The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

Chapter VI

The City of the Magi

In which they seek the Fire Lords

Edana glanced inside the tent. As she hoped, Lord Senet was alone. He still faced Nensela, but he turned his head sharply at her approach.

“Young miss? Are you taking your leave now?” With his profile presented to her he divided his attention between her and Lady Nensela.

“Your Grace. I am sorry to intrude—”

He held up a hand. “No, you love her, too. Come. Before you go to do her bidding, say what you will to her.”

Edana drew even with him. She glanced down at him, studying him. Not for the first time she marveled at him. Like Ziri or Lysander he was lean-muscled and graceful. Like Lady Nensela, he appeared no older than Lysander.

The eyes he fastened on her were not as dark as Lady Nensela’s obsidian; they were chestnut brown. When she first met him they had sparked with warmth. Now they were shadowed with pain.

And fear.

Unfortunately—from Edana’s perspective—Senet had cut off his braids, perhaps in mourning. One cozy evening Lady Nensela told Edana stories of her past. Some stories included Senet, and by the way she described him Edana noted Lady Nensela loved his long hair.

Nevertheless, Edana acutely understood his actions. But she had petitioned the Sower on Lady Nensela’s behalf. Now she must either keep faith, or continue to be paralyzed in terror.

“She loves you,” Senet said. “I thought you were good for her. To have Selána taken hurt her so much.”

Selána.

Questions circled like wolves in Edana’s mind. Was it safe to ask them of Senet?

She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Are you sure it was Selána you saw?”

Senet arched an eyebrow and gave her the full weight of his gaze.

Edana swallowed and pressed on. “Pegasus Prime Senovara in Falcon’s Hollow didn’t believe my reports of the giants. Primarily because she thought illusions made you all think you were seeing giants. Is such a thing possible, Lord Senet?”

The man gave nothing away as he considered her question. Finally he said, “Is seeing Selána a trap, you mean? That Nensela’s daughter is truly dead, but an Erebossan may have manipulated the vision to trick us into believing we saw Selána?”

“Is it possible?”

Senet exhaled. “I take it this Senovara is a sorceress, not a seer? Then I shall forgive her blasphemy. Were we truth-seers and not prophets she would not have believed this foolishness, as they see only what is true, and do not regard illusions. But for us prophets—our visions come from the Seeker. I believe the Relentless One sent us this vision, and I do not believe an agent of Erebossa intercepted and tampered with it. The possibility is not worth considering. Be reassured on that point, young miss.”

Relief eased the tension in her body. So, Lady Nensela’s deepest desire had not been used against her. Good. But another possibility remained.

“If you say so then I will take your word for it, Your Grace.”

The prophet’s extraordinary longevity and breadth of experience settled that particular question in her mind. What happened before could happen again, but what never happened in three thousand years was unlikely to ever do so.

Senet eyed her. “But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Foolish girl, she judged herself. Of course Lord Senet shared Lady Nensela’s unnerving depth of perceptiveness. The woman would not keep company with a dullard, and she studied people.

I was your age when I learned that to wield influence I must understand how others think. This Lady Nensela boasted, through the blood pouring from her lips. And she proved an apt student; reading deep into the heart of Edana, among others. Under Senet’s gaze, Edana began to wonder if seers his age didn’t have a kind of telepathy. But she couldn’t back down. There was too much at stake.

“In your vision, whose side was Selána fighting on?”

“Ah,” came his swift reply. He patted an empty spot on the bench beside him, inviting her at last to sit.

She sat. From the corner of her eye she checked his reaction, but his expression was inscrutable. For a while they sat in silence.

“Your question vexes me. Is Selána was part of our faction or theirs? Did I misinterpret her actions in the vision? If so, five of us have shared in this error. And I don’t think all five of us would be mistaken. Nensela might be clouded by wishful thinking, and I might on her behalf, but Justinia and Remei and Umberto? They know nothing of Selána, and are therefore impartial.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell them? Won’t knowing about her factor into their analysis?”

