Chapter One
Lunnedy
Issanka paired weary travellers with the plethora of carts, carriages and wheelbarrows that filled every open space. Her hood pulled up, she was one of the many shifting shapes in the crush of people, invisible in obscurity.
If she concentrated, she could bend the clouds of sunlight beneath the dust like breath in the cold. Pushing and pulling at the light as though it were fabric at the end of a string, she hooked it around her form so that any stray gazes from the crowd slipped over her.
A few paces ahead, a travelling family bobbed along with the movement of the crowd. Their height and posture marked them as citizens, and their clothing, while dirty and worn, was finely stitched and tailored. Issanka watched them as they shifted. She fingered the worn ties on a small pouch at her hips, bending the light between them so that she could focus more clearly. The father of the group, tall and uncommonly groomed, watched his family’s backs. His eyes slid like oil over water as he gazed at the spot in which she stood.
The queue followed a narrow road up the mountain’s winding incline above the shimmering valley. During the war of succession, the king’s rebel army had entrenched themselves between these mountains like roots threaded between rocks, withstanding the emperor’s assaults while moving ever closer to claim his throne in Lutetia, the capital city of Allanga.
The war had turned the rich soils of the Middle Lands into a graveyard of churned mud and scattered bone. One year after peace had returned, Issanka could see spots of soil exposed and ready for planting – a sign that some brave castos farmers had left the safety of Lunnedy’s walls to grow some much-needed food.
The clink of chainmail brought Issanka’s gaze back. A broad mestidios loped through the crowd. Her naked right arm boasted two golden rings which denoted her rank. The split-sun crest of the city steward blazed on her tunic.
The crowd followed her movements with ripples of whispers and shuffling feet. Mestidios were not always to be feared, but the city guard had extensive powers, especially in deciding who would be allowed to enter.
A skinny casta man was the current target. The mestidios pulled to a stop before him, a bull before a baby.
‘Papers, casta.’
The servant avoided looking at her and reached into his rucksack, already overloaded with goods for sale in the city. His shoulders slumped, pulling him into a deep bow as he handed over the document. The mestidios reviewed it quickly, returned it and moved on. The casta swayed with sudden relief.
The mestidios continued her patrol, checking at random those waiting to enter the city. The lower castes were not allowed to travel without their masters or their written authority, though checking every individual was often unnecessary. The punishment for being caught was deterrent enough.
The mestidios prowled the road. Her eyes lit up as she spotted the family of citizens Issanka had been following. Issanka cursed under her breath and stepped closer, eyes on the ground. She pitched her hearing forward.
‘Hail, my lord. Your papers, please.’ The guardswoman was brave to alter her speech so little, even when addressing a citizen. Before the war of succession, a mestidios faced execution for addressing a citizen so readily.
‘I have no papers.’ The citizen’s voice was forceful.
Issanka swayed on the balls of her feet as she listened, bending light to hide herself among the shadow cast by a tall cart of wheat and cheese.
Just walk away, soldier, she thought.
The mestidios did not walk away. ‘My lord, my duty to Steward Roland Constans Des Boves requires me to turn you away from Lunnedy’s fair gates if you cannot identify yourself.’
He sighed. ‘You castes are all the same. Come then, mestidios, tell me your price. Will a matter of ten silver satisfy your ‘duty’?’
She pursed her lips and drew herself up to her full height. ‘My lord, I may not be a free citizen, but once I am bound by a contract, my allegiance is not for sale. Perhaps the mestidios where you’re from behave differently, but this is the Middle Lands, and here we obey the First Law.’
Issanka’s mouth almost fell open as the guardswoman began to recite the law of the new empire: ‘“To all citizens of the New Gallic Empire of Allagna, I have granted all liberties and free castos subject to…”’
‘Pardon me, cousin.’ Issanka stepped forward, releasing the air around her. To the onlookers it must have looked like she stepped into existence from behind an invisible curtain.
‘I do believe that it’s “free customs”,’ Issanka said. ‘Our former emperor certainly did not believe in “free castos”.’
