by J. V. Jones
The path began to steepen and bend as it headed upward into the cliffs. The path was cut entirely from the rock now, becoming a tunnel. Tawl was plunged into darkness. His guide did not seem concerned with the dark and led him further ahead. Light peeked through at irregular intervals and Tawl managed to follow. The path ended suddenly and he found himself in bright sunlight again.
He brought his hand up to shade his eyes and looked around. They were on top of the cliffs and the view out to sea was breathtaking. Tawl felt certain the shadowy object on the horizon was The Fishy Few. He turned his gaze inland. Ahead lay a large stone temple, stark and primitive, old beyond reckoning. Low and oppressive, it was built from huge slabs of granite, their edges rounded by the weathering of centuries, white with the droppings of countless generations of sea birds.
The cloaked man beckoned Tawl forth, and he followed him into the shadows of the temple.
What struck him first was the extreme cold. Outside the day was mild and pleasant, yet on entering the temple the air temperature dropped sharply. The interior was not at all gaudy and ostentatious like the temples he'd visited in Rorn and Marls; the walls were left bare and unadorned. Tawl had to admit there was an austere beauty to be found in the naked stone. They passed through several dark, low-ceilinged rooms. Low ceilings on The Fishy Few had not concerned Tawl, but these ceilings, formed by immense slabs of granite, caused him to feel a measure of foreboding.
He was led into a small room which contained nothing but a stone bench. His guide wordlessly motioned him to sit. He then withdrew, leaving Tawl to wait alone.
Tavalisk was toasting shrimp. He had by his side a large bowl of sea water, in it many live shrimp. With his little silver tongs he plucked a large and active shrimp from the water. He then impaled the shrimp upon a silver skewer. The specially sharpened point pierced the shrimp's shell with no effort. Tavalisk was pleased to see that the impaling had not killed the shrimp: the creature was still wriggling. The archbishop then lowered the unfortunate animal over a hot flame. The shell crackled nicely in the heat, blackening quickly, and the shrimp soon wriggled no more. Tavalisk then waited for the shrimp to cool a little before removing its shell and eating the tender crustacean within.
The archbishop heard the usual knocking that always seemed to occur when he was about to enjoy a light snack. "Enter, Gamil," Tavalisk breathed, his voice metered with boredom. His aide walked in. The archbishop did not miss the fact that Gamil was dressed in an old and decidedly green robe. "Gamil, you must forgive me."
"I do not understand what Your Eminence means. Forgive you for what?"
"For giving you bad advice." Tavalisk paused, enjoying the puzzled expression on his aide's face. "Do you not remember, Gamil? Last time we met I said you would look better in a green robe. Only now I find I was wrong. It appears that green becomes you even less than red. It makes you look decidedly bilious." Tavalisk turned back to his bowl of shrimp, so as not to betray his delight. "Maybe in future, Gamil, you should steer clear of the brighter colors altogether. Try brown; you may look no better, but at least you will draw little attention."
Tavalisk busied himself with picking out his next victim. "So, what have you to tell me today, Gamil?" He decided upon a small but lively shrimp: it was much more interesting to skewer an active one. Many of this batch seemed decidedly lethargic.
"I have received word from our spy of who Lord Baralis' enemies are."
"Go on." Tavalisk skewered his victim.
"Well, it appears that Your Eminence was correct in assuming that Lord Baralis has many enemies. The most powerful and influential one is named Maybor. He holds vast lands and has much sway at court."
"Hmm, Lord Maybor. I do not know of him. Gamil, I would like you to make contact with him. Be subtle, see if he would be interested in ... keeping our friend Lord Baralis in his place." Tavalisk thrust the shrimp into the flames.
"I shall send the letter by fast courier, Your Eminence."
