After marveling at the simplicity and effectiveness of the city’s defenses, Alexander started to take note of the buildings themselves. Their construction was unlike anything he’d ever seen, simple yet elegant, the grey stone seeming to flow like water in graceful arches that showed no sign of mortar or seam. It was a blend of artistry and function, beauty and purpose; the entire city seemed to form a whole, as if it had been planned in meticulous detail and then built all at once.
As he marveled at the architecture and wondered at the craftsmanship, he started to notice other things that were less inspiring. A signboard running for several dozen feet along the road was covered with wanted posters, most with sketches of people accused of crimes, some with just a name. When he looked closer, he saw that most of the outlaws were accused of sedition or treason-crimes against the state rather than against other citizens.
The caravan rumbled past a man on a corner wearing a smock emblazoned with the crest of the House of Andalia. “Another child has gone missing,” he cried. “The bandit threat has reached into the city and the overseers need your help. Remember, it’s your duty to report suspicious activity to the authorities.” He paused to catch his breath and then repeated the message.
People stood aside as the wagons passed, some bowing their heads in fear or deference; most of those people were wearing collars like the one around Alexander’s neck. The better-dressed people openly watched them roll by, some jeering and taunting, others appraising the merchandise.
When a man wearing a collar stumbled and bumped into a man who was wearing extravagant finery, he apologized profusely, but the extravagantly dressed man shouted obscenities at him until two men in uniform approached. They talked for a moment, then the well-dressed man handed over a few coins. The men in uniforms turned to the man wearing the collar.
“Please, I just stumbled,” he begged.
Without a word, the two men in uniform beat him until he was broken and bloody. All the while, the man in finery watched with smug satisfaction.
“All hail the Emperor of Andalia,” another town crier shouted as they rolled past.
“How’s Jack doing?” Alexander asked Chloe in his mind.
“He’s riding on top of your cage, My Love.”
“Good. Tell him to get established in the city so he can walk around without being harassed by the authorities. I need him to start gathering information for me as soon as possible.”
“I will tell him,” Chloe said. “Send me your eyes again. I wish to show you something.”
Through her eyes, he saw the palace a thousand feet over the city perched along the top of the back cliff. It was built of the same flowing grey stone but with even more intricate artistry and beauty, especially with the evening sun shining off its walls. Cut in the center of the cliff was a channel guiding a torrent of water flowing from behind the palace into the canal running through the center of the city. Along either side of the waterfall ran a set of tracks. Alexander marveled as he watched a glass-encased carriage being pulled up the tracks by a set of stout ropes.
“That’s where the king will be,” he said.
“What’s your plan?”
“I don’t know yet, Little One. I need to gather some more information before I decide. For such a beautiful city, it’s inhabited by some pretty ugly people, and I suspect the ugliest of all live up there.”
As the caravan turned off the main road, several of the men in Alexander’s cage turned toward a commotion at the back of the wagon.
“What was that?” Hod asked.
Alexander just shrugged, smiling to himself as he watched Jack’s colors disappear into the side streets. A few minutes later, the caravan came to a stop within a walled square, clearly of later construction since it was made of brick and mortar. Once the entire caravan had entered, the gate was closed and the guards started opening the cages and ordering everyone out into the square. They were brusque and expected obedience but also took care to avoid harming the new slaves as they lined them up in front of a raised platform. A few minutes after the last of the slaves had been organized, a horn blew and the slavers demanded silence.
A man of slight build with a narrow face, oversized nose and angular features stepped up to the podium and surveyed the crowd before him. His short hair was grey and black, his neatly trimmed mustache was silver, and he wore simple grey clothes that would have been almost drab except that they were tailored to fit perfectly and made of very fine cloth. Mostly, Alexander noted the expansive colors surrounding the man. He was a mage.
“I am the Babachenko, the Voice of the King and the First Acuna. Whatever life you had before this day, it has ended. From this point forward, you will have the privilege and absolute security of serving the Andalian Empire.
“You no longer need to fear going hungry. You will never have to sleep in the cold again. All of your needs will be provided for by the generosity of the King. You need not fret or worry over the future because you no longer bear the burden of responsibility for your life. The King will carry that weight for you. You are free.
“So many misguided souls make bad decisions-decisions that lead to ruin for themselves and their families. You no longer need fear your own ignorance for you will be guided by the infinite wisdom and benevolence of the King. You can breathe easy knowing that all of those difficult choices that plague so many of the less fortunate in this world will be made for you, and with far greater care and understanding.
“The King, His Most Merciful and Excellent Majesty, welcomes you into his home and embraces you as his children. All he asks in return is loyalty and obedience, as any father should expect from his children.”
With that, he bowed and left the stage. Another man, this one heavy to the point of losing breath from the exertion of walking to the podium, shuffled up and wheezed a few times before speaking.
“Your guild representative will show you to your quarters and prepare your records and papers. Once those tasks are complete, you will be given a meal. Tomorrow, you will go to auction.” He paused, breathing heavily for several moments before continuing.
“Obedience is expected, and remember, the Acuna hears all.” With that, he shuffled off, wheezing.
Alexander listened to the entire thing with a sense of dismay and rage boiling in the pit of his belly. He could tell from the Babachenko’s colors that he didn’t believe a word of his speech, but what really had Alexander concerned was the number of people who seemed genuinely relieved to hear that all of their needs would be provided for … all for the price of their liberty-a price far too many of those around him seemed more than willing to pay.
Several men wearing official-looking uniforms began handing out tiles with numbers cut into them. Once everyone had a tile, one of the officials called for the slaves’ attention.
“Around the edge of the square are numbered tables. Go to the table with your number and wait to be called. Be prepared to answer questions about your skills and work history. The clerk at your table will prepare your papers for you. It’s vital that you safeguard your papers and keep them with you at all times. Any overseer can ask you for them at any time and you are required to present them or face immediate detention.”
What followed was an exercise in frustration. Lines formed amid pushing and shoving for position while disinterested guild representatives asked each person the same series of questions, writing down the answers with almost deliberate slothfulness.
Alexander picked Anja out of the crowd and made his way toward her. He approached the man at the end of her line, smiling amiably. “My sister is in this line and I have a number for that line over there,” Alexander said. “I’ll trade you numbers. The other line is shorter.”
The man frowned at Alexander suspiciously for a moment, looking from Alexander’s number to the line and back again before he held out his tile and took Alexander’s without a word.