She bent into a low bow towards the citizen, dropping a pebble to the ground. As she did so, it released the sound of a child crying somewhere behind them.
‘My lord,’ Issanka nodded towards the hilt of his sword, which peeked out from his belt holster behind his cape, ‘I see you bear the mark of the faithful. Lord Des Boves should be incredibly pleased to have a visit from one of the king’s inner circle. How fares Lutetia after the peace negotiations?’
The citizen’s eyes bulged and he flipped his sword beneath the folds of his cloak as the mestidios choked out a breath.
‘The mark of the—’ The mestidios dipped into a series of low bows like a duck fishing in choppy waters. ‘Please forgive me, my lord. I am terribly sorry to have not recognised you at once. Please. Have mercy on a humble servant.’
‘Neither your insolence nor your regret matter.’ He glared at the mestidios and at Issanka, as if trying to determine who was most at fault. ‘I would, however, prefer to keep my presence here unknown. Please do not draw attention. You are dismissed, mestidios. Long live the king.’
‘Long live the king.’ The mestidios bent into two.
Issanka dropped another pebble to the ground, a little behind them. A woman called out for assistance with the crying baby.
‘Excuse me… I should…’ The mestidios disappeared as the crowd slid apart and swallowed her.
Issanka turned to the citizen. He was gathering his family together, shooting furtive glances in every direction. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, ‘quickly. We must get inside the walls.’
The citizen’s cohort scurried off like a multi-legged insect, carving a path forward into the crowd.
Issanka followed, keeping them within her sight. A cloud of red dust and indignant comments followed them all the way to the giant stone archways, the only known way in and out of Lunnedy’s ancient walls.
As she passed under the stone archways, the temperature dropped immediately, the dusty breeze replaced by damp shadows. Tall, mismatched buildings with hunched windows sat crammed together along winding streets. A spiderweb network of laundry rigging between the buildings formed a roof to the walkways, and drying garments waved to the visitors as they passed underneath. Dirt roads became uneven cobblestones and the tired wheels of unwieldy carts whined in protest.
The anxious sensation of hot bodies pressing together dissipated inside the walls. Most travellers continued down the main road, coaxing weary beasts between the buildings towards the market square in the centre of town. The family of citizens, however, did not follow the crowd. With shifting gazes and shuffling feet, they edged off to the side and headed down one of the narrower streets, beside the outer wall.
Issanka fell behind and followed them at a distance, patient.
Noticing her presence, the family stopped and turned. The mother put a hand on both children’s shoulders, holding them close. The father faced Issanka, his expression dark and unreadable.
‘Where have you seen this?’ He grabbed the sword at his hip, preparing to draw it. ‘What do you know of my family?’
‘Please, my lord. I mean you no harm. I only mean to aid your cause.’ Issanka bent her head, keeping her hands open and visible to him.
‘In this strange and uncertain time,’ she continued, ‘we must demonstrate our loyalty to the rightful king, and that includes his most trusted circle.’ Issanka allowed herself to meet the citizen’s eyes.
His hair was greasy, and long lines criss-crossed the citizen’s cheeks as he spoke. ‘It has been many weeks since we left the royal palace. No one has recognised this crest until today.’
‘My lord,’ she offered a careful smile, ‘information is my trade. I can guess from the size of your baggage and your thin coats that you are headed south. Perhaps to Ewele?’
He nodded. ‘We heard that there is a place in this city where the castes gather to find and trade contracts. We need a guide…’ He eyed her. ‘Preferably one who observes less than you.’
Issanka nodded. ‘That can be arranged, my lord. I have a friend here, much more useful than the likes of me. Hired muscle, and very experienced.’
The citizen nodded once more and gathered his family, but Issanka continued to speak. ‘One thing first, my lord, if you please?’
‘What is it?’
‘Might I know the name of my lord?’
There was a long moment of hesitation, and then, ‘My family name is Formeiu, casta. No more questions.’
Issanka bowed once more, keeping her head down as the citizens gathered themselves for one final journey.
Gabrielle Davis Author 