“The Third Bridge”
“Good night, Councilor,” the night guard said, as he always did when Councilor Kelos left the palace for the night. He could never remember the young man’s name, and would not have known him if he ran into him on the street, out of the red, white and gold heraldry and the black chain mail and red-plumed helm of the Imperial Palace Guard.
“Good night,” Councilor Kelos said, smiling briefly and descending the broad stone steps out of the south gate, and into the courtyard below. He was too busy to be remembering the names of door guards, even if the doors they guarded were at the imperial palace itself.
At sixty-two, Councilor Kelos had lived a good life already, and enjoyed a position of relatively high authority in the imperial bureaucracy. He was an influential member of the Council of Elders, and often held the emperor’s ear. He had always been comfortable, both because of his great wealth and influence, and because of the stability which he had come to expect in the empire. But now all of that was changing, and he felt the sickness in his stomach that came with fear of an uncertain future.
These thoughts troubled him as he left the palace compound by the south gate and took the main street toward the river. He would naturally take his favorite route home, across the Third Bridge, and possibly stop at his favorite tavern to refresh himself before going home. It would give him some time to think about the day’s events before being overwhelmed by the problems at home: the petty concerns of his house servants, farm laborers dissatisfied with their wages, and his wife’s hen-pecking over their daughter’s debut as a suitor for that pompous Duke Piet of O. For a moment Councilor Kelos wished that things were once again as the histories described under Caerdolan rule. Then he would have been a real lord. But he quickly rebuked himself for that thought. Caerdolan was long-gone, and the world was a better place for it.
The Council had been debating for days what to do about the attempted Istarian invasion of Naravas. A tiny realm, really just a city-state built on a narrow strip of land on the edge of the Dryland coast, with only a line of rocky hills protecting it from the Great Desert beyond. It seemed pointless to be so concerned if not for the fact that this tiny realm had a large, protected harbor, and was situated halfway between the Istarian coast and the city of Korma. And the Naravan queen Similca used her strategic position to her best advantage, allowing Istarian merchants free access to the markets of Naravas while employing Korman military forces to keep the peace.
Councilor Kelos knew that tomorrow they would have to vote on whether or not to take military action against Istaria itself. After all, the Istarians had drawn first blood at Naravas. Councilor Kelos would never support such a move, however. The attack on Naravas had been a test of Korma’s strength, and Korma had responded swiftly and effectively to protect Roskian lands. Istaria would not risk a bolder move, despite Councilor Vairam’s fears. Bospora shared the contested border with Istaria, so Vairam’s fears were to be expected, but it still did not warrant all-out war. Besides, he doubted that Korma could really win a war with its powerful, pagan neighbor. He doubted either side would benefit from such a war, which would result in nothing but bloodshed and heartache.
As these thoughts ran through his mind, Councilor Kelos became suddenly aware that the air had grown cold around him. He stood in the midst of the Third Bridge, and looked about, wrapping himself tightly in his long, luxurious coat. A faint mist was rising from the dark water of the broad river, and a thin layer of frost had formed on the stone parapets of the bridge, itself wide enough for two ox-carts to travel side by side and still allow for foot traffic. In the distance upon its hilltop perch the dome of the Great Basilica shone darkly in the moonlight, and Councilor Kelos tried to draw comfort from the sight of that holy place.
The two- and three-storied mansions and town castles lined the riverbanks on either side, their carved stone faces casting shadows of moon and lamp light. Small boats and barges were moored to the private docks and quays of the wealthier homes on the river. The bridge was surprisingly quiet and Councilor Kelos wondered at his isolation. It was still early enough in the evening that there would be other citizens out walking. He was comforted somewhat by the distant sounds of some kind of festivity, probably a wedding party or a child’s naming in the courtyard of one of the city’s town castles, each a self-contained little citadel within the vast, walled city that was Korma.
He remembered happier times in his home, when his own house was festooned with colorful ribbons and candle light, and friends and allies came to celebrate the births of his sons and his daughters, their naming, and the other small victories in his life. He could not remember the last time that he felt eager to go home, except to sleep before returning to his duties at the palace the following day. He paused and looked over the edge of the bridge and out toward the moving water.
