When The Petal Fell

15-2

As they neared the bridge, Klaron caught sight of a large encampment, in the fields to south-east of the city gates, and of large numbers of soldiers going through training manoeuvres. She could see the banners, rippling in the winds, and the distinctive armour. These were City Guards. Far more than she believed to be in current employ. Something had happened while they were gone. Something that had made Rifnarus call in the reserves.

"The refugees will be fine, now." She turned to Pirizd, hiding her concern. "We should get to the city as soon as possible."

"I'd rather lead them to the City Gates, my sweet Klaron." He turned around in his saddle, waving at a couple of the people behind. "I would hate to leave a job half-done."

"I said they'll be fine. No-one will bother them between here and the gates." She looked at Sora and the debt collector appeared ready to go. "We go. Now."

"My dear, what's the rush? It's a fine day. The city is within our reach. Let us enjoy the quiet road and the wonderful company." He seemed to have no intention of moving any faster than he was, giving that mischievous smile of his.

"If you don't get moving, I'll knock you off that horse and drag you back to the city." She spun her horse around, hissing at the Thought Mage and glaring into his eyes. The smile disappeared. "Let me remind you that you are still under suspicion of murder. This is not a pleasant day out with the children! The sooner we're back in the city, the sooner you're interrogated and the sooner you can go about your business at whatever pace you wish. Until then, you go when I say you go. You speed up when I say you speed up. And if I say crawl, you ask me how damned low I want your belly. Do you understand?"

Pirizd nodded, cowed and browbeaten. Sora, on the other side of the man, nodded in appreciation. Most like she would have hammered home the orders with liberal usage of violence. Klaron didn't need reminding that the woman had advocated for killing Pirizd when they caught him, days ago. Klaron doubted she would fail to use a little physical leverage to get the man moving.

With Pirizd now docile, she turned her horse back up the road and tapped its flanks. Pirizd began to follow close behind and Sora fell in to the rear. They sped past soldiers marching in unison, others practicing against straw-filled dummies. Still others stood in ranks, facing the ire of sergeants pacing up and down before them, adjusting their stances, berating badly set out uniforms, inspecting weapons.

The fields were abuzz and this did not appear to be a mere exercise. Several units practiced ordered retreats, shield walls and spears falling back behind rear units, taking positions at the rear. This was real training for a real possibility of war.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" Sora shouted from the rear. "I've never seen training like this before. Not here."

"There are tensions throughout Karramon. Talk of war in the east, skirmishes in the Steppes and Graatfeld. Even a civil war deep in the Border Kingdoms, out west. Or so I've heard. And there's always the threat of raiders from north. The Lord Protector is just taking precautions." Klaron glanced over her shoulder as she rode, but she could see Sora was not convinced.

Klaron knew this was not a mere precaution. This was one step short of full mobilisation. For what reason, she couldn't fathom, but Rifnarus never did anything without good reason. She had to reach the Palace of Words.

When the East Gates reared up above her, she almost sighed with relief. She hated not knowing. In that she much resembled her mentor and employer.

-+-

Returning to the city felt like an enormous weight had fallen from Sora. The outside was fine, for a short visit, but nothing felt better than walking the boards of the Underside, smelling the scents of human and Other-Kin. The bustle of people passing by with only the thick planks of wood between them and the drop of thousands of feet of nothingness between the boards and the waters far, far below. The noises welcomed her, too. The constant murmur of conversation, the many and varied dialects, accents and even different languages, coupled with the shouts of hawkers and merchants, the screams and angry outbursts.