City of Death (10 page)

They passed directly over what must have been a steel mill, where sweaty trolls—looking like children from this height—moved about with steel beams while elephants pushed along hoppers of coal and iron ore.

Gaudy cars, trucks, and three-wheeled jitneys shared the road with camels, donkeys, and horses, flowing back and forth over a half-dozen bridges. And on the river a one-armed triton set his back against a loaded ferry to push it to the other bank.

“The river below,” Kles said, “marks the eastern boundary of the Old Bactra just as the Bactra River marks the western side.”

Scirye felt both a thrill and a little dread as they flew over the wall of tan-colored blocks that stood on the left bank. Long colorful banners fluttered from the spires of the East Gate towers, and they all gave a gasp, even Scirye. Kles had called Bactra the jewel of Asia, but it was more like a treasure chest of jewels had spilled over the land.

Brightly colored temples and shops squeezed in on either side of ancient mansions. And there were as many types and periods of architecture as there were people from Kushan's long history: a Hindu temple covered in statues stood next to a small open-air Greek theater with marble columns pale as ivory, shops in the rounded shape of tents from the northern steppes but with golden domes squeezed a scarlet and green Chinese pagoda from either side. The glazed tiles on the walls of the government buildings and universities made them look more like boxes decorated with emerald and sapphire chips.

“We're passing over the Kr
Ä«
tam now,” Kles said. “That's what Bactrans call the old bazaar, but it actually means ‘amusement' in the Old Tongue. The area is said to be even older than the citadel.”

The Kushan Empire spanned a vast amount of territory as well as time so that Kushan and Sogdian, Persian and Chinese, Indian and Mongol citizens surged through the narrow lanes, competing with honking cars, elephants, camels, and donkeys. Even the trolls carrying sedan chairs had trouble making headway through the crowds.

Koko scratched his head. “How do folks keep from getting lost? I haven't seen one straight street yet.” The roads kinked to the left and then to the right in what seemed like random patterns. And in some places the houses' upper stories thrust out over the street, hiding humans, creatures, and vehicles alike.

Kles shrugged. “There was never any real plan for the original city. It just grew. But you'll still find streets of shops dedicated to one craft. The silversmiths will be in one area, the cobblers in another.” The griffin pointed a claw at a long, winding path of shops with shining silver plates and vases hanging over the doorways in place of signs. “There's the street of the silversmiths.” Scirye thought she could almost hear the
tink-tink-tink
of the silversmiths' tiny hammers. “And look, over there, it's the street of the weavers.” He indicated another narrow road where the shops had carpets with elaborate designs. It seemed that every guild occupied a street in the Old City.

The noise level too became as dense as the buildings and the traffic, the voices of humans and animals surging upward in a tide of sound so that Kles had to speak louder. The noise didn't diminish even as they passed over a district of large mansions, all of them in different styles. The homes with fluted marble columns reminded Scirye of Greece, while the blue-and-green-tiled buildings seemed to belong to Persia. There were red-lacquered Chinese houses with green tiles next to sandstone buildings with carvings of Indian jungles. All the many different groups that made up the Kushan Empire were represented here.

Kles rose on his hind legs, waving a forepaw ahead of them. “And there is the palace.”

The palace occupied the citadel, a tall hill that formed part of the city's western wall on the right bank of the Bactra River. The palace's buildings spilled over the broad hilltop, resembling carvings of fine aged ivory and stood in contrast to the newer homes that had spread out from the left bank below.

For four thousand years, the rulers of Bactra had occupied the citadel—though twenty-two hundred years ago, Alexander the Great and the generals who succeeded him had rebuilt the buildings like the ones at home. And when the Kushans had taken over two centuries later, they had kept them intact, but the friezes on the front were of Kushan gods in a mixture not only of Kushan but Greek, Indian, and Persian costumes as well.

Suddenly gun ports flew open all along the steep slopes and the muzzles of cannons and machine guns swung up to aim at them. Scirye realized then that the palace was more than just the top of the hill: it was the hill. Over the centuries humans had hollowed out the hill just as Kles's clan had carved out the insides of their mountain. Emperor Kanishka XII's home was as much a fort as it was a palace.