“I never told them for the very reason you asked me the question in the first place: to ensure they are led by the facts, not by a desired end. Evidence and analysis shall lead them, not their hearts. With respect to Selána I took it upon myself to be the impartial party. No purpose is served by clouding the minds of the others.”

“They’re your counterbalance,” Edana concluded.

If the other three seers agreed on a particular interpretation regarding Selána, they would serve as leverage Senet might have needed with Lady Nensela.

Senet’s lips quirked, but he otherwise made no answer.

“Where would Selána obtain the power to fight the giants? If she’s not a sorceress, what are the other options?”

“The Seeker smiles on us indeed, if the answer to that question reveals the answer to all of our other questions. The other prophets wondered if she might be a priestess. Who knows? Now, consider your mission, to Elamis. Before it was yet a proper city I visited there. I sensed it was a crossroads of a kind, where a man might meet the shadow within himself, and either conquer it or be conquered in turn. Be shrewd, young miss. If it comforts you—know that Nensela has great faith in you.”

Tears stung Edana’s eyes. She blinked them back, fixing them on Lady Nensela. Was Lysander right, that her current state was part of a plan, her plan? That she had foreseen her encounter with Archelaos, and engineered it to their benefit?

Such would be in keeping with the seer’s nature, as Edana knew her. But Lady Nensela’s words echoed in her mind, from that day in Fanuco’s when Edana confronted her about the Red Daggers’ attack on her workshop.

Back then, Lady Nensela insisted Edana also could have anticipated the attack, and her advice to Edana to keep her guards handy should have been enough of a warning. Lady Nensela had expected Edana to draw the logical conclusion.

She had faith in Edana’s love for her friends, and her instincts to protect them. In return, she expected Edana to have faith in her love for Edana.

Bitter experience taught Lady Nensela to fear prophecy traps, where attempting to avoid a prophecy brought it about instead. Sidestepping such traps required her to trust people to be true to themselves. A lesson she had had twice taught Edana.

So.

Lady Nensela’s faith in her was high praise she would cherish, but Edana saw within that praise a path forward.

Do not fear, she told herself. Be vigilant.

And do what must be done.

“I can’t go with you,” Lysander apologized, as soon as they were alone.

“I know. You’re needed here.” Bessa squeezed his hand.

The snow fell around them, thick and heavy, and soon the road would have to be closed again. For now, though, the two of them could walk arm-in-arm unhindered, leaving puffs of white in their wake. Evanescent clouds preceded them with each exhale of their breaths.

For the moment they had no particular destination in mind; ostensibly Lysander intended to survey the Chrysanthemum Highway. Dazzling snow crystals covered a multitude of scars, but to their eyes the merchant wagons steadily trudging through the snow seemed strangely out of place on a road where giants waged battle only days before.

Having managed to steal time, Lysander commissioned one of his scryers to find out if Bessa’s family survived the Night of the Burning Sky. When the giants destroyed the fortress they destroyed the oraculum, which meant the scryers were working nonstop.

Thank Amyntas, most of Bessa’s family survived unscathed. However, the recovery of Grandfather Pendry, and Bessa’s freedwoman Lenora remained in doubt. The bittersweet news left her mind in turmoil. Lysander’s offer to walk with him was a welcome distraction.

In truth; however, they walked together because they finally had a moment to catch their breaths.

And to give themselves time to say good-bye.

“If only I could send an escort with you.” Regret and frustration tinged his voice. “But the emperor is firm on this. I have to leave your protection in Ziri’s hands.”

Again she understood; the emperor had a point: unlike soldiers, arcana could be disavowed. The Star Dragons were famously beholden to no one emperor or king. They went where they willed or where they were paid, but they held no allegiance to any one nation. If she and Edana were caught in Anshan, the Star Dragons made it plausible for the emperor to deny all knowledge of their activities. The shahanshah would have no grounds to accuse Tarkhana of wrongdoing.

Bessa hesitated, then reached out and touched his arm. When he looked down to meet her gaze, she noticed for the first time his eyes were as grey as the winter sea. Cozy images of the two of them sitting around a fire and drinking hot spiced wine came to her. Would they have such moments together?

