Sci Fi & Fantasy / Fox in Shadow Chapter 1 Part 2 (Analysis)
I turned slowly, slipping the catch of the sheath strapped around my right wrist. The weight of the diamond shaped throwing knife slid into my hand. Over my shoulder a light flared and the room was illuminated by the glow of an oil lamp blinding my still sensitive eyes for a moment.
“I should forget the knife if I were you.” A dark shape sat behind a desk in the opposite corner of the room silhouetted by the lamp. “I’d kill you before you could raise your hand, and I don’t really want to do that.” As my eyes readjusted I looked first at the handheld crossbow that he was pointing at my heart. Otherwise he looked like a prosperous merchant. His hair fashionably cut and beard neatly trimmed along with what appeared to be a very well made jacket. “Just put it onto the desk here, then sit down and we can talk.”
I walked over to the desk and put the knife in front of him. He picked it up and weighed it appreciatively in his hand. Pulling my hood back from my head I sat down opposite him keeping alert. I hoped he didn’t know about the other knife in my boot.
“Nice knife! I expect the one in your boot is just as good. Where did you get them?”
“I know a good swordsmith.”
“You must give me his name, I might put some business his way”
I was beginning to tire of this banter. Especially whilst a crossbow was being pointed at me “You didn’t set up this trap to find a good swordsmith.” I leaned forward and picked my knife up. “Did Ordo sell me out?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t put it that way, I asked Ordo to get you in here but you can trust me.” He put the bow down, “There that’s better. By the way I am Englin.” My mind flashed back to the sign I had been looking at above the door of the warehouse for most of the day. ‘Four Queens Trading: Proprietor: Sa Englin’. So he was a prosperous merchant after all, not just some zealous watchman.
“ I believe you’re called Nikos”
“How do you know that?”
“Ordo is a good source of information, as I am sure you know. I wanted to see if you were as good as he said you were. Which, by the way, you are. The guards were impressed, though they were under orders to let you pass anyway. Though I think the silver piece you paid Smiler for his robe was a little over the odds, he would have settled for three coppers!”
We sat in silence for a moment, studying each other. He was, I guessed, younger than Ordo but his dark hair was greying at the temples. His skin was tanned and lines had formed at the corners of his mouth and eyes. His grey blue eyes were sharp as gimlets as they scanned my face. He paused for a moment and I followed his eyes to the pendant, which had slipped out of my tunic.
“Nikos? That’s a Taranian name isn’t it? Was it Ordo who gave it to you?”
“It means fox.” I indicated the fox’s head on the pendant. “Amongst other things.”
“You speak some Taranian then?”
“Enough! I was on a trading ship in the Free Islands for two years.” I had learnt enough to at least swap insults with rest of the crew or to bargain down shopkeepers when we were in port.
“So, you have been to the Free Islands. That’s something Ordo didn’t tell me. Did you ever go to Seludos?”
“No one goes to Seludos anymore.” Since the conquest of mainland Kula, the Mage lords have wreathed the island in an impenetrable mist. Any ship venturing had been lost on the vicious rocks and reefs that encircled the Hidden Isle.
“Oh, you’d be surprised about that.” Englin smiled, “You really don’t know what it is you wear around your neck, do you? Either Ordo has no idea himself or he has chosen not to tell you. I suspect he knows well enough what it is, and maybe more of you than you know yourself.”
I raised my hand automatically to stroke the disc of cool stone at my throat.
“Though I cannot say I blame him. “ Englin continued. “These are dangerous times.” As he spoke he reached inside his shirt and pulled out a chain on which was hanging a triangle of blue stone. It was about the size and shape of one of the stone arrowheads that the ancients that I and the other novices had dug out of the thick mud at the edge of the river. On the stone was a raised pattern. In the lamplight I could just make out the shape of a bird of prey.
“This was my father’s and his father’s before him. Going back generations. It is called a Clanstone.”