Then large portals opened like the yawning mouths of giants, and a hundred war griffins swarmed into the air.

They swept skyward, directly toward them.

 

16

Bayang

Captain Warpamo stiffened and he waved his paw tensely. “Skirmishers out.” And a dozen riderless griffins shot downward to form a screen while thirty more riderless griffins separated into a roughly conical formation in front of the main party.

The bronze helmets of the human riders glittered in the sunlight. Their uniforms were a dazzling white with blood-red piping. The pennants of the riders' lances fluttered bravely in the wind.

Kles clacked his beak together angrily. “See the wolf insignia on their helmets? It's the the Wolf Guard, the personal regiment of the vizier.”

“Is that bad?” Koko asked nervously.

“It's not good,” Kles said. “The vizier leads the conservatives at court. They call themselves the Axe Bearers after the sacred symbols of the Kushans—though regular folk just call them the Choppers.

“Long ago, my lady's ancestors called themselves the People of the Moon, and it's said that Mao the Moon god gave the two-crescent-bladed axes to them to help them flee the Huns. The axes' glow led my lady's ancestors through the many dangers of that long trek and finally to safe pastures. Since then they've become a symbol of the imperial authority. If the Bearers had their way, they would turn the clock back eighteen centuries to what they insist were our glory days. But my lady's parents belong to the reform faction that wants to modernize the empire and forge new economic and cultural links to the outside world.”

The vizier's guards hovered just beyond the skirmishers who were swirling around like angry bees. An officer with enough braid to be a hotel doorman hailed them. His bulbous nose reminded Bayang of a potato.

“We'll take charge of the prisoners now,” he called. His long hair crept out from under his helmet and his black beard wagged when he spoke. His men were just as shaggy though their uniforms were all neat and tidy. The vizier and his supporters thought the long hair and beards made them look more like their revered ancestors.

“My Keeper has ordered me to deliver her guests to Princess Maimantstse, not to you.” Captain Warpamo nodded to his companions and they began to descend toward the palace.

The vizier's guard hung in their path. “My Lord Vizier is also in charge of justice.”

“Why would the vizier want us?” Leech asked Kles.

“It wouldn't be the first time he's trumped up charges to go after someone,” Kles said.

Captain Warpamo continued to move downward. “As far as I'm concerned, I am simply escorting Lady Scirye and her friends home. They are not criminals so they do not come under your master's jurisdiction.” At a nod, he and his escort began descending.

The dragon thought the two groups were going to collide in midair, but at the last moment the Wolf commander swerved aside. He circled about, watching in frustration as they passed and then barked out a sharp order.

The Wolf Guards below them began to descend at the same pace and appeared to be a white-uniformed wall.

As surreptitiously as she could, Bayang began to move her claws in a spell to increase her size a bit more, her lips barely moving as she spoke the ancient words. Almost immediately, she felt a searing pain where the ward was, as if someone had stabbed her with a dagger heated in flames.

The griffin mages had done their work too well and the ward held. She ground a paw against her leg. She was trapped in this size.

There would be no escape from the vizier.

 

17

Scirye

A trumpet began sounding a fanfare, the notes trilling up and down excitingly. The vizier's men screened the musician from view, but Scirye saw how they looked at one another in confusion.

Captain Warpamo scowled. “What's going on?”

Suddenly, the Wolf Guardsmen beneath them frantically dodged to either side as a large white war griffin burst through their ranks. The griffin's feathered wings and shaggy winter hide made it seem more like an angry cloud than a creature. Upon his back was a rider in a leather riding outfit and helmet.

It took a moment to recognize Árkwi. Tall—nearly seventeen hands high—with a body that was powerful and yet still with some of the graceful lines of a racer, his dignity and wisdom made him the natural leader of all the imperial griffins—not just because he was the mount of the griffin master.

Scirye felt her heart skip when she saw the familiar features of the rider. “Is that father?” It was from him that she and Nishke had gotten their sharp noses and broad chins. She just hoped the features gave her the same air of strength that he had.

