“The temple still uses electrum,” replied Maklin. “King Kranus gave a gift of electrum when he wished to appoint his nephew as Bishop of Thalapolis, against objection from the Central Synod of Pella.”
That the Kings of Kelten went to great lengths to get their blood relations appointed to senior positions with the temple hierarchy was common knowledge. Even so, Sandun was impressed that Maklin was able to retrieve this fact from his warehouse of a memory.
“I see,” said Sandun thoughtfully. “Perhaps the Mark of Sirosfeld will help defray our costs. In any event, why don’t you talk to the bishop’s scribe and see if the two scribes can negotiate a price? I’ll hazard a guess that it is unseemly for a bishop to haggle over money like common fishmonger. Best let the juniors handle such things?”
“I’ll do my best, Master.”
When they reconvened, Sandun changed the conversation to the organization of the Diocese of Erimasran. The bishop was only too happy to oblige. Then Sandun asked to see the temple’s maps, and at a gesture from the bishop, the silent priest left the room. Maklin followed him.
Sandun explained the ostensible reason for his expedition: namely, that they were looking for a long-lost library that was reported to exist in the ruins of Rasilimni.
“Indeed?” said the bishop. “I have never heard that name before.” They waited a minute, then two, in silence, drinking a fine red wine. Finally, Maklin and the priest returned with several large parchment sheets, and together they spread them out on the table. Using the oldest map, Sandun pointed to a faded mark, some 150 miles east of Sirosfeld.
The bishop said, “This is a mountainous area with some few villages, but I see that it was once a much larger community. Here is the notation for ‘Komitia’ or ‘Province.’ Strange, there is no indication of a major temple at Rasilimni, but it may have been an administrative center even without a notable temple. Well, there are many ruins from the Pellian Empire, even here, at the end of the earth.”
Maklin caught Sandun’s eye and nodded his head. Sandun expressed his gratitude for the bishop’s time and promised to return with good news soon. The bishop was puzzled by Sandun’s farewell but blessed their enterprise as they left.
Outside the temple, Sandun asked Maklin for a number.
“The bishop’s aide said that a donation of ten pounds of electrum would be sufficient.”
“By Hurin’s hairy feet! How many pounds of gold would that be? Five? Six?”
“The most recent document I recall set the ratio of gold to silver at 40 percent. That was twenty-five years past.”
“Four pounds of gold! Six pounds of silver? Absurd. When did the temple become so hungry for money? Perhaps out here on the frontier, the temple thinks it is safe to extort a knight’s ransom for an ordinary man on a trumped-up charge of heresy.”
“I could not say, Master, but…” Maklin paused to dredge up numbers from his memory. “Over the last one hundred years, the average cost to the king for getting his choice appointed to a bishopric has gone up substantially—by more than 50 percent.”
At this point, the mark’s page appeared in front of them and bowed. “Master Sandun, Scribe Maklin, the seneschal wishes to meet with you at your earliest convenience.”
They followed the page up the hill to the mark’s castle. Inside the cold stone halls, they met with the seneschal in his private room near the mark’s audience chamber. Sandun described his meeting and the bishop’s aide’s proposed price for Kagne.
Even the seneschal seemed surprised. “At half that price, it would still be excessive. There is more going on here than meets the eye. What is your impression of the bishop?” he asked Sandun.
“Honestly, he fits every stereotype of foreign priests who are sent here by command of the temple’s offices in Pella. He exudes contempt for Erimasran, and I do not doubt that he expects to be transferred to a better bishopric in a year or two, taking a goodly supply of gold with him for his travel expenses.”
The seneschal was taken aback at Sandun’s anger. “Master, please, it is not wise to speak of the bishop in this fashion, even among friends, as I hope you consider me to be. Doubtless, opinions and ideas are freer in Seopolis than they are here. In Erimasran, men are loyal to the office of the bishop, no matter who currently occupies it. The old bishop was revered, nearly as a saint.”