“The Clanstones date from the old days,” Englin continued. “Every four years the clans met on the site that is now Carreal. A great city of tents would appear and for two months of summer there was a festival of trade and games. Each clan would put forward a champion who wore the Clanstone. The stones themselves were ancient even then, given it is said by the gods in the earliest days of the world.”
“At the heart of the Festival met the Padan, the great council of all the Kulan peoples.
Here the elders would discuss the matters of importance to the people as a whole and arrange how they were to respond to threats and challenges in the next four years. The High Seat at this council was given to the overall winner of the games. He was called the Dragon after the cliffs that rose above the campsite.”
“Then there came to one of these Padans a young man called Holm. He said that he had travelled from the island of Seludos, which even then was called the Hidden Isle. He had come he said at the behest of the dreamspeakers of the island who had interpreted a dream he had had.”
“In this dream he had travelled far to the north of Kula to the shores of the Long Lake. There the Four Queens had come to him and shown him a path, across the waters of the lake. They wove this path they told him, from their individual powers. It would not be for him to take this path they said but for one to come. His task was to bring the four powers together to weave the path that could be followed when the need arose.”
“So, Holm explained, he had come to the Padan to unite the clans not just for the next four years but for all time. To do this he challenged the Dragon and the other clan champions to a contest of their own choosing. If he won then the other contestants would offer him fealty. If he lost to even one then he would leave the Padan and let the clans continue as they had for generations.”
“The Dragon at the time was Arkal, champion of the Bear Clan. He laughed heartily at Holm’s speech and offered to contest him first, in a trial of strength, a wrestling match. Then others at the council laughed. Holm, at that time was not much more than a boy, and slight at that, whereas Arkal was built like the bear his clan took their name from.”
“Outside the Great Padan Tent a circle, the width of a single tent, was marked on the ground. The two combatants entered stripped of their shirts and boots. The aim of the contest was simple. To win you just needed to get your opponent out of the circle. The two men started circling, first one way then the other, never breaking eye contact. Then Arkal rushed at Holm roaring and grabbed him in a bear hug lifting him from his feet. He walked towards the edge of the circle with the writhing body of Holm in his arms intending to dump him across the line. As they neared the line however Holm slid free of the champion’s grasp, ducked through his legs and gave him a shove from behind that sent him sprawling. Outside of the circle.”
“Arkal rolled over and sat up to see the hand of Holm reaching across the line to help him up. Then the anger at his defeat leached from him and he knelt before Holm and offered his fealty. At that Holm pulled him to his feet, embraced him and whispered in his ear, ‘The land will need the strength of the bear.’”
“And so it was with three other champions. Each one offered a trial suited to their own qualities, each one Holm defeated and embraced. And so the Kulan people were united.”
“I think that’s quite enough history for now.” Englin smiled at me across the desk. “ I just thought you should know that the stone around your neck marks you as important. Not all the Drayvians pay much attention to our history. But some do, especially those who’ve taken the time to learn Quil.” I looked quizzically at him. “Oh, I know you probably think that Quil is just an old man’s game. My daughter certainly thinks that. But it is a mirror of our history, and a key to understanding the Kulan People. Any enemy is dangerous, but the one to watch is the one who makes the attempt to see into your very being.”
As he finished speaking there was a loud rapping at the door. “Guards coming across the plaza a high voice shouted.
“Thank you, Cally” Englin called back. “We will join you shortly.” He opened an armoire that stood behind his desk and after a moment pulled out a jacket of yellow hide.
“Here, this should fit you. It would be best to cover up your working clothes, don’t you think?”
“You’re going out to meet them?” I was incredulous. “Perhaps I should just leave the way I came in.”
“That would be unwise. They may not have the brightest sparks in the guard but they will be coming for a good reason and will be watching for anything unusual.”
“Is this another part of your test?”
“Of course not!” Englin’s eyes flashed in the lamplight. “I only think it will be safer if you are with me. And besides,” He grinned at me “I am beginning to like your company. We should go and greet our visitors. It is only polite.” He turned and left the office. Pulling on the jacket I followed him.
