Duskfall (48 page)

Hopefully.

* * *

At first, as they approached the city wall, they barely noticed the sound: a low hum, almost a vibration. As they drew closer, the hum escalated. The hum of a crowd.

“Canta’s breath,” Lian said beside him. “Hope this ain’t another execution. Why do we always arrive in cities during a party?”

Knot glanced at Winter, whose face was tense and pale.

“What’s wrong with her?” Astrid said. “Looks like she’s just seen one of the Nine Daemons.”

Both Cinzia and Jane looked up sharply. Knot frowned. He knew that whatever the two had been translating—he had heard them discuss the Nine Scriptures, but was slow to believe it—talked about daemons, and monsters, and prophecies. Knot didn’t care for whatever in Oblivion it was. He had more immediate concerns. But the two women did seem jumpy.

Knot looked back at Winter. Thinking back on the destruction she’d witnessed in Navone must be painful. Tentatively he reached out. She flinched as he placed his hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t shrug him off. She didn’t look back at him, either, but at least she didn’t push him away.

* * *

The streets grew crowded as they approached the imperial palace. They walked along a wide street, in the wake of a mass of people.

The Rodenese were tall. Most of the women were almost as tall as Knot, some taller, and most of the men dwarfed him by more than a head. They were fair, too, light of hair and eye.

They arrived at a massive avenue leading directly to the huge domed palace. The road was paved, wide enough for three or four wagons to pass each other easily. People crowded the sides of the street, overflowing into connecting roads, waiting impatiently.

Winter stepped up beside him. “Should we ask what is going on?” She seemed nervous; these crowds were definitely reminding her of Navone.

Knot looked around. It seemed the people watching from the road were commoners, for the most part, bundled in dull wool coats and jackets. As Knot looked up, he saw many others watching from the balconies of the buildings that lined the street. These people were obviously of a higher class, wearing colorful tunics and long, form-fitting coats. Curiously, the men who watched from the balconies seemed to all have clean-shaven faces. A strange habit for the upper class, and impractical for such a climate. But, then again, the nobility that Knot had known—or that Lathe had known, he supposed—never cared much for practicality.

After shaving in Navone, Knot had regrown his beard. Fortunately the common men around him seemed to care less about shaving their whiskers than the nobles, many of them wearing full beards. Knot didn’t want to showcase the fact that they were foreigners. The robed men had planned on bringing Winter here, after all. Attracting attention was a bad idea on all fronts. But Winter was right. They needed to understand what was going on.

To Knot’s surprise, Astrid took the initiative.

“Excuse me,” the girl said. Knot turned to see Astrid tugging at the hem of a woman’s skirt, looking up at the tall, straw-haired woman expectantly.

“Oh my,” the woman said, looking around. “Are you all right? Lost your family?”

“No, they’re close by,” Astrid said. Knot was surprised by her accent; she spoke with the clipped rhythm of the Rodenese perfectly. “Why are all these people here?”

“Your parents haven’t told you? Poor child.” The woman’s eyes settled on Knot. He felt more than a little disdain boring into him.

“This is the parade of glory,” the woman said with a smile, looking back down at Astrid. “The emperor and all of the finest lords are here, and the high priestess and every matron in Roden. Even the Ceno are here,” the woman said, almost muttering to herself, now. “Although the emperor isn’t too happy about that.”

“What’s a Ceno?” Astrid asked.

Knot received another disapproving glare. “A Ceno,” the woman said, “is a monk of our new religion. Some of us are tired of belonging to the religion of our enemies. We’ve returned to our old gods, seeking their protection.”

“Oh,” Astrid said.

Suddenly trumpets blared from the direction of the massive domed palace in the distance. People began talking more loudly, voices rising in excitement.

Astrid scurried away from the woman and resumed her place at Knot’s side. He made sure everyone else was close—Winter and Lian were on his other side, Jane, Cinzia, and Kovac behind him—and moved with the rest of the crowd to the edge of the road.

“Should we even stay for this?” Winter whispered beside him. “I thought we wanted to avoid attention.”

“We do,” Knot said. “Sometimes the best place to hide is out in the open. And might be we could learn something from this.”

