This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination.
The Burning Tower
Book 1 of The Secret Journey
© 2017 by Colin Glassey
All rights reserved
Print ISBN: 9780998578309
Ebook ISBN: 780998578316
For Gene Wolfe,
Roger Zelazny,
J. R. R. Tolkien,
and Lord Dunsany
If I had seen one miracle fail, I had witnessed another; and even a seemingly purposeless miracle is an inexhaustible source of hope, because it proves to us that since we do not understand everything, our defeats—so much more numerous than our few and empty victories—may be equally specious.
~Gene Wolfe, The Sword of the Lictor
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Maps
Part One
Kelten
Part Two
Erimasran
Part Three
The Tiralas
Part Four
Gipu
Part Five
Hazeny
Part Six
Kunhalvar
Part Seven
Tokolas
Part Eight
The Burning Tower
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
Acknowledgments
My love and thanks to my children, to my family, to Mia, and to the land of California, which I have walked across and driven over for many, many years.
Maps
Kelten
Serica and Surrounding Lands
The Archipelago
Central Serica
Part One
Kelten
In the beginning, there was the map. Folded twice over, stained brown with age, in places unreadable, marked by long-evaporated water, the aged paper fell from the book Sandun Eiger held and onto his lap.
Sandun expertly unfolded the sheet despite his thick fingers and gazed with increasing wonder at the thin, faded lines. As one of the royal archivists, he was supposed to know every chart, sketch, tracing, and plan in the collection. He loved maps—had loved them ever since he was a boy—and he really did know all the drawings in the king’s collection.
His love of depictions of the world could be dated to the hour he had entered his father’s workroom and found, spread out on the drawing table, a large vellum map of Hepedion. In that hour, he felt like a seagull over the town. Every building and every street through which he had run while chasing cats or other small boys or being chased by larger boys—all this was revealed to him in a rising tide of simple joy. There was the temple, and out of the main market circle was Fish Street, crossing the old stone bridge and headed west toward the sea. And there was Sun Street, and if you turned left onto Newt’s Tail and then right on Ironmonger Row, his house. Sandun never forgot his first map.
A new chart, even poorly drawn, could provide an hour’s entertainment, so he set aside the annals of King Stepos the Rash and took up the magnifying glass standing in its place of honor at the top of the desk; he studied long and thoughtfully as the ink gave way to vistas of places he had never before seen.
“By the Spear of Sho’Ash, I find you hard to trust. And yet, if you are what you claim to be…” Sandun half breathed this to the map, his heart beating hard, his faced flushed.
“Anyone looking at you would say you’d found an illumination of the Lady Maormos, all ready for her bath,” said Master Eulogo. “Come, what are you bent over? I was about to call you to lunch,” Still a vigorous man despite his years, in his black robes he looked a bit like a crow eyeing a shiny pebble.
“My dear sir, I am trying to decide if this is the new lodestone of the map collection or if it should be turned to ash for fear it will lead the young and impressionable to their certain doom.” Sandun respected the old man, but they had sparred often enough, most recently over a very confusing battle plan left by General Anandus, one of the least educated of King Pandion’s warlords. It had been a victory but, by terrible luck, the very last officer who served with the old warrior had died in battle with the Issedonians just one month before they had realized they needed his explanation of events.
“And may I, the master of the king’s records, be allowed to see this engine of ambiguous effect?” Picking up the book Sandun had been reading, he continued, “Korun’s teeth, this book has been gathering dust as long as I have toiled here.”
“I found this sketch tucked within the pages.” Sandun handed Eulogo the map and the magnifying glass.
The old man bent over the aged sheepskin and began to mutter to himself, “Stigia was ruined nearly two hundred years ago, and yet here it is.”
Sandun interjected, “Look how the Evgos River bends to the west of the Vasten Hills. The great flood of 485 changed its path to lie on the eastern side, as it is still.”
“I noticed that,” said Master Eulogo dryly, yet as he studied it, rising excitement could be heard in the timbre of his voice. “I think, I think, my boy, you have found a nova—a new star for our collection.” He pointed his long, twiglike finger at the top right corner of the map. “This must be investigated.” He nodded his head, as if his mind needed to concur with his tongue. “If this map is speaking the truth to us over the centuries, then there was, at one time, a road to Serica.”
A road to Serica! No man from Kelten had gone to Serica and returned in many centuries. A thousand years ago, during the Third Trimarch of the Archipelago Empire, there had been trade over the far northern plains and through the nearly endless pine forests. The reliable explorers who had made the journey claimed it took almost a year to go from Wallbard to the first major Serice city.
Vases and goblets of Serice glass were highly prized in Kelten, indeed throughout the Archipelago. Kings and earls vied with each other to own them and display them. Serice glass had colors that could not be duplicated, and the glass itself was of astonishing strength. Other artwork from Serica commanded high prices: polished and intricately carved stones, wood of an unknown tree that was dense and held a strange luster, and more.
