Chapter 35 – The Capital
“At long last,” Zull said, marveling even as he said it. “Melkis. We’ve made it.”
“We’ve truly made it,” Zaphyr echoed, the weary relief in her voice plain to hear. The large bags beneath her eyes and the frazzled, disheveled way her hair hung in front of her face only helped to enhance the image. The last few weeks had been harsh to them all.
“The way should be clear from here forward,” Vyle commented, holding up a hand to shade his face as he scanned the crowded street around them. “We head to the Winter Palace, we meet with the Empress, and we deliver your letter. After that, your quest will be finished, and I get to hold it over the Empress’ head for the rest of her life that I helped save her kingdom.” A smile involuntarily crept across his face. “Oh, won’t she be just infuriated by that.”
“It never fails to amaze me how powerful of a motivator spite can be,” Vard commented idly.
“You both assume that we can make it to the palace, through this wall of people,” Sir Kyr commented. His voice was ragged and subdued, as if he had only recently screamed himself hoarse. The reality, as the twins well knew, was far worse.
“You worry too much, Sir Kyr,” Zaphyr said reassuringly. “After everything we have been through, how can something as mundane as crowds stop us?”
Even as his sister spoke, however, Zull admitted within his mind that those same crowds posed a greater challenge than any of them would have liked to admit. The twins thought they had known what a bustling city had looked like before; they could not have been more wrong. Zull hadn’t thought there could be as many people in all Melkis as he now saw standing around them, crowded into the space of a single street. They had apparently come in droves for the jubilee, the official celebration of which was supposed to commence at sundown. Regardless, the common folk were already beginning revelries of their own.
People were pressed together so closely that it was impossible not to touch someone else, the jam of constantly bumping elbows and knees irritating even the normally patient Zaphyr no end. She stroked her cat for reassurance, which meowed loudly, the clamor of the crowd agitating it. The city itself consisted almost exclusively of tall, narrow wooden buildings hastily and shoddily constructed as the capital rapidly swelled to keep pace of the empire it ruled, only helped to enhance that feeling of claustrophobia. They had to practically shout to hear each other over the constant clamor of the crowds, though there was one admitted benefit Zull saw; it would have been nearly impossible for them to be overheard or spotted by the Master’s agents, as chaotic and tumultuous as the crowds were.
And, by the same token, Zull thought, it will be impossible for us to notice them. That thought, however, only worked its way through the background of his mind amidst a constant stream of similar observations. They were more the product of paranoid habits picked up from the weeks they had spent on the run than genuine worry. Zull tried to reassure himself that the Master was no longer their problem; once they finally delivered their message, it would be up to the Empress to deal with whoever they were in truth. Zull and Zaphyr had done far, far more than anyone could reasonably ask of them.
“We’re wasting time in this idiotic gaggle,” Sir Kyr grumbled, reaching out a cloaked to shove aside several bystanders. Even as weakened and sickly as he now was, Sir Kyr still possessed far more strength than an ordinary man. He proved more than capable of easily clearing a path for the rest of their band to follow through. Even in his cloaked form, this impressive display of strength drew several stares from others in the crowd, though they quickly lost interest and returned to celebrating the Empress’ anniversary. Sir Kyr was, as always when they entered an urban area, cloaked. He pulled his hood close around his wolfish features to prevent the gathering from noticing him and turning into a panicked mob. Worries about their identities being uncovered aside, they could easily be trampled to death should that happen.
“Vyle, you were married to the Empress, once,” Sir Kyr commented under his breath to the bandit leader. “Where is the palace located?”
“How should I know?” Vyle returned crossly. “I lived here decades ago, and practically the whole city’s been rebuilt in that time, from what I see. We have been fortunate that my information has been accurate so far.”
They had indeed proven quite lucky during the final phase of their journey. The days between Veb and Melkis had gone by without so much as seeing another group of travelers, despite the great number of people making the pilgrimage to the capital for the jubilee. Indeed, save for the occasional shepherd’s homestead glimpsed in the distance, the area had seemed almost entirely devoid of human life. This had mostly been because of Vyle’s nearly encyclopedic knowledge of the area’s terrain, which had allowed them to take abandoned roads and little used trails through the hilly countryside only he seemed to be aware of and avoid the risk of a chance encounter with anyone else, especially agents of the Master. Zaphyr had asked Vyle on the final day before they reached Melkis how he knew this area so well, to which his response had been surprisingly simple.