Only a week. Only a week since the battle, but time passed in a blur, so caught up was she in trying to revive Lady Nensela. A week of terror contemplating what would happen if the seer never awakened. Thus, no time to feel gratitude for those who did survive.

But Lysander lived. He survived the battle; reason enough to rejoice. A spark of hope kindled in her heart.

“Lay to rest your worries. I’ve been working with Ziri and the Star Dragons for all this time,” Bessa assured him. “None of them know the meaning of ‘half measures’.”

Lysander clasped his hand over hers. With a faint smile she walked beside him in silence. Questions swirled in her mind, questions about him and their possible—possible—future. However, she forced herself to concentrate strictly on the present.

“If I can, I will send word to you when I’ve reached Elamis,” she promised.

Lysander’s hand tightened on hers. “I remember what you said, about Gagnon and Archelaos funneling information away to sow ignorance and chaos. Include me in your reports to Ziri.”

“I will.”

From his right hand Lysander slid off his signet ring. A band of iron, with an intaglio of a wolf’s head. Iron, from the sword of a fallen foe. Wolf, iron—Grandmother told her Lysander was a graduate of the Lyceum.

A fine match for you, Grandmother had promised.

“Day or night, reach me with this. For the sake of my sanity and his, my scryer set up a globe, so I can still receive messages even if he’s not around. I had him prepare a second one for you; you’ll find it in your tent.”

Bessa took off one of her necklaces and threaded it through the ring. It plinked against the emperor’s signet ring. One of a pair of identical rings he had given to her and Edana, to bolster their authority. “This should keep it safe,” she judged.

Lysander re-fastened the necklace behind her neck, and she tucked it beneath her dress. His ring, safely hidden, felt warm against her skin.

“I wish there was something more I could do to help,” he said.

Snowflakes landed on her eyelashes. Bessa blinked them away and smiled up at him. “As if forcing Murena to retreat wasn’t enough? Certainly it’s enough for the lorekeepers to write of you, and legends to be told.”

“Legends. Including that play of yours?” he teased.

“Which needs a rewrite, thanks to you,” she said. “Before I came to Abris, I wrote of a commonplace officer in command of the fortress. I left that copy with someone, in case I died in the battle.”

“Oh?”

She glanced away, her cheeks heating. “Indeed. I did you no justice, I’m afraid. The officer was … conventional. Not so unorthodox and imaginative.”

“Is that so?”

Did he sound a trifle playful? Or disapproving? If only she knew him better! Her cheeks grew hotter. “Well, it’s true. Even the emperor thinks well of you; I heard him say so to Lord Senet. And I saw those aethers and hydras who joined us for the battle.” She shuddered.

The inexperienced senior commanders showed more concerned about the glory of fighting the battle than in trying to understand how it must be fought and won. Contrary to Lysander, they had disregarded reports of giants. Which meant they also hadn’t spent months trying to figure out effective strategies or tactics. Instead, they clung to rank and protocol. In Bessa’s nightmares she relived their maneuvering to wrest control from Lysander. And in her nightmares they won the day. And so, therefore, did Murena.

Feeling Lysander’s eyes on her, she glanced up. To her dismay he looked so stern. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything critical about the officers senior to him, no matter how accurate? Or maybe he thought she was too forward?

A small gasp escaped him, then a full-on laugh followed. His eyes danced with good humor, and she laughed, too, more out of relief than anything else.

When he subsided, he lightly traced every line and curve of her face. Gently he cupped her chin, and gazed into her eyes.

“May the gods watch over you, Bessa.”

While Bessa strolled about with Lysander, Edana and Ziri had teleported back to Kyanopolis. Ziri selected a cohort of guardsmen to escort her and Bessa, while Edana selected a trunkful of silver from her craftsman. Back in Abris they decided to use for their transport Lady Nensela’s fancy blue carpentum, trimmed with gold and warmed inside with a firestone.

They had to refine their plan somewhat—the Red Daggers were aware of Edana’s previous ‘cover’ as a silver broker. So, Edana decided their reserve story was Bessa’s betrothal. They would declare she was seeking an enchanted wedding ring in Elamis, one that would ensure the fidelity and undying love of the bearer.