“Well, the old bishop may have been a saint, but this one does not impress me. In any event, I can pay only a quarter of what the bishop’s man suggested. And that would leave the expedition without reserves.”
“Master Sandun, my lord the mark has given me to understand that, in exchange for a favorable report from you to the king, he would donate a reasonable fee to have this matter resolved. If Kagne Areka is agreeable to you as a guide and if he goes with you and remains out of Sirosfeld for some time, then you can offer the bishop six pounds of electrum, for which we will reimburse you. That should satisfy all parties.”
Sandun was both surprised and relieved at the seneschal’s generous offer. “I am most grateful, Master Seneschal. And I have the highest regard for the Mark of Erimasran. You can be assured I will report favorably to the king. But as the old expression goes: ‘Words fly away, while gold stays where you place it.’ May I ask why you are going to such lengths?”
The seneschal chose his words carefully. “My lord, the mark, is aware of Kagne’s popularity in the north. Further, Kagne has been helpful on several occasions in organizing the northern clans’ defenses against raiders from Issedon. Finally, and I say this without any disrespect for the temple’s edicts, my lord is sympathetic toward his people’s desires to sell valuable crops and therefore make a living in a difficult land. Still and all, my lord is unwilling to oppose the bishop in this matter. My lord hopes that the next bishop will be chosen from within the Kelten priesthood, as is traditional. Thus, the sooner the current bishop moves on to a new position, the happier everyone concerned will be. Your arrival and your need for Kagne’s services help my lord resolve what had seemed to be an intractable situation.”
“I think I understand. As the temple says, ‘A gentle rain benefits both farmer and fisherman alike.’ You have my deepest thanks. Can I make this offer to the bishop tomorrow?”
The seneschal said they could and that the money would be ready as soon as an agreement was reached.
The next day, Sandun and the bishop matched wits in a battle of erudite speculation on the causes of the fall of the Pellian Empire. Meanwhile, Maklin and the bishop’s aide talked together in whispers. Eventually, Maklin signaled that an agreement had been reached. After a fine meal made with some unusual and expensive ingredients, along with fresh fish brought from Lake Tricon, the bishop said that he was willing to pronounce a sentence on Kagne Areka of exile from Sirosfeld under the surety of Sandun for a period of not less than a year.
“I believe you have a gift for the temple? To help with our charitable works here in Erimasran?”
“I do, Your Holiness.” The barbed but subtle inflections in Sandun’s use of the honorific were either missed or ignored by the bishop.
“That is well,” replied the bishop smoothly. “We all must do our part to see that the holy words of Sho’Ash and his temple are followed throughout the Archipelago, here in Erimasran no less than in Pella.”
Later that day, a small detachment of the mark’s guards came to the inn where the Archives Expedition was staying. In Sandun’s room, the head guard took off his thick belt, which cunningly folded open, revealing six pounds in gold and silver coins, all mixed together. The coins were transferred to a chainmail-covered leather wallet, which had been emptied due to spending on the trip. Sandun and the entire Archives Expedition then walked to the temple; at the door to the annex, he handed the pouch over to the bishop’s aide.
A minute later, the aide returned with a document stating the terms of Kagne’s release; Kagne stood behind him, b
linking in the afternoon sunlight.
Sandun introduced Kagne to the men of the expedition.
“Men of the Archives Expedition! I present to you, Kagne Areka. He is to be our guide as we travel into the outer wilderness of Erimasran.”
Kagne stepped forward and smiled broadly. He bowed, sweeping an imaginary hat off his head. “Gentlemen, together we will find that which is lost, we shall right that which is wrong, and we will have a great time doing it!”
A window above the annex door opened, and a young lady was briefly seen as she dropped a small embroidered scarf down to Kagne. He took the scarf from the air and then grandly saluted the woman. “Farewell, Liris,” he said to her. She closed the window and drew the curtains, but it seemed she was still standing watch behind them.
As they walked back to the inn, Sandun could not help but ask Kagne, “Who was that?”