“Well, I expect to overthrow the Empress someday, don’t I?” Vyle had replied nonchalantly to Zaphyr’s question. “I can’t expect to make much headway in a campaign aimed at taking her capital unless I know the surrounding terrain, can I? You will never get far in a campaign without knowing the area.”
Zull had considered this, his expression bemused. “You expected to overthrow the Empress of all Waed using your army of a hundred or so bandits?”
“Well, it’s a start,” Vyle had replied, unperturbed by the question. “And anyway, we’re less of an ‘army,’ per say, and more of a punitive expedition, I like to think.”
That, however, had been while they were still on the road; now that they had reached Melkis, the time for jokes, humorous or not, was past. Now, all that remained was their meeting the Empress herself.
Led by a quietly grumbling Sir Kyr and an occasionally protesting Vyle, they made their way through the winding streets of the capital towards its heart. Several times, they found their path blocked, as many of the major streets were blocked off by the city garrison to provide a clear path through the city for the parade, of which the Empress herself was supposed to be the main attraction.
“We have to reach her before that parade starts,” Zull whispered insistently. “If we don’t, she’ll be surrounded by so many guards that we’ll never get a chance.”
Redoubling their efforts, Sir Kyr plowed his way through the crowd as they forged through back alleys and side streets crammed with more people than lived in all Verun. Following the intrepid knight closely, they walked through alleyway after alleyway, but their efforts were all frustrated; the sheer number of people in the city, combined with the bewildering labyrinth of streets, meant that they looped back on themselves repeatedly, without making progress.
“We’re getting nowhere,” Sir Kyr said irritably.
“Have you considered asking a local?” Vard said archly. The rest of them looked at him, stunned. “Frankly, I’m surprised none of you thought of it; it seems so obvious to me,” he retorted in response to their stares. “The easiest answer is often the best.”
“We could accidentally expose ourselves to an agent of the Master,” Zull argued.
Vard laughed. “Well then, they will doubtless lead us right back to the Master, in which case our problem is solved. Sir Kyr here makes short work of him, and we can all go home.”
“You make a good point,” Sir Kyr admitted. He grabbed a man with a large brown beard holding a mug of beer. Pulling the man by the shoulder, he spun him to look at them. The man, whose bleary eyes and foam-covered lips showed that he was already well on his way to a drunken stupor, blinked confusedly. “Long live the Empress!” he declared, hoisting the mug above his head.
“I think we can say with confidence that this man isn’t an agent of the Master,” Vyle commented wryly. “I doubt he’ll even remember this conversation.”
Sir Kyr waited for his quarry to stop swaying, then said, “Can you tell me, good Sir, where the Winter Palace is located?”
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“The Winter Palace?” the man said, frowning as he struggled to think. “Why would you want to go there?”
“Because we’re trying to reach the Empress,” Sir Kyr explained with strained patience.
“What are you, daft?” the man said blearily.
Zull frowned thoughtfully, suddenly feeling uneasy. “Why would you say that?” he asked.
“She isn’t at the Winter Palace,” the man declared triumphantly, as if sharing a secret revelation. The twins’ faces blanched, their carefully laid plans crumbling within their minds as he continued to speak. “She’s at the Summer Palace. She’s going to take the parade, all the way from the Summer to the Winter…and meet with Prince Blyth and Grevel and the rest.” He shook his head. “What were you asking, again?”
“Just tell me where the Winter Palace is!” Sir Kyr said, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt and shaking his violently. Drunkenly, the man tried to push Sir Kyr off him but failed to do so.
“Leave me alone,” he said, slurring his words. “Just go down this street, turn left, then follow the main thoroughfare. It’s the biggest building in the city. You couldn’t possibly miss it.”
With a sound like an exasperated bark, Sir Kyr shoved the man away from him, who nearly stumbled and fell from the force. “There’s nothing more of value we’ll get from this man,” Sir Kyr said with disgust. To the man, he snapped, “On your way.”
“Long live the Empress!” the man declared again, before stumbling away and mixing with the surging tide of humanity which swirled around their stationary group, an island in the maelstrom of the jubilee.
As he walked away, they all felt a cold weight of despair covering them as the full meaning of his words settled upon them.
