A year after Sandun first laid eyes on her, the girl married the third son of the Earl of Agnefeld, a young man who now commanded one of the best cavalry regiments patrolling the disputed border with Fiodroch. All this information was recorded in the Archives, as the genealogies of every noble family were very carefully tracked.
Master Eulogo and Sandun’s carriage, with permission from the street captain, rolled up the steep gravel path. They exited the carriage and walked into the palace from the side entrance. The palace floors were white stone, like the great steps, and the walls were rich yellow pine with many tapestries and paintings depicting scenes both historical and religious.
They waited in the antechamber for a few minutes before they were joined by three men. Sandun knew them by sight: the Earl of Torobeus, the Count of Opomos, and the king’s younger brother, the minister of war, the Duke of Huripolis. Master Eulogo made deft inquiries as to the families of each of the men and complimented them on their successes.
The Earl of Torobeus was polite but cold. The Count of Opomos shook hands gladly, with a big smile. He said he well remembered his days at the Archives ten years ago, looking for geological reports, hoping to find more wonder rocks like the one that had been discovered in his marshlands. He said that his prospectors had found many strange rocks in the Kelten Alps to the east, but nothing like the wonder stone.
The duke, though he looked like the king, was a different sort of man: bigger, weightier, with a curly beard that covered half his face. While the king’s hair was already gray at the temples, the duke’s hair appeared untouched by age. In temperament they differed as well; where the king was quick, with a sharp mind and a sharp tongue, the duke was solid, loyal, and happy to defer to his older brother, save for matters of horseflesh and battle. While Pandion had recruited good men and kept them well fed and well paid, it was the duke who had charged with reckless fury into King Oniktes’s guard and struck down the king’s champion in single combat.
Sandun had been part of Pandion’s army that day, which was now famous as the Battle of Agnefeld. In the battle, he commanded five war machines and some thirty men to operate them. His battery had fired giant bolts at the massed formation of the enemy archers, causing much carnage. In the final hour, he looked through his farseer with a glee mixed with horror as the duke’s footmen surged past their lord, overwhelmed the royal guard of Oniktes, and butchered the evil king in a mad, bestial fury. Axes and greatswords rose and fell, turning horses and men into nothing more than piles of red meat. To his dying day, Sandun would remember seeing Oniktes in his golden armor disappear from view. He would remember shouting, “The king is dead! The king is dead! Victory!” The cry spread through the whole army, and suddenly men who had been fighting for Oniktes began laying down their weapons and crying for mercy. Though won ten years ago, the battle was as vivid in Sandun’s mind as this morning’s trip across the water.
The door opened, King Pandion III was sitting at the round table of state. They all bowed and then took seats.
“Master Eulogo, good to see you. You are looking unchanged,” said the king. “The years and stacks of dusty tomes have not turned you into a wight.”
Master Eulogo bowed his head. “Not yet, my lord. That transformation may yet occur, and if it does, I suppose I will have to keep my position for eternity, until the Glorious Battle.”
“Good to see you too, Master Sandun. The care of our royal records has not aged you overmuch; you seem as fit as you did a decade ago.”
Sandun bowed, but as no witty repartee came to mind, he thought it best to remain silent.
The king waved to his footman. “Would you gentlemen care for some wine? As my brother knows, we have recently been gifted with a fine white wine from the Lord Arkoamplo’s vineyards.”
“Indeed,” answered the duke, “I enjoy this new white, and I urge you all to try it, despite the weighty matters we are here to discuss. A glass of wine may smooth the debate.”
After sipping the wine, Master Eulogo made his prepared speech:
“Your Highness, my lords, the matter before us is not so weighty, at least not yet. My colleague, Master Sandun, has discovered an old map, concealed in a set of land deeds from the days of King Stepos. The map purports to show a path that travels through the impassable Tirala Mountains and leads, ultimately, to the border of Serica. The map was made by a previously unknown Kelten explorer named Jon of Stenston, who appears to have returned to his home village of Stenston in the year 495. It is the considered opinion of the Archives that an effort should be made to ascertain the truth of this.”
