Nearby them the faint noises of conversation died down, Sandun could see the dim outlines of people comes out from houses close by, but no one approached, and no one spoke.
Inside the doctor’s house there was a light that grew, and then the door opened.
“Welcome, Governor, I am honored by your presence.” Doctor Hofanta was a bent-backed old man, holding a small oil lamp in one hand. He had a long straggle of a beard, and his voice was raspy as from too much smoke, but his eyes glittered in the light of his lamp. “There must be trouble indeed if Doctor Haz—the magnificent—has been forced by some calamity to send you here.” Doctor Hofanta turned and walked away from the doorway and then lit a larger lamp beside an ancient wooden cabinet covered with small drawers.
“I remember you, boy,” the old man said to Lord Vaina’s guard. “Good of you to find your way back. You have grown so tall.”
The room, now illuminated by the lamp, was so far beyond anything Sandun had seen before that the feeling of unreality, which had been growing on him ever since he found all his friends laid low as though by a sleeping dweomer, now became so strong that he doubted his senses. He hardly noticed what Lord Vaina was saying to the old man as his attention was compelled from one oddity to the next grotesque thing. There were eyeballs inside bottles. There was a leg of heron hanging from the ceiling with a small glass sphere filled with a yellowish fluid at the end of the leg where the body once had been. The room smelled of insects and dust and of old cedar planks rotting from mildew. He shook his head to try and clear it, but it had no effect—in fact, it made his sense of disorientation worse. As he stared at the profusion of glass jars, boxes of all sizes stacked, open and closed, he felt that he had fallen into a troubled dream of confusion from which he could not awake.
Suddenly the old man’s voice cut through Sandun’s thoughts like the crack of a whip.
“White-nose wort? White-nose wort! How much will you give me for my white-nose wort?” Doctor Hofanta practically cackled, as though he had been waiting his entire life to say this. “But there is no use for white-nose wort. Why do you want it?”
Lord Vaina said, very simply and firmly, “Name your price, old man. There is a use. It may save the lives of many people.”
“Then I must find it and see how much I have left.” He went up to the door beside his dilapidated cabinet of drawers and pulled out a pen-shaped piece of metal from a hiding place near the doorway. He poked the metal rod into the keyhole and, with a deft move, clicked the lock. The old man pushed the door open, and Sandun could see the dark room beyond was filled with more small boxes stacked from the floor to the ceiling. Bits of paper and pieces of glass crunched under Doctor Hofanta’s feet as he moved about his storeroom, his small lamp held high, speaking strange words to himself, almost as though he were singing or chanting.
Wheezing laughter came from the old man as he bent down and opened a wooden drawer near the floor. He set his oil lamp on the ground and searched through even more small boxes inside the drawer. Sandun and Lord Vaina both entered this chamber of old medicines. The dust was thick on top of the piles of boxes and drawers. The labels on most were so faded that Sandun could barely make out the hints of letters. He felt that this was a room full of time and that all the weight of the centuries was concentrated in this place. It was as though the passage of years had mass, like a thick but invisible snow.
“My father told me: never throw away medicine. Just as his father before him made him swear the same oath. And here it is.” Doctor Hofanta held up a broken box the size of a child’s hand. He opened its lid, and they all peered in. Sandun saw three pieces of what looked like old bread or fungus.
“Three pieces are all I have left. Passed down a hundred years or more, from the hands of my ancestors to you.”
The old man seemed lost in his memories of the past as he led them out of the old storage room and back into the chaos of the main room.
“If I just give these to you, you will misdoubt me, so I must charge you. They have no worth that I know of, and yet you, the ruler of this city, and Physician Haz think them important.” The old man pulled at his white beard. Lord Vaina stood looking at him, silent and impassive.
“Six strings, that is what I ask. Two strings for each. Yes.”
Lord Vaina pulled out a small bag from inside his robe and emptied five silver cats into the old man’s hands. “Come to the palace tomorrow, and I will give you three more.”
