The Palisades: The Palisades, #1

By M. Karl Ward

Raul has vowed never to go back to being a slave again.  Relentlessly pursued by the Vamogars—the marauders that terrorize the land—he is chased to the far edge of the known world.  There, along the ocean's shore, he finds a city like he's never seen before, untouched by the barbarian hordes.

Everywhere within the city's walls are astonishing works of art—mysterious, enchanting art—and citizens strangely obsessed with creating it.  Citizens who are driven by a malevolent ghost to imitate the works of the city's long-departed Immortal masters.

Why had this shining city not fallen to the Vamogars?  Could it be a haven for Raul?  Or a trap?  Could he find a way to use this place to escape his captors?

Raul will lose them here, or die.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. Karl Ward
• Release date: May 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386325192

Book preview

Chapter One

I am the King.

The King of Nothing.

Do not be underwhelmed. Nothing is quite an expansive realm. It consists of everything that no one’s got. And if you look at yourself, you don’t have all that much, do you? No. And whatever isn’t something of somebody’s is mine. Now, what it’s worth is another question. It’s worth as much as a coin in a cloud, or a hare in a wolf’s teeth - a treasure that can be seen but never retrieved. That’s what Nothing is worth. It’s worth nothing.

It’s not often that you find something that’s worth exactly what it is. Too often there is a price attached to something that makes it worth something else. That means it’s not worth attaining for its own sake, but it is worth attaining for something else’s sake. And if it’s not worth attaining for its own sake, it can’t be worth much. Unless you’ve got a lot of it. And I’ve got a lot of it. Nothing.

Not only that, but I don’t have to lug it around, because wherever I go, all of my Nothing is there. And if I do want to lug it around, it’s not a heavy load. There, that’s got to be worth something.

I toted my sizable fortune over empty field and open road, glancing back occasionally at the path I’d taken. Ahead of me was another stretch of nothing, which might just as well already have my footprints on it for as much as I was going to change it. Someone told me once that the world is round, like an orange, so no matter how much of my journey lay behind me, there was exactly that much ahead...

It went on like this for days.

Life is Futility, but the body asks, then begs, then demands to be fed, and then we must pursue the task of survival...

I smelled lamb. Carried to me on greasy black smoke, rising from a crooked chimney. Perhaps a touch overdone, but I could imagine nothing other than a savory portion of leg, dripping with juices. With luck, some potatoes and onions basking at its side, bubbling in a broth of herbs. No less great an author was my nose.

What my eyes beheld was less promising. A cluster of rickety thatched-roof hovels around one larger common house, and only one fire lit anywhere. So the villagers would all be eating together, meaning less chance for me to beg a share. It was already past sunset, and these peasants will have worked a long day before their meal, be tired and hungry, and less inclined to let a morsel escape their bowls. There was no hint of conversation from within, no jocularity, no benevolent mood.

But there was lamb.

Behind the common house there was a large penned-in area, and some lean-to stables of ample size, with animals tied up there; possibly even more than one cow, along with some sheep and goats, all nestling in for the night. They would have been the first to eat, all being more important than a person like me.

I was encouraged to see that there was a back door to the common house. That hinted at the possibility of a separate cooking area, with fewer people to judge me and decide my fate.

I knocked on the back door.

Coming after dark as I was, I could expect no less than the blink of trepidation from the woman that answered. She wore a drab smock with a dirty apron, and a strands of gray hair strayed from beneath her headscarf. I expect I was looking near to as desperate as I felt, and her eyes grew wide, and well-formed wrinkles appeared.

We have nothing here, she said hastily, and tried to shut the door.

I am not a thief, I protested quickly. I am only lost.

She groaned when she found that my foot blocked the door. Go away! she said.

Please, I mean no harm to anyone. I am a wretch who is far from home, and I have not eaten...

So you’ve come to beg.

Not to beg. If I could have some scraps, then I might gain the strength to do chores—

I have a husband for chores, she said, still trying to force the door shut.

Yes, Madame. Then let me reconsider myself a beggar.

She shook her head. We’re very poor here. There’s not much for leavings.

Not much is more than I’ve had for days.