“Stuff me with feathers and call the cat!” said the Earl of Torobeus. “First, if there was such a route, it would be used today—everyone desires the glassware and craftworks of Serica. Second, if a route had been discovered, it would never have been forgotten.”
“My lord, we share your skepticism—to a degree,” Master Eulogo said soothingly. “This is why I say the matter before us is not so serious. At least, not yet. As you say, what are the odds that a route to Serica would not be in use today? They are low. And what are the odds that the discovery of a route, even three hundred years ago, would be forgotten? Equally low. However, despite the poor odds, we think this map slipped through the cracks of time. Master Sandun shall explain our case to you, as briefly as he can.”
Sandun drew from his satchel the map, now placed on a stiff leather backing, and the old folio of land deeds in which the map had been found; both were passed around.
Sandun laid out the support for map’s validity: the use of names that had long gone out of style, the changes in geography, and then the reason why the knowledge could have been lost. He made his points carefully, buttressed by facts commonly understood by the lords.
“As you all know, the later years of Stepos the Rash were a time of troubles the likes of which this land has rarely seen, though I daresay many men would speak worse of the recent misrule by the usurper Oniktes. In any event, the chaos was so great that the years 495 and 496 are missing from the Seopolis records. What I have here is a folio, a local copy of land deed transactions, made in Stenston and brought back to the Royal Archive as part of the resurvey project at your highness’s direction. We believe no one had reason to look at this folio because the Viscount of Stenston has been succeeded by eldest son to eldest son for nearly four hundred years, until the late Viscount Stenston died without a legitimate heir earlier this year. So, with no reason to examine the land deeds, it seems likely that no one looked at this folio.”
Sandun took a sip of wine and continued. “As to why this news could have been lost, suppose a traveler were to have returned from Serica in the year 495? Is it not likely that he would have been swept up in the great revolt that saw many of the nobles allied against the king? If that man had perished in the fighting, which lasted for more than a year, would anyone have remembered that man’s story of a path to Serica at that time? We cannot say for a certainty, but it seems moderately plausible.”
At Sandun’s conclusion, even the earl was nodding his head slowly, as though to a hidden beat in the wooden room. But the Count of Opomos objected, “Lord King, my river farmers have a saying: ‘All seems good when the rains fall, but woe betide when the summer o’er stays its welcome.’ The meaning of this is simple: Sho’Ash is still at war with the Black Terror, a slow war but an ever-present one. We live in a world constantly in struggle, and the very land changes year by year as generations of men march on and do battle with the darkness in his name. Even if there was a route that one man followed three hundred years ago, the land has changed. On my borders, the woodsmen of the Kelten Alps suffer from landslides and avalanches during the fierce winter months each year. To the north, Sho’Ash caused Mount Inessa to explode, which unleashed a massive rockfall that in turn blocked a river, and now there is a lake where once lay a fertile valley.”
Opomos continued, “It seems to me a
fool’s errand to seek something lost for three centuries and which might never have existed in the first place. We must needs worry about the Issedonians to the north, the Melnehlans to the west, and Fiodroch to the south before we spend crowns chasing a marshlight into the bog.”
Sandun was dismayed by Lord Opomos’s vigorous attack. He could tell that the other lords were puzzled.
The Earl of Torobeus spoke up. “Unusually, I find myself in agreement with my Lord Opomos. It seems a fool’s errand…and yet, in my port I have seen traders from distant Maspan bring to market small yet terribly expensive vases and plates from Serica. A route that once existed still may be possible for a few hardy men, and but a sackful of Serice glass vases would make a man rich. It is hard to always see the hand of Sho’Ash in day-to-day events, yet would it not be strange to wall Serica away from his words of salvation for all time? Though it costs us some coin, mayhap it is our duty to make the attempt?”
