Free Stormed Fortress by Janny Wurts Page B

sky. Beneath, the dust stirred up by labouring caravans spread a choking, alkali cloud.
    The lumbering farm wagons emptied since dawn crowded past eight-in-hand ox teams, hauling inbound drays from the coast. Wedged in the crush, the sweating courier glanced sidelong at the rider clad in sweat rag and hat and anonymous leathers beside him. ' You were mad to come here without a state retinue. '
    The shaded face turned. Fair-skinned, handsome features wore the same grime that coated all summer travellers. A haggard expression bespoke the rigors of three harried days in the saddle. Yet the glint in those wide-opened eyes stayed as steel, struck off azure ice. ' So we ' ll see. '
    Turned forward again, Lysaer s ' Ilessid never acknowledged the anxious men-at-arms paired at his back. His magisterial manner also refused to draw rein for the tender young talent who straggled behind: today ' s royal page was the gawky get of a Korias crofter. He still showed his plough-boy ' s fist on the reins, more at ease with a scythe than a weapon. If the Light ' s Lord Commander might have bade to correct the appalling lapse in formal panoply, Sulfin Evend was at large to muster the southcoast. His absence left the daunted dismay of his overruled, second-string officers.
    The Blessed Prince remained unfazed. He surveyed the jostling backs of the draught teams, then the craft quarter shop-fronts with their gaudy signs. Adroit, he avoided the flower seller ' s child, darting to hawk posies to the silk-clad matrons in their parked carriages. Tirans ' three-storied mansions framed the scene with established elegance, from door-sills agleam with new paint, to the carvings on marble cornices. A balladeer ' s notes braved the hubbub. The civilized populace adorned their dwellings with statuary, while the potted ivy and gardenia trailing from the upper galleries trumpeted nonchalant affluence.
    Against the courier ' s outspoken concern, Lysaer observed, ' After all, we ' re not visiting a den of barbarians. '
    His informants ' reports had not been remiss: unlike the seaports, this town ' s ruling council had yet to embrace the cause of Avenor ' s Alliance. If the merchants and well-set craftsmen were aligned with the leanings of trade, Tirans supported no head-hunters ' league. Her standing garrison did not chafe to impinge on the designate bounds of the free wilds. The canny mayor reigned without jostling to upset traditional diplomacy. Here, at the core of East Halla ' s prosperity, a frail-but-established truce had held sway since the downfall of Melhalla ' s crown. Charter law still kept tenuous influence.
    Atwood ' s clans were too powerfully placed, allied as they were in tight interest with the warmongering s ' Brydion dukes. Which stew of old order and defiant town enterprise primed the stage for an uncivil welcome.
    The men-at-arms and the page trailed Lysaer ' s horse with closed mouths and inflexible orders. The Light ' s avatar had declared war against Shadow. Independent or not, Tirans ' citizens soon would be commanded to muster. No town-born adult might resist that decision, not if he expected to thrive.
    Therefore, the five riders on their lathered mounts breasted the moil at the main cross-road. They parted ways with the laden carts serving the craft quarter market, joining the smart, lighter vehicles and lackeys bound on genteel business uptown. As the press slackened, the Varens courier slapped the dust from his blazoned jacket. He assayed a sly glance. The expression under Lysaer ' s felt hat appeared reasonable enough to try a last appeal. The mayor ' s played fir e with politics for more years th an I ' ve been alive. Blessed Light, Lord, you cannot expect your grand cause to be served by a routine man bearing dispatches! '
    ' I expect you to deliver my sealed writ, nothing more. ' Lysaer tipped a nod to acknowledge his two armsmen, then gave an encouraging smile to ease the fresh nerves of his page-boy. ' That inn, the Flocked