“No, no. Six is what I asked for. Six is enough. You owe me one silver cat, and I shall come for it. Perhaps Court Physician Haz will deign to tell me what ailment white-nose wort cures.”
At a sign, the guardsman took the decayed box from Hofanta and put it inside his own leather case, which he carried around his waist, attached to his armored belt.
Lord Vaina turned to go and then turned back and said, “You have my thanks, Doctor Hofanta. Have you ever heard of the Doorway poison? This ‘wort’ is supposed to be the antidote.”
“No, no, I’ve never heard of that.” The old man sat down on a rickety wooden chair. “I’m just an old man who helps the neighborhood with remedies for fevers and pains. I’m not half the man my father was, much less my grandfather before me.” He sighed and wiped his face with his sleeve. “I am glad to be of service, my lord. I hope it is enough. I hope it still has some power to cure. Good night to you.”
Lord Vaina’s guard briefly touched Doctor Hofanta’s hand as they walked out of the building and closed the door behind him.
“Three aged pieces,” Lord Vaina said quietly to Sandun as they mounted their horses. “I fear this is not enough.”
Sandun didn’t want to think about that and the terrible implications. Instead, he looked around as he rode away. Everyone had gone back to their houses. It was so very strange; if King Pandion had come to the cheap side of Seopolis, a crowd would have gathered within minutes. Residents would have been asking for the king’s blessing or for alms. But here, it was almost like Lord Vaina were being deliberately ignored.
As they followed the guard back to the main road, Sandun asked, “Lord Vaina, do the people here not care for your rule?”
“I think they do care. Every day, more people come to live here in Tokolas. If they didn’t like my government, they would go elsewhere. In Serica, the poor and desperate walk to where they wish to live.”
“But no one came to see you back there.”
“Why would they? What am I to them?”
“Their ruler? Their king?”
“I’m not a king; I’m just the governor of a province. What they want of me is but a mirror of what I want from them. They want justice and safety; I want them to obey the law and for their young men to join my army. They are mostly too poor to pay taxes, and they are mostly too proud to beg.”
Sandun thought very little this night had made much sense. He added Lord Vaina’s words to the pile of inexplicable things in Serica and rode on, into the darkened streets.
Night had fully taken over the sky when Sandun and Lord Vaina and his two guards rode into the courtyard of the Kelten embassy. Stars shone fitfully between hidden banks of clouds. Inside, there was a swarm of activity.
Sandun found Ashala now laid out on a thin mattress, on the floor of the embassy’s meeting hall. All the other sleepers were there as well in three rows: Kagne, Sir Ako, Russu, Padan, Olef, Damar, Wiyat, Farrel, Valo Peli, his wife, his daughter, and five of Valo Peli’s clansmen: seventeen in all. Ashala was unchanged, appearing to be in a deep sleep that seemed no different from other deep sleeps Sandun had observed.
Basil, with his dog staying close to his heels, came over to Sandun and listened as Sandun explained what was going on.
Basil said, “There are now three doctors in heated debate, but fear is in their eyes.” His own brown eyes were wide with worry. “This antidote you brought…there’s so little. Can it be enough for
them all?”
Indeed, Doctor Haz, momentarily excited when he learned they had returned with white-nose wort, looked like his heart had turned to stone after he examined the three pieces they’d brought. The other doctors examined the medicine and held discourse in low voices. During the war, Sandun had seen surgeons take on the same look when they were brought to the resting place of a mortally wounded knight.
“What are you going to do, Court Physician?” Lord Vaina said this with steel in his voice.
“My lord, the medicine you have brought will save three of the afflicted. Doctor Ergeny thinks four, but I believe the age of the wort will have reduced its potency. Thus, three.”
“Three? Out of seventeen? And what of the other medicines? Your wife mentioned yellow-scale wort and false-bark. What of those?” Lord Vaina’s memory for details never failed to impress Sandun.