“That was Liris, the daughter of the bishop. A very lovely girl with a sweet disposition.”
“And you know her?” Sandun said, rapidly spinning possibilities in his mind. Pieces of a puzzle seemed to be clicking into place.
“Well, yes. But let’s not talk about her. Thank you for getting me out of there. I can’t say I was pleased to read the paper I signed. Banned from travel to Sirosfeld for the next year? How can I negotiate for the villages of Tokivanu if I can’t come within fifty miles of the center of government?”
“That is actually the least of your troubles, old friend. You are coming with me on a very long and dangerous trip. If we survive, your troubles here will vanish like the fog under the midday sun.”
Kagne looked at Sandun and then nodded. “Oh? Where are you going?”
“You are coming with me, yes?”
“Yes, yes. Since I am exiled from here for a year, you have one year from me. Where are we going?”
“You swear it?”
Kagne got down on his knees and looked around. “This is just like my vision. I was kneeling, in a dusty street. The sun was behind your head, and I couldn’t see your face, but you were wreathed in light. And I said, I said…I, Kagne Areka, will follow you for a year and a day, going where you command. Bearing any burden. By the Spear of Sho’Ash, I swear it.”
Chills ran up and down Sandun’s spine. He had never heard anyone swear an oath like that, not to him. Is this what nobles feel, he thought, when a knight swears his oath of fealty to his lord?
Sandun tried to reply; his words seemed clumsy in his mouth. “I accept your oath. I shall repay loyalty with honor. I shall repay oath breaking with hatred. By the sword of Saint Hurin, I swear it.”
Kagne got to his feet and brushed his knees off. The other men of the expedition looked at him with new eyes. His act was unexpected, almost out of the old stories about the Lost King and his Shining Knights, but there was a ring of truth in his words. “So, where are we going?”
Sandun leaned over and whispered in his ear: “Serica.”
That evening, Kagne disappeared for a couple of hours. When he returned, he seemed much happier. Sandun could hazard guesses as to why, several of which were not mutually exclusive.
“I was going to stay with a woman tonight, but I could not rest without hearing your plan. Tell me everything.” Kagne smiled his most ingratiating smile and sat next to Sandun in the room he shared with Basil. While Basil quietly worked on additions to his travel map, Sandun explained the reasons for the expedition and recounted their journey so far.
Kagne then talked about what he knew of the land. “I grew up knowing that Serica is on the other side of Tirala Mountains, but it’s like a fairy tale to us. The Tiralas are impassible—at least that is what the wise men of Tokivanu all say. When I look at this map, I have a rough idea of where the trail discovered by ‘Jon of Stenston’ starts. But there are many canyons that wind their way up between peaks, most lead to unscalable cliffs, or you end up on the highland wilderness, and beyond that there are mountains of such height as to make the Alps look puny by comparison. In my life, I have gone twice into the highlands. It was cold, dry, and with very little game. I know the people near Seopolis think Erimasran is more desert than not, but for us, the highlands of the Tiralas are the true desert.”
Kagne looked carefully at the map. “I suggest that we seek the starting point of this path and then follow it as best we can. While we could head into the highlands and try to find the remains of the path there, I think it would be unwise. It is very dangerous in the highlands, mostly due to the weather and a sickness that strikes many people down. Much safer it would be to search for the trail down in Nukivanu, where there are food, water, and people.”
“Safer?” Sandun smiled without any mirth. “Did I mention that spies from Issedon may know of our expedition?”
“Why, no, you did not. Did you broadcast the news in the streets of Seopolis? Did you nail a recruiting poster on the gateway of the great pier?”
Sandun explained the efforts made at deception and their failure.
“Ha! I thought I taught you better tradecraft than that. Though, in fairness, I admit to some boasting of my deeds to a few comely lasses—when I was younger, of course.”
“Perhaps you still do? It’s not every day that a bishop’s daughter drops a scarf down to a man on the street.”