"No. Leave that to me, Gamil. I will use one of my creatures to hasten its delivery." This was an instance where it was worth using the debilitating art of sorcery. He had to find out what was going on in the Four Kingdoms. Tavalisk was becoming more and more uneasy about Baralis' doings of late. The man was intriguing on too large a scale. The duke of Bren was a dangerous person to be conspiring with; his greed for land, combined with his current association with the knights, made many people nervous. Baralis' plotting would further sour an already bitter mix.
The archbishop removed the skewer from the flame. "Use discretion when you write the letter, Gamil. Do not name me. These things have a habit of falling into the wrong hands and I would see if Lord Maybor takes the bait before risking my reputation." Tavalisk popped the hot shrimp onto the floor, where the little dog scooped it up. Burning its mouth, the dog howled and dropped the shrimp. The archbishop smiled-the sight of suffering never failed to delight him.
"If there's nothing further, Your Eminence, I will make haste to write the letter."
"One more thing before you go. I wonder if you'd be so kind as to take Comi and rub some oil into her mouth. The poor creature gave herself quite a burn." The archbishop watched as his aide struggled to pick up the dog. "I'd be careful of your fingers if I were you, Gamil. Comi has teeth like daggers." Tavalisk smiled sweetly, waving man and dog on.
Tawl was beginning to feel a little impatient. He had been kept waiting for some time now, and no one had come. He felt as if he was being made to wait on purpose, to make him feel uneasy. He noticed that his sleeves were still rolled up and his circles were showing. Tawl quickly concealed them under his sleeve; he wanted the people here to know as little about him as possible.
More time passed before someone finally came. An elderly man approached, his shadow preceding him. He, like the guide, was hooded, his face dark. The man led Tawl through a stone corridor and into a large, dimly lit room.
The room was dominated by a huge, low table formed from a single slab of granite. Four men sat, one on each side, around the rectangular stone. Tawl was relieved to see that these men had their hoods drawn back from their faces. Three of the men were old and graying. The fourth was much younger, with sharp but handsome features. The one who had led Tawl to the room silently departed.
Tawl was scrutinized by the four men for some time before any spoke. Finally, the oldest of the four addressed him, "Why have you come to Larn?" Tawl was surprised by the directness of the question. The four waited impassively for his reply.
"I have come because I was advised to do so." His voice seemed small and powerless, muffled by the heavy stone.
"You have failed to answer the question," said the younger of the four. Tawl did not care for his biting tone.
"I came because I need to find a boy." The four men exchanged glances.
"What boy?" The younger's voice had the sound of one accustomed to having his questions answered promptly. Tawl defiantly waited a few minutes before replying.
"I cannot say. I will know him only when I find him."
"You hope our seers will point the way?" The elder spoke softly, in mild reproof of his younger companion.
"I have hope that they will."
The elder nodded. "Are you willing to pay the price?"
"What price?" Tawl was beginning to feel uneasy. "Name it."
"It is not as simple as that. The price can only be settled after the seeing has been given."
"What if the seeing fails?" Tawl felt he was being lured into a baited trap.
"That does not concern us. You will still be liable to pay the price." The younger of the four continued, "It is a risk you take. Leave now if you would not take it." The man's eyes challenged Tawl.
Tawl stood firm under the scrutiny of the four. "I willing to pay the price."
The elder nodded once more. "So be it."
The younger stood up. "Follow me." He led Tawl out of the room and down a series of passageways. Tawl felt he was descending, and the walls grew damp,
confirming his suspicion that he was being led belowgound.
He began to hear a noise. At first he could not tell what it was--bats or wild animals, he thought, growing uneasy. As they drew closer to the source, he realized with horror that the sound was human cries. He grew cold as he listened to the desperate keening. He was led around a comer and suddenly found himself in a vast, natural cavern.
Tawl barely noticed the magnificent towering rock and the huge domed ceiling aglow with seams of crystal. He was transfixed by what he saw in the cavern. Rows of massive, granite blocks.
Bound to each stone was a man.
