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want me to go to Allic's court, crawling on my knees, begging to hear his lies? When I see him again it
will be to spit on his corpse."
Macha looked towards his sorcerers and chieftains. "Gather the host," he roared. "We march tonight!"
"Jesus, Mark, will you just look at that!"
Mark didn't need Kochaaski to point out the splendor before them. For several hours they had been
increasing their altitude, following the terrain's gradual sweep into the snowcapped mountains. Now the
air was sharp, invigorating, and Mark had realized just how much he had missed the cold, bracing winters
of Pennsylvania. For years now, ever since the war started, he had either been in the drizzly winters of
England or the near tropical warmth of south central China, followed by the seemingly eternal spring of
this land.
Flying with Allic and his retainers, he crested the last of the snowclad peaks, and as if a curtain had been
drawn back, the distant peninsula beyond and the city of Asmara atop it were at last revealed.
The walls of the city shimmered in the morning light, so that they seemed to match the pureness of the
mountaintops the flyers had left behind.
Picking up speed, the party dove, running low over a broad highland forest that soon gave way to
pastures, vineyards, and well-tended orchards. However, now the air was filled with not only the sound
and smell, but also the feel, of the nearby sea.
The roads below were filled with travelers heading towards the city. Obviously it was festival time, for all
were dressed in their finest, so that the paths and highways seemed to be awash with a thousand colors.
As the formation passed by, the mortals who could only dream of flying looked up and shouted their
greetings. Politely the flyers returned the courtesies, but the three off-worlders barely paid attention: All
they could look at now was the city and its wonders.
Jartan had built his capital city, Asmara, on the end of a peninsula that extended a dozen leagues into the
Central Sea. This was the center of Jartan's realm, of which Allic's province of Landra was only a small
part.
The outer series of walls passed by a hundred feet below, and at last they entered the first belt of the city
proper.
The walls were set off on either side by open parklands a hundred yards across. One could follow the
high limestone barrier as it stretched away for leagues in either direction, marked off by the surrounding
ribbon of green.
The shimmering white wall set in a field of green created a stunning effect, but Mark realized that it was
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not merely for esthetics, since the open space provided clear fields of fire both in front of the barrier line
and behind. He knew that Allic and all the others referred to Jartan as a god, but it struck him as curious
that a god would still rely on medieval defenses for his capital city.
As they flew towards the heart of the city, a second barrier a hundred feet high lay before them with the
same open space of gardens laid out in front. Following Allic's lead, the party rose and passed over the
second line of fortifications into the city proper. With a wheeling turn they followed the wall for several
hundred yards and then turned again over an open thoroughfare a hundred or more yards across.
"The Avenue of the Gods," Allic said, falling back to fly by Mark's side.
Buildings of limestone and marble rose half a thousand feet into the air, so that it was like flying down a
canyon of burnished stone that shimmered, reflected, and rereflected the morning sun. Some of the
buildings were shaped like great pyramids or giant obelisks, while others appeared like Greco-Roman
temples, with massive fluted columns and broad stairs that were now crowded with people. More than
one building even had a vaguely modern look to it, with huge sections of glass and polished metal.
Mark slowed for a moment, fascinated by a unique arrangement where a huge mirror, turned by a clock
mechanism, caught the light of the sun and sent its image to a relay of fifty or more mirrors positioned
down the length of the street. The mirrors in turn reflected the light to other mirrors or to giant prisms, so
that rainbow splashes cut into every corner of the avenue, generating a lively interplay of color that
darkened for moment with the passing of a cloud, then exploded with dazzling intensity so that it seemed
as though rainbow after rainbow arced across the thoroughfare.
Music drifted on the breeze, the chanting of priests from one temple counterpointed by a wild pulsing
roar of bagpipes from another, which mingled with a hundred different songs from the crowds, musicians,
and street vendors.
The air was filled with a shifting patina of scents--incense from the temples, cooked food from street
vendors, the smells of a vibrant city full of life, and the scent of the not so distant sea.
Yet Mark sensed that all this was but a prelude. For at the far end of the avenue he could see the inner
core of the city, surrounded by a wall that was nearly twice as high again as the one they had passed over
minutes before. The gate facing out onto the Avenue of the Gods was yet to be opened.
"Now we enter my father's true court," Allic said, and motioned for the others to swing behind him in
single file. Slowing, he drifted up and over the wall.
The sound of a waterfall filled the air, and as Mark crested the barrier he saw a magnificent array of
fountains arranged around the sides of a large hexagonal pyramid in the center of a vast courtyard. Atop
the pyramid was yet another clock-driven mirror which reflected to more mirrors and prisms. The light in
turn was reflected back to the fountains, so that the entire courtyard was awash in brilliance.
Dozens of jets of water leaped a hundred feet into the air, swirling in a pattern that shifted with every
passing second. Mark could not help but laugh as Allic swept downward, cutting in and out through the
high arcing jets of liquid, and then he noticed that there were others flying through and about the fountains
as if this were an elaborate game.
Below in the courtyard he could see hundreds of upturned faces calling and laughing as the sorcerers
circled in and out, dodging as new jets erupted.
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There was a gentle pulsing of music in the air, and Mark realized that he sensed it more than he heard it.
It held a wild, haunting beat that resonated in him.
Diving, he swung in behind Allic, and as the tempo of the music increased, so did the changing pattern of
water jets.
A cheer came up from below, and looking over his shoulder, Mark saw that a sorcerer had been
tumbled end over end by a blast of water. The crestfallen flyer regained his control and swung out of the
play area to settle on one of the small islands in the lagoon that surrounded the fountain.
So, Mark realized, it was yet another game of flying.
Faster and faster the jets switched on and off. He visualized it as dodging streams of flak coming from
below. Suddenly as he raced in close along the pyramid wall, a concealed jet erupted and struck him
hard in the chest, sending him tumbling. Regaining control at the last moment, he skimmed low across the
water and alighted at the water's edge, where a laughing spectator offered him a goblet of wine.
"Outlander, hey?" the old man inquired.
"Guess you could say that," Mark replied politely.
"The whole court's been abuzz about you folks. Ah, there goes another one."
Mark looked over towards where the man was pointing, to see that Ikawa had been knocked out.
Faster and faster the jets played on and off, and the haunting music grew louder, echoing in his mind.
The hundreds of spectators had picked up the beat and clapped their hands in rhythm to the song, each
clap signaling a change to the pattern of water. It all had an intoxicating, sensual feel to it, like a
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