“Is it a cage of some kind?” The poles were too far apart to keep anything but a giant inside, and there was no roof, so he knew cage wasn’t accurate, but he couldn’t place the circle’s function.
“Solar calendars,” Powageh said at his shoulder. They all traveled together now, lord and servant and soldier. It was an uncomfortable closeness but tolerable for the few days it took to traverse up the river, and Balam did prefer Powageh’s company to Pech’s. They had taken up a position near the front of the boat, but guards hovered nearby, scanning the shorelines, a reminder that despite the fact that Cuecola and Hokaia were allies, the reception of the Seven Lords was unsure.
“The log circles?” Balam asked. “How do you know?”
“I was at the tower. We studied such things.”
“And the fields?” Tuun stood at his other shoulder.
“Ball courts,” Balam said. “They play a game called chunkey. I saw an exhibition match once from a traveling troupe when I was younger.”
“And there farther on is the war college.” Powageh pointed to another plaza barely visible on the western side of the river. Balam thought he spotted the flags of the Tovan clans, or at least crude imitations of them, flying over what looked to be an animal pen.
“Remind me to have any Tovans at the war college eliminated tonight. Golden Eagle can join us, but the rest cannot find out we are here on the chance they would alert their clans.” He caught the look on Powageh’s face. “It shouldn’t be many.”
“Slaughtering scions? It’s an act of war.”
“Is it?”
“And to think we were here as tourists,” Tuun observed dryly, and it was enough to make Powageh flush. She waved a bangled wrist. “It is all very impressive. One grows used to having Cuecola as the center of one’s world and forgets there are others who think themselves the center.”
Balam had to agree. Perhaps it was a matter of perspective. Cuecola was surrounded by dense jungle foliage, and a sea approach hid much of its girth. But from the banks of the Kuukuh, one could see for miles across the flatlands. Flat except for the hundreds of man-made mounds, perfect layered platforms for the temples and palaces on top, graced with wooden stairs and fences and populated by thousands of people.
Because, despite the early hour, everywhere they looked there were people. Balam considered Cuecola a cosmopolitan city, but Hokaia teemed with the people of a continent. Mountains sat at Cuecola’s back, cutting it off from the larger landmass to its south, but Hokaia had no natural barriers for hundreds of miles. And an easily accessible river ran through it, never mind the half dozen smaller rivers that met at its headway in the north. It was truly the heart at the center of the Meridian, its vast riverways stretching across the continent like arteries.
He saw people of various shapes, sizes, and shades, and the fashions seemed as diverse as the population. The smells of cooking fires had begun to rise as the day proceeded, and there was such a plethora of scents mingling in the morning air, many new to him, that his nose felt slightly overwhelmed.
“I can see why this place aggressed against its neighbors and began the War of the Spear.” Tuum leaned her arms against the railing. “It must seem like the whole world sits at your doorstep, ripe for plucking.”
“True, but the very things that served them in offense left them vulnerable in retreat. Wide lands with no natural barriers, accessible waterways.”
“They are master mound builders,” Powageh said. “Why not dam your rivers? Use your man-made mountains to your advantage?”
Balam looked skyward. “Their downfall came from the air. What defense did they have against the Tovan clans and their flying beasts?”
“They should have planned ahead.”
“Three hundred years ago? I’m not sure they even knew of Tova until the clans brought Hokaia to its knees. Imagine what it must have been like to be faced with a rider on the back of a winged serpent for the first time.”
“Better a flying serpent than a crow.” Tuun shuddered. “For some reason, it is birds that frighten me more.”
“It is well we have Golden Eagle on our side,” Powageh observed.
“It is a reminder that we must account for everything,” Balam agreed, “even the unknown.”
Powageh gestured with xir chin. “And who is that? Are they accounted for?”
Balam followed xir gaze to the approaching lagoon. Docked along the shore were half a dozen longships, their deep V-shaped hulls painted silver and black. Each had a triangular sail, wider at the top and narrow at the bottom, which hung from a stout pole closer to the fore, trailing numerous ropes. The sail was made of a bright blue fabric and hewn from smaller pieces sewn together. It had been collapsed while at port but must harness a powerful wind at sea.