Empress of Dorsa (The Chronicles of Dorsa)

36

“We seem to be on the same schedule.”

The dark-eyed first sergeant looked up from her hardtack biscuit and dried horse meat. Nothing in her expression suggested that Akella’s presence was welcomed.

“It appears that way,” Megs said.

“Do you mind if I…?” Akella inclined her chin at the open space across from Megs.

“Suit yourself.”

“I always do,” Akella said cheerily. She set her tray down and settled onto the bench, breaking off a piece of biscuit. “So,” she began, “what news from the –”

“Akella – it’s Akella, isn’t it?”

“Ah, you remembered.” Akella flashed what she hoped was a charming smile.

“Akella, I’m really not interested,” Megs said.

Akella cocked her head to the side. “Not interested in what?”

“Whatever it is you’re hoping to get from –” Megs waved a forefinger back and forth between them “– this.”

“This is me sitting down across from the only other woman in this tent and making friendly conversation.” Akella’s smile didn’t waver.

“I don’t make friends.”

“No? Then what do you do all day long?” Akella swept an arm out, indicating the tent and the camp beyond it. “In case you haven’t noticed, things have been rather dull since we established ourselves here. No mountain men in weeks. No cat fights between the Wise Men and the Brotherhood in a fortnight. There hasn’t even been a good drunken brawl over cards between soldiers in – what? Five days? Six? About the most excitement I see anymore is when they bring in the injured from the frontlines. So why not make a friend or two? Or at least an acquaintance. It takes the edge off the boredom, don’t you think?”

“Aida of Crenstock,” Megs said. “Kazine of Elgrad, Sage of Tew – she’s the other female sergeant in the camp, and then there’s the flock of chambermaids and cooks the Empress’s retinue brought with them – Lillee, I think, and –”

“Am I supposed to know them?”

“– Alena, Saria, and …” Megs made up, making a show of thinking hard. “I can’t remember the last one’s name, but she’s –”

“I don’t know any of these names,” Akella said.

“I’m offering you other options – other women in the camp you can make acquaintances with,” Megs said. “Since you seem so interested in making friends with a woman. Kazine in particular might have what you’re looking for.”

“I’m sorry,” Akella said, holding up both palms. “I don’t know what I did to get your back up, Megs, but I apologize. Could we try starting again?”

Megs snorted. “In what way did I lead you to believe I wanted to ‘start’ anything with you in the first place?”

“And what did I do that was so horribly offensive?”

“I’m not thick, pirate. You learn to recognize when someone is interested in more than just acquaintanceship when you’re one of a dozen women in a camp of five hundred men. You think you’re the first to sit down across from me and then pretend to make innocent conversation?” Megs pressed the tips of her fingers into her eyes. “Honestly, I just want to break my fast in peace.”

“Alright.” Akella took a bite from her own hardtack biscuit.

Megs eyed her. “Alright what?”

“Alright, let’s break our fast in peace,” Akella said around a mouthful of biscuit. “Not another word from me.”

Megs raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Akella took another bite immediately, determined to keep her vow of silence. Silence wasn’t something she typically practiced.

To keep her mind occupied and her mouth closed, Akella turned her mind to the previous night’s dream. She couldn’t remember all of it, but its beginning had been familiar. She stood near the bow of her ship, the Preyla’s Blessing, Adriel beside her. Together, they gazed at the white city which had come into view with the rising sun.

“Have you ever seen anything like that?” Adriel asked.

Akella, unsettled, shook her head.

The city gleamed white in the sun rising behind them, and it spiraled upward like a corkscrew, each level a little narrower than the one before. If someone had told her small men had carved it right out of the mountain that it seemed to grow from, Akella would have believed it. She also would have believed it if someone had told her the goddess Preyla manifested the city, placing it against the mountain wholly formed and immaculate. Already this morning, she’d heard some amongst the crew wonder aloud if they’d died during the storm that had blown them so far off-course, and the city before them was the queendom of the goddess, the afterlife.

“Hand me the farscope,” Akella said, holding out her hand.