“A pack of fools, that’s what we are,” Vyle said with a bitter laugh. “The Summer Palace is more than an hour by horseback from the city itself. By the time we got there, she’ll already be away on the parade.”
“It’s best that we cut our losses while we can,” Vard said. “With the time we have left, we’ll never reach her before the jubilee ends.”
“We can’t give up hope just yet,” Zull said. “There’s still one more chance; we may not be able to meet with the Empress herself, but we can meet with her son.”
“Prince Blyth?” Sir Kyr said, tilting his head to the side as he considered the proposal.
“Yes,” Zull said. “That man said he was in the Winter Palace. It sounds like it isn’t far. We can deliver the message to him, and then he can act to protect us until we can pass it on to the Empress! There’s still a chance.”
“But Gerok made us swear to give it only to the Empress herself,” Zaphyr objected.
“At this point, do we have a choice?” Zull countered. “Who knows when we’ll get another opportunity like this? And every day we delay, the Master grows stronger.”
“I agree with Zull,” Vard said. “If we have the chance to meet with Prince Blyth, we must take it.”
Vyle said, “I concur,” his men nodding along with him. Sir Kyr remained thoughtfully silent.
“Very well,” Zaphyr said. “Sir Kyr, lead the way.” Following the knight and the drunken man’s directions, they made their way towards the Winter Palace, which they reached at the height of the afternoon, where the sun beating down overhead, combined with the packed crowds, made it swelteringly hot in the city. It only helped to fray Zull and Zaphyr’s nearly spent patience still further.
When it at last came into sight, the drunken man proved right about at least one thing; the Winter Palace was unmistakable. It soared above the rest of the capital, its topmost towers nearly twice as tall as any other building. Unlike the rest of the buildings in Melkis, the palace was ornamented on the outside, elegant filigree and carvings showing the effort and expense that had gone into the making of the palace.
The Winter Palace was five sided, with each wall possessing a different door which could be barred from the inside by massive oaken gates which even the greatest of battering rams would have difficulty knocking down. For now, four of those gates were closed, but the fifth and final gate stood open. An uneven stream of people, both on horseback and on foot, came in and out of the gate. Far more seemed to be entering than leaving, many of them hooded figures riding large carts, piled high with hay bales. A pair of guards, spears in hand, stood by either end of the gate, carefully inspecting everyone who passed through, both coming and going. As Sir Kyr and the rest approached, the guards stiffened, their spears outstretched. The guard on the left called “halt!” hoarsely. In response, their band slowly drew up to a halt.
“Who approaches the Empress’ Palace?” the guard on the left demanded, squinting as he studied them.
“Sir Rauldus Kyr,” the knight said evenly. They had agreed in advance that they would use Sir Kyr’s true name if asked for their identities, as he could provide information about his life before encountering Aldus Phlegm to give his story additional credibility. “As well as my companions. We are here to attend the Empress celebration.”
“Sir Kyr?” the guard on the left echoed, a puzzled expression on his face. The guard on the right stiffened slightly, gaze flicking to the hooded knight. “I don’t remember seeing a ‘Sir Kyr’ on the guest list.”
Sir Kyr waved a hand amicably. “There are a lot of names. I don’t fault you for forgetting.”
“Oh,” the guard said, evidently bewildered. The guard on the right, forcing casualness, strolled over, and whispered something in his companion’s ear. The first guard’s face quickly flicked through a series of emotions, first surprise, then fear, then crafty guile. “Ohhh,” he said again, this time drawing out the sound with evident relish.
Once more, Zull felt a sliver of worry spike slink into his mind; clearly, there was something here he was unaware of, and if it was what he suspected, he felt certain they were once more in danger. Clearly, Sir Kyr felt the same way, as he tensed, his hands dropping subconsciously to his sides.
“I am going to need to see a letter of invitation,” the guard on the left insisted. “Otherwise, we cannot let you in.”
“Really, now?” Sir Kyr said.
“If you were invited, then show it,” the guard challenged, his confidence growing. “Otherwise, you’re here to cause trouble. In which case, I will need to call the captain of the guard. We have ways of dealing with troublemakers who try to sneak in where they aren’t invited.” The guards looked at each other, and something in their expression told Zull they knew more than they were saying. As if to confirm Zull’s suspicions, another of the strange carts piled with hay bales rolled by at that moment. The guards let it through with barely a second glance and a conspiratorial nod from the cart’s driver. Zull innately felt that they were in a dangerous situation, one about which they knew far too little.
