Heir of Iron

Chapter 12

(The picture above is of the throne room in Bikaner Fort in the Indian state of Rajasthan. Original found here: http://flashpackatforty.com/2013/02/05/our-route-from-mandawa-to-bikaner/)

The vast doors groaned on bronze hinges to admit the Red Men and their prisoner. The maw of the gate arched above Navran like the jaw of a vast beast, and for a long moment the sun hid behind its bulk, and all around was only red stone and red sashes. It was fitting. He had almost forgotten hope on the long march from Jaitha to Majasravi, but passing into the gullet of the imperial garrison he knew true despair.

The Red Men marched him into the drill yard on the other side of the gate, and with quick, barking orders he was passed from his escorts to a new set of guards. They led him across the yard and into what he assumed were the barracks. All of the men around him wore red sashes and humorless expressions, and no one looked at him. Just as well. Any attention was likely to get him a beating. Through the arched windows of the corridors he caught glimpses of an imperial palace adjacent to the fortress: endless colonnades of white marble wrapped with silk banners, little gardens filled with orange trees and palms, a forest of sculpted towers rising from the center, crowned by domes tiled in blue and green.

Their route passed through multiple halls and foyers, all in a rough, martial style, blazoned with red banners, the arches of the windows and doors carved with the emblem of the spear-head. The floor beneath them was rough-hewn granite worn glossy by centuries of feet. They stopped finally at a massive door clad in green copper, with a ram's skull and horns blazoned on the left and right sides. A man with silver insignia on his breast sat on a cushion with a slate open in front of him.

"What is this?" the man asked, taking in Navran with a contemptuous glance. "If you have a prisoner, take him to the dungeon."

"This is the one that the Emperor's Hand requested," said the man to Navran's left. "We were told to bring him to the Horned Gate."

"Oh." The man scowled, making the sign to ward off evil. Navran wondered darkly whether he himself or the Emperor's Hand was the evil so abjured. "Then take him through. I'll send someone to address the Hand."

The copper doors creaked open, and the Red Men marched Navran under the arch, which must have been the Horned Gate that the soldiers mentioned. The other side of the door was markedly different. It was a small antechamber with a polished marble floor, high windows on the east and west walls, and perfumed cushions stacked against the walls. A cool wind breathed through the windows. The Red Men did not take the cushions, though, but sat themselves down cross-legged on the floor. Navran started to sit, but the nearest soldier grunted at him.

"You stand over there," he said, pointing at a place underneath the window. "Wait until we tell you to move."

His feet ached. The wait dragged on. Dice appeared from someone's pocket, and a desultory game of sacchu with nothing at stake dribbled along. Navran watched their progress with interest. When had he last cast dice? Before leaving Virnas, which now seemed to be an emperor's lifetime in the past, though when he counted the days it was only a few weeks.

Another member of the imperial guard appeared from the direction of the palace. "Take him to the servants' bath at the end of the hall," he said with a gesture towards Navran. "The Emperor's Hand is sending his manservant down."

A brief march down the hall away from the barracks brought him to the baths. He caught glimpses of others in the imperial palace other than the Red Men: maids in modest white saris, and a distant cluster of noblemen shimmering with silk and gold. A diversion from the main passage brought them into a dark, dim corner of the palace crowded with baskets and gourds. A few maids scattered when they saw them coming. The first door opened into a small, hot room lit in dying red by a bank of coals in the corner.