is actually stored behind those doors. Tearing his gaze away from the mysterious doors he followed his guide, ascending the spiraling staircase as it crawled up the inside of the tower.
With every new floor ascended, the air seemed to get colder and colder, the wind howling outside increasing in volume as heard through the thin slits in the wall that served as the daytime lighting for the tower. Tapestries, which had been scarce near the entrance became more common as the he ascended until they almost completely blanketed the bare stone walls. Of chaotic design with seemingly no thought given to commonalities in the selection as a whole, they coated the walls in what must have been the work of hundreds of seamstresses. For all that, it seemed to have done little to retain heat, as by the time he reached the top floor frost covered the walls and floor, a freezing wind blowing through the openings of the tower like a gale.
“The Empress is ready to receive you, m’lord.” The handmaiden said, bowing lightly to Nathaniel before departing back down the stairs at a seemingly reckless pace.
He wondered why she would depart so suddenly when he heard a loud crash. His gaze instantly humped to the sole, solitary door at the end of the antechamber in which he now found himself. Whatever that sound was, it was coming from the Empress’s bed chambers. He braced himself, mentally preparing for what she may have to say to him. He did not want to provoke her ire, and he was well aware he was already in her bad graces from their last meeting. As he was gathering his wits and courage, another crash bellowed from beyond the door, the thick oak planks of its construction vibrating violently with the intensity of the crash. Alarmed, Nathaniel forsook his preparations, grasping a frost encrusted door handle and wresting it open with a sharp tug.