Englin led me out of the office, onto the mezzanine. Then through a door leading to a set of stairs running down the side of the building. Ordo’s plan hadn’t mentioned these stairs, but to be fair it would have been too easy to get in that way.
At the foot of the stairs was a narrow alleyway that opened onto Kanji Plaza. The two watchmen stood at the end looking north and between them a third person; I assumed it was the boy who’d warned us of the guards approach.
“You have of course met Syran and Calthor,” Englin gestured to the watchmen. “Though not been properly introduced, of course.” The two men nodded smilingly toward me. “The last member of my party who introduced herself so noisily is my daughter Callian.” The girl turned towards us. She was I guessed a few years younger than me with the same sharp features as her father. Dressed in boy’s clothes and her hair covered by a cap, which she doffed in a rather theatrical bow.
“As you can see,” Englin continued, “She has a tendency to be dramatic.”
“That’s not fair!” She protested, “You told me to let you know if we had any company.”
“Yes, I did,” he smiled “But I think half of the Warrens heard you. Now let’s see who our company are.”
I looked across the plaza to where six figures were approaching. Four of them were clearly Drayvian Guardsmen. With them was a tall figure in dark robes and beside him a shorter man in the grey hooded cloak of a priest.
“Not just guards eh?” Englin murmured, “Best not be too forthcoming, Nikos. How is your Taranian accent?”
“Is good, no?” I mimicked.
As the party got closer I recognised Vargan, newly appointed First Priest of Holmport. But it was the other man that caught my attention. He was plainly an Inquisitor, wearing the black robe and skullcap that was their uniform. He was almost skeletally thin with pale skin drawn tight over what I could see of his face. A mask of black leather covered the left side of his head. It was smooth and featureless, without even an attempt to shape it to his face. There was simply a hole from which his dead, milky white eye seemed to stare directly at me. In his thin hands he was carrying a bundle of some sort.
Englin stepped forward and addressed himself to Vargan.
“A good evening to you First Priest, are you not missing Service?”
“Sometimes my duties to the city keep me from my spiritual ones.” The priest replied in the same oily tones I remembered from my time as a novice. “May I introduce you to Master Ghan. He has recently arrived from Carreal, on Imperial business.”
“I am honoured, Master Ghan.” Englin executed a short formal bow. “Your name and your reputation precede you.”
“And what reputation would that be?” The inquisitor had a high reedy tone to his voice and a strong Drayvian accent.
“Why, as a wise and just servant of the Empire, of course.” Englin said, “I am Englin.”
“Then I also am honoured, Sa Englin, you too have a name and reputation that precede you! This then is your warehouse?” He indicated the sign hanging above the doors. “It is just that Captain Charan found this in a nearby alleyway.” He held out the bundle. I recognized it as the old robe I had borrowed from Smiler earlier.
“Ah, that is just Smiler’s robe.” Englin replied smoothly. He is a beggar who has his pitch nearby and often leaves without it, especially on warm evenings. I am afraid the Dar addles his memory somewhat.”
“No doubt that is it.” The inquisitor answered with a smile as thin as he was. “It is late for you to be about, is it not Sa Englin.”
“I just had a shipment of Trumpet Flowers in from Taran and there was a lot of paperwork to complete.”
“I see, and your companions?”
“My apologies, Master. This is my daughter, Callian and these are my colleagues, Syran, Calthor and Nikos.”
Ghan turned to me. “Nikos, that is not a Kulan name I believe, eh?”
“Indeed no, Master Ghan,” I replied using the thick accent I had picked up from Ordo. “I am from Taran, myself.”
“Ah, but you don’t have the look of a southerner.”
“My father was a trader from these lands, he took wife in the Islands.”
Without seeming to take his single eye off me he turned his attention back to Englin.
“Well Sa Englin, it is late and I am sure you are keen to return home. Even under the Emperor’s benevolent rule the city is still dangerous at night, as I am sure you and your companions know. Shall I ask two of my men to accompany to your house?”
“There is no need for that, thank you, Master Ghan.” Englin replied with a stiff formality. “ We will be safe enough.”