The king gestured to his brother. “What say you, my lord duke?”
The duke spoke slowly but with force. “I am reluctant to see the Spear of Sho’Ash in this potential discovery. But we Keltens have long taken pride in our ability to make profitable trades with almost all nations. If there is a chance to trade with Serica, I say we seize the chance. As Opomos says, we have pressing claims on the royal purse. So I suggest a cheap expedition but a swift one.”
The king now gave his pronouncement. “My lords, I thank you for your thoughts on this. I deem that an effort must be made to find out the truth of this matter. Trade with Serica would be most beneficial. Even a few strong men every year bearing loads on their backs would improve our purse and raise our status with the other nations of the Archipelago. As Lord Torobeus observed, small things from Serica command great prices in all markets of the Archipelago. If pack trains of mules could make the journey, our treasure chests might one day groan from being overstuffed–whereas now, being ill fed, they are silent.”
The king paused and looked up at the tall windows through which sunlight entered, illuminating the paneled room. “Who among us has not dreamed of visiting Serica? So inaccessible and yet, if the stories be true, a great nation with many wise men and with not a few craftsmen who remain unsurpassed in all the world. It was the kingdom with the largest cities and the mightiest rivers. The palace in Kemek was said to have spread across miles, filled with gardens and elegant halls, music and song. As a young boy, living in exile in Fiodroch, I contemplated making the journey myself.”
The king finished his wine and sat in silence for moment. Then he said, “My lords Huripolis and Opomos have the truth of it; our efforts must be economical. To that end, I wish a small party of outdoorsmen who are skilled and yet schooled and of good character. Mine old tutor once told me Serica’s leaders set a great store on virtue and at times refused dealings with coarse traders and discourteous diplomats.”
Now the king stared at Sandun and Master Eulogo with piercing eyes. “This investigation I delegate to the Royal Archives. I command you to be discreet. The public purpose must be as dry as bone; no word of this possible route must reach Issedon or Fiodroch. Submit a proposed budget with an uninteresting story to the royal exchequer. The King of Kelten gives you eight hundred crowns and a squadron of cavalry as escort. Report to me personally when your expedition is ready to depart.”
The king rose to his feet; the audience was over. Sandun found it difficult to stand, as the blood seemed to have drained from his head. The idea that this task would fall to the Royal Archives and that he would almost certainly be responsible for leading it had come like a bolt from Naktam.
As they were walking out of the room, the king patted Sandun on his back. “Don’t worry yourself overmuch, Sandun. The route is likely impossible, and northern Erimasran has been mostly safe since last summer. The royal collectors have had so few complaints that it may be time to raise the taxes on the free folk who live therein.” The king chuckled at the thought of raising taxes. “I’m counting on your safe return, and I daresay the books will gather only a bit more dust whilst you are away.”
The king stopped them before they left the chambers. “Remember, not a word of this to anyone. I am looking forward to seeing the chancellor of the exchequer come storming in when he receives your expense request—he will be livid! I suppose I should warn him ahead of time; it is unmannerly to tweak him so. But must a king deny himself all pleasure in pursuit of his royal duty? I think not!” At this, the king laughed, and the nobles and the archivists bowed themselves out.
Outside the room, Master Eulogo and Sandun exchanged glances. “Let us summon a light refreshment and rest a while in the palace gardens before we head back across the water,” said Master Eulogo. “The next few weeks will be busy.”
The Venerable Hine wrote in his Discourse of Chronos and Eros: “There are two ways to lie effectively. First is to tell only a part of the truth, leaving out what is most important to conceal. The second way involves telling the truth but so unconvincingly that your listener is sure you are lying.”