Ziri and Senet both agreed the Anshani would think it plausible a Rasena Valentian would need such a ring, as the divorces amongst the elite classes of Rasena Valentis were both notorious and frowned upon in Anshan.

“That’s a goal that shouldn’t attract a truth-seer’s attention,” Ziri judged, as he escorted them to their carriage. Senet’s dragon waited nearby. “But if you do go before a truth-seer, we’ll need you to have a story about your engagement—”

“Not necessary,” Bessa snapped, giving Edana her most baleful glare.

Lysander had also come to see them off, and he side-eyed Edana’s suggestion. Undaunted, Edana adopted an innocent expression. Not even a wink as she accepted Ziri’s help in boarding the carriage.

Lysander grabbed Bess’s arm, holding her back. Protestations of her innocence stood poised on her tongue. Did he think she’d put Edana up to that little stunt? Whether he did or not, he did not say, nor did he seem to hold it against her. Instead, he detached a dagger from his belt, and presented it to her.

“If trouble should find you,” he said.

Bessa slid the knife from its sheath. An officer’s dagger? No, this one was unusual: ivory, with a hydra-head hilt. A motto in Old Pelasgian was engraved along the guard.

“Centuries ago, in the city where I was born, a sorcerer cursed the people to be attacked by eidolons. Evil spirits possessed the people, and made them devour each other. The fabled Zotikos was alive in those days, and my ancestor asked him to make a suitable weapon,” Lysander said, his gaze never leaving her face. “This is Venom. Zotikos made it from a hydra’s tooth, and no enemy struck with it every failed to go down. No matter how big, or how powerful. Keep it with you always.”

Her heart fluttered. In all the years of their engagement all she had from him was his silence. To receive now from him a cherished heirloom, and potent protection at that…

“Th-thank you,” she faltered.

Lysander’s slate eyes clouded, and he pulled back the sleeves of his tunic to show her the bands of opalescent metal he wore at his wrists. Bracers of moonbow steel, forged and blessed by Khratu’s priests. The betrothal gift she commissioned for him, with ore taken from her own father’s battle spoils.

“I hope you won’t need to use it. But promise me you won’t hesitate if you do.”

“I promise,” she said firmly. “You be careful, too.”

With that, Lysander gallantly helped her into the carriage.

They sped on their way.

For a time Senet accompanied them, flying overhead on his dragon, but soon enough they came to the Quicksilver Gorge. Flowing south from the Ethereal Sea, the mighty Quicksilver River cut a path through a great chasm that divided Hesperios and Tsitahna from each other. The empire of Anshan straddled both continents, though most of it lay within Tsitahna.

Here the caravan halted, and Bessa and Edana rushed from their carriage to stand on a promontory overlooking the Quicksilver. Eagerly they watched the silvery currents roiling past them, and pondered what the Ethereal Sea itself would look like.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see it?” Bessa ventured, a trifle sheepish.

“The shores of the Ethereal? A thing to tell grandchildren. It would ... almost be shameful to not take this chance …”

“And it’s not as if we would try and sail to Qirû.” The island where humanity awakened, and where no one born of man and woman was permitted to ever return.

“Oh, no! No, no, we wouldn’t,” Edana said quickly. “A look at the sea alone would suffice.”

But duty called, and in the end they kept to their course.

Senet sought the most direct route to the port, and thus he flew south along the Quicksilver. Bessa and Edana had to restrict themselves to the trade routes their little caravan could travel, and thus they continued east, crossing bridges wherever possible.

Only when they went beyond the gorge could the women turn south, towards Elamis. As they drew near they were pleasantly surprised to discover winter’s bite didn’t penetrate so thoroughly in that region. In the daytime they hardly needed their cloaks during those times they stepped out of their carriage. Every night; however, they made sure to ensconce themselves at hearths in the inns where they stopped.

When they came to Elamis early on the fifth day of their journey relief and awe washed over them. Since coming to Anshan they passed several structures they learned were ziggurats, tiered pyramids used as temples. It could not be an accident, Bessa declared, that the City of Magi appeared to be one gigantic ziggurat. Was a spell at work in the arrangement as well?