Kagne flushed. “That’s…well, it’s different, I had to convince her of the truth of my mission.”
“I can guess some of reasons why you were locked up by the temple. And heresy is not at the top of the list.”
Basil chuckled at this; Kagne refused to talk about it further.
The next day, the expedition set out from Sirosfeld, heading east on a road as though they were journeying to Rasilimni. On the third day, unobserved, they left the road and went north, heading for their true destination of Nukivanu.
They saw farms in the distance as they traveled. Usually a farm house was near a lakeshore. The expedition wended its way through great fields of grass and sometimes met flocks of sheep or herds of cows. Sandun thought that the vegetation looked much like what he had seen north of the Evgos River in Kelten. Erimasran had a reputation for great heat in the summer and vast tracts where nothing could grow, but this land—at least in early spring—did not look like what he had imagined.
He asked Kagne about the land and what the summer heat would bring.
“As the tadpoles say, spring is heaven, summer’s not. Summer’s sun dries up most streams and turns the fields yellow. But every year the lakes seem fuller. All farmers complain about the weather: too hot or too cold, too dry or too wet. Only one year in twenty is good. But it seems to me that we have been getting good years more often than that. For a farmer, there is always more to complain about. Perhaps one day the king will create a new town or two, settle some of the landless tenant farmers who barely eke out a living in the Torobeus valley or Hippoliada. This land can feed many more people.”
During the day rests, Sandun helped Basil with his maps. Although Erimasran was much less watered than in the west of Kelten, there were small streams that cut across the plains. Most water flowed down from the Kelten Alps, heading east, while some larger streams tended southwest. The lakes fed by these streams were scattered across the vast plains, like the footprints of titans who had walked the earth when it was still young and soft.
No great river flowed from the north to the south except for the mighty Monnes Corant at the southern border of Erimasran next to Potomopolis. The Monnes Corant flowed out of the Tiralas, but its current was violent and the passages the river had carved through the land were like that of a knife that sliced through a wedge of soft cheese.
When they made camp, Basil would go hunt with his dog, while Sandun wrote the expedition log entries and made rough sketches of the terrain. Kagne offered to hunt with Basil, who politely begged off. Kagne had hunted in the land but was just as happy not to. Sandun knew Kagne usually smoked dream w
eed in the evening; the scent was familiar to him. Sir Ako and his scouts never smoked; it was forbidden in every Kelten military force and as a rule, the professional soldiers felt dream weed made a man weak. The scouts held to wine, which was part of their daily rations.
Over the first week, Kagne taught them about traveling and camping unseen. He knew many tricks: which rocks were porous and which plants gave off lingering scents when bruised. He taught them about taking paths that would not be followed and, perhaps most importantly, how to make nearly smokeless fires that could not be seen unless the watchers were looking down on them from high above.
Following the techniques Kagne taught took an extra hour at the start and end of each day. But the results were indisputable: when Sandun walked away from the camp in the middle of the night to experiment, he found from a quarter of a mile away there was no hint of a campfire and no odor of smoke—at least nothing for his nose. The one problem Kagne could not solve was the sound of the mules. Mules will bray occasionally throughout each day, rain or shine, happy mules, sad mules—it does not matter.
“If I could breed a pack animal with a mule’s strength and agility but one as silent as a raccoon, I’d be a rich man,” Kagne said after the mules started braying, one after the other. “If we camp in narrow valleys, their sound can be muffled, but on the trail, the only way to keep them quiet is to kill them.”
Scribe Maklin didn’t like the sound of that; he had grown fond of the beasts, and they liked him in return. “These are good animals; don’t you talk of hurting them!”
Kagne replied, “In the northland, we don’t use mules. We don’t need their surefooted skills, and oxen are plenty strong enough to pull our wagons. Our horses and hunting dogs are trained to stay silent. But I understand why you have them, and I don’t know of a better animal when we go into the mountains. All that aside, noisy animals and careless men draw unwanted attention.”
The Burning Tower Page 7