Despite the value of the goods, trade with Serica had died away like the fading howls of a wolf pack running toward the hills in the night. Sandun had once read the journal of the last known Kelten trader: Herek, younger brother of Tindares, the Island King. Herek vividly described snowfalls in the middle of summer and partially frozen rivers with blocks of ice that smashed many of the rafts his men made. Since the days of Herek, the Sogands had taken full control over the north, and they killed almost anyone who entered their lands. The northern route had been closed for hundreds of years.
“Let us study this more, but I believe a meeting with our king is necessary.” Master Eulogo pursed his lips as he considered the implications. “I will make inquiries from my friends on the king’s council as to which way the winds of royal favor are blowing this month.”
“Who would oppose us investigating this old map? A path to Serica could only be beneficial, yes?”
“My boy, there are always opponents of any change, and the atmosphere in court has been like a miasma to many unwary advisors, nobles, and even ministers. To bring an issue requiring royal approval before the king without first sounding out the current favorites and advisors is unwise and even dangerous.”
Sandun digested this and then offered a new tack. “Could we speak to the king privately? Invite him to visit? He was last here, what, two years this last Highsunday, as I recall?”
�
��We could do that, but it would take time to arrange, and when word came out about this map, this discovery, my enemies might spread the lie that I concealed this news from the king for reasons of self-interest. No, we cannot wait on this. I must plan the presentation of this map with both care and haste.”
Master Eulogo paced a circuit around the shelves holding the records; his hand brushed against some of the volumes of aged leather, as if seeking comfort from touching the tools of his trade. “Since your contacts with the king are less influential than mine own, you must authenticate this map—find out who created it and why it has lain forgotten for so many years. If we are wrong, it will harm us, and if we are right, there may be more than a few who would see this news as a threat to their schemes.”
“But surely none but our enemies would see this knowledge as harmful?”
“No, no. Everyone walks on a knife edge, and the closer one is to the king, the greater the risk if one should fall. These days, any change can upset the balance of power in the court. The lord exchequer could bring in a report of a poor wine harvest from Nemiada, and three men could be removed from office the next day. All news is dangerous.”
Sandun’s frustration broke his usual reticence at discussing matters of politics with his superior. “How long can this state continue? How can the king make wise decisions if every advisor must first weigh his views on the scales of personal risk and reward before speaking openly? Is the king only to hear what his councillors deem safe for them to tell him? How can he make good choices if all he hears are half-truths, or distortions, or self-serving platitudes? I remember the days of Oniktes, when no man spoke openly, when in closed rooms by candlelight we whispered rumors about the missing queen, but upon the streets everyone greeted one another with false smiles and spoke only about the low clouds and the chance of rain. And did we overthrow that false king with fire and sword only to have the same fears descend on us? Are we not free men, not Keltens? Sho’Ash save us all.” With his invocation of Sho’Ash, Sandun struck the quill pen on his desk and knocked its ink bottle to the floor; the black ink poured out. Embarrassed and uncertain of Eulogo’s reaction, he took a rag and cleaned up the dark pool from the smooth wooden boards.
Eulogo perched on a small stool usually used for standing to reach the high shelves. He looked at Sandun with a piercing eye. “I first apprenticed under Master Tomlima in the last years of King Kranus. He once told me about his life years before, when Pandion the Great ruled. After the battle of Rohyla, Pandion was unchallenged at court. Everyone loved him; all his ministers felt free to give him the unvarnished truth without fear of reprisals. The king was wise, and his councillors were well chosen for their knowledge and honesty. Those were golden years. Which is why we were able to conquer Fiodroch and hold it against Jibur and Melnehlan. So Master Tomlima taught me.” He sighed.
“Seventy years ago. Followed by evil days, unwise regents, decades of civil war. All my life has been spent in twilight. As you say, it was worse under Oniktes II. He was a man no one could trust, a man who’d smile and flatter you one day and have you murdered on the street the next.” He closed his eyes; his voice grew fainter. “Master Isambar’s blood ran between my fingers as I tried to stanch the wounds inflicted by Oniktes’s assassins. They laughed and jested as they walked away, the daggers in their hands dripping blood onto the cobblestones. All my words died in my throat.”
Master Eulogo stood up and cleared his throat. “Our king, Pandion, Third of his Name, is a good man, and he keeps the flatterers to a minimum. He is both prudent and thoughtful, and not overly fond of anyone, as a king should be. And we have need of his prudence; dark clouds are gathering to the north in Issedon and the west in Melnehlan. Peace with Fiodroch is welcome after our long war, but who can say if it will last beyond the reign of their King Langaras? But do not be overly concerned. If the map holds up to further scrutiny, be certain to make a copy.”
Eulogo walked to the door. “I shall spend this afternoon catching up on court gossip. This evening, we shall subject the document to a most pressing cross-examination. If it be not falsified, I shall cross the great estuary and pay visits to friends on the morrow. I leave you to your task.”