Tawl was horrified by the state of the men: their bodies were thin and emaciated, their hair wild and long. It was their limbs that were the most shocking: the muscle had atrophied and withered away, leaving only bone thinly coated by skin. The ropes were thick and coarse, and held the men motionless. Tawl wondered why the men were still kept bound, for they would surely never walk again.
It was the noise the seers made, even more than the sight of them, that chilled Tawl to the bone. Terrible, anguished howling, frantic screaming, each sound telling of the torment of their souls. The seers of Larn lived hell on earth. Tawl shuddered-the seers had been driven to madness.
He could not bear to look on their anguish. He turned his head, and by doing so locked eyes with the younger of the four. The man, seeing Tawl's distress, spoke: "The seers do God's work." His voice was without emotion. "Performing their task takes its toll. No one can look upon the face of God and remain unchanged."
"I thought God was good." Tawl found it hard to think with the tortured cries of the insane ringing in his ears. "That is your mistake. Good or evil is not his concern. God exists. There is nothing more."
"Your God is not mine," Tawl said softly. "All are one here."
"I cannot go ahead with the seeing. I will not be party to such inhuman cruelty."
"You knew what Larn was before you came." The younger stated the fact with the barest hint of malice.
"Yes, I was told, but I never realized it would be like this." Tawl motioned toward the rows of men, men destined to lie bound to the stone for life.
"It is too late to back out now. You have agreed to pay the price. The seeing will go ahead." The man gestured minutely with his hand and three hooded men stepped forward. "You will not leave Larn without paying your due." The younger moved forward and Tawl was escorted behind him by the hooded men.
As he walked down the rows of seers, they called to him, wailing their terrible laments, their bodies jerking gracelessly as they shifted against their bindings. Tawl was escorted to the end of a row, near to the wall of the cavern.
The younger stopped and turned to him. "He is for you. Ask and you shall be answered." With that, he and the hooded men withdrew.
Tawl looked upon his seer. He saw with revulsion where the man had been bound so tight for so long that his skin had grown over the rope, its rough and knotted texture clearly visible beneath the pale skin. Tawl realized that if the seer were to be unbound it would tear open his flesh.
The seer was babbling frenzied words in a tongue Tawl could not understand. He did not look at Tawl, he was lost in his own torments. The seer urinated; he seemed unaware when the liquid soaked his linen wrap and then formed a pool around his hips.
Tawl wanted to be away from the place as quickly as possible. He asked his question: "Where do I find the boy whom I seek?"
He was not sure that the seer heard-his incoherent rantings never stopped for an instant. Tawl could discern no signs of comprehension from him. He waited, bitterly regretting having come to Larn. He could not believe that God's work was done here.
After a while the seer became visibly more agitated. Spittle frothed at his mouth and his eyes rolled wildly in their sockets. The babblings grew louder-strange, haunting words, their meanings unknown to Tawl. The seer seemed to be repeating the same phrase over and over again. He could not understand it, and moved closer to the seer. He caught the sharp smell of ammonia in his nostrils.
The seer was becoming frenzied, saliva dripped down from his chin and onto his thin chest. Tawl strained for meaning in his voice. He made out the word "king." The phrase sounded like "for king on." Over and over the seer repeated it. Tawl puzzled at its meaning. The seer's speech became hysterical. Tawl looked closely at his wet lips. Suddenly the phrase took shape for Tawl. He realized the seer was not saying "for king on." The words were, "Four Kingdoms."
Tawl's blood ran cold. He became still, feeling a shifting within: the seer had spoken.
For some reason, he expected that the seer would stop, but he carried on, repeating the phrase with great agitation. A hooded man approached and drew Tawl away from the seer.
He led him down the rows of bound men and toward the cavern entrance. Taw] looked back. The seer was oblivious to his departure: he still recited the same phrase over and over again, his dull eyes focused on the face of God.
Baralis did not bother to look up from his work when Crope entered the room. "Has our sharp-eyed squire met with an accident yet?" He continued his writing.
"He did that, master. A might unpleasant one, too. He mishandled a wheat scythe."