Seven days passed in a flurry of behind-the-scenes activity. Master Eulogo and Sandun came up with a plausible proposal and a budget for the expedition. As a starting point, they consulted old writs from the exchequer’s office documenting two overland expeditions conducted during the reign of King Pandion II: one to Potomopolis, the other to eastern Issedon in what turned out to be a successful effort to make common cause with a clan that hated the then-king of Issedon. The expedition to Potomopolis, more reconnaissance than conquest, traveled roughly the same distance as Sandun expected to travel and involved less than seventy-five men.
Prices were higher now than they had been twenty years ago, and so the eight hundred crowns, which seemed more than enough at first hearing, was half the amount they requested in the writ they sent over to the exchequer.
“Don’t worry, my boy,” Master Eulogo said expansively. “His Majesty expects us to ask for more money than he stated. It’s an unwritten law of government: an important task takes double the time and twice the money allocated.”
Sandun knew from his readings that the growth in prices was inescapable; it had been well documented by several masters of the Archives over the last century. The reasons for the steady rise in prices remained baffling, and it was a source of continual frustration to every recent Kelten monarch.
With the cover story complete, they began to spread news of the upcoming expedition to those who needed to know. First, the apprentices at the Archive were told, and then it was mentioned in the local Tebispoli tavern. Sandun also put out the word at the Koryfog livery that they were in the market for some sturdy horses and strong mules for a long journey out to the far eastern frontier.
Since the Duke of Huripolis was going to summon a squad of mounted scouts to provide escort, the two archivists settled on a group of three men to lead the expedition.
Sandun was the obvious choice to go, so obvious it was barely discussed. Sandun himself would have preferred to be asked if he wanted to go, rather than Master Eulogo and the king assuming he would. Late one night, he thought about the trip, considering the pros and cons. He was unmarried, and no woman or small children depended on him. Like all young men who’d come of age during the War of the Nobles, he had trained in the bow and the dagger, the spear and the sword. As a young man living on his own in Seopolis, he exchanged blows with rival gang members on several occasions. The battle of Agnefeld was the largest battle he had been part of but was not the only one. Since those rough days of easy violence had come to an end, he now enjoyed fencing. For years, he had been a regular at the Tebispoli fencing club and was considered good. Physically he was fit; every Shoday he hiked in the hills ten miles or more. Clearly, Master Eulogo was not capable of the journey because of his age, so if someone from the Archives were to lead the expedition, Sandun was the man for the job.
But why had this job been given to the Archiv
e? Surely there were professional diplomats who were capable or young knights who were eager to gain fame. Even if they did not find the path, it was dangerous to travel to the edge of the kingdom. And if they did find the path, the journey through the Tirala Mountains was a leap into the unknown, scarcely less dangerous than jumping off a cliff into the swirling waters of the Krisopeli. Finally, the most recent stories or rumors about the state of Serica were bad: there seemed to have been a long war and many supernatural disasters, and some reported that great cities had been utterly destroyed.
Despite the dangers, Sandun had to admit to himself that he was bored and restless at the Archives. He longed to travel to the edge of the known maps and explore further. He could have taken a wife and started a family, but hadn’t. Why hadn’t he married the baker’s daughter last year, when she so clearly fancied him? Perhaps the Earl of Torobeus was right; perhaps Sandun had a destiny, a road, which Sho’Ash had set down for him to follow—if he had the courage.
The next evening, he went to the temple and prayed to Sho’Ash. The temple was simple—in comparison to the great temple across the estuary in Seopolis—an octagon with a large statue of Sho’Ash in the center, holding a spear in his right hand, his massive left foot stepping on the twisted form of the Black Terror. Other, smaller statues of various saints stood along the walls, looking at Sho’Ash. Sandun took the sacred stairs that led down to the large underground chamber below. Here, most worshippers gathered, on their knees and looking up through the iron grate to the lights at the top of the temple, just as Sho’Ash did when he was imprisoned in the deadly dungeons of the Black Terror.
The priest was there; he knew Sandun by sight and came over after a short time. “You are going on a long journey soon, I hear.”
The Burning Tower Page 2