She went on trying to shut the door, grunting a bit with each effort. Now is not a good time,

she said, and glanced back behind her.

Please? I said.

Finally she stopped to look at me. Then there was a muffled noise from inside, and she abruptly turned away from the door, leaving it for me to enter the small room, where the meal I’d envisioned resided in modest form.

She remembered the food she had been preparing, and quickly forgot me. There was a marvelous disarray of pots bubbling over, and to one side were cut vegetables; some carrots, half a head of cabbage, a few onions. As she bent down to gather more ingredients, I took a cloth and lifted the lid from an iron kettle. When the steamy froth subsided a barley-stew remained, in danger of turning sticky if it were not rescued. I reached for a wooden spoon and sampled it.

Bland. Treacherously bland. Now, barley-meal stew can be very satisfying, but it must have a cook’s expert touch. Having spent some time in that employ, and my stomach uproarious with hunger, I was that expert. And if casual hunger merits at least modest preparation, then ardent hunger certainly deserves the utmost attention.

The cut vegetables were a start—I could not resist a couple of carrots for myself, to stave off the pangs until I could enjoy the meal properly—but they must be put in right away, before the barley was overcooked. And after that there must be some seasoning to bring it flavor...

There. Hanging in clusters over the window were cloves of garlic, and some beautiful dried peppers, red on the verge of turning brown, that would bring life to this dish. Madame was busy looking for something, so I took a small knife and peeled a clove of garlic, pressed and chopped it along with the peppers, and began putting them in.

I’d not have you think us heartless...here, what are you about? she asked from behind me.

She gasped as I tossed a handful of spices into the stew.

You can’t do—that’s not for us! she cried, a look of horror on her face.

I was just—

She began wringing her hands, looking towards the next room, to what must be the dining hall. Oh my merciful - what am I going to do now? I can’t make them wait. I can’t start it over.

I was stunned, baffled by her horror. Then, I was numbed by the slow realization of what she dreaded, because it was what I dreaded too.

While Madame stood in frozen terror, I went to the door that separated the cooking parlor from the other room, opening it narrowly. It was a large open hearth-chamber, with a small fire burning, and three tables with benches aligned in a row. Two figures occupied the middle bench, with no others in the room. One sat with his back to me, and the other looked this way.

I closed the door quickly and spun around, pressing myself against the wall. I felt the waves of fear and hunger twist my bowels My body wanted to retract into the very wood of this place, become a part of the grain, to disappear completely. I was too afraid to move, even to breathe, for fear of being seen, noticed. I was panicking—I knew I was, because my mind latched onto small, meaningless details - a smudge on a jar on the cupboard shelf, a broken bristle on a straw broom, the blackened base of the pot on the fire...

Thinkthinkthink...

I can still slip out the back door, into the night. They might not know I’ve come. Did they see me? Do I dare to peek out to check again? Risk being seen? No. Go back out the way I came. I can run, keep running, get as far away as I can before they—

Madame was staring at me, as rigidly terrified as I was.

I looked back to the stew on the fire. The spices would have blended in thoroughly by now, a spicy-hot gruel...

Get out, I said.

Wh-what? Her lower lip was trembling, her eyes locked on me.

Go out the back. Go hide.

My children—

Take them and hide.

She stood frozen, her mouth working. Our village...they’ll burn it down.

That’s why you need to get everyone out. With luck they’ll just this burn this hall.

Our homes— she cried.

I stepped up and took her elbow, then led her toward the back door, opened it. Quiet! It’s up to you to get them out. Go into the hills, the woods. Just get away. Go now! I pushed her out into the dark.

I heard a rumble from the other room. The meal! Bring it now! Something was thrown across the room to smash against the wall.

There was no quiet escape now.

I crowed a meaningless syllable back at them and looked around. Hanging nearby was a tablecloth, which I snapped open and threw over myself. I grabbed two wooden bowls and dipped each into the stew, burning my fingers.

I pushed through the door, bowing my head and stooping over, and trundled out to the bench, muttering gibberish, then banged the bowls down in front of them. One of them shoved me away and thrust his spoon into the stew. As I staggered back a few feet, he gulped the food like a dog.

