‘Those are terrible creatures walking the walls!’ Nessa cried, pointing up towards the whoskor. Bryony and Susan were wide-eyed and silent in their shock. ‘They are so huge and there are so many of them. We can’t go in there! We can’t! Take us away, please.’
But I disregarded her protests and the wailing of her terrified sisters. We followed the road that led up to the main gate, flanked on either side by the walls. The further we travelled into the city, the older the fortifications. In the course of our journey, which lasted almost half a day, we passed through several gates in the succession of inner defensive walls. Each was already open to receive us, but I noted that they closed behind us after we had passed through, cutting off any possibility of retreat.
Eyes watched us from narrow windows far above, but I knew that no friends gazed down upon me. We haizda mages lived and worked far from the dissident groups and shifting alliances of the city’s inhabitants.
At last we reached the main gate, and here the walls towered up, lost to sight amongst the clouds. Covered in ice and snow, Valkarky appeared more like the vertical face of a mountain peak; the open gates were like the entrance to some wonderful dark cavern, full of unknown delights.
Two mounted Shaiksa assassins, lances at the ready, waited on either side of these huge gates, but they had rivals who would compete to seize me: three score of foot militia had lined up, their captain holding my arrest warrant with his left hand extended over his head in the traditional manner. The red seal formed from the spit and coagulated blood of the Triumvirate was clearly visible.
The Rowler girls gasped in shock at the sight that greeted us. But of course, none of my enemies could touch me if I could persuade the Triumvirate to allow me legal entry.
I believed it could be done, but I must first deal with their instrument, the gatekeeper known as the Kashilowa, which now undulated its way towards us, its long, pulsing body bristling with spines and its breath billowing into the cold air in great clouds. At first it was hidden by the cloud of snow kicked up by its thousand legs, but this slowly settled and it was fully revealed to us. The single Kashilowa and the myriad whoskor had been created in order to serve the needs of the city. It was all part of the magic of the High Mages.
Immediately, clearly terrified, the smallest sister began to scream at the top of her lungs, and Nessa brought her horse alongside my own, trying to comfort her. But before she could do so, Susan fainted away, and it took all Nessa’s strength to prevent her from falling from their horse.
Even brave Nessa moaned in terror when the gatekeeper scuttled forward and touched her forehead with the tip of the long tongue that spiralled from its mouth. It was simply tasting her skin to determine her fitness to enter Valkarky, so I don’t know why she found it so alarming. All purrai in transit are subject to the most stringent health checks to make sure that no contagion is brought into the city.
Our two horses were Kobalos-trained, but the proximity of the gatekeeper caused their nostrils to flare and their eyes to dilate; they trembled with fear. This was hardly surprising: when the huge creature yawned to feign boredom, opening its jaws to their full extent, its mouth was so big it could have swallowed them whole.
‘Speak!’ the Kashilowa commanded, directing its one hundred eyes in my direction. Its voice was as loud as a thunderclap, and that one word brought down dozens of long icicles from the overhang of the wall above the gate. One of the spears of ice impaled a militiaman, whose blood began to stain the snow an appealing shade of red – almost as lovely as the lambskin rugs in my old ghanbala tree. One glance made my mouth start to water and I found it difficult to concentrate on the business in hand.
Fortunately the Kashilowa’s movement had disturbed the multitude of winged parasites that sheltered amongst its prickly spines. Quickly I reached out and plucked a few from the air, before they could settle again, and stuffed them into my mouth. Their own blood combined with that of their host was a tasty blend and assuaged a little of my hunger.
Now, I gathered my thoughts and, not wishing to appear intimidated, leaped from my horse and grew to my largest size so that my eyes were level with the gatekeeper’s teeth. I amplified my voice too, dislodging another shower of icicles. This time no one was harmed; the militia had sensibly withdrawn to a safe distance.
All those present at the gates knew my identity and what my business was. Nevertheless it was necessary to make a formal statement.
‘I demand entry to Valkarky!’ I cried. ‘I have been wronged by a High Mage and a band of his accomplices, including a Shaiksa assassin, who conspired together to illegally appropriate my three purrai for their own use. I request a hearing before the Triumvirate!’
‘Where is this High Mage whom you claim appropriated your property? Who are these three purrai who accompany you? Are they the same ones you refer to? If so, they are now in your possession, so how has a crime been committed?’ asked the Kashilowa.
‘Yes, they are the same. I seized them back, as was my right, using only minimal force. Unfortunately, in defending myself, I was forced to slay the High Mage and the Shaiksa assassin. Additionally, a hyb warrior waylaid me on the road to Valkarky and I was forced to kill him too. It is all very regrettable but necessary.’
‘Your story is questionable. How could a haizda mage such as yourself confront and slay a Shaiksa assassin, a High Mage and a hyb? What is your name?’
It already knew my name, but this was a formality of question and answer that I could not avoid; the ritual necessary to gain entry to the city.
‘My name is Slither and I did just what was necessary. Perhaps the red eye of the Dog Star looked down on me favourably, thus accounting for my victory.’
‘Slither? What kind of a name is that?’
The Kashilowa was no longer giving me the respect I felt was my due. I would not allow it to deride me. So I answered it with venom in my voice. It was no more than it deserved.
‘It is the name I chose for myself when I came of age in the early spring of my seventieth year. It is the sound I make when I swing with my tail from a high branch of my ghanbala tree. It is the sound I make when I become very small and creep through a gap in a wall or floor to gain access to a locked, secret or private place. It is also the sound and sensation that an enemy is aware of when I creep into his brain. Allow me to demonstrate!’
Feeling insulted that the gatekeeper should bring the suitability of my chosen name into question, I spat into the nearest of its hundred eyes. I had quickly combined with my saliva two substances that cause instant itchiness and irritation. Simultaneously my mind slithered into its brain.