Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html his, that he slipped into hers as he opened his fingers. He winked, and put a finger over his lips. She looked; it was a Serpent Incarnadine. She'd won the second-highest award for actions of stealth already. This was the highest. "Th-thank you,kras ." The honorific came without thought. "I give it as Chevenga, notchakrachaseye ," he said. "Unofficially, I mean. I'd say thank you, but then we'd end up in a gratitude contest all day. When I should be letting you go, before Kaninjer gags me." She got up. "Say hello to Sova," he added. She put lightness back in her voice. "Right. Thanks, now hurry up and heal. Invulnerable. We need you." She tried not to walk out too fast, the Serpent hot in her palm. The next night she overheard two of thedarya sema-nakraseueni liyai , the Elite Demarchic Guard, talking at a campnre, as she passed. "It was on some secret mission, so no one knows how he got wounded." "Aigh. I wonder how cursed close he came." "I'll tell you one thing: whatever happened, he was ashamed enough to un-decorate himself for it." "Un-decorate?" " 'Tax. He has two Serpent Incarnadines—right?" "Right." "Not anymore." "Hah?" "Take a look, next time he inspects us. He's only got one. No shit, I was there." XIX Like an eye glancing aside from heaven's gaze, Shkai'ra thought, as she walked down from the gate towards the City amidst the flood of refugees, imagining a bird's-eye view. Dark blue pupil, a lopsided rim of white buildings flecked with gardens, and the darker green of the woods and fields which the law preserved about the rim of the crater. The interior walls of the crater rose nearly two hundred meters, polished smooth as a politician's lies. The far wall of the crater was hidden in a haze of heat and moisture, trapped in this pocket in the earth. On the cliff-face above the Marble Palace was something impossible to ignore: the Imperial Eagle of Arko, stretched out rampant in bas-relief picked out with gold, four hundred meters across and three hundred nigh. Even now in mid-afternoon it glowed fiercely. At dawn, Shkai'ra thought, when the sun came over the eastern cliffs and caught it directly, it must blaze like an idea in the mind of a god.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html The Imperial capital had started on the western shore of the lake; the Marble Palace was there, well back from the water, the gold leaf blinding from the pitched roofs and towers. A broad processional avenue, fringed by mansions and public buildings, and then lower structures in sickle-curves along the lake. Those would be the poorer quarters, where thefessas shopkeepers and artisans lived, and the free-poorokas . And it washuge , as big as Illizbuah on the far side of the Lannic. A million souls or more in times of peace; who knew how many hundred thousand more, since everyone in the provinces to the immediate east who had something worth stealing was running for the capital. She studied their faces a little; Arkan women were shy before men, but one as wounded as she tended to be ignored. Theokas were dumbly miserable, as at some natural disaster, flood or plague or rain at harvest. Most of theAitzas seemed merely irritated, affronted at the disruption of their orderly lives; she even heard two daughters of minor nobility chattering about the unexpected chance to participate in the capital's social season and visit the Mezem. Thesolas were more quiet; a mixture of shame and fear, Shkai'ra supposed, since their Steel-Armed God, and Arko itself, charged them with its defense. The families of the warrior caste alone were likely to have an idea of what war and conquest meant, here, far from the Empire's borders. and it was less unimaginable to them that the Empire would lose the war. Arko's streets were laid out on a grid, paved with granite blocks over concrete. Less filthy than most large cities, even with the extra numbers crowding in; there were stone grills at regular intervals, leading down to understreet sewers. Shkai'ra looked about at buildings gone seedy-gaudy, yellow tile along the edges a little chipped, many of the fountains at intersections dry and filled with litter; yet even in the poorerfessas district there was fine building and artwork enough for the rich of some lands she had seen. There were many shops, and the jewelers, trinket-sellers and tailors seemed to be doing a roaring trade. Fewer food shops, and the prices—she could hear people haggling—were outrageous. She grinned behind the bandages. Chevenga was making no effort to stop or molest the tens of thousands pouring ahead of his troops, so long as they took nothing useful to his army. They streamed in through thelefaeti and the great tunnel, thousands every day, thanking the appropriate god of their caste for the barbarian's inexplicable mercy. Then they went to the market to buy food. Meat and fresh greenstuffs seemed to be short already; fruit and flour were still plentiful, from the winter wheat harvest. But give it a little time… The taverner looked up as Shkai'ra walked in, eyes widening slightly. She made a grating, bubbling noise at his question, and held up half a silver chain; he bowed, rubbing his hands at that. "By all means, a room, bath, and dinner," he burbled, as she laboriously signed "Emmas Penaras,solas ," in the register that Imperial law required all innkeepers to maintain; most of the rest of the column was simple symbols, with the innkeeper's handwriting beside them. "You honor our house, distinguished and heroicsolas ." There was pitying contempt in his eyes for the soldier who could not bear to show his face among his own. "Eat… room," she rasped, deepening her voice. Her Arkan was weak, most of it things along the lines of "where is your unit" and "give me your gold or wear your intestines." Shkai'ra took a seat as they readied the accommodations. The place was a mixture of strange and familiar; openwork arches on all sides, here where the weather rarely became more than chilly, an unlit charcoal brazier in the hearth. Tables, and a counter with covered jugs of wine, water and soup set into
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people around for camouflage, and t
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Und now I vind dose two—Celestial
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wounded only in the carts on march,
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Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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