“It appears so.” Kles folded his forelegs as a second rider followed close on the first. This griffin was jet black, the sunlight creating a sheen on its muscles. It could only be her mother's griffin, Kwele. “And that avenging angel would be Lady Sudarshane.”

Scirye felt a lump in her throat. In trying to prevent the theft of the treasures, Badik the dragon had injured her as well as killing Nishke, Scirye's sister and her daughter. When Scirye had last seen her mother, she was lying injured on the museum floor. Had she done the right thing in leaving her there to chase after the dragon who had killed Nishke? “She ought to be in a hospital, not up here,” Scirye said, feeling both worried and guilty.

The third rider wore a scarlet uniform with gold braid on the coat and stripes on the trousers. As he sounded the last notes of the fanfare, he banked to the side.

A plump woman rose at a more stately pace upon a tawny, golden griffin that looked as if a sun were melting. She was dressed in a quilted red and blue silk jacket and trousers and a tall, cylindrical furred cap from which a pheasant feather waved in the wind of her passage. Fixed to the front of the cap were the crossed axes of the empire.

“Ah, Captain Nanayor, how kind of the vizier to send an escort for my guests,” she drawled lazily to the Wolf captain. “My dear brother, your emperor, and your master, the vizier, were worried about what to do with them, so I offered to take them into my custody until we can clear up this little misunderstanding.”

Even if she hadn't seen the thick lips that was a mark of the imperial family, Scirye knew that the woman was Princess Maimantstse. Kles had served her before he had been sent as a tutor to Scirye. Next to her brother, Emperor Kanishka XII, and the vizier, she was the most powerful person in the empire.

“But—,” Captain Nanayor began to protest.

“I'm afraid, though, that if you tried to land with us, you'd raise a frightful clamor and wake my brother from his nap. And we really can't have that.” The princess fluttered her hand as if she were shooing away a pesky little puppy. “You are dismissed.”

“But—,” the Wolf captain tried to object a second time.

“Or do you think it's all right for you to disturb my brother?” Though her tone sounded gentle enough, there was a hint of steel beneath her words.

“Yes, I mean, no.” Captain Nanayor circled nervously in the air as if he were having his griffin chase its own tail.

The princess smiled sweetly. “Then I suggest you stay right here and protect us from any menacing pigeons.” A kick of her heels sent her griffin in a barrel roll that let it slip smoothly into position at the head of Scirye's group so she could lead them through their would-be captors.

The Wolf Guards didn't wait for a command from their captain but streamed out of the way, as if Scirye and her friends had suddenly developed the plague.

When the princess led Scirye and her friends past the dumbfounded guards, Scirye's parents and the trumpeter settled in at the rear.

Kles sprang into the air and did a loop of exultation. “You haven't lost your talent for tweaking the vizier's nose, your highness.”

“Everyone should have a hobby.” The princess held up a hand with a glove that covered her entire forearm so Kles could settle onto it. He took such obvious pleasure in her company and she in his that Scirye felt a twinge of jealousy. As if reading her thoughts, the princess looked over her shoulder at the girl. “Ah, and you must be Lady Scirye. I barely recognized you. Has Kles been behaving himself?”

“I couldn't live without him,” Scirye blurted out. She couldn't keep the envy from her voice. “He's like my right arm.”

The princess studied her, not without some kindness. Then, waving her arm to dislodge Kles, she said regretfully, “Of course. He's indispensable. I didn't mean to deprive you of his company.”

“I live to serve,” Kles mumbled, but his head hung a little guiltily, like a man who'd been caught by his present girlfriend as he flirted with his previous one. And when he landed on Scirye's shoulder, he coiled immediately around her neck, draping himself over both shoulders as if to make up for the lapse.

“You rescued us just in time, Your Highness,” Bayang said. “Thank you.”

“My old friend, the Keeper, radioed me when you left, so I had my servants keep an eye out for you,” the princess explained. “I thought the vizier might try something, so we got ready to fly, and when I saw his vultures take off, I knew I had to nip their mischief in the bud.”