The city was nestled like a jewel, surrounded on three sides by the walls of the mountain, with a relatively narrow opening for the gates. On each side of the opening stood a colossal statue, each one depicting a renowned sorcerer, according to Bessa’s travel guide.

Staircases flanked the wagon path leading up to the gates, each with one hundred steps. Once beyond the gates the terrain leveled somewhat, revealing the city was not a grid but a circle. Shops and market squares dominated the first level, where tourists were permitted to mingle at will. Beyond this the city rose again, forming a second tier of homes. Per the travelogue, the third tier contained the government and temple district.

The third tier fascinated them. From their vantage point on the high outer walls of the city, they glimpsed a lake in the distance which glistened in the sunlight.

“How gorgeous!” Bessa exclaimed.

Rising from the lake was an imposing plateau, tall and round. In its center stood a three-stage citadel with a tower of its own. The tower afforded a view of all sides of the city. Anyone inside could watch everyone below …

“You are fortunate,” a watchman said in Rasenan, noticing them marveling at the tower. “Often the mists hide the lake and the tower both.” He tapped his mace against a leather strongbox in the baggage wagon, prompting one of the “porters” to open it for inspection.

While the border guards inspected their baggage, Bessa waited with Edana in the shadow of one of the numerous watchtowers along the wall. A city watchman stood beside them. The porters—bodyguards supplied by Ziri—jealously guarded the goods. One in particular stayed close to the inspector at all times, and made a show of making sure the inspectors did not ‘confiscate’ any of their goods. He was careful not to provoke them into arresting him.

“What’s in the tower?” Bessa asked.

“Our protector of course,” the watchman replied, as though she should have known.

Edana exchanged a glance with her. After everything they’d been through, they now looked at the city’s arrangement in martial terms: its back was covered, there were multiple high points, and only one way in, under the watchful eye of the protector—the satrap who governed this region of Anshan.

Of course, there was no retreat, either, from what they could see. A siege could be most effectively used against the Elamisi. Did they account at all for the possibility?

Edana stood on her toes and stretched her neck. “I don’t see a bridge from here,” she said. “Is there one? How do people visit your king?”

The watchman smiled proudly. “One cannot just go to the palace, miss. Should you visit the lake, you’ll see a portal. If you have a key, you may use it to enter the palace. It is as simple as that.”

“That lake is a gorgeous color.” Edana feigned a casual tone.

“Indeed, and you may look, but do not venture in, young lovelies. Our protector is well-guarded by the three-headed dragon that dwells in that lake.”

“Ah,” Edana said with undisguised regret. “I was hoping you’d tell me the waters were an elixir of some kind. Is beauty its sole attribute?”

“It will not bestow eternal youth or beauty or life,” he said, and rubbed his hands together as he warmed up to his lecture. “You must accept that those gifts will pass away—at least they will if you’re relying on those waters to preserve them.”

“Very well,” Edana relented, apparently deciding to suffer his evasions.

Another watchman came toward them. He carried a plain wooden box, which he opened when he reached them.

“Hold out your hands,” he droned.

Edana stiffened, and made no move to comply. He brought out a bracelet of thin, twisted brass coils.

“What is this?” she demanded.

“Our gatekeepers say you have no powers, no gifts from the gods,” he monotoned. “This will mark you as Unfavored. If you are in our city beyond seven days, you will be asked to account for your purposes. Do you understand?” He insistently held out the bracelet.

Unfavored? Edana glared and Bessa frowned. True, in Rasena Valentis sorcerers were said to have gifts or blessings. But to speak of those lacking in gifts as unfavored suggested divine judgment.

And the Elamisi took pains to physically distinguish those ‘favored’ and those not.

“Seven days?” Bessa piped up.

“What does it mean to you, ‘unfavored’?” Edana demanded. “Does this limit our rights?”

The second watchman cocked his head, but it was the first watchman who answered.

“Do not be alarmed, young lovely,” he crooned. “You may think of the bracelets as a border pass. No one will have the right to harm you, if that is your fear.” His voice hardened as he said, “But you will have to explain yourself before the Watch if you wish to stay beyond your allotted time. That is seven days for all visitors.”

