In fact, a few had collapsed. In some places, only piles of wood showed that an abode once used to occupy that space. Vir only hoped no one was inside when it did.
When he saw how many people thronged the streets, packed like the slaves on Bakura’s ship, he doubted that was the case.
The familiar smells of unwashed humans and bodily fluids permeated the air, punctuated by Ash’va dung.
Vir pinched his nose as Param ordered the caravan to speed up. Whether it was because of the stench, or whether the man was worried about being mugged, Vir didn’t care. This squalor was far worse than even the slums of Saran.
Param was right. This is tragic…
And then, the moment they penetrated through the slums, Vir forgot it all.
A presence detected him, focusing its godlike will upon him. Vir had never felt anything like it before. He felt stifled, though nothing physical was amiss.
It came from above.
Vir pointed to the sky, his mouth agape, eyes as wide as Grade A orbs. “W-w-w-what!”
“Come again?” Param said.
“What is that?”
The merchant followed his gaze to the palace that floated above the capital, casting it in eternal shadow.
“Friend, I find it hard to believe that you do not know. Have you never heard of the Vimana Hiranya? The mythological floating palace of the gods?”
64CITY OF BLAZING WEALTH
“Of course I know of them!” Vir retorted. Who hadn’t heard of the flying palaces of the gods? Most nations had founded their capitals under them, after all. For auspicious reasons.
Though it’d been hidden by clouds until now, he’d known there was one above Daha. Just, Vir never imagined they’d be this impressive. He’d figured that—like Apramor’s fables—people had blown them out of proportion. Nothing that spectacular could possibly exist, could it?
Vir now had his answer. Though the palace hovered high above the city, its great shadow shielded most of Daha from the sun at this midday hour.
The presence he’d felt earlier lingered, and then it was gone. Like it’d never existed.
What was that? Vir wondered. Was it just him? Or had something inside the Vimana taken notice of him? The palaces were supposed to be inert, though.
Since it was so high, Vir was hard-pressed to make out too many details, other than that it being highly gilded, and that it was several stories tall. In fact, it was much taller than it was wide, with each lower level growing larger and larger.
“What’s in it?” Vir asked.
With his neck craned up at the sky, he missed Param shaking his head.
“No one knows,” the man said. “All Vimana hail from the Age of Gods, and each has defense mechanisms that protect them from anything that ventures too close. Not even the Altani have successfully landed a skyship on one, and if they can’t do it, what chance does Hiranya have? Those defenses spare no one. Not Acira, nor even unarmed balloons.”
Vir had been so preoccupied by the intimidating palace that he’d entirely missed the handful of balloons colored with various faded hues that meandered lazily above the city, far below the Vimana. Pear-shaped, and made of a kind of fabric, Vir saw occasional puffs of fire magic from a tiny wooden basket under each.
“Hot air balloons,” Param volunteered, realizing by now that Vir was either a hermit or a backwater bumpkin. “They are used to keep watch over the city from above. A poor man’s skyship.”
The day was full of surprises for Vir. That now made two new things he’d seen today.
“Do you know what happens when they get too close? Like, how are they destroyed, exactly?” he asked.
“It has been many decades since anyone last tried. I can’t recall,” Param said, stroking his beard.
Rayali spoke up. “I have heard tales of a brilliant light that envelops all who venture too near. When the light fades, nothing is left. Nothing but ash.”
Vir made a mental note not to let his curiosity get the better of him. Not unless he wanted to end up fried to a crisp.
He tore his eyes from the magnificent floating palace and looked at the city itself. In just a few moments, he’d almost forgotten about the Vimana entirely, because in front of him was a sight nearly as miraculous.
Just a few paces away, the Warrens abruptly ended, as if Adinat himself had erected a barrier beyond which nothing should exist.
The reality wasn’t too far off—shacks crowded right up to the Grand Moat, a dry moat that stretched to the city’s tall walls.
A moat that was so deep and wide that it dwarfed the tall stone walls, making them look deceptively tiny in comparison.
Spanning four hundred paces across, it was more akin to a valley that ringed the entire city, with Daha sitting upon an island of rock and dirt. The only access to the city was via an absurdly long wooden drawbridge that couldn’t possibly support its own weight. Several large wooden pillars extended to the bottom of the moat to allow it to stand.
But as the caravan proceeded up to the checkpoint station, Vir noticed dozens—no, hundreds—of D Grade Lighten Load orbs placed at regular intervals, about half of which were active.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Param said as they pulled into the back of the line awaiting clearance. “But yes, they do actually raise this bridge in times of emergency. Do you see those tall pillars that soar high above the walls? Drawbridge supports.”
Vir saw them. Initially, he’d thought they were fabulously tall lookout towers, but they weren’t. Enormous ropes connected them to the bridge.
“You’ve seen them raise it?” Vir asked. It had been some time since the country was last invaded.
“They test the system regularly. It would be bad if it failed when it was most needed, yes? The bridge extends far above the walls of the city when retracted. Quite the sight. Stick around Daha long enough, and you may even see it!”
Their turn finally arrived, and not a moment too soon. The Vimana’s shadow did not extend past the walls of the city, and Vir was doing everything he could to keep from sweating overly much. Fanning himself did little against the sweltering heat.
“You truly do not do well in the heat, do you?” Param said with a smirk.
“Never did,” Vir answered, hoping his makeup was still intact.
But as bad as his own sweaty situation was, the Dahan guards had it a hundred times worse. Most wore brigandine cuirasses, pauldrons, and steel gauntlets over thick gambeson, all painted in the Hiranyan emerald and gold.
The ones that wielded polearms wore mail hauberks and full helms. They must all have been sweating buckets under that armor.
Vir remained a pace behind Param’s wagon, hoping to blend in with the caravan, but soon realized that was completely unnecessary—he was a part of the caravan.
“Papers?” a bored guard asked, his hand resting on his talwar’s pommel. Vir wondered how much action they really saw per day… Likely not much at all.
Param flashed a bronze badge. “Param’s Pawn Peculiarities, returning from Saran under guard.”
The Hiranyan warden barely even glanced at the badge before waving them by.
The whole inspection was over before Vir could even grow anxious.
The wagons clacked over the wooden slat drawbridge, barely wide enough to admit a single wagon.
Bumpy hesitated, but seeing his fellow Ash’va must have given him courage, and he lived up to his name. Bumpy the Brave put one hoof in front of another and refused to look down into the chasm below.
Vir did the same. He really had to wonder why this moat was as wide as it was. It would have been a monumental undertaking to create, and not even arrows could clear that kind of distance.