Suddenly, he saw a strange movement in the water, and then realized that what he had seen was a reflection of something passing overheard. He felt a chill run through him, and looked up, but all he saw were the jewel-like stars of the night sky, and the bright moon just beginning to duck behind a lone cloud. He felt a rush of air, and a sound like a large banner flapping, and was suddenly aware that someone or something had dropped down onto the bridge only a few feet away from him.
He strained to see through the dim light, but all he saw was a tall figure standing like a man wrapped in a black, concealing cloak.
“Good evening!” Councilor Kelos called out, but the figure remained completely motionless. Councilor Kelos thought of the rumors of thieves and brigands roaming the outer suburbs, but nothing of that sort had affected this part of the city in generations.
“Come now,” Councilor Kelos said, sounding more confident than he felt. “There’s no need to be afraid. There’s no curfew in effect, and I don’t intend to report you.”
The figure did not respond, except with what Councilor Kelos imagined sounded like a low hissing sound. He felt the fear threaten to overcome him, and had the sudden urge to turn and run back toward the palace compound and the armed palace guards that he knew were still standing watch there.
“Get down, Councilor!” a voice cried from behind him, and Councilor Kelos’ knees suddenly gave out from under him, causing him to collapse. Something small flew over his head making a sharp, humming sound and he heard it strike the hissing figure on the bridge with a dull thump, followed by a loud, piercing shriek that seemed to split the misty night air.
Councilor Kelos pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block out the hideous sound, which threatened to drive him mad. There was malice and hatred in that scream, so overwhelmingly terrible that Councilor Kelos felt the urge to throw himself off the bridge and into the water just to rid himself of the memory of it. Instead he cringed in terror against the parapet, and looked up just in time to see the horrible figure spread two huge, black wings and take flight, disappearing into the night.
“Come with us, Councilor,” the voice said to him again, quietly but urgently, and he looked up to see a man dressed all in black leather armor and with a large black cloak, hat, and a scarf concealing the lower part of his face. Only his intense eyes were visible, looking harshly down at him as he held out a black-gloved hand.
Councilor Kelos took the proffered hand and was helped to his feet. He was pulled along across the bridge, past the empty guard house, and then thrust up against the smooth, windowless stone wall of the nearest house. He was suddenly aware of other figures, similarly clad in concealing cloaks and scarves, ducking into nearby alleys and into darkened doorways across the road, all of them with drawn, blackened long swords.
“You’re the Guild, aren’t you?” Councilor Kelos said, trying to recover both his wits and his dignity. “Unhand me now, and I won’t report this incident!”
The man that held him withdrew his grasp and turned to look at him suddenly, apparent disbelief in his eyes.
“You now owe your life to the Guild, Councilor!” the man said.
“What…” Councilor Kelos stammered under the cloaked man’s gaze. “What was that thing on the bridge?”
“A thing of shadow,” he said. “The shadow that Istaria fears, and the reason why Korma may be forced to go to war tomorrow!”
“How do you know about that?” Councilor Kelos said. “Who are you?”
“We are the Guild,” the man said. “You guessed correctly.”
“Kidnappers and cut-purses!” Councilor Kelos said. “Common thieves! But I ask again: who are you?”
He made as if to pull the man’s scarf down off his face, but his wrist was nearly broken by the sudden and powerful grip that stopped him.
“Throats can be cut as easily as purse strings, Councilor Kelos!” the man said, and Councilor Kelos thought he sensed sincere concern in his voice. “For your own sake, never attempt that again!”
“But you know who I am, and you know my business!” Councilor Kelos said. “What do you want from me? Am I to be held for ransom?”
“You misunderstand the Guild’s purpose, Councilor,” the man said. “But that is the way of it. We will escort you to your home, now that the immediate danger has passed. I suggest that you have an armed escort tomorrow if you plan on returning home after dark.”
“The Guild is providing me with an escort?” Councilor Kelos said. “But I don’t understand!”
“Tomorrow the Council votes on whether or not to attack Istaria,” the cloaked man said. “You must convince them to delay this action. The empire lacks the strength to fight Istaria now, regardless of its apparent strength. It has begun to rot from within. The enemies of Roskianity are right here in Korma, Councilor. We need not look to Istaria.”
“But that’s rebel talk!” Councilor Kelos said.
“You know that what I say is true,” the man said. “Clear your eyes, Councilor!”
Councilor Kelos was suddenly aware that the other cloaked figures were moving ahead of them ducking into alleys and hidden in the shadows of doorways and crevices.