“Ah well, Then I will bid you goodnight. I will have the captain here find this Smiler and return his robe. The nights can become cold by the sea. Se Callian, Sa Englin, gentlemen, may the Bright One watch over you.”
With that he turned away and walked back across the Plaza to where the Warrens climbed the hill into the city. Englin stood and watched until they were out of sight then turned and led us along the line of warehouses to where the Causeway Gate stood.
“Well done Nikos, though I think that you may have piqued his interest. If all I hear about him is true then he may not be content to leave it at that. Will you come to my house tonight? He is right it is late and we should leave further discussion until the morning.”
“Not tonight” I said. “I have some things to do now, but I will come tomorrow.”
“Very well. I know I cannot force anything on you. But be careful. Ghan was right about the dangers of this city. He is one of them. I am told he plays Quil very well.”
I paused in the shadow of the Gate and watched as the others walked down the slope to the Merchants Bridge that spanned the river between the Old City and the Merchants Quarter, a collection of large houses that overlooked the harbour. I still wasn’t sure that I could trust Englin and wanted time to think before we met again. That and I had promised myself a trip to a bathhouse. In my experience there is no better place to think than in the steam rooms of a good bathhouse.
When they had gone from sight I turned back into the city. I knew just where I wanted to go. Sardin’s Bathhouse is right in the middle of the Warrens. Some say it is the oldest in Holmsport. It is certainly one of the most expensive public houses. But what the hell, I thought. Having blown a Silver on the beggar’s robe why shouldn’t I spend a little more on getting rid of its legacy of lice.
I have always loved being in the city at night. Right back to when Ordo would take a select group of novices on what he called his tours. There is a stillness that is banished by the business of the day disturbed only by the passage of the various denizens of the dark streets. Who for their own reasons tend to avoid company. You can really feel alone in a way that is impossible during the day.
The streets climbed steeply from the Harbour district towards Temple Square and between and around the three broad roads used by wagons were the tangle of alleyways and passages that made up the Warrens. Very few, if any Drayvian guardsmen entered the Warrens, mainly because they saw them as unimportant. The poorest of the poor had made their homes there, even before the Drayvians had invaded. And now it was a jumble of Dar houses and tenements. I liked it and had lived there since I had returned to Holmsport a couple of years before.
Only when you got near the top of the slope, where the sound of chanting drifted out from the Sacred College, did it begin to become respectable. It was here that you found the quality bathhouses and right up against the Temple of the Waves was Sardin’s.
Faced with green marble and with doors of green copper you might mistake Sardin’s for an annexe of the temple. It was rumoured that Sardin had once been a priest, but a scandal had forced him out of the Order. All I knew was that Sardin had tired of the life of simple poverty that the Order proscribed. Since he had started the bathhouse he had become very wealthy indeed and was a major donor to Temple coffers.
I paid the fee of two Silvers over to the attendant and made my way into the dimly lit interior of the bathhouse. From the entrance lobby decorated with mosaics of Meluna, Lady of the Waters I went first into the changing room. A burly guard in the corner pointed me to a cubicle. Inside I stripped off Englin’s jacket and the black tunic and trousers I was wearing beneath, keeping on just the Clanstone, and wrapped a white linen robe about myself. I carefully folded the jacket around my tools and pouch and wadded up the tunic and trousers. Putting the whole lot in the drawer provided I left the cubicle. Another silver ensured that I would get a clean shirt and trousers when I came out and that no one would touch my stuff whilst I was in the bathhouse.
From the changing room I passed through a heavy wooden door into the first of the bathhouse chambers. In the centre was a deep pool of steaming water into which, after removing the robe, I plunged feeling my muscles relax instantly. As I had expected, at this time, there was no one else around. For a time I alternated between swimming leisurely lengths of the pool and resting, arms outstretched, at the cool marble edge. Eventually I pulled myself out and putting the robe back on, I walked through another door to the steam room.