“Suppose we did need to stay an extra day or more?” Edana asked, keeping her eyes on his face. “On what grounds would you deny us?”

He shrugged, and glanced away. “Keep your conduct above reproach. Be prepared to leave at once if you are denied extensions.”

Bessa crossed her arms beneath her bosom. The officer’s evasions made her suspect the ‘unfavored’ were subjected to arbitrary rules, and vulnerable to corrupt officials. Resistance would profit them nothing; however, so she nodded her assent when Edana glanced at her. With a small exhale Edana took the bracelet and slid it on. Bessa did the same, as did their guards.

They were free to go.

As they traveled to Elamis they had studied the dossier Ziri had had prepared for them. Therefore, they made way to a certain neighborhood in the second tier of the city, where the Fire Lords were concentrated.

The oldest part of the city, Lord Senet had said.

In Ember Square the Salamandra were going about their business. Merchants in the stalls called out their pitches. They always initially spoke in Anshani, or if addressing Edana, they used Eitanite greetings. For Bessa they gamely switched to Pelasgian or Rasenan.

“Our clothes show us as outsiders,” Bessa pointed out to Edana.

Indeed, Anshani women—human or Salamandra—wore samite kaftans with glorious patterns of exotic flowers or peacocks or firebirds. A practical necessity as well, as the mountain air was cool and crisp. Others wore tunics woven from a luxuriant blend of silk and cashmere, which both Bessa and Edana coveted. In contrast, they themselves wore winter-weight woolen chitons embroidered only at the hems and sleeve cuffs. A snow-fox cloak kept Bessa warm, and Edana relied on a wool, fleece-mantled cape.

“We’ll rectify the differences later,” Edana replied.

The Salamandra were not the only multilingual merchants; they’d passed humans who made their pitches the same way. This confirmed the Elamisi only objected to non-sorcerers living in the city. Regardless of what people or nation they came from, sorcerers were welcome. In this cosmopolitan city, soldiers weren’t the only ones able to speak to foreigners.

Salamandra children ran along behind their mothers. Delighted and intrigued, Bessa stopped to watch them. A particular pair of youngsters caught her eye. They appeared to be brother and sister, and swung a basket between them as they went from stall to stall, engaging in witty rounds of haggling with the merchants.

Threading their way through the marketplace, she and Edana came at last to a magnificent building. From some angles it was a glossy black, at others forest green or deep violet or scarlet red. Fire obsidian, per Ziri’s dossier. The entrance was inset into a projecting red jasper arch that terminated in jasper caryatids of a pair of Salamandra. The majestic copper doors were shut, with no obvious way to open them.

Now for the moment of truth. The dossier described the Fire Lords as elusive, secretive; they never assembled as a governing body with outsiders present. Furthermore, they did not use titles of nobility amongst outsiders.

Anticipating their difficulty, Tarkhana had given them a letter of introduction from Lady Aelia, the imperial seer who had advised them to visit the Fire Lords in the first place. On the way to Anshan the women studied the ‘letter.’ Rather than words on parchment it was a copper plate, engraved and etched with inscriptions and hieroglyphs, in a mysterious language neither had seen before.

Blessedly, the copper letter came with an ordinary parchment letter from Lady Aelia herself. She had illustrated instructions for genuflecting to the Fire Lords. At the bottom of the parchment she commented she had completed her recovery from the First Battle of Red Pointe.

“Oh good, her arm finished growing back,” Bessa noted.

The women approached the door and stood on a ‘rug’ of red tiles tessellated into a pattern of undulating fire. According to Ziri, the tiles activated a scryer’s mirror inside the building.

“Good day to you,” a cool voice said.

“Hello,” Edana said, glancing around. In vain, because there was no indication of where the voice came from. “My name is Edana Nuriel, and this is Bessa Philomelos. We come from Rasena Valentis, and seek the counsel of the Fire Lords.”

“All the way from Rasena Valentis, hmm?” The disembodied voice sounded intrigued.

The door swung open.