“Even feeling as weak as I do, I could kill them both before they land a blow with those clumsy spears of theirs,” Sir Kyr whispered to the twins.
While Zaphyr looked like she was considering it, Zull shook his head vigorously. “If we did, then we’d have to fight our way through the rest of the palace guards. Even if we managed to do that, the Empress and Prince Blyth will think we’re here to attack them, not save them. Besides,” he said, gesturing around. “These streets are still crowded with people. Try anything like that, and you’ll start a riot.”
“Even so, we may need to fight, regardless,” Sir Kyr told him quietly. “I don’t trust the looks those guards are giving us.”
As he said this, the guard on the right, keeping a wary eye on them, slowly leveled his spear, the point aimed directly at Sir Kyr’s heart. Speaking to the guards for the first time, Vyle commented dryly, “And just what do you intend to do with that stick of wood, my good man?”
The guard narrowed his eyes, grimacing slightly as he looked the other man in the eyes. “Vyle,” he said. “We’ve been told about you, about all of you.”
“I guessed as much,” Sir Kyr said, growling softly. There was a soft rustle as Sir Kyr started to draw one of his blades from its scabbard, but after a sharp whisper from Zull, he returned the weapon.
“If you think you’re going to get into this castle,” the guard declared, “Then you are sorely mistaken. Make a disturbance, and we’ll call for the rest of the guard. You’ll spend the rest of your lives in prison, fools. You should never have come here. In fact,” he said, speaking with growing confidence, “I think I should arrest the seven of you right now, for disturbing the peace.”
“You think you could do so, before Sir Kyr tore both of your throats out?” Vard asked, raising an eyebrow archly as he did so. Both guards froze, eyes widening in horror. “That’s what I figured. It appears we have reached an impasse; you won’t let us pass, and you have no hope of harming us.” Turning his back on them, Vard commented, “I suspect we shall meet again gentleman, in less…crowded circumstances.”
“Get out of here,” the guard on the right growled, his expression surly. The group turned and slowly walked away, melding with the crowd once more, only stopping once they were sufficiently far away that the sounds of the celebration would hide all traces of their voices.
“Thwarted again,” Vard said miserably. “And we were so close this time, as well.”
“It isn’t fair,” Zaphyr said, crossing her arms. “We triumphed over so many challenges, only to be stopped by a pair of sentries? It can’t end this way!”
“It won’t,” Zull said confidently. “We aren’t giving up yet.”
“Then what do you propose we do?” Vyle asked, his men showing by their dubious expressions that they were wondering as well.
“Simple,” Zull said. “We have to find another way in.”
“Ah, the assassin’s method,” Vyle said, nodding with understanding. At horrified looks from the others, he clarified, “…if not the assassin’s goals.”
“I fear that sneaking in will be even more difficult,” Sir Kyr said. “The palace is by no means a conventional fortress, but it is well guarded, and as we just learned, the Master’s poisonous touch has extended even into the Empress’ own guards.”
“Which only shows all the more why we have to reach Prince Blyth tonight,” Zaphyr insisted. “Otherwise, he could well be in as much danger as his mother!”
“Of course,” Vard said. “As next in line to the throne, he would obviously be an additional target for the Master in his bid for power.”
“Do we know where Prince Grevel is, at the moment?” Zull asked suddenly.
“No,” Vyle said, his expression darkening. “Do you suspect him?”
“He is the most logical choice,” Zull said. “Regardless, our goals remain the same; find our way into the palace.”
“The same problem confronts us, then,” Vard said. “The other gates will be just as guarded as this one, and most likely, those guards will be in the Master’s pay as well.”
“Who said we had to go in through a gate?” Zaphyr countered.
“If you see another way into the palace, then by all means, please suggest it,” Vard said crossly.
“Well…,” Zaphyr said, looking around searchingly. She turned her face upwards, looking at the narrow, tall houses squatting around the castle, its elegant construction contrasting sharply with their dark, wooden exteriors. “Wait.”
“What?” Zull asked.
Slowly, Zaphyr’s expression turned to a triumphant smile. “I have an idea.”