Thick clouds of steam filled the room, which was edged by tiered stone benches. A deep chuckle let me know I was not alone. I walked over to where Ordo had sprawled on the lowest tier.
“I knew you would come here tonight.” he said, “You are becoming a creature of habit, eh?”
“I’m not sure that I should be glad to see you, you old thief. You set me up.”
“Ah, so I kept a little secret from you, eh? You know I have many secrets. Now tell me, was Englin pleased with your work?”
I couldn’t resist a smile. “He was.” I said, “But this interested him more.” I pulled out the Clanstone and waved it in front of Ordo’s face.
“I thought he might be. When I first saw it I knew it was something special. Tell me then, eh. What did he have to say about it?”
I told Ordo as briefly as I could all that Englin had said about the stone and the meeting with Vargan and Ghan.
“Ech! That Vargan is a worm of the lowest kind. I knew the moment he turned up at the Temple, so pious, so holy. It is a good thing that he paid no attention to the novices, he thought it was below him, no. Otherwise he might have remembered your name.” Ordo made the sign to ward off evil. “This Ghan though, he troubles me. He is not just any inquisitor. He is High Inquisitor. Has the ear of the emperor, it is said. I think you must go to Englin tonight. You can trust him. It is not safe here in the Old City. No, not safe at all.”
There was an unusual tone of fear in Ordo’s voice. I had never seen him afraid, even in the days when we first left the Temple. Then he had been defiant, cursing the Order for betraying him. But now he seemed old, shrinking into himself.
“Go now,” he said urgently. “You must be safe my little Fox, I will come to Englin’s tomorrow. We will talk more then.” He paused for a moment and took my hand in both of his. “Remember what I taught you. Look back in your heart. See what hidden hands are guiding this.”
As I stood up to go he pulled me into a hug then held me at arms length and looked me in the eyes.
“The night I found you, you didn’t cry out at all. I know you have a great heart. You will need it, eh?” He bared his sharpened teeth in what passed as a grin for Ordo and pushed me toward the door. “Go, and you dare tell no one that Ordo hugs, eh?”
I left quickly passing through the cold plunge room without stopping and back to the changing room. Drying off with the robe I put on the clean shirt and trousers that had been left for me, strapped on my throwing knife and pulled on the jacket to cover it. My pouch went in the deep pockets along with my tools. The dark tunic and trousers I had had made to convert into a small bag that I slung over my shoulder. Finally pulling on my boots and slipping the knife into it’s sheathe I left.
*
Outside I zigzagged down the hill through the narrow alleyways of the Warrens emerging on the western edge of the Plaza. I made my way slowly along in the shadow of the old city walls watching all the time for signs that I was being followed. The broad expanse of the Plaza was deserted. I carried on to the Causeway Gate. Since the new wall had been built to bring the Merchants Quarter into the city the old gatehouse had become a haven for bats, which flitted around my head as I walked through the archway. It was also a refuge for beggars a few of whom lay sleeping against the wall of the passage.
I was about halfway through when a couple of figures in front of me, rose to their feet, shucking off the blankets that had been covering them. The way they moved told me these were no beggars. Nor were they thieves. My best guess was Drayvian guardsmen. That was confirmed when one lunged towards me. His blade went past me as I swayed to my left. It was the traditional leaf bladed sword of an Imperial Guard. As I moved I let my throwing knife slip into my hand and drove it hard into his side. It wasn’t enough to do him any serious damage but he cried out a curse.
I left the knife stuck in his ribs and brought my hand up to his arm using his momentum to throw him to the floor. He landed heavily on top of two sleeping beggars who immediately started up and began kicking him. Meanwhile his partner had moved in on me, more cautiously. I ducked to avoid a lateral swipe and drew the knife from my boot. He swayed back to avoid my own swipe and swung his sword down towards my exposed head. Which was just what I wanted him to do. I had learnt to fight on the streets and knew that my best chance was to make this quick. Stepping in I thrust my blade into his throat and twisted before pulling it out. His sword fell to the ground and he staggered back spraying blood before falling to the floor dead.
