Free The Assassins of Tamurin by S. D. Tower Page B

finger’s eastern side was the Gulf of the Pearl, the great bay into which the Pearl River flowed after its thousand-mile journey from far inland. To the west lay the Great Green, the world’s ocean, in whose waters rose the archipelagoes of Khalaka and the Yellow Smoke Islands, home of spices, pirates, and burning mountains.
    The border was marked by the narrow but swift Banner River. A stone bridge once carried the road across it, but the arches had fallen long ago into the rushing torrent. Sertaj told me that the bridge had been broken on purpose, during the Era of the Warring Emperors, to help defend against an invading warlord from Guidarat. The banks of the Banner being so steep at that point, we had to go upstream a mile to reach a ford. I’d expected a welcoming party and was a little surprised that no one had come to the border to meet the Despotana. I didn’t know then how much she preferred invisibility to display.
    At the ford I finally put to Dilara the question that had been puzzling me for some time. In a low voice I asked, “Why isn’t Mother afraid that somebody might rebel while she was away? It happens in the stories, you know, the wicked general betrays his lord and kills him at the homecoming banquet.”
    Dilara snorted. “Nobody would dare.”
    “Why not?”
    “They just wouldn’t, that’s all. Everybody’s loyal to her. The people and the soldiers and the merchants, everybody. You’ll see when we get there.”
    “Oh,” I said, and left it at that. Loyalty was still a new idea to me, but I found it comforting that such a thing could exist, having known so little of it in Riversong.
    The air grew colder after we crossed the river, and colder still as we climbed toward Crossbone Pass, the mountain gateway to the settled part of Tamurin. No one was on the road but us, and the only people we saw were a few herdsmen pasturing their curly-horned sheep on the upland meadows. A peaceful place Tamurin might be, but they kept well away from us. The only other signs of humanity were occasional stone watchtowers, with signal beacons at their summits. But none of the beacons flared to life as we approached; the towers were abandoned and derelict.
    We camped for the night at the top of the pass, which was a narrow cleft overshadowed by monstrous cliffs, and the next day began the descent. As the air warmed I found myself in a country of steep-sided green valleys, and through each valley ran a stream or small river, watering fields already lush with young wheat and millet. Little shrines to place gods were everywhere, and there were bigger shrines for the Beneficent Ones and the Lord of the Dead. I saw a really beautiful one to the Moon Lady that had silver crescents painted all over a dome of dark blue tiles.
    In Tamurin also were the manors of big landowners, and people toiling in the fields around them. But there were no abandoned farms, and even the small villages looked prosperous. During the two days it took to reach Chiran, we passed through several such places, and to my surprise the inhabitants didn’t make themselves scarce. Instead they came running out to cheer the Despotana, and often they threw flowers.
    And so at last I came to the valley of Tamurin’s capital, Chiran. The city stood about a mile from the sea, and rambled across three broad ridges that reached out, like spread fingers, from the valley’s flank. From a distance it was a jumble of high-peaked roofs clad in red tiles and gray cypress shingles, but as we drew nearer I could make out carved wooden eaves, painted gable ends, and high verandas with columns colored red and blue. Scattered everywhere were striped awnings; a trio of wooden fire-watch towers, slender as pines, rose high above the roofs. And surrounding everything was a stout wall of russet brick, dotted with stone towers, zigzagging uphill and down like a great red serpent.
    A river, the Plum, flowed seaward past the city, and there was a bustling port at the foot