Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(61)

Esshk was powerfully built and taller by far, standing nearly six feet—impressive for a male, even of the Blood. He was darker as well, yet with a lustrous, coppery hint to his otherwise dun and dark brown plumage. Also a legacy of Celestial Blood. He still wore the fine, brightly burnished breastplate of a first general, but had added a longer, floor-sweeping version of the Imperial Red cape he’d always worn—his only outward concession to his new station.

Both were walking back and forth on the time-worn, slab-paved walkway before the high-arched, ground-level entrance to the Palace of Vanished Gods. The sky, struggling to release the final moisture of the rainy season, was gray and dull, edging toward night. A wall of lush green trees separated the palace from the rest of Old Sofesshk, and the grounds were bordered on the south by the mighty Zambezi, still often called Uuk-Arrg in the ancient Ghaarrichk’k speech. The “scientific tongue” has claimed so many things, even our greatest river, Esshk reflected, not yet replying to the Chooser’s almost daily complaint. The Palace itself was a smaller, prehistoric version of the one in the Celestial City on Madagascar. It was old beyond imagining and time had eroded the dark granite smooth. Still, it remained an extraordinary edifice, second in size only to the palace in the Celestial City—and the Wall of Trees there, of course—of all known Ghaarrichk’k structures.

The walkway wasn’t large or long, but Esshk and the Chooser briskly paced it many times for their daily exercise, weather permitting, surrounded at a discreet distance by Second General Ign’s most slavishly loyal troops. And they needed the exercise. Both spent too much time cloistered in the Palace, dealing with all the multitudinous things required not only to rule the Ghaarrichk’k Empire, but also to maintain and continue assembling the impossibly vast land, sea, and air swarm they’d soon unleash to devour the enemies of their race. The troops weren’t there to protect them from attack as much as ensure their privacy from interruption by the influential, pampered, even aristocratic Hij that dwelled on this side of the great Zambezi. This was Old Sofesshk, after all, where the illusion of some incomprehensible ancient empire, seemingly given more to other, forgotten priorities, besides expansion for expansion’s sake, still remained. No one knew what truly constituted that forgotten society, how large it was, how governed, or even by whom. The most elemental, mystical remembrances suggested only that gods of some sort had ruled there in a time of prosperity, plentiful prey, and general contentment, and then went away.

Hints of that lost time endured in the carefully patched surviving architecture, mimicked by new construction. It was ageless, well considered, even vaguely ascetic, as if some half-imagined “flavor” of another era still manifested itself in the minds of the Hij who dwelled there. And many were like sub-regents in their own right, all supposedly of the Blood to varying degrees, so their views had to be considered. The Chooser, and even Esshk, had figuratively risen from their ranks, after all, even if Esshk and the previous Celestial Mother sprang from the same clutch of eggs laid by a long-dead Giver of Life. Esshk may have had a slight advantage as a result, with better teachers, but only ability brought him to achieve what he had.

In general, however, both were the result of one of the most singular privileges enjoyed by high-ranking Hij, and those of Old Sofesshk in particular: they could pick a hatchling from a crèche of offspring resulting from their union with a female of the blood, which was exempt from evaluation by the choosers—though choosers were often employed to make the selection. The only other examples of similar, if less official, accommodations were those afforded the houses of successful seafarers, artisans, and generals, so they might hone blood instincts among more likely pupils from the earliest practical age. But because of this, some Old Sofesshk Hij retained ancestral-blood claims to large tracts of land (and the Uul living upon them) within a broader regency. Few of those Uul came to the new army and navy Esshk was building, but they constituted the largest percentage of the workforce engaged in making advanced tools of war. Therefore, the support of the Hij of Old Sofesshk was necessary to Esshk’s and the Chooser’s plans and couldn’t be ignored, but they mustn’t be allowed to abuse their privileges either.

The other side of the river was like any other Grik city; a chaotic warren of mud and wood structures, congested beyond belief with more of their race than any cared to count, feeding as much on themselves as otherwise—at least before the military expansions of the last few years curtailed the cullings of the choosers. The riverfront was more orderly now, having been cleared to make room for great docks, warehouses, foundries, mills, factories, and the thousand other things required to end the threat of the prey they faced. Kurokawa had been largely responsible for that, Esshk confessed to himself as he walked. It would have been better if that . . . ridiculously disagreeable creature had not allowed his ambition to run amok in India. Had I not allowed him the freedom to plot and scheme . . .

Esshk glanced back at the Chooser. And he had not been particularly helpful in regard to Kurokawa, he thought with a trace of resentment. Of course, that was before they’d come to their own understanding. Now Esshk needed the Chooser’s support, as much as his cunning; something he hadn’t even known the creature possessed when he’d been a member of the old Celestial Mother’s court. Further proof of its depth and breadth, he supposed. The Chooser had become his most senior advisor—and only confidant. That was the main reason for their walks, in fact. It was the only time they could reveal their truest thoughts, away from even servants who might be in the employ of rival regents.