A low, steady drumbeat sounded in the distance. Murmurs of excitement flowed around them like water, from person to person and parent to child. Every eye looked to the palace, at the opening gates.

A large, colorful wagon pulled by a team of horses rolled out of the gateway. Four soldiers marched in front of the horses, dressed in the sky-blue of Roden.

The wagon was huge. Even from this distance Knot could see that it towered above the soldiers, at least three or four times their height. It was oddly shaped too, elongated. A section jutted over the horses, a fabricated animal head of some kind.

“Holy Oblivion,” Winter said.

“What
is
that?” Astrid asked.

“It’s a dragon,” Jane whispered behind him.

Before Knot could say anything, a deep roar sounded from the wagon and Knot looked back just in time to see a jet of bright orange flame burst outwards from the head of the giant beast. The crowd burst into a chorus of oohs and ahs.

The wagon moved slowly down the road behind the four soldiers. It really did look like a dragon, fierce and horned, with wild painted eyes and a gaping, fanged mouth. The head trailed forward over the horses on a long neck, swinging slowly back and forth. Wings of cloth and wood framing spread out from the body of the wagon, casting large shadows over the crowd on either side. It was, for the most part, ice-blue, similar to the uniforms worn by the soldiers. The entire thing was constructed of wood and metal, hinges and interlocking plates.

The dragon spouted another cone of flame, this time blue in color, and the crowd cheered even louder.

“Canta rising,” Cinzia whispered beside him. Something in her voice made Knot turn. She stared at the dragon, her face pale, lips slightly parted. Jane whispered something in her sister’s ear, and Cinzia nodded slowly.

As the soldiers and the dragon drew closer, Knot observed shiny steel plate armor, glinting in the sunlight, beneath sky-blue tabards. The soldiers carried long spears and large, diamond-shaped shields painted the same sky-blue.

The dragon towered above the soldiers, blocking the sun with one of its dark-blue wings. Knot felt the heat of another blast of blue flame, and wondered what sort of pyromancy produced the effect. When he looked closely, he saw creaking wheels behind the beast’s large, cumbersome legs. The crowd cheered and applauded as the dragon lumbered past.

An oversized puppet
, Knot thought,
that breathes fire.
The huge tail, nearly the entire length again of the rest of the body, swung listlessly behind the construction.

Behind the tail marched ranks of drummers and trumpeters. Knot counted thirty in all, as their instruments, of many varying sizes, filled the air with sound. Each player wore tight white trousers, a light-blue tunic, and a strange white cap that covered only the top of their head. They looked straight ahead, blowing through brass horns and banging large drums in perfect time. Behind them a troupe of dancers, jesters, and acrobats moved in time with the deep drumbeats.

“They’ve got to be freezing their asses off,” Lian said behind him.

It was true; Knot could see his breath in front of his face, but the dancers, male and female, twirling and leaping past, wore little more than transparent silks and mesh. Probably working hard enough to stay warm, at least, though Knot doubted they were given a choice.

“One of the costs of living in an empire,” Knot said. “A lot less opportunity to say ‘no.’”

Behind the array of performers and acrobats marched more soldiers. Knot knew these on sight. Reapers. Instead of the sky-blue of most Rodenese soldiers and banners, they wore midnight-blue and dark-gray lacquered armor. Each man carried a round shield and a melee weapon: heavy axes with curved blades and spikes, morningstars, maces with heavy iron heads, and warhammers. At their waists, each carried a longsword and a dagger.

The Reapers were Roden’s elite soldiers. Each man was trained from birth to fight and kill, alone and in formation, in the name of the emperor. They marched in perfect ranks behind the performers. The strange chaos and movement of the dancers contrasted starkly to the order of the Reapers’ march.

Behind the Reapers came another wagon, one that Knot would have called massive had it not been for the huge dragon that came before. This one was also shaped as a dragon, albeit more subtly than its predecessor; six white horses, draped in blue, preceded it, their shoulders almost as tall as Knot stood.

At the top of the wagon stood someone Knot
did
recognize. Knot had seen the man’s strong jaw, cold eyes, and shining bald head in his dreams.

Emperor Grysole.

A Reaper guarded each corner of the wagon, while the emperor stood at the peak of a small pyramid in the middle of the rolling dais. He wore a long, fur-lined cloak of sky-blue, underneath which gilded plate glinted in the sunlight, forcing Knot to squint. Emperor Grysole waved lazily at the crowd.