Suddenly he howled, erupting up from the bench. The other looked at him in surprise as he danced stupidly with his fingers in his mouth, as if he could scrape the burning sensation out.

I drew off the cloth and threw it over the head of the brute still seated, then lunged at him, kicking him in the throat, knocking him and the table bench to the floor. Then I took up one bowl of stew and thew it into the face of his partner. When he ripped the cloth off his head and glared at me, I threw the other bowl into his face as well.

Then I ran.

Through the back room, reaching out to grab the first thing I could use to throw at them, and crashing out the door. I bolted for the stables.

Instead of just vaulting over the fence, I untied the gate and pulled it open, then stumbled in among the animals. Sheep and piglets scurried out of the way, while the larger beasts pulled against their tethers at my ruckus. In the darkness I could make out two cows, and two other large animals. I heard a snort, and hooves stomping nervously. The brutes’ horses! I could make out their figures tied up next to the cows. They were already unsaddled.

First I untied the cows. They didn’t move even after being freed, just lay there chewing.

Then I moved in front of the horses, and a very strong image came to mind—that of a man being trampled by massive hooves. I looked up into the face of the animal in front of me, beset by the light caught in his black eyes, and we came to an understanding then: if I touched him, he would kill me.

At the very next moment we both jerked around when we heard the splintering of wood and a voluminous bellow. The two brutes had emerged. I untied the second horse and tossed aside the reins. Then I stepped back, leapt onto the cow and sprung onto the horse’s back and grabbed a fistful of mane. After that, everything was moving.

The brutes were at the gate, where sheep and pigs and cows all stampeded toward them. They sidestepped the onrushing animals, including their horses. My indignant mount leapt over the others, toward the open gate. He was too furious to halt before the upraised hand of his owners, and I swung my makeshift club at the nearest one as the horse took me past them.

The beast charged into the night.

Chapter Two

It was not that I’d mastered the huge roan, but simply that we ran out of room for it to charge wildly in an effort to throw me. We’d had our eyes lashed by the high brush, and our innards roiled by the mad dash. Bursting into the open, across the narrow beach and abruptly into the surf, we both were startled and confused, and could do no less than stop and wonder, he and I, what to do next when confronted by that black expanse which broke into foam at our feet. Thus, not by any skill, but instead by virtue of the vastness, did I manage to dismount the beast and, with a smack on his rump, send him north along the beach to work out the enormity by himself. As for me, I stood there several long moments, letting my heart slow itself.

It was only then that I realized I was still holding on to the remains of the club I had grabbed on the way out, and I saw it was the stub end of a sausage. I had been clutching the ‘weapon’ the entire time. Mourning the portion that I had lost, I rinsed the chunk in the surf and chewed it down all too quickly.

Then I set out to the south, letting my feet get wet and my footprints disappear.

I walked for a ways, checking behind every so often for pursuit, after which my feet moved a little faster each time, until I was running, splashing up the water and my own frantic imagination.

Somehow they always found me.

But, I’d never been this far...

I’d had no idea there was even such a thing as an ocean before I was almost plunged into it, never come across it in all my travels. In the dark, the distance toyed with my eyes, and and I couldn’t tell just how far it stretched. But the early stars fell all the way to the flat horizon, and the size of the waves told me it was an immense sea. Was it possible that this was the boundary? I had been told that the empire encompassed the entire world, though that seems boastful. Perhaps there was an end to it. Was this it?

The steady waves calmed me, and eventually I felt myself away, out of danger now. The cover of night, the erasure of my tracks, and the distance at the end of the wild gallop all helped the threat of pursuit to become remote. Funny, how we so readily misconstrue the evidence in order to ease our weary nerves. What we cannot convince ourselves of, however, no matter how great a philosopher, is that the hunger in our belly is not the most important thing in the universe, and soon we can rationalize any insanity, or irrationalize any truth, if we think it will get us a scrap of food and stop that gnawing!

I followed the shoreline. The breeze was fresh off the sea, introducing me to a whole new set of smells. It was nothing like the faintly sweet tinge of the open grasslands, nor the musk of clustered forests. There was a tang of salt in the air, with an occasional whiff of brine, the odor of the creatures of the waters...all entirely new to me. It invigorated my step, allowed me a false, abstract sense of hope, of being far-removed from old dangers.