“I do not believe that war with Istaria would be prudent,” Councilor Kelos said, his voice steady and with conviction. “Not now, nor ever.”
The man seemed to smile with his eyes.
“I knew you were worth saving back there,” he said. “Come now. I’m sure your wife is worrying about you by now, and I suggest you tell her you merely stopped at the tavern for an ale or two.”
“I suppose I should thank you,” Councilor Kelos said. “Or perhaps you expect me to thank the Guild.”
“The Guild expects no gratitude,” he said, glancing up and then leading Councilor Kelos down the street as if responding to some secret signal from one of the others who had crept on ahead.
Before he knew it, they were once again ducked into a doorway across the street from Councilor Kelos’ house, and only a hundred paces or so from where his own guards stood watch at the open carriage gate. He could have shouted and the armed guards would be there in an instant, but he somehow doubted that they would be able to apprehend these shadowy rogues.
“Your own guards can keep you safe now,” the man said. “Just remember this: Istaria’s enemy is Caerdolan, not Roskianity. The Shadow lived on when the old empire ended. Choose your alliances well, Councilor, and remember that help often comes from the most overlooked places.”
“What?” Councilor Kelos said, turning to face him. “What do you mean by that?”
But the cloaked man had vanished, and no sign remained of any of the others that had accompanied him. Councilor Kelos stood in the shadows wondering what secrets he had stumbled upon, and suspecting now that his opponents on the Council were perhaps deadlier enemies than he had ever imagined. His sense of security had been shattered forever. He stumbled out into the street light, and felt oddly exposed.
“Who goes there?” one of the guards called out.
“Don’t just stand there!” Councilor Kelos snapped at the man, angry that the guard had only now been aware of him. “Come help me inside!”
The guard would think that Councilor Kelos had been drinking and needed his help to keep from stumbling. He let himself be supported by the younger man as his knees once again felt weak. But it was the weight of what he was to face at the next day’s meeting that made him stumble, and not any mead or ale which he now wished he could have had.
“Do you wish to enter by the back way, Councilor?” the guard asked gently. “To avoid waking the lady…”
“Yes, yes,” Councilor Kelos said. “Yes, that’s best.”
“Good night, Councilor,” the night guard said, as he always did when Councilor Kelos left the palace for the night. He could never remember the young man’s name, and would not have known him if he ran into him on the street, out of the red, white and gold heraldry and the black chain mail and red-plumed helm of the Imperial Palace Guard.
“Good night,” Councilor Kelos said, smiling briefly and descending the broad stone steps out of the south gate, and into the courtyard below. He was too busy to be remembering the names of door guards, even if the doors they guarded were at the imperial palace itself.
At sixty-two, Councilor Kelos had lived a good life already, and enjoyed a position of relatively high authority in the imperial bureaucracy. He was an influential member of the Council of Elders, and often held the emperor’s ear. He had always been comfortable, both because of his great wealth and influence, and because of the stability which he had come to expect in the empire. But now all of that was changing, and he felt the sickness in his stomach that came with fear of an uncertain future.
These thoughts troubled him as he left the palace compound by the south gate and took the main street toward the river. He would naturally take his favorite route home, across the Third Bridge, and possibly stop at his favorite tavern to refresh himself before going home. It would give him some time to think about the day’s events before being overwhelmed by the problems at home: the petty concerns of his house servants, farm laborers dissatisfied with their wages, and his wife’s hen-pecking over their daughter’s debut as a suitor for that pompous Duke Piet of O. For a moment Councilor Kelos wished that things were once again as the histories described under Caerdolan rule. Then he would have been a real lord. But he quickly rebuked himself for that thought. Caerdolan was long-gone, and the world was a better place for it.
The Council had been debating for days what to do about the attempted Istarian invasion of Naravas. A tiny realm, really just a city-state built on a narrow strip of land on the edge of the Dryland coast, with only a line of rocky hills protecting it from the Great Desert beyond. It seemed pointless to be so concerned if not for the fact that this tiny realm had a large, protected harbor, and was situated halfway between the Istarian coast and the city of Korma. And the Naravan queen Similca used her strategic position to her best advantage, allowing Istarian merchants free access to the markets of Naravas while employing Korman military forces to keep the peace.