I stood back against the wall to catch my breath. The first guardsman was lying still as beggars looted him. I bent down to check that he was unconscious and recover my knife, which was why I didn’t notice the third man. It wasn’t until I heard the thwack of wood hitting the back of his head and saw him fall beside his comrade that I looked up. Standing over the body was Smiler.
“I owe you my thanks.” I said standing up.
“No problem,” he dropped the length of wood he had been holding. “Englin asked me to keep an eye out for you coming through.”
“You work for Englin?”
“In a sense, I prefer to think of us working together.” The slurred voice of a drunken beggar had gone, replaced with the rolling tones of a Westover accent. “ I am Samal, by the way.” Pulling a knife from his own boot he bent to the two guardsmen and slit their throats.
“We’d better get rid of the bodies,” he said wiping his blade on his tattered robe. “Then I’ll take you to Englin.”
We searched the bodies one by one and having distributed any coin they had amongst the beggars. Samal then spoke quietly to them and they helped us carry the bodies to the river and throw them in, where it was deepest.
“At worst they’ll wash up in the harbour, but with any luck and a fair tide the river will carry them out to sea.” To make sure I tossed a coin into the water as an offering to Meluna.
After the last one had disappeared beneath the water we made our way quickly across the Merchants Bridge. Once across Samal slowed down.
“It doesn’t look good to be too hurried round here. Most of the houses have private guards who don’t take kindly to strangers at this time of night.”
We walked on along a wooded path until we came to a house set back from the road. There were lights in the ground floor windows and signs of activity.
“That’s Englin’s house. It looks like they’re still about. By the Gods, you look a mess.” In the light cast from the house I could see that both of us were covered with blood.
“We’d better get inside then,” I said. “Though we might frighten some of Englin’s servants.”
“Oh, I doubt that, you obviously don’t know Englin that well yet!”
A stocky man wearing a blue and yellow livery opened the door.
“Good evening, Jax” Samal said. “I have brought the visitor that Sa Englin was expecting.”
“ A good evening to you, Sa Samal.” Jax replied looking us both up and down. “Perhaps you should come in.”
We entered into a broad lobby with stairs running up both sides to a landing. The double doors at the back of the lobby opened and Englin came out.
“Tsk, tsk it seems like it was a good thing I asked Samal here to keep an eye out for you.”
He ushered us into the room behind the doors. It was a large room. In the wall opposite the doors were a number of large windows that looked out across the river to the city. Right at the centre I could see the flame burning at the top of College Tower. Already it was dimming as morning approached.
Englin gestured us to sit in high backed chairs around a table and poured us each a cup of wine.
“I should introduce Samal to you properly. You have realised, of course that he is not a beggar.”
“My father was the leader of the rebellion at Westover, 10 years ago.” Samal cut in. “When the Drayvians crushed that I fled here. My father was taken and eventually killed and something was taken from him. I knew that Englin had been a friend of my father in the old days, so I came to him for help.”
“What was taken?” I asked,
“It was a token of my clan, a stone.” Samal eyed me guardedly.
“Something like this?” I pulled the Clanstone from beneath my shirt. Samal’s eyes widened and he looked at Englin sharply.
The merchant replied, “Yes, a Clanstone. Master Ghan is currently holding it. When we heard that he was in Holmport I asked Ordo to find me a thief good enough to break into the Inquisitors Tower to steal it back. As you know he sent you. I had no idea that you had a Clanstone as well. I don’t know if Ordo knew what it was you held.”
“You can ask him yourself, I met him tonight. He said he would come here in the morning.”
“Then we can talk more then. Something is stirring in the world. I can feel it. Three of the Clanstones have come together for the first time in many years. I need time to reflect, and both of you need to clean up at least. We will wait till tomorrow then. Jax will find beds for you both.”