"How unfortunate for him. Disturb me no further, Crope. I have many matters to attend to. In the library you will find a book with a blue leather binding. It contains illustrations of sea-creatures. It is yours. Take it and leave me alone." It was Baralis' way of thanking his servant for the care he had given him when he'd collapsed the night of Winter's Eve. Crope went off quickly, eager to look at the pictures in his new book.
When the man had left, Baralis stood up and began to pace the room. He had many matters on his mind. He had been disturbed by the sight of the Royal Guard riding out of the castle in the early morning; he needed to find out what mission they were on. The Royal Guard answered only to the queen. He had lost several days to exhaustion and he was anxious to waste no more time.
A knock came on the door of his chamber. Baralis opened the heavy door. "Yes?" he barked at the liveried steward, annoyed at being interrupted.
"Her Highness, the queen, requests your immediate presence in the meeting hall." Baralis had been expecting such a summons.
"Very well, tell Her Highness I will be there directly." The servant withdrew. Baralis moved swiftly, preparing for the audience, donning the fine robes that were expected by the queen. He looked into his small hand mirror and saw that the burns on his face still showed a little. He would have to think of an excuse for them. He did not want the queen to suspect any connection between him and the Winter's Eve fire. He was soon ready and made his way to the meeting hall.
"Lord Baralis, I trust you are recovered from your bout of fever?" The queen greeted him coolly. She was dressed in magnificent splendor, wearing a gown of midnight blue, bedecked in pearls. She was no longer young, but age seemed to enhance her further, bringing grace and poise in exchange for the bloom of youth.
"1 am feeling much better, Your Highness."
"Tell me, Lord Baralis. It must be an odd fever that would leave your face looking as if it were burnt." The queen drew her lips to a thin line.
"No, Your Highness, the bums I incurred in my chambers, when I was working on my medicines. I was careless with a flame, nothing more."
"I see." The queen turned and pretended to admire a painting. "Were you by any chance working on the medicine for the king?"
"I was indeed, Your Highness. I have prepared a fresh batch. I would presume by now that the initial dose has been used up?" Baralis was beginning to feel more confident. He could tell that the queen was trying to hide how desperately she wanted the medicine.
"There is none left. The king has been without it for two days now. I fear a relapse if he is without it much longer."
"Then Your Highness must be most anxious to have some more."
The queen wheeled around. "I can play your games no longer, Lord Baralis. I must have the medicine today." The queen was beginning
to lose her composure. Baralis remained calm.
"Your Highness knows my price."
"I will not allow you to say who Prince Kylock will marry."
"He must marry someone and Lord Maybor's daughter is no longer a suitable choice. Even if she is found and brought back to the castle, Your Highness would not want the prince married to a girl who can not bear the sight of him."
"You are wrong, Lord Baralis. I have been told the truth of the matter by Lord Maybor himself. He has told me the true reason for his daughter's flight. I have much sympathy for him and have agreed to send the Royal Guard to search for Melliandra. When she is found, the betrothal will be carried out." Baralis could hardly believe what was being said. What lies had Maybor cooked up to fool the queen so effectively?
He hid his surprise. "And if the girl is not found?" The queen gave Baralis a sharp look. He continued, "Or if the girl is found but is no longer a virgin?"
"I have every confidence that Melliandra will be found, and that when she is, she will be untouched." The queen's eyes drew narrow and she spoke again, "Lord Baralis, I have a proposition for you."
"I am eager to hear it, Your Highness."
"If you agree to supply the king's medicine indefinitely, and the girl is not found within the month, I will agree to your terms."
"And if the girl is found within the month?"
"The betrothal will go ahead as planned, but you must still continue to supply the medicine, and do so until such a time as the king no longer has need of it."
"So you are offering me a wager."
"Are you a betting man, Lord Baralis?" The queen was now her serene self, poised and in control.
"I pride myself on taking risks. I accept the wager." Baralis bowed slightly and the queen smiled charmingly, showing her beautiful, white teeth.