“Who is that?” Winter asked.

“The emperor,” Knot said. “I… I know him.”

Winter looked sharply at Knot. “You know him? You mean you remember him?”

Knot shook his head. “Not exactly. Seen him in my dreams, but never recognized him or put a name to his face. Now that I’m seeing him here, in person… I
do
remember him.”

“What are we supposed to do about that?” she whispered. “How do you know the emperor of Roden?”

“Don’t know,” Knot said, hesitating. “But I don’t think we’re friends.”

Behind the emperor came another formation of Reapers, marching perfectly in time. Then, on another large wagon, stood a woman in a crimson dress.

“The high priestess of Roden,” Cinzia whispered. “Highest ranking clergywoman in the empire.” The Trinacrya embroidered on the high priestess’s dress was the only contrast to the flowing scarlet fabric. If the emperor had been lazy when waving at the masses, the high priestess was downright disdainful. A formation of Goddessguards and priestesses marched around her wagon, dressed in Canta’s red-and-white.

“Below her stand the matrons,” Cinzia said. “Dressed in white.”

Knot saw the women Cinzia indicated on the wagon a few pedestals lower than the high priestess. The Cantic Denomination’s hierarchy was strict: priestesses reported to matrons, who in turn reported to a high priestess, who reported to the High Camarilla itself—and that was only the priesthood. The Arm of Inquisition and the Mind of Revelation had their own separate structures.

The crowd quieted significantly as the Cantic procession passed. Many still shouted their adoration, but others remained quiet, glaring at the wagon and the red-and-white-clad women.

As the tail end of the procession approached, the crowd burst into the loudest applause and shouting yet.

No wagons rolled with this last section; only a small wooden chariot drawn by two healthy but plain-looking geldings. A cluster of seemingly normal citizens preceded the chariot. Worn and dirtied farmers, blacksmiths and butchers still wearing their aprons, merchants in fine-fitting suits. Two figures stood in the chariot, one hooded and one not. Both wore familiar dark-green robes. Knot recognized the unhooded man immediately by his long blond hair.

It was the Tokal.

“Knot—” Winter whispered.

“Ease back into the crowd,” he said. “Hide your faces best you can.” It was unlikely that anyone could pick out their faces in such a mass of people; there had to be thousands lining the avenue. But Knot had never been keen on taking chances.

Behind the chariot walked another cluster of figures, all robed in dark green. Knot’s chest tightened. His heart pumped through his chest. If the men noticed them, if they recognized Knot or Winter, the game was up.

“Who are they?” Cinzia whispered as they watched the group pass.

“Must be the Ceno,” Knot said under his breath. By the sound of the crowd’s cheers, this had to be the group the woman had spoken of to Astrid. “Roden’s new religion.”

“
Old
religion,” Astrid corrected him. “They sure seem popular.” The crowd cheered even more loudly for this group than for the emperor.

“If they’re a new—er, newly reformed—religion,” Jane asked, “why hasn’t the High Camarilla sent a Holy Crucible here?”

“Roden’s laws are different,” Cinzia said. “The Denomination can regulate religion in Khale because our government gave them that power. In Roden, other religions are allowed. Canticism only became the major religion by default, when the Azure Empire was formed.”

The robed men passed by, and slowly Knot relaxed. They hadn’t been noticed—or, if they had, no one had done anything about it.

Another group of trumpeters and drummers marched by, followed by another group of sky-blue-clad soldiers in formation, and then the parade moved down the street, out of sight. The gates of the imperial palace had been closed, and the crowd in front of it was already dispersing. The crowd around Knot were chattering excitedly. Knot watched them and for a brief moment his eyes met those of a young boy on his father’s shoulders. The boy looked at Knot openly, eyes wide, pale hair blowing in the wind.

Within Knot, something stirred. He felt an odd sense of protectiveness. The boy’s father lifted him easily from his shoulders, tossed him into the air and caught the child in his arms. The boy giggled, and then Knot lost sight of them in the crowd.

Knot wasn’t sure how to explain what he felt, but… he
wanted
that. He wanted to toss his own children up into the air and—