21. Strange Welcome #2
“There’s a team coming to meet the others. They’ll sort out who wants to go into towns and who’s got the guts to join the rally camps for training. But you, champion, have a special summons.”
Imalroc set his spoon down with deliberation and looked down his nose at her. “I’m supposed to spend my first day truly free responding to a summons.”
“Well, if you’d rather not have a private audience, then by all means, wander where the wind takes you.”
“Who’s asking for an audience?”
Almatra gave him a smile that said he should have guessed already. “The Advocate, of course.”
His weariness burnt away like a battlebox stocked with holy oil. He was going to meet the Advocate. Maybe he had traded one dream for another.
She rapped the table and stood. “We ride for Sol Serene as soon as you’re ready.”
They took fresh horses along a narrow, old-world road, a path that was at first barely wide enough for their mounts.
But as they rode further into the heart of the feld lands, the surrounding jungle was beaten further back.
The rocky path straightened and became a smooth road that shot straight through the undergrowth.
Imalroc leaned forward, his heart galloping twice as fast as his horse. He could feel the pull of his destination.
But as much as he wanted to meet the Advocate at last, to see if they had the mettle to stand against Kuraya, he could not think of why this person would have summoned him.
He’d already agreed to join the fight, and he wasn’t foolish enough to think it warranted personal thanks from the leader of a rebellion. Something else was afoot.
The road broadened and poured into the radiant city of Sol Serene.
Imalroc slowed his horse on instinct. Buildings sprawled as far as he could see, disappearing off to the misty foot of the Syrral Mountains.
Leaning palm trees banked white-bricked avenues as broad as rivers.
Further into the city, the trees were wound with brightly dyed fabric, twisting up the trunks and fluttering from the leaves.
Almatra took the lead, winding through the crowds.
He nearly lost her several times, distracted by looking around at the buildings.
Most were obscured by blossoming vines and hung with enormous ferns, some with pillars of living trees built into ornate wrought-iron terraces.
Walls were painted and frescoed with fractal designs in brilliant hues.
They were dizzying and beautiful and made him feel like he might fall into them if he looked long enough.
Everywhere, the white and gold flag of the Endless Sun snapped in the breeze.
But the people were by far the best part. They ignored him.
Imalroc grinned like a fool every time someone glanced up at him, met his eyes, and let their gaze fall away. He almost waved at them, just to glory in their complete disinterest.
His stupid smile slipped away when they entered the grounds of the largest estate he had ever seen. It made the queen’s palace in Kirinoll look like a matchstick fortress.
Thickets of perfectly spaced lemon and orange trees dotted a maze of lawns carved up by slick paths of white stone.
A sheet of gleaming blue water stretched alongside the road.
And far beyond it, the afternoon sun struck gigantic windows trimmed with gold.
Imalroc shielded his eyes against the glare.
None of this seemed like it belonged to the voice of the common people.
In the palace’s shadow, Almatra jumped off her horse. Imalroc followed suit, letting the reins fall into the hands of servants already waiting for them.
There was no other greeting, but Almatra darted up the steps without waiting for instructions. She propped one door open with her foot, as if it were no more than another waystation. Imalroc’s heartbeat accelerated even as his steps slowed.
The interior was as lavish and gigantic as the fa?ade had promised. His boots squeaked against the marble floors.
“She’ll be waiting for us by now,” Almatra said.
“She?” Imalroc tore his gaze from a heavy golden torch that appeared to be studded with pearls.
Almatra smirked. “I thought you knew that at least, champion.” She led the way through the halls without pausing. Imalroc took it as a hopeful sign that this battle-hardened woman knew her way around such a place. Please gods, let this Advocate not disappoint him.
They turned a corner and joined a busier corridor.
Most people were dressed the same, he realized, in gleaming boots and immaculate green cloaks that nearly brushed the floor.
Those were the uniforms of the legendary Southland Army.
He knew them only from drawings in the books of his childhood.
This army was supposed to have faded away generations ago.
“A great many things have already been reborn and remade,” Almatra said, following his gaze. “The Feld Council. The Southland Army. The monarchy will be next.” Her smile was savage with anticipation.
One soldier passed close enough for him to see the pin on her shoulder. A tree, its curling, symmetrical branches adorned with a crown of flowers. The sight tickled something in his memory.
Almatra led him to a massive pair of doors, where two guards blocked the way. They wore the Endless Sun crest, marking them as city guards. Imalroc looked straight past them while Almatra spoke, gazing at the same tree symbol embossed in gold across the doors.
This time the memory took full shape. He had seen this tree, a seal on a letter half-hidden in the sultana’s library.
Just as he drew in a single, startled breath, the guards hauled the doors open.The room was crowded, but strangely quiet.
Directly ahead of him was a massive table obscured with scrolled maps, surrounded by green-clad soldiers.
And in the center of all of them, her eyes fixed unerringly on him, was the woman who could only be the Advocate.
Her gaze was dark and piercing, set above a hooked nose and a narrow mouth. An emerald flashed from amid the grey hair pulled back in a tight coil at her nape. She gave him a hard smile. “Imalroc. Welcome to the Southern Felds.”