“I’ve ridden before, sir.”
“Well, that’s something, at least,” he grunted. “We’ll have to go mounted to get there and back in time.” He nodded forward through the rush of soldiers. “Stables are ahead. Won’t take a moment.”
We were at the eastern edge of the city now, the fernpaper houses clinging to the shallow hills about us like wildflowers. Yet there’d been a change as we’d moved: the fernpaper had grown in quality, shifting from the muddy brown of poor reeds to a luminous white; there was more ornamentation to the buildings—a bronze handle here, an elaborately carved front door there; and there was smoke on the moist air, and steam, and the aroma of oils—a bathing house, or many of them, somewhere nearby. We were in rich country now.
Yet the most striking indication of this area’s wealth were the people on the balconies, looking down at us as we walked by. They were all suffused folk, tall and thin and statuesque, gray-skinned with wide, dark eyes and fine, sculpted faces. Eyes dashed with oysterdust. Lips painted purple, cheeks lined with blue. Many more were obscured to me, faces hidden behind rippling veils wrought of silvery fabric, as if their beauty would be tarnished if one such as I beheld them.
Gentryfolk, I realized. I had never seen a member of the gentry before. I asked Miljin about it.
“Ah,” he said. He grinned wickedly. “These fine folk have come here to make friends.”
“Friends, sir?”
“Yes. It’s all politics. Ancient rules and rites. To be eligible for a seat in the Senate of the Sanctum, you’ve got to serve at least two terms on watch at the sea walls. Can’t manage the Empire if you’ve never faced what it exists to fight.” He waved a hand at the motley throngs of soldiers. “Somewhere among these miserable bastards are future governors and senators and Sanctum knows what else. Tax assessors. Some bullshit like that.”
“And the gentryfolk…”
“Want to get in early. Distribute favor and patronage, spy rising stars and ply them with treats. Better lodgings, armor, horses, food. Maybe the odd suffusion. This neighborhood isn’t even the fanciest bit, they got estates west of the city where the truly nice houses are, owned by the Mishtas, the Kurafs, the Hazas…”
My pace slowed slightly as I heard that last name.
Miljin shot a glare at one of the gentryfolk above. “It’s like a horse race, boy. They’re all here to make their bets. And if they bet right, they can win a lifetime of fortune. Sounds unfair, maybe, but I’m not so sure.” He snorted and spat. “Might be the only way the gentry learns what fear is, to live in the shadow of the sea walls.”
* * *
—
WE RODE EAST as the sun fought to clear the horizon, wearing straw cone hats to protect us from the sun and rain. The road was rumbling with wagons and carts and cohorts of soldiers all moving out to take their stations in the fortifications. I eyed the fields about me, the legendary Plains of the Titan’s Path, aware we now crossed land that was both sacred and profane: for here countless generations of imperials had fought and bled and died to hold back the titans; including the first imperial race, the blessed Khanum, before they had died out.
The way ahead was shrouded with fog, but I kept my sight fixed on the east as we trotted along the muddy path. I wondered what I might spy there, or what I would do if the horizon suddenly lit up with yellow or red flares, warning us of a coming titan. My gaze was only broken when Miljin laughed and swatted my arm.
“You won’t be able to see it, lad,” he said, chiding me.
“See what, sir?” I asked.
“Anything,” he said. “The walls, the dead leviathan. The mist will cling until midmorn. The walls trap it. Sun has to get high for it to burn off. The most dangerous things out here, why…” He nodded toward a ditch. “They’ll be skulking alongside the roads.”
He watched, pleased, as I puzzled over this, before finally explaining, “Mutineers. Deserters. Imperials shook by the breach, who want out. To them, the sight of a young thing like you atop a healthy horse…Well. There’s a reason why we still carry these.” He patted his mechanical sword hilt. “A sword don’t do shit against a titan. But for those who make it harder to fight the titans, why, a blade has many uses.”
We trotted along in silence after that, my own sword feeling heavier at my side—largely because I did not wish to tell the captain my blade was wood and lead.
* * *
—