Adriel gave it to her, and Akella placed it to one eye. The instrument revealed that the city was even more beautiful than they could see from this distance. The spirals that wound their way up the mountain were semi-circular white walls, curving outward from each side of the mountain. They appeared to be white marble, punctuated with finely carved archways and gateways, the crenellations at their tops appearing more decorative than defensive. At the highest point of the city, just beyond the last and narrowest of the semicircular white walls growing from the mountainside, Akella spotted a palace.

A familiar-looking palace.

She handed the farscope back to Adriel. “Up at the top,” she said. “What does that remind you of?”

Adriel held up the device, squinting into it the way he always did. “Preyla’s tit,” he murmured. “Looks almost just like the palace at Port Lorsin.”

Akella nodded, uneasiness growing.

“But it’s …” Adriel adjusted the farscope. “It’s missing a few towers. The front of it’s like Port Lorsin’s, but it’s like …” He lowered the instrument and turned to his rizalt. “Remember that merchant in Negusto, claimed to be an antiques dealer?”

“The one who tried to convince us the tapestries we looted from that Western captain weren’t worth more than a copper penny or two?”

“Aye, that one,” Adriel agreed. “I was poking around in his scrolls while he tried to haggle you down, and he had some old paintings of Port Lorsin. One of ’em –” Adriel pointed at the city “– one of ’em had the palace looking just like that one. Same towers missing. This palace here? Might as well be that painting come to life.”

Akella frowned. “I don’t think I like that.”

“Maybe not,” Adriel said, “but we ran through the last of our drinking water yesterday. As for food, we got enough rations left for three days. At most. And the Preyla’s Blessing …” He shook his head. “Rizalt, it’s only by the grace of the goddess we’re still afloat. Even if we didn’t need food and water, I don’t think we could make it south without repairs. I don’t think we have much choice but to dock.”

Up to that point in the dream, everything had come straight from Akella’s memory. She and Adriel really had stood at the bow of the ship the day they dropped anchor outside the gleaming white city of Persopos, they really had that conversation regarding the necessity of resupplying, and she really had felt a growing sense of unease that morning they first arrived.

But then the dream had shifted. When Akella turned back to Adriel, he wasn’t there anymore. Instead, an old man stood beside her. No – not just old. Ancient. Skin so thin she swore she could see the skeleton beneath it. The long robe he wore, cinched at his narrow waist with a cracked leather belt, looked like it weighed more than he did.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said the ancient man, voice a breathy whisper. He waved a ring-laden hand in the direction of the city beyond. “A true masterpiece.”

“Where’s my crew?” Akella demanded, because in that moment, she somehow knew he was the one responsible. He was the one who’d enchanted her men in the white city’s dockside brothel; he was the one still holding them captive.

His grin was a death’s head rictus. “Enjoying themselves. Being fruitful, and adding to my citizenry. You should be proud of them.”

“Let them go.”

“Let them go? Are you suggesting they are prisoners?” The grin mocked her, told Akella she knew nothing – less than nothing. “Not true, Rizalt, not true at all. I’ve granted them eternal life; they remain here and serve me simply out of gratitude and affection.”

Akella’s only answer was a glare.

The skeleton papered over with flesh only chuckled. “We’re not that different, you and I. We are both captains of our own ships. And we each care deeply for our crews. But I assure you, your boys are in good hands.” He cocked his head. “If anything, I think you should join them.”

“Join them? The last time I saw them, they –” Akella choked off the last few words, the bitter memory of her own crew, their faces blank and expressionless, setting fire to Preyla’s Blessing. “The last time I saw them, they were not themselves.”

“They are more themselves than they ever have –”

A bugle broke into Akella’s reminiscing, bursting through her memory of the dream like a water bubble popped by a needle. She looked up sharply. Across from her, Megs did the same.

The bugle rang out twice more in rapid succession, each note a piercing cry in the otherwise quiet morning.

Megs dropped what was left of her biscuit and shot up from her seat. All the other occupants of the mess tent did the same thing.

“What’s happening?” Akella asked.

“Three blasts – the camp is under attack!” Megs shouted, and raced towards the exit.