They—the two brutes, part of the race of barbarian overlords—would first retrieve their horses, those animals being the life and blood of their nomadic existence. Then they would go back for their saddles and whatever tack remained at the small, unfortunate village. Only after punishing any villagers that remained there, and likely burning down their hovels—not until then would they resume their search for me. Their hound-like senses would lead them to the shore. If I were lucky, they would assume I had somehow been able to stay on the horse, and follow the north-bound tracks. But, eventually, they would find that I had not, and they would turn again south in the deliberate but unhurried pursuit of their prey. They had no need for urgency. They were Vamogars, the savage and uncontested rulers of all the lands. They would trail me endlessly, over miles and months, no matter which tricks I employed, and they would find me.

I shuddered.

Hours I walked along the shoreline, as the stars shifted across the clear sky and the landscape to my left rose and fell gently. But of late it had climbed higher, going from brushy foothills to steep, rugged, nearly-vertical cliffs. The beach widened and narrowed, at times diminishing to a mushy sand-trap at the very foot of the cliffs, then opening up to a wider breadth. The moon was ascending, and finally it practically burst out over the cliffs, and suddenly the way before me was illuminated. I stopped in my tracks, enthralled by the abrupt communion of cliffs and beach and ocean, a secret world, seen only by me. Out in the open, under the vivid moonlight, I could see forever along the beach. A perfect solitude. I felt a freedom in being so removed from any civilization. I only regretted that I should be so hungry.

I turned around, and wondered how far behind they were. With their wolves’ eyes, the Vamogars would spot me easily. Their horses would swiftly close any distance, and there was simply no place for me to run.

I should have gone inland, away from the shore, when the way had been open. My fool thoughts had wandered, and I had for the second time this night walked myself into a trap. How far back would I have to travel to find a path into the foothills? No. I wasn’t going to walk back in their direction. I would keep on...

It was right then, in the bright moonlight, that I saw the steps.

Stone steps, a set of stairs, carved into the cliffside. They were uneven, chiseled out of the hard rock, apparently ancient—but obviously made by man. Yet now they were forgotten, abandoned ages ago.

It seemed the only choice. I mounted the steps. Looking up, I could not tell how far they led. They wound in and out of sight along the spines of the cliff, and their head was not to be seen. After I had tested the first twenty or so I looked down and found they were steeper than I’d thought. From then on it seemed easier to climb upward than to try to go back down.

I took them one at a time, and they were often so steep that I had to climb with both hands and feet on the steps. The stone was cool under my fingers, and sometimes I felt damp moss, and sometimes bits of stone crumbled away, and perhaps it was fortunate I was forced to feel my way. In any case, I had no way to go other than up.

I climbed for some time, and it was more of an effort than I’d expected. My hands were beginning to tremble each time I touched a step, and I was starting to doubt the wisdom of attempting them in my state, doubly weakened by hunger and lack of sleep. Finally I had to stop and rest, so I sat on one less-precarious step and looked out.

The great luminous reflection of the moon streaked across the waters, beyond the edge of sight. It was a vast ocean. The shoreline in both directions proved endless as well, and I followed the dim band of beach against the darker water, and the appearance and disappearance of white streaks as the waves broke where the two met. I was stricken by the thought of being suspended here, practically mid-air, the sole person in the center of immense openness.

After a time, a short distance south, I noticed what was possibly a structure in the middle of the beach. I strained to make sense of the strange jumble of shapes and shadows, and finally I realized that it was just a tumble of large boulders, huge oblong stones, piled in one heap. Just as I had satisfied that curiosity, I caught a gleam of blue light, strangely glowing, in the midst of the stones. It seemed to pulse faintly, though I could not say for certain if it wasn’t just my tired eyes. I looked up at the moon, and saw that it’s reflection had touched the boulders, and whatever it was that had caught the moon’s beams down there was less bright now, and perhaps only an illusion.

The breeze was considerably cooler, sweeping up the cliffs, and I decided to continue upward. The effort would at least keep me warm.