All thought of lunch driven from his mind by the task ahead, Sandun brought the map over to the light streaming in through the narrow south window.
Two weeks later, Sandun accompanied Master Eulogo to meet with King Pandion in his palace. They crossed the great estuary in one of the many sailboats that spent every day crossing the salty waters from east to west, north to south, leaving wakes of white foam as they beat against the wind. The day was fair, though low clouds covered the Pelikrisi and a stiff sea air blew east from the Great Sea. At the main pier, they disembarked and joined the throng of merchants and laborers and visitors to Seopolis, the capital city of Kelten.
When he had first been appointed to work in the Royal Archive, a year after the victory at Agnefeld, Sandun had taken every opportunity to visit Seopolis. He had grown up in Hepedion, where it took four days of steady walking to reach the northern end of the Helioada River and from there, depending on the tide, several hours sailing down the river and across the estuary to reach the capital. As a young man, he’d made the trip to see Oniktes II crowned, even though at the time of the coronation there were already rumors of rebellion and the day of the ceremony was dreary, with low clouds covering the parade route. Nowadays, Sandun came less often to the city, preferring instead to while away his free time in the forested and sunny hills, just east of the Archives, that climbed up a thousand feet and more.
Today, the city was as it always seemed to be: different in details but essentially unchanging. Several teams of men were erecting new stone buildings right on the waterfront across from the docks. A nobleman in his finery strolled down the pier in front of them, flanked by two large men with gloved hands on their swords. Working men and women carried baskets of goods and food up from boats tied to the creaking pier. The familiar smell of smoke, from thousands of cooking fires, drifted to them along with the odors of horse urine and manure.
Master Eulogo and Sandun wore their robes, decorated with the heraldry denoting the Archives: a round shield in the old Imperial style with three rolled scrolls in the center. Walking to the palace was out of the question given the distance. Since there were two of them, it was cheaper to rent a carriage rather than horses.
“Two silvers,” said the coachman.
“We can add this to the heating bill.” A nervous joke, from Sandun—the Archives were generally not heated since the vellum and parchment lasted longer with a constant temperature. “What is going to happen?”
“Watch and learn. If my little plot turns out, I shall explain it all afterward.” Master Eulogo seemed jovial, but Sandun thought he detected a false note in the old man’s smile.
“As a fellow Archivist, you might let me know so I can prepare.”
“You play your part, I shall play mine, and we will get along like the seagull and the eel.”
After this mysterious reference, presumably to an obscure folk expression, Sandun ventured no further questions. He gripped his stiff satchel, also emblazoned with the shield and the scrolls, and looked out the window.
As the carriage climbed up the first hill, the houses, city residences of the lesser nobility, became fancier. This was the Dromo Thalas, the main road from the port to the palace. A mile farther on, the land leveled and large oaks spread their branches over the road. The great estates of the most powerful nobles came into view, protected by tall iron fences and, behind them, the household warriors dressed in the distinctive liveries of their masters. Unlike common soldiers, these men bore two-handed swords and wide-bladed spears with blades carefully covered with decorative cloth sheaths.
At last, the great stairs of the Sita Elaf or “New Palace” came into view. The name “New Palace” was a source of amusement to the locals; it was both accurate, s
ince it was newer than the old castle, and completely misleading as it was also one of the oldest buildings in the city. Like many buildings in Seopolis, the New Palace was both very old and in the process of being rebuilt, as windows and facades were torn apart and replaced so as to take advantage of improvements in the art of glass making. The steps, made of shining white granite with veins of quartz running through it, were crowded with people from all over the kingdom and even some from the other nations of the Archipelago. By long tradition, the steps were free to everyone, though the foolish and the disrespectful were swiftly removed and taught not to repeat their mistakes by the hard fists of the huge men who made up the king’s guard.
Most who came here just wanted to see the palace and watch the parade of elegant women and men who daily passed in and out of the gilded gateway. Often enough, the king or the queen or one of the princes would come out and extend greetings to the visitors, sometimes with gifts for the obviously needy.
Queen Joaris was of noble birth and generally liked for her good grace and her daily worship at the temple. Married to the king at a young age, she had stood with him through times of deadly peril and had borne him two sons, the Princes Proklos and Leonos, both fine young men. Nothing more could be asked of her.
The queen’s handmaidens were all young and pretty women from among the aristocracy. One or more of them could be seen throughout the day, sauntering on some errand of the queen’s or simply collecting admiring looks from the crowd. A few years back, Sandun had fallen under the spell of one of these girls, a golden-haired beauty and the daughter of a lesser lord near Betholferry. Sandun spent many weekend hours on the steps, seeking more views of this demigoddess. But inquiry and research had revealed that a queen’s handmaiden nearly always married far above Sandun’s station in life. Despite his official robes and respectable office, he was just a commoner and not likely to advance even to the lowest ranks of the nobility.
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