their twentieth, and then serve the following five years as soldiers. Those proving to have most military value are retained as leaders and the rest return to their trade unless they choose to remain as soldiers. Those leaders help to train those who come after. They are drilled to work as one, to fight in formation, to fight identically, with identical weapons, to operate on the battlefield according to commands and not individual thought.’
Konall was confused. ‘Then they have no great warriors? No feats of valour and legend?’
Grakk smiled, ‘They do not, young lord, although they do have the tournament field where young nobles can prove their skill. No, they do not have great warriors. But they do have an empire.’
Einarr nodded, thoughtfully. ‘That’s interesting, Grakk, many thanks. But now I must think on this, if you don’t mind.’
Grakk looked at him. ‘It is the prerogative of a lord that my minding is immaterial.’
Einarr’s eyes narrowed in amusement. ‘But it is good sense for a lord to mind whether you mind or not, if I would like to increase my chances of the fullest of information in the future.’
‘Your logic is sound,’ Grakk acknowledged. ‘And I do not mind.’
Einarr nodded and they rode in silence, and Brann’s eyes drank in a world that could never have been successfully described to him had he not beheld it at first hand. Strange as the trade area around the docks had seemed, still the mix of nationalities bustling around the streets had lent it a recognisable feel and diluted the air of unreality. Here, though, in the heart of pure Sagia, everything was of this land and nothing of his own. Overwhelmed by the unfamiliar, he seemed to be floating through a dream.
Einarr’s voice cut so suddenly that he jumped, something that nearly amused Konall.
‘Pardon me, Grakk, but you covered but one aspect of the two that I had in mind.’
‘Of course, lord. You would know of the rulers. The court and the nobility. They are…’
The lord held up a hand. ‘Thank you, but no. I have knowledge of their court workings more than enough from the papers and documents I had to endure on the voyage. I would know of your friend Narut. You and he would seem acquainted beyond just a similar penchant for scalp decoration.’
There was a long silence, which served not only to make real the tension that Einarr’s words had created but also to let Brann realise that he had become accustomed to the awkward sensation of being carried shoulder-height in a box.
With hard eyes, Grakk said, ‘I have those few who I would consider friends but he is not, nor ever has been, counted among them.’
‘But you know him.’ It was a statement, not a question.
Grakk nodded. ‘I do.’
‘And your time with him is not remembered fondly.’
‘There was wrongdoing.’
‘By you or by him?’
Grakk’s piercing eyes gazed at the passing buildings, but appeared to see scenes distant in location and time. ‘By both. But though he has position, he is a slave and I now am not. So I cannot bear animosity towards one whose life has led him to greater suffering than mine has.’
‘That’s very noble of you, but that is what fate decreed for him and I am less interested in prying into your personal differences and more in the nature of the man. If he has the ear of a member of the royal family, I would know what he is like and if he can be trusted.’
Grakk’s head snapped to look right into the eyes of Einarr. ‘Lord, if there is one thing you remember always when you are in this city, it is that few you will meet can be trusted. I can only speak of the man I knew many years ago, but then he was arrogant, unfeeling and remorseless, and just as punctilious as a Sagian. He may have changed his nature, but I can imagine nothing in the Sagian way of life that would not encourage those traits rather than mollify them, which has in all likelihood been behind his rise to his current position. Be that as it may, his lack of emotion would ensure that he did nothing from a position of spite, anger or vengeance. Even when he did wrong, he always believed he was doing what was right. He is a man of obsessive duty, and probably more at home here than in the place of his birth, despite his slavery.’
A sound of disdain came from Einarr. ‘Arrogant, unfeeling, remorseless and punctilious? He has indeed found his spiritual home.’
Konall looked at him appraisingly. ‘You don’t much like these people, do you?’
Einarr sighed. ‘The ordinary people are fine, much like anywhere you will go. But my experience of anyone in authority here has not been good. I’m sure there will be exceptions, but I have not found them any time I have visited. And the higher the rank, the worse it tends to get.’
Brann groaned. ‘And we are about to meet the highest rank there is.’
‘It may be imminent.’ Konall pointed over Brann’s shoulder, and he turned to see a gateway taller and broader than he could have imagined possible, leaving the two pairs of stock-still guards looking as large as the toy warriors his grandfather had whittled for him what seemed like a lifetime ago. Intricate geometric shapes were carved with consummate care and skill into the stone that framed the opening, and just craning his head to squint at the lintel twice as high above them as the top of the Blue Dragon’s mast made Brann’s head swim.
‘Imminent may be a premature expression, young lord,’ said Grakk. ‘The castle, and the palace within, are what you might term extensive.’
Brann soon learnt how far the definition of the word ‘extensive’ could stretch. The massive wooden doors of the gate – bound for strength in metal unknown, for they were clad in more sheet gold than several Blue Dragons could carry – lay open, with the grim eyes and naked blades of the four guards enough to discourage entry by any but those already permitted. A tunnel, arched even higher than the gateway, stretched twice the length of their ship, testifying to the thickness of the walls. It is a mighty structure indeed, Brann mused, that you measure in terms of a ship. If the city had been built for trade, the citadel had quite obviously been built for war.
Grakk leant over to him. ‘And this is just the beginning, young Brann.’
It was. They passed through four curtain walls in all, each one higher than the last. Einarr was appreciative. ‘You would lose an entire army before you came face to face with a defender,’ he murmured.
Opulence and pleasure were everywhere, too, however. Between each pair of walls, ornate gardens were a picture of nature with shrubbery, winding streams and carefully arranged rocks. The noise and bustle of the city streets soon seemed distant as the occasional figure could be glimpsed strolling or resting in the calm.
A foot nudged Brann’s knee. ‘Don’t be misled by the look of it, mill boy,’ Konall said. ‘There is not a bush above knee height and the walls are high. This is a killing zone as much as the streets of our towns.’
Brann’s eyes narrowed as he looked around with new perspective. ‘Of course, there is no cover. And what bushes there are would impede movement, as would the streams. In a climate as dry as this, the shrubbery would also burn easily, I would think.’ He looked up. ‘And the battlements are on the inside of the walls as well as the outer side, so defenders on both walls are protected from below as they send down arrows, spears and anything else on the attackers from behind as well as in front. And,’ he finished triumphantly, ‘each inner wall is higher than the outer, so if a wall is taken, the height renders those on the outer one vulnerable to those on the inner one.’ He beamed proudly.
Einarr turned a hard stare at him. ‘I’m glad to see you are thinking again at last, rather than being lost in wonder. We may be here on a friendly visit, but never relax your guard.’
Made surly by his deflated ego, Brann stared to the side. ‘It seems we cannot relax our guard anywhere these days,’ he grumbled.
‘Correct.’ Einarr’s