6: Broken Fortress Read Online Free PDF
Author: Ginn Hale
Kahlil wondered how it could remind him so strongly of both a Nayeshi wedding cake and a warship. Then their clipper passed through the cavernous port entry and was moored among the dozens of other ships in the heavily guarded harbor.
On the dock a small entourage of men and women waited to greet the ship. As Jath’ibaye stepped off the gangway, they crowded around, full of questions and urgency. Kahlil watched Jath’ibaye disappear into their midst, not knowing what to do with himself. Then Ji brushed up against his leg.
“Jath’ibaye has asked me to look after you while he sees to his duties.” Ji gave a slightly annoyed sniff in the direction of the crowd engulfing Jath’ibaye. “More than likely we’ll get to his holdings long before he does. Come, I’ll show you the way.”
They walked together from the docks up through the predawn streets. Kahlil took in the sights illuminated by flickering gas lamps: carved shop signs advertising tailors, coopers, smiths, weavers and a bounty of other skilled tradesmen. He smelled roasting taye and yeast drifting from bakeries just opening for business and from brewpubs that were perhaps just closing. As they continued up the cobbled street past neat rows of private residences and the odd public bathhouse, Kahlil realized that behind its imposing, fortified walls Vundomu sheltered a thriving little city.
Certainly, it was not the squalid, ignorant mire that so many of the southern newspapers would have led him to believe Vundomu to be.
If he wasn’t mistaken, he thought he even spotted the sign for a public toilet.
“You’ve used a lift before, haven’t you?” Ji asked. She came to a stop in front of a wrought iron grate set into the face of a stone wall. The young girl standing guard in a patched russet coat and dress stifled a yawn at the sight of them. After offering Ji a warm welcome back home, she cranked the grate open to expose the interior of an elevator.
“I think…” Kahlil felt as if his memory stumbled, but then he assured himself that he’d been up numerous escalators and elevators in Nayeshi.
“Yes, several,” he replied belatedly.
“Good. This one will take us straight up to the heights. It should be light enough for you to enjoy the view from the watchtowers in Jath’ibaye’s holdings. We have telescopes, you know.”
She showed her teeth and Kahlil thought it was meant as a smile.
“It seems you have about everything here,” Kahlil commented.
“Indeed,” Ji agreed. “Perhaps that’s why the gaun’im resent us so.”
Ji padded into the elevator and Kahlil followed. The girl cranked the grate back closed.
Though it smelled of veru oil, the lift reminded Kahlil strongly of a service elevator from Nayeshi—large, functional, and filled with redundant safety measures. They rose quickly and Kahlil’s ears popped. Beside him Ji flicked her golden ears.
When they stepped out of the lift, the air felt of frost and smelled like gunpowder. The first golden rays of morning gleamed on the eastern horizon but hadn’t yet reached the very peak of Vundomu where they stood. Unlike the quaint village they’d left on the third terrace, the seventh terrace betrayed Vundomu’s military origins. Here stood archaic-looking barracks, heavily guarded armories and tahldi stables.
As he and Ji passed four stern-faced young men in red uniforms, Kahlil thought he heard a woman calling drills to troops inside a large courtyard. And above a wall, he glimpsed the sharp, dark silhouette of the Temple of the Rifter. He almost expected them to go there. But instead Ji led him farther up along the cracked cobbled street to a large but unassuming three-story stone building.
Two massive watchtowers jutted up from its shingled roof, but otherwise it looked like it could have served as a common hostel. Tahldi snorted and called from the stables and the aroma of roasting meat drifted from the smokestacks of the kitchens.
Inside,
On the dock a small entourage of men and women waited to greet the ship. As Jath’ibaye stepped off the gangway, they crowded around, full of questions and urgency. Kahlil watched Jath’ibaye disappear into their midst, not knowing what to do with himself. Then Ji brushed up against his leg.
“Jath’ibaye has asked me to look after you while he sees to his duties.” Ji gave a slightly annoyed sniff in the direction of the crowd engulfing Jath’ibaye. “More than likely we’ll get to his holdings long before he does. Come, I’ll show you the way.”
They walked together from the docks up through the predawn streets. Kahlil took in the sights illuminated by flickering gas lamps: carved shop signs advertising tailors, coopers, smiths, weavers and a bounty of other skilled tradesmen. He smelled roasting taye and yeast drifting from bakeries just opening for business and from brewpubs that were perhaps just closing. As they continued up the cobbled street past neat rows of private residences and the odd public bathhouse, Kahlil realized that behind its imposing, fortified walls Vundomu sheltered a thriving little city.
Certainly, it was not the squalid, ignorant mire that so many of the southern newspapers would have led him to believe Vundomu to be.
If he wasn’t mistaken, he thought he even spotted the sign for a public toilet.
“You’ve used a lift before, haven’t you?” Ji asked. She came to a stop in front of a wrought iron grate set into the face of a stone wall. The young girl standing guard in a patched russet coat and dress stifled a yawn at the sight of them. After offering Ji a warm welcome back home, she cranked the grate open to expose the interior of an elevator.
“I think…” Kahlil felt as if his memory stumbled, but then he assured himself that he’d been up numerous escalators and elevators in Nayeshi.
“Yes, several,” he replied belatedly.
“Good. This one will take us straight up to the heights. It should be light enough for you to enjoy the view from the watchtowers in Jath’ibaye’s holdings. We have telescopes, you know.”
She showed her teeth and Kahlil thought it was meant as a smile.
“It seems you have about everything here,” Kahlil commented.
“Indeed,” Ji agreed. “Perhaps that’s why the gaun’im resent us so.”
Ji padded into the elevator and Kahlil followed. The girl cranked the grate back closed.
Though it smelled of veru oil, the lift reminded Kahlil strongly of a service elevator from Nayeshi—large, functional, and filled with redundant safety measures. They rose quickly and Kahlil’s ears popped. Beside him Ji flicked her golden ears.
When they stepped out of the lift, the air felt of frost and smelled like gunpowder. The first golden rays of morning gleamed on the eastern horizon but hadn’t yet reached the very peak of Vundomu where they stood. Unlike the quaint village they’d left on the third terrace, the seventh terrace betrayed Vundomu’s military origins. Here stood archaic-looking barracks, heavily guarded armories and tahldi stables.
As he and Ji passed four stern-faced young men in red uniforms, Kahlil thought he heard a woman calling drills to troops inside a large courtyard. And above a wall, he glimpsed the sharp, dark silhouette of the Temple of the Rifter. He almost expected them to go there. But instead Ji led him farther up along the cracked cobbled street to a large but unassuming three-story stone building.
Two massive watchtowers jutted up from its shingled roof, but otherwise it looked like it could have served as a common hostel. Tahldi snorted and called from the stables and the aroma of roasting meat drifted from the smokestacks of the kitchens.
Inside,