With the palace guards surrounding me, and with their stern eyes focusing on my every move, I entered the palace of the Dragon Riders.
The palace was unlike anywhere I had ever been – even Inyene’s Keep where I had served as Abioye’s assistant for my last period of indenture at the Masaka Mines.
For one, it had no gross, overexuberant statues and paintings of the king the way Inyene had filled her Keep with monuments to herself, where she had been depicted as already crowned with a representation of the very circlet I was wearing right now, commanding dragons and wielding her scepter like a queen of old.
But also – the palace of Torvald was far larger, grander, and had none of the austere functionalism of Inyene’s Keep. I was marched down galleries which housed giant earthenware pots with shrubs and even trees that I had no name for sitting in alcoves under arched windows of brightly colored glass. I was taken past both closed doorways bearing ironwork designs as well as open archways that looked out into more hallways and galleries, some with paintings on the walls, others with lines of tables where scribes sat or gently talked to each other. There were stairs that swept upwards in grand arcs towards more mezzanines and layers of this place, as well as stairs that wound up and down on more secretive paths. Out of one set of windows I saw another courtyard, much smaller than the one that Ymmen and I had landed in, bearing a statue of a man and woman on a rearing dragon, around which fought guards with wooden practice weapons.
And even that wasn’t the end of the wonders that I saw! It’s like there’s a whole village living in here, I thought in wonder as I looked out of yet more windows to see long and narrow glasshouses, abutted to the cream-stone walls and filled with growing things.
Finally, however, our journey took us up flights of stairs to landings, past wooden doors, and up yet more flights of steps. We passed people in white shifts, who nodded demurely as we passed, or suddenly stilled their jocular conversations.
Slaves!? My jaw immediately clenched and my stomach dropped at the sight – and yet these servants did not seem to be ill-treated, or sullen, or cowering as the House Slaves (of which I had become one, in the end) had appeared in Inyene’s Keep.
Eventually, the wide set of perfectly cut marble stairs ended in a landing bearing a rug on the floor, a set of grand double doors and two more palace guards standing on either side.
“Is the king in residence?” the captain of the guards ahead of me stated, as I looked around a little nervously to see where my god-Uncle Tamin had gone. He was right there, I saw – just a little way behind me and surrounded by his own net of palace guards. But where were Abioye and Montfre? I thought in alarm. I hadn’t seen any sign of them since I had landed here…
“The king resides,” came the gruff, ritualized reply from one of the palace guards, who stepped towards the wooden door to gently pull on a thick red corded rope, and for the sound of a muted bell to be rung on the inner side.
“Enter!” I heard the distant tones of King Torvald, and realized that he must have made his way here through his own hidden paths, as we hadn’t followed him.
Seems a bit silly, all this standing around and announcing things, I thought. The Daza had only a little need for ceremony – and that was around important things, like the changing seasons, births, deaths. And never had I seen my tribe being so stiff and formal around my mother, the Imanu, or the other Elders. My mother used to wander into the communal hut with a sick kid goat in her arms, all the while asking how someone else’s day had gone, and offering advice on herbal preparations to someone else as she rolled up her sleeves and got to work! I remembered fondly, if a little sadly. I wondered how on earth anyone ever got anything done out here, in this realm of courts and nobles and proclamations!
The door guard opened the door to step through, and the guards around me and Tamin reordered themselves so that there was one in front and one behind each of us, before they marched us in.
I had expected a throne room – something of the sort of Inyene’s grand golden chair, on a raised dais overlooking a pristine hall.
I was surprised, then, to find that I was actually in some sort of study – and one that made me think of Abioye’s rooms in the Keep. It was a large room, but it looked smaller thanks to the walls made of shelved books and scrolls, and small, high round windows through which the sunlight filtered through, onto the large right-angled wooden desk at which sat the young King Torvald himself.
He wasn’t the only person in the room however, and I immediately saw that there, finally, was Abioye and Montfre – similarly with their hands unbound, but with more palace guards standing on either side of them. Opposite to them was another gaggle of people – all men – one of whom was the stocky Captain Haval, plus a trio of others with varying styles of fine shirts and jackets, as well as long or cropped beards. I took them to be the king’s advisers or senior elders of his household.
“Abioye—” I started forward, before there was a sudden, warning grunt from the guards next to me, and a heavy hand, caparisoned in a leather gauntlet studded with metal rings, was laid on my shoulder.
What!? I flashed the guard an annoyed look, but the air in the room had stilled, and I could sense the tense waiting of the guards around me, ready to leap into action lest I make any sign of anger around their liege.
“That’s enough of that; I am sure that we can be a little more accommodating to our guests,” the king said wearily, and the guard grunted again, releasing my shoulder as all of the palace guards stepped backwards a few paces to the shelved walls.
“Are you okay?” I whispered as I took a few paces towards the others, aware of all of the eyes upon me.
Abioye nodded. “Easy,” he said in a steady, low voice, nodding towards the king in a ceremonial and serious fashion. He was right; this was no time for sentimental worry. Another moment of awkward silence passed, and then the king cleared his throat and began to speak.
“You all know who I am, King Torvald the Seventh, descendant of the original Torvalds of the Middle Kingdom, as well as Queen Sebette of the Western Archipelago,” the young man said easily, the words falling naturally from his lips as if he had rehearsed them often.
“And now, please state your names and your business here in my kingdom, riding a wild dragon into our territory,” he said, and I saw a flicker of his eyes towards his advisers, who nodded encouragingly.
He is new to this being a ruler business, I realized. I wondered if that made him more approachable, or less.
I looked to Abioye and the others first, perhaps out of habit because Tamin was my elder and I had been a servant for Abioye’s sister for so many years. But no one volunteered any information, instead looking at me expectantly. I guess I had better get this over with, I thought.
“My name is Narissea of the Souda tribe of the Daza peoples.” I drew myself up, squared my feet as my mother had taught me how to do, and spoke as plainly and loudly as I dared. “And these people here are my friends. We came into your kingdom to warn you of a terrible crime—” I was saying, when there was a strangled cough from one of the advisers, and a sudden low muttering as they conferred together.
“Lord Maesteg? Lord Garth? Hendal?” the king looked over at them with a sharp look.
“Sire—” said one of the advisers – the oldest one with the longest, graying beard. “If I heard correctly, I believe that this woman declared herself to be Narissea, which is the name of the wild Dragon Witch that we have been warned about—”