Chapter 75
His left hand rose, palm open, while his right hand still firmly gripped the kontarion whose tip now pointed toward the sky—a gesture that said he was not ready to attack, yet would not hesitate if circumstances forced him to.
The other six spears moved in unison, their tips lowering slightly, pointing toward the chests of the horses growing restless beneath the saddles of the Prefect's soldiers.
From behind the guard post, Nirma heard the sound of additional footsteps, and she knew her guess had been correct.
Four more soldiers now emerged from the shadows.
Two of them carried bows that were not yet drawn but ready to be drawn at any moment.
Arya, in front of her, halted their horse with a gentle pull on the reins.
Behind them, the eight Prefect soldiers did the same with movements no less precise—a dance of horses and men that occurred within seconds.
"The letter."
Nirma extended her hand forward without turning her head, her fingers tapping the air impatiently.
For a moment Arya remained silent in the saddle, savoring the moment with a faint smile barely visible in the darkness.
"Arya."
This time her tone was sharper, closer to a warning.
Arya finally moved.
His hand slipped into the deepest fold of his robe and produced a rolled parchment that had been hidden there like a secret reluctant to be shared.
But instead of handing it over immediately, Arya extended the letter with a movement that was deliberately slow—too slow.
It forced Nirma to twist slightly on the horse to grab it.
During that movement Arya whispered in a tone that only the two of them could hear.
"You know, for someone who claims to be such a skilled investigator, your memory about who carries this important letter tends to fail rather often."
Nirma snatched the roll quickly, nearly tearing its edge.
A long stream of muttering escaped her lips in a language even Arya did not fully understand—a mixture of old harbor dialect and curses only spoken when patience had reached its limit.
The parchment roll passed from Nirma's hand to the thick-bearded soldier, who received it carefully as if he were accepting the most sacred object in all of Constantinople.
He opened the letter slowly.
His eyes scanned every line, every letter, every seal stamped at the bottom.
Although Nirma could not see his expression clearly, she could feel the tension in the soldier's shoulders gradually loosening.
When he finished, he did not return the letter immediately to Nirma or Arya.
Instead he handed it to the soldier beside him.
That soldier read it just as carefully before passing it to the next.
And then to the next.
Until all six soldiers guarding the front post had read the same letter in turn.
All in silence that was filled only by the whispering northern wind and the impatient stamping of the horses' hooves.
Nirma drew a long breath, trying to restrain another complaint that had already reached the tip of her tongue.
Meanwhile Arya in front of her could barely hide the small laugh trapped in his chest.
Finally, after the last soldier finished reading and returned the letter to Arya's hand, the thick-bearded soldier stepped forward once again.
His posture had changed—straighter and more formal.
When he spoke, his voice no longer carried the wary tone from when they first arrived.
Instead it held the official tone of a soldier properly carrying out procedure.
"We understand your business, Sir and Madam of the Prefect.
To meet Ioannis Taronites, you cannot enter his residence directly without passing through the Household Guard first.
That is the standard procedure for all visitors, including those bearing an imperial warrant."
He pointed toward the road that continued to climb northward, toward where faint lights could be seen between the trees and the tall walls.
"Follow this road. About half a stadion from here you will reach the outer gate of the Taronites family residence.
There will be a Household Guard post there. Present your letter to them, and they will arrange the meeting with Lord Ioannis."
He paused for a moment before adding in a slightly lower tone.
"And forgive the inspection earlier, Sir and Madam.
Lately the situation in Deuteron has grown somewhat tense.
Many people come with various intentions, and it is our duty to ensure that only those with legitimate business may enter."
The half-stadion distance was covered more quickly than Nirma had expected.
Even though the road climbed upward and the stones beneath the horses' hooves had grown more slippery from the heavier dew that had fallen since they left the first guard post.
From afar, even before the shadow of the residence gate became fully visible, Nirma could already sense their presence.
Dozens of soldiers wearing uniforms different from the Skoutatoi they had encountered earlier stood there.
Their cloaks were longer.
Their shields were larger.
Upon each of their chests was engraved a family emblem Nirma did not recognize but could guess belonged to the Taronites family.
They did not stand randomly.
They were positioned in formations that allowed them to observe every corner of the road.
Every moving shadow.
Every possible threat that might come from any direction.
When Nirma's group appeared at the end of the road, eight pairs of eyes shifted at once.
Eight spears moved slightly.
Nirma felt Arya tighten his grip on the reins, ready to stop at any moment.
They halted precisely at an invisible boundary that could nevertheless be felt—the point where the torchlight from the residence gate began illuminating their faces.
The point where the Household Guards began stepping forward with measured movements.
Nirma dismounted first.
Her feet searched for balance upon the uneven stones.
Arya followed from the other side, his right hand already reaching into the fold of his robe where the Emperor's warrant was hidden.
The dozens of Prefect soldiers behind them also dismounted almost simultaneously.
It was a habit ingrained so deeply through their training that it occurred automatically, without orders, without commands.
For several seconds there were only the sounds of rustling cloaks, footsteps upon stone, and the breathing of horses being tied to the iron posts deliberately placed along the left side of the gate for visiting guests.
Even before the Household Guards had the chance to ask anything, Arya had already extended the letter in his right hand.
He held it firmly—not like someone under threat, but like someone presenting identification in a foreign land.
A soldier wearing a cloak slightly longer than the others stepped forward.
Three thin stripes on his right sleeve marked a higher rank in the military hierarchy of Constantinople.
He received the letter with both hands—a gesture of respect that appeared automatically the moment his eyes caught the imperial seal at the bottom of the parchment roll.
He opened it slowly.
His eyes moved across line after line.
Nirma watched as the soldier's eyebrows lifted slightly at certain parts, then relaxed, then furrowed again at others.
A small map of emotions briefly appeared on his face before he finally exhaled deeply and raised his left hand toward his subordinates.
"Stop the inspection."
His voice was firm.
There was no need to shout, because the courtyard before the gate was small enough for everyone present to hear him clearly.
To be continued…