“My lord, I will try these and other possible cures. We all hope they will have some beneficial effect, but the Doorway poison was feared above all other poisons because, for centuries, there was no known antidote! White-nose wort is exceedingly rare, only found growing on the remains of dead trees in coastal forests north of Monavar, near the border of Shila. By contrast, pale false-bark is found on willows near the ancient capital. If it worked a cure, the masters from our past would have made that discovery. Beyond question…without any doubt.”
“We need more, then,” Lord Vaina said. “How long do we have?”
“Some days. Doctor Ergeny has a book that more fully describes the course of the poison. The sleep continues. After a few days, breathing becomes labored. A few days more, and then the heart gives out.”
“But we can save three now?”
“I believe so, my lord. If this is truly labeled, there should be enough for three.”
“I shall dispatch messengers to Hutinin, Betesek, and Sasuvi. Perhaps Jupelos as well. With luck, more white-nose wort will be found in one of those cities.”
“My lord, I have another possibility. My colleagues and I all believe that the Great Sage Temple in the Towers of Heaven will have this medicine.”
Lord Vaina looked puzzled. “I thought it was more a vast library than a haven for herbs.”
“I was permitted to visit once, when I obtained the rank of master.” Doctor Haz relaxed a little as he said this; even in the current crisis, the memory brought him comfort. “Their apothecary is a marvel, and their herb garden is unsurpassed by any place short of Naduva. If anyone has white-nose wort, they do.”
“That is a difficult journey,” Lord Vaina said thoughtfully. “Can it be done in a week? Yes, perhaps it can.”
Sandun was convinced he knew the answer to this question, but he asked it anyway. “My Lord of Tokolas, who will be given the antidote immediately?”
Lord Vaina looked at Sandun and Basil steadily, and then he said, “Valo Peli, Opmi Ako, and the Princess Tuomi of Rakeved.”
Sandun felt he had been punched in his gut, but those were the names he’d guessed. Basil started to say something, but then he bit down hard and sat heavily on a chair, his face in his hands. His dog whined anxiously.
“My lord, as Basil and I are most strongly concerned for these, our friends, give us leave to find this Temple of the Great Sage. No one will travel with a more urgent spirit.”
“Yes,” Lord Vaina said. He cleared his throat and continued, “As I have just pronounced what may be a death sentence on so many of your friends and lovers, I now give to you the full power of my messenger service. With determination and luck, you and Opmi Basil may journey to the Towers of Heaven and return in seven days. If so, it would be a feat for all to marvel at.”
Lord Vaina, his chin up, spoke firmly as he took Sandun’s hand in his own. “Go and make ready. With all needful documents and supplies, you can leave in an hour with my fastest courier.” Lord Vaina then shouted, “Scribe Renieth!” The young man appeared quickly, paper and writing brush at the ready.
“First, plot a route for Opmi Sandun and Opmi Basil to reach the Great Sage Temple in the Towers of Heaven. Since these two will be going all the way, it may be that travel by boat for some of the distance is best. Second, I am promoting you to junior minister of Rituals—congratulations. Third, with your new authority, you are to create the necessary documents to allow these men to use the courier service. Finally, draft a letter of invitation to the master of the Great Sage Temple to visit us here in Tokolas. You have forty-five minutes.”
Former Scribe and now Junior Minister Renieth heard and digested the news with remarkable equanimity. “It shall be done, my lord, and thank you.”
Chapter Two
The Towers of Heaven
At midnight, Sandun and Basil rode out from the embassy and down to the harbor. They were accompanied by a young man named Polta, eager eyed but with a determined expression, a veteran of many late-night rides to Hutinin or Oardulos.
“Usually I ride all the way, but at this hour, with the moon not yet up, it’s better to take the boat until morning,” Polta said. “Once there is light, riding is a bit faster.”
Polta guided them to a dock close to the ruins of the lighthouse. In a low building, a group of men had formed a ring around two who were wrestling for sport; naturally, money was on the table, and everyone was shouting. The men were thick, with beefy arms. Polta found the boat leader and showed him Renieth’s document along with a special half coin with a jagged cut down the middle.