*
The bed that Jax found for me was possibly the most luxurious that I had ever known. Back in my days as a novice we had shared dormitories and slept on ancient straw filled mattresses. Since then it had been mostly downhill. This bed had a soft mattress and down pillows, with fine linen sheets. After taking off my bloodstained clothes and washing with the cool water that Jax brought in a bowl and ewer, I lay on the bed. I would have gone to sleep immediately but my mind was too busy. Then I recalled what Ordo had said. Sitting up and crossing my legs I closed my eyes and began to breath slowly following the breath down into the core of my being. Just a few breaths and…
I am high above the city. Looking down I see Temple Square, I see the river bending round the western edge of the city before spilling first into the harbour basin then on into the sea. ‘Focus’ I tell myself. The clouds roll beneath me and I am drawn down towards the white pillars of the Temple I grew up in. The courtyard at the back of the main building is busy. Long tables laid out and people in robes milling about. The grey robed priests, the yellow robed postulants and the white robed novices. I am drawn down to one novice, red haired and sharp eyed. I am back with myself as a boy, looking through my own eyes. I am hungry, waiting for the meal to start, hoping that the First Priest will finish his interminable sermon soon. My hunger draws my attention from what he says but I see the looks that others exchange. Words come into focus.
“We have a new revelation, brothers and sisters. Brother Vargan comes to us from Carreal with tidings of the vision granted to High Priest Tolun. We must turn away from the old ways, for they are mistaken.”
Cries ring out, some applaud, some protest. Beside the First Priest sits a thin man, new come to Holmport, his grey robe is finely made and he has a well-fed look despite his thinness. He looks around at the tumult and smiles. At his shoulder stands another. This one dressed in black with a black skullcap, an inquisitor. His hand rests on Vargan’s shoulder.
My mind whirls out again and up. The clouds spin quickly below me before I descend again. Back to the same child, a few years older now, on the verge of manhood but not yet a postulant. I am running through the alleyways of the Warrens. In a fold of my robe I am carrying three ripe Kir apples stolen from a trader in the market down the hill. I am excited; I can’t wait to get back to the temple to tell Ordo of my exploit. How the trader never even saw me. I can almost feel the juice of the apples running down my chin as I share them with him; anticipate the sweet taste filling my mouth, made sweeter by the act of stealing them.
Ahead I hear shouts, the noise of the crowd filling Temple Square. It must be a flogging. I burst into the Square and stop the apples falling to the ground. On the steps of the Temple of the White Mother is Ordo, held between two hulking Drayvian postulants. He has been stripped of his grey robe and stands head bowed. Above on the steps stands Vargan, shouting,
“Ordo Karnsson, you are proclaimed anathema to the Sacred College. Holder to heresies, teacher of perversities. Go from this place, you are no longer of our Order, go and show your face no more.” With that he flings out his hand in a gesture of dismissal and the postulants throw Ordo down the last few steps. I wait for his response, but there is none. He just turns and walks slowly past me into the alleyways, not even catching my eye. Behind the triumphant Vargan I see the First Priest and other priests of the Sacred College. They seem to cower. At Vargan’s side is the same figure in black, his hand on the priest’s shoulder. Then I turn and run back into the Warrens following Ordo.
Spiralling up again now, the city below me melting into the clouds…
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I enjoyed this a lot. I think you do well with the sense of place – your descriptions are good and you set scenes well.
I thought the history lesson early on was too long, perhaps plit it into two or three conversations – perhaps part as now, part later in the baths from Ordis, and the rest later in Englin’s house. Though that may mean some of the flash back to his youth would need to be postponed, or it all gets too much history.
I like your use of words, sometimes they get a bit passive, or awkward example – “There is a stillness that is banished by the business of the day disturbed only by the passage of the various denizens of the dark streets.” Which whilst poetic in a way is also quite strangled.
Also “It was about the size and shape of one of the stone arrowheads that the ancients that I and the other novices had dug out of the thick mud at the edge of the river” where you have missed out a word, or inserted too many. But that sort of stuff can be solved by re-reading and polishing.
In summary – i am interested in the story, you keep up the pace failrly well, though the history lessons spoil that a bit and I am happy to suspebd disbelief. Look forward to more
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