Councilor Kelos knew that tomorrow they would have to vote on whether or not to take military action against Istaria itself. After all, the Istarians had drawn first blood at Naravas. Councilor Kelos would never support such a move, however. The attack on Naravas had been a test of Korma’s strength, and Korma had responded swiftly and effectively to protect Roskian lands. Istaria would not risk a bolder move, despite Councilor Vairam’s fears. Bospora shared the contested border with Istaria, so Vairam’s fears were to be expected, but it still did not warrant all-out war. Besides, he doubted that Korma could really win a war with its powerful, pagan neighbor. He doubted either side would benefit from such a war, which would result in nothing but bloodshed and heartache.
As these thoughts ran through his mind, Councilor Kelos became suddenly aware that the air had grown cold around him. He stood in the midst of the Third Bridge, and looked about, wrapping himself tightly in his long, luxurious coat. A faint mist was rising from the dark water of the broad river, and a thin layer of frost had formed on the stone parapets of the bridge, itself wide enough for two ox-carts to travel side by side and still allow for foot traffic. In the distance upon its hilltop perch the dome of the Great Basilica shone darkly in the moonlight, and Councilor Kelos tried to draw comfort from the sight of that holy place.
The two- and three-storied mansions and town castles lined the riverbanks on either side, their carved stone faces casting shadows of moon and lamp light. Small boats and barges were moored to the private docks and quays of the wealthier homes on the river. The bridge was surprisingly quiet and Councilor Kelos wondered at his isolation. It was still early enough in the evening that there would be other citizens out walking. He was comforted somewhat by the distant sounds of some kind of festivity, probably a wedding party or a child’s naming in the courtyard of one of the city’s town castles, each a self-contained little citadel within the vast, walled city that was Korma.
He remembered happier times in his home, when his own house was festooned with colorful ribbons and candle light, and friends and allies came to celebrate the births of his sons and his daughters, their naming, and the other small victories in his life. He could not remember the last time that he felt eager to go home, except to sleep before returning to his duties at the palace the following day. He paused and looked over the edge of the bridge and out toward the moving water.
Suddenly, he saw a strange movement in the water, and then realized that what he had seen was a reflection of something passing overheard. He felt a chill run through him, and looked up, but all he saw were the jewel-like stars of the night sky, and the bright moon just beginning to duck behind a lone cloud. He felt a rush of air, and a sound like a large banner flapping, and was suddenly aware that someone or something had dropped down onto the bridge only a few feet away from him.
He strained to see through the dim light, but all he saw was a tall figure standing like a man wrapped in a black, concealing cloak.
“Good evening!” Councilor Kelos called out, but the figure remained completely motionless. Councilor Kelos thought of the rumors of thieves and brigands roaming the outer suburbs, but nothing of that sort had affected this part of the city in generations.
“Come now,” Councilor Kelos said, sounding more confident than he felt. “There’s no need to be afraid. There’s no curfew in effect, and I don’t intend to report you.”
The figure did not respond, except with what Councilor Kelos imagined sounded like a low hissing sound. He felt the fear threaten to overcome him, and had the sudden urge to turn and run back toward the palace compound and the armed palace guards that he knew were still standing watch there.
“Get down, Councilor!” a voice cried from behind him, and Councilor Kelos’ knees suddenly gave out from under him, causing him to collapse. Something small flew over his head making a sharp, humming sound and he heard it strike the hissing figure on the bridge with a dull thump, followed by a loud, piercing shriek that seemed to split the misty night air.
Councilor Kelos pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block out the hideous sound, which threatened to drive him mad. There was malice and hatred in that scream, so overwhelmingly terrible that Councilor Kelos felt the urge to throw himself off the bridge and into the water just to rid himself of the memory of it. Instead he cringed in terror against the parapet, and looked up just in time to see the horrible figure spread two huge, black wings and take flight, disappearing into the night.
“Come with us, Councilor,” the voice said to him again, quietly but urgently, and he looked up to see a man dressed all in black leather armor and with a large black cloak, hat, and a scarf concealing the lower part of his face. Only his intense eyes were visible, looking harshly down at him as he held out a black-gloved hand.
Councilor Kelos took the proffered hand and was helped to his feet. He was pulled along across the bridge, past the empty guard house, and then thrust up against the smooth, windowless stone wall of the nearest house. He was suddenly aware of other figures, similarly clad in concealing cloaks and scarves, ducking into nearby alleys and into darkened doorways across the road, all of them with drawn, blackened long swords.