The way seemed to be getting worse now. If possible, it was even more vertical than before, and I wondered if the ancients had built these steps as a test of bravery, or a guard against the witless. How they would laugh if they saw me now. Each step upward was a trial, and each called out to me the irony that I would escape the Vamogars only to fall to my death from this bluff.

As ever, Futility is my sovereign.

Suddenly I heard a rustle in the brush next to me.

I stopped, held my breath.

The bushes that clung to the cliffside were swaying gently.

Something skittered away. On the opposite side of me, something else moved. Then stillness.

I exhaled loudly, uttered a curse. Just some stupid creatures prowling the cliffside. I had invaded their domain. They could hardly be big enough to threaten me. I continued upward.

I took it to be the middle of the night when I came to the abrupt end of my steps. I hung by finger and toe to the cliff, and now I had nowhere to go. I laughed at myself. I was proven the winner: the most witless of the witless fools, the King once more.

I strained to look around me for any continuation of steps, a handhold—anything. I reached blindly to my left. Nothing. Nothing solid. Only some thick roots that dangled underneath a collapsed ledge. I reached out to my right. Dirt crumbled away, rained down the cliff. Something jumped through the brush below me to get out of the way.

Finally my hand found something solid. I clamped onto it, then inched that way, and stretched one foot out, probing. There, something. I slowly shifted my weight from left to right, ready to shift back in case it would not hold me. Sweat rolled down my neck, chilled by the breeze, and I shuddered. Then I stepped across. Breathing hard, quivering, I reached up to find something more, and blindly I clambered up several long feet and onto what I thought was the top of the cliff.

I lay back, exhausted.

When I heard more movement below, I decided I should move inland. Trees grew very close to the cliff, and I was heartened that at least I would have cover to hide in. But a few steps into the woods, I found instead, a wall.

It was a stone wall that reached above my head, perhaps twelve or fifteen feet high. In the moonlight, it showed itself to be made of large white, square stone blocks, and very well built. I was befuddled on finding such remnants here in the midst of nowhere. Whoever these ancients were, they had been skilled builders. Their work had lasted well beyond them.

This would be a safe place to sleep the night. The two Vamogars wouldn’t climb the cliff, and even if they came from inland, they wouldn’t think to search this side of an ancient wall. I was deliriously tired after the treacherous climb, and I felt the tension drain from my muscles, now that they knew that I would be safe here, at least until morning.

I turned and stood for a moment, to look once more on the vast breadth of ocean under the clear, moonlit sky. I could still hear the waves breaking far below, and the soft flutter of the breeze. But then I caught, woven within those, a soft, pleasant...harmony? A warm range of sounds that I couldn’t identify. As I strained to listen, I heard the patter of rain hitting the leaves of the trees. I looked up at the near-full moon, and thought it strange, as there was not a wisp of cloud in the sky. As the drops of warm rain found their way down to my shoulders, I heard a voice—

Ah, a work of art, it said.

And I realized I was being pissed on.

Chapter Three

Of all the indignities I’ve suffered in my life, this may have been the most feeble. But after the perils of this night, it was too much insult to bear.

What the hell are you doing? I yelled.

The dribble stopped abruptly as I stepped out from under the tree and looked up to the top of the wall. In the moonlight I could see two figures there, one sitting and one standing next to him, the likely culprit.

Who are you? one asked.

Why are you peeing on someone? I shot back. I did my best to brush off my shoulders. Imbecile.

The two paused to look at each other, and then one swung around and the other sat, and both dangled their legs over the side of the wall, their interest suddenly piqued. They seemed to think they were in for a bit of fun.

Why the devil are you sitting up there? I said.

They looked at one another again. We are gentlemen-at-arms, said the one, then awaited my response.

Ah. Gendarmes.

Now, gendarmes are one and all stupid, made from the same stock. That is, when villages have inept citizens that they can’t trust to keep the livestock, these are put into service as gendarmes, and set at the edge of the village where they can do little damage. Though they are told of their importance, of course, at best they are there to keep the neighbors from running off with a cow or two. Very often their inflated self-importance draws out of them a cruelty that they think permits abuse of anyone or thing smaller or weaker. And, since they believe that that is the way to assert authority, they expect to receive the same