was anxious to get to the Imperial city. There they would be safe.
Downstairs was empty, save for the few stragglers who had passed out at their tables in drunken stupors. With Deacon cradled fast in her arms, Daenara passed silently and unnoticed. Again they ventured out onto the road.
The day was almost spent by the time they reached the outskirts of the Imperial city. Scattered over the gentle, green slopes were stands of trees filled with game. No villages were along the way, but they passed an increasing number of small homesteads and farms.
Soon the sun began to die behind mountains thickly covered in fir trees. Fortunately the paved road provided easy footing. By nightfall they had reached the Angora river; the river extended in the same direction as the road, all the way up to the city gates. Daenara was weary, but her step was strong with the knowledge she had almost reached the city. She could see two brilliant flames burning at the front gates like welcoming beacons. She could also see the homestead and stables further up by the water’s edge. The dim friendly glow gave her a sense of returning home.
A husky male voice suddenly cut through the dark and made her stop, her heart caught in her throat. “Evening, citizen,” said the hulking city guard, stepping out from the shadow of a tree. “The gates to the city are closed at night. Don’t despair. There is an inn not far back. It’ll suit you and your little one just fine.”
“I know the gates are closed. I was hoping you could make an exception and have them opened for me?” Daenara said. She was desperate to see her brother, and informed the guard of his high position in the Imperial legion. “Thaemon is his name. You perhaps know him?” she asked eagerly. The guard’s stern face softened.
“I know him,” he said in a gruff, but friendly voice. “Go on. Mention my name to the men at the gates, and they’ll let you in.”
Daenara used his name and instructions, and was supremely relieved when the men admitted her. Even at night people wandered the handsome streets of the Imperial. Soft light issued from flames in open caskets and lit the streets all through the night. Every so often she saw a guard patrolling.
The city was divided into three districts: the markets, the residential, and the elven gardens. The latter was by reputation the most beautiful of all city gardens. Many years ago, when the Imperial was still young, elves had constructed the gardens as a gift for those humans who had fought bravely alongside them, though no elves actually lived there. Only the wealthiest could afford to reside in them, and only by invitation could one enter.
Daenara went directly to her brother’s fine home. Mindful not to sound too alarming, she rapped on the door and waited expectantly, huddled with Deacon not so much to keep warm as to supress her nervous shudders. Presently she heard quick, shuffling steps. The door opened, and Berrel, a short, well-rounded woman, stood in an inquiring manner.
The matronly servant looked out from under thinly plucked brows. She gazed at Daenara without recognition, before she exclaimed in a surprised and reproachful tone, “Daenara! Good heavens, child, did you walk all this way? Come in, come in. Let’s get you out of the night air.”
Somehow, among the small woman’s flustered attentions, Daenara managed to catch sight of Thaemon. Upon the sight of his sister, his face at once became serious and questioning. Behind him, huddled in the doorway, Thaemon’s wife shared her husband’s anxious interest.
Daenara set the little one down, but no sooner had she done so than he turned back with raised arms in mute appeal. She gathered him back up, and he clung to her neck sullenly. Thaemon placed a considerate hand round his sister’s shoulder. The other rested on the back of the boy’s head.
“Where is Luseph?” he asked. “Has he been unkind to you?” Thaemon assailed her with questions. In his fierce perplexity all considerate thought for the travellers seemed lost. Finally his wife, Clara, placed her hand on his arm, and spoke kindly to Daenara.
“You must be tired. Come rest a moment.” Her voice was soft and pleasant.
In the dwelling-room the two women sat opposite one another in comfortable chairs. Deacon sat, heavy and dozy, bundled in his mother’s lap. Thaemon stood over by the fireplace. His face was solemn, and his eyes were fixed on his sister.