“Fight time’s over. Special mission: we are taking these three men to Teketavaska. Hop to it! Extra ration of liquor if we get there before first hour of the new day. Go!”
With practiced speed, the long oars were taken from the walls of the boathouse and the canvas cover stripped off the boat, which was immediately lowered into the water. The passengers were directed to the rear of the long, narrow boat, and the baggage was stowed at the front under the lookout’s seat. The captain sat in the back holding the tiller, the rowers climbed in, and off they went.
“No wind tonight,” the captain said to Sandun. “We leave the mast behind to save weight.”
As they rowed out into the main channel of the river heading east, upstream, Sandun asked the captain how much of a current they had to fight.
“In the summer, this summer, not much to speak of. If it were day, I’d steer a bit closer to shore, but it’s not worth the trouble now. You shall have a smooth, fast ride for the next six hours, Fire Sword.”
For a moment, Sandun forgot his fears; he remembered being on top of the tower, sparks burning his eyelids as he fired Valo Peli’s exploding arrows at the Vasvar boats below. Not quite two months gone, yet it seemed from an earlier epoch of time.
“My men and I were on the river that night. We captured two enemy boats in the confusion, once they turned tail and started to run downstream.” The captain then called out, “Row, men, row! We carry the Fire Sword and one of the mighty Kelten archers on an urgent mission for our lord this night!”
The rowers said nothing, but the rhythm of their oars slapping the water increased. There was only darkness to look upon; the boat seemed to be gliding across an ocean of ink. The river mist was all about. With a steady beat from the oars and the rhythmic grunts from the men, Sandun and Basil were eventually lulled into a deep sleep.
Sandun woke to see the rosy light of near dawn filling the eastern sky. Polta shook him again and then woke Basil. “We are getting close to Teketavaska. Eat something and ready yourself to ride. Barring flocks of sheep on the road, we shall reach Hutinin before sunset.”
The memories of the previous day flooded in. He and Basil were in a race against time to save their friends, and perhaps it was a race that could not be won. He steeled himself. They would succeed, they would find the medicine, and they would return in good time to save everyone. Sandun heard Sir Ako’s voice in his mind: “Belief in victory is half the battle.”
Sandun slowly chewed the dried meat that Polta provided and looked around. Sometime during the night, they had left the Mur, and they were rowing up the smaller Okanka River. Sandun remembered his trip weeks before when he and Lord Vaina had traveled down the Okanka from Hutinin to Tokolas. Sandun knew that he and Basil could take the Okanka all the way to Hutinin, but the river meandered and twisted while, on the map at least, the road from Teketavaska was straight.
The rowers looked worn out; their strokes were not as crisp, and the beat had slowed. They passed an old tree trunk set in the river with a sign near the top. Polta stood up and blew three long notes on a trumpet he wore around his neck. The boat slowed and turned left into an inlet on the eastern bank. Three horn notes came back to them from the misty shore. Suddenly Sandun realized what Teketavaska meant: Golden Pond. He looked around, but he saw no sign of gold, nor was this a pond. It was just an inlet on the Okanka River.
“I thank you, Captain,” said Sandun. “We could not have asked for more speed.”
“We made good time. Eston smiles on your mission. It should be a fair day, though hot by the afternoon. We will see you again, Polta.”
Polta was raring to get on a horse and ride. As soon as the boat was tied to the low dock, Polta jumped off and ran up the slope to find a man holding a saddled horse.
“We need two more horses, as fast as you can make them ready, as urgent as any message could be.”
Within a minute, two more horses were brought out and saddled swiftly. The three horses were rested and ready to run; they neighed and stamped their feet. Before Sandun was quite prepared, they were off.
Polta was a much faster rider than either Basil or Sandun, and soon he was far ahead. But he stayed in sight, slowing his pace when needed and blowing his horn at whiles to encourage them. They changed horses at ten-mile intervals, when there was a messenger station. Polta rode far enough ahead that when Sandun and Basil arrived at each station, horses for three were saddled, and so they were not delayed.
The Fire Sword Page 4