“You’re the Guild, aren’t you?” Councilor Kelos said, trying to recover both his wits and his dignity. “Unhand me now, and I won’t report this incident!”
The man that held him withdrew his grasp and turned to look at him suddenly, apparent disbelief in his eyes.
“You now owe your life to the Guild, Councilor!” the man said.
“What…” Councilor Kelos stammered under the cloaked man’s gaze. “What was that thing on the bridge?”
“A thing of shadow,” he said. “The shadow that Istaria fears, and the reason why Korma may be forced to go to war tomorrow!”
“How do you know about that?” Councilor Kelos said. “Who are you?”
“We are the Guild,” the man said. “You guessed correctly.”
“Kidnappers and cut-purses!” Councilor Kelos said. “Common thieves! But I ask again: who are you?”
He made as if to pull the man’s scarf down off his face, but his wrist was nearly broken by the sudden and powerful grip that stopped him.
“Throats can be cut as easily as purse strings, Councilor Kelos!” the man said, and Councilor Kelos thought he sensed sincere concern in his voice. “For your own sake, never attempt that again!”
“But you know who I am, and you know my business!” Councilor Kelos said. “What do you want from me? Am I to be held for ransom?”
“You misunderstand the Guild’s purpose, Councilor,” the man said. “But that is the way of it. We will escort you to your home, now that the immediate danger has passed. I suggest that you have an armed escort tomorrow if you plan on returning home after dark.”
“The Guild is providing me with an escort?” Councilor Kelos said. “But I don’t understand!”
“Tomorrow the Council votes on whether or not to attack Istaria,” the cloaked man said. “You must convince them to delay this action. The empire lacks the strength to fight Istaria now, regardless of its apparent strength. It has begun to rot from within. The enemies of Roskianity are right here in Korma, Councilor. We need not look to Istaria.”
“But that’s rebel talk!” Councilor Kelos said.
“You know that what I say is true,” the man said. “Clear your eyes, Councilor!”
Councilor Kelos was suddenly aware that the other cloaked figures were moving ahead of them ducking into alleys and hidden in the shadows of doorways and crevices.
“I do not believe that war with Istaria would be prudent,” Councilor Kelos said, his voice steady and with conviction. “Not now, nor ever.”
The man seemed to smile with his eyes.
“I knew you were worth saving back there,” he said. “Come now. I’m sure your wife is worrying about you by now, and I suggest you tell her you merely stopped at the tavern for an ale or two.”
“I suppose I should thank you,” Councilor Kelos said. “Or perhaps you expect me to thank the Guild.”
“The Guild expects no gratitude,” he said, glancing up and then leading Councilor Kelos down the street as if responding to some secret signal from one of the others who had crept on ahead.
Before he knew it, they were once again ducked into a doorway across the street from Councilor Kelos’ house, and only a hundred paces or so from where his own guards stood watch at the open carriage gate. He could have shouted and the armed guards would be there in an instant, but he somehow doubted that they would be able to apprehend these shadowy rogues.
“Your own guards can keep you safe now,” the man said. “Just remember this: Istaria’s enemy is Caerdolan, not Roskianity. The Shadow lived on when the old empire ended. Choose your alliances well, Councilor, and remember that help often comes from the most overlooked places.”
“What?” Councilor Kelos said, turning to face him. “What do you mean by that?”
But the cloaked man had vanished, and no sign remained of any of the others that had accompanied him. Councilor Kelos stood in the shadows wondering what secrets he had stumbled upon, and suspecting now that his opponents on the Council were perhaps deadlier enemies than he had ever imagined. His sense of security had been shattered forever. He stumbled out into the street light, and felt oddly exposed.
“Who goes there?” one of the guards called out.
“Don’t just stand there!” Councilor Kelos snapped at the man, angry that the guard had only now been aware of him. “Come help me inside!”
The guard would think that Councilor Kelos had been drinking and needed his help to keep from stumbling. He let himself be supported by the younger man as his knees once again felt weak. But it was the weight of what he was to face at the next day’s meeting that made him stumble, and not any mead or ale which he now wished he could have had.
“Do you wish to enter by the back way, Councilor?” the guard asked gently. “To avoid waking the lady…”
“Yes, yes,” Councilor Kelos said. “Yes, that’s best.”
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