Chapter 11: By Land, By Sea, and By…
Journal of Kalen Avanir
TE 6050, Orhan 5, day 59
Aboard the Caravel ‘Naristral’
Our journey continues without further incident. The seas have been calm and the sky overcast, though this morning it appears that the clouds are breaking – just in time for our arrival at Artha. It will be good to stand on solid ground, if only for the day. I know Jad is also eager to get off the ship for a bit, and I am looking forward to seeing the capital of Danarchis. First, however, our ship must navigate the coral reefs that form a barrier along this section of Emerian coastline.
One curious thing: on several occasions the lookouts have spotted what appears to be a whale or other large creature pacing the ship. The captain has mentioned that these are not unheard-of, but for a beast to follow us at a fairly consistent distance over a period of at least two days is odd. He added that at least it didn’t appear to be hostile, for which we should be grateful. Sea serpents and their like have been known to attack and destroy ships such as ours though such hostility is uncommon.
We have not seen as much of the Viscount Ridgeston lately; he hasn’t been on deck, and at dinner the last two nights he was practically silent. I can only assume that his tutor is keeping him busy with book-learning.
Drey stumbled down the nearly lightless corridor, feeling his way with fingers, feet, and what Presence he could still use. Even though the spell in theory didn’t spend any of his Essænce, he was so weak that even to send out mental feelers made him wince. He clutched at his recently acquired shortsword. It was slippery in his hand, wet with sweat and blood: his sweat and the blood of several guards he could not afford to leave alive behind him.
When he had first been accepted as a novitiate Loremaster, he had never imagined that murder would be part of the job. Exploration, research, teaching and learning: that was what a Loremaster did. Trying to escape the dungeon of a priest of the Unlife had not been part of his vision.
He tried not to dwell on the hazy morality of his recent actions, concentrating instead on the next step and the next, and on trying to remember the sketchy accounts of the ancient tunnels that led to freedom. If they existed at all.
Supposedly – according to Loremaster records -- tunnels linked all the U-Lyshak watchtowers standing guard along the coast, though it seemed like a ridiculously massive effort to build a series of thirty-mile long passageways. And even if they did exist, they were built thousands of years ago, and could very well be in the same ruinous state as most of the towers themselves. But this was his only hope; even if he managed to get outside of the tower, he would surely be hunted down by the forces of the priest.
So instead he moved deeper under the tower. He had already descended two levels and through a door that looked as if it had not been opened in an age. Now standing in a corridor lined with doors -- possibly a series of storerooms -- he realized that the tunnel entrance could be hidden in any of those rooms. As the foolishness of taking this route began to sink in, Drey fought a growing sense of panic. He took a long slow breath, and decided that it was worth the risk to light the torch he had taken from a bracket on the way down. There was no chance of it being seen now, and the light from a level higher up the stairwell was no longer enough to tell anything. Using the sparking tool lifted from one of his captors, he ignited the oil-soaked rags.
The hallway around him burst into sharp relief of light and dancing shadow. The walls and floor were of fitted stone, the ceiling a pointed-arch vault. The doors were planks of a dark grey wood, bound with a metal that hardly seemed rusted or corroded -- merely dulled by the tens of centuries. Even in his current mental and physical state, Drey marveled at the fine craftsmanship of a kingdom long gone.
Then he noticed that the smoke from the torch was definitely pulling in one direction: further down the hall. There was an air current, and an air current meant some kind of outlet. Creeping along and watching the smoke, he arrived at the second-to-last door on the left. The door was unlocked, but swung open with an alarming squeal that made the Loremaster cringe. The room beyond was square, perhaps twenty feet on a side – and empty. There was no other exit that Drey could see either. But the air had to be going somewhere. He began a slow walk around the room, carefully examining the wall as he went. There must be some sort of concealed door, he reasoned, the trick being to find it – and the method of opening it. Fortunately it didn’t take him too long to locate a stone about waist height that seemed a bit loose. He pressed one side of it, and it pivoted just slightly. For a long moment he was afraid that the mechanism was jammed, that the ages had rendered it inoperative.
But he heard a ‘clunk’ sound a few feet away, followed by the grating of stone against stone. A section of the wall was gradually pivoting away, creating a slim doorway. The Loremaster pivoted the stone switch back and darted for the opening. As he suspected, after a brief pause it began to close again, but not before he had slipped into the passage beyond. The wall shut with a thud, and Drey found himself in a narrow hall leading to a long stairway down. Reassured that he was at least going somewhere, he negotiated the steep steps as quickly as he could. His legs were starting to tremble with fatigue; he hadn’t had anything but stale bread and water for days. How he would manage a thirty-mile walk along a dark tunnel to another tower was a question he hadn’t been able to address.
The stairs doubled back after twenty steps, then again, and after fifteen more he stumbled into a small, square, vaulted antechamber. Identical doors were set in the center of each of the other three walls. All had pointed arch frames, characteristic of old kingdom architecture, and all were of the same wood as the doors just above. It was noticeably cooler here, and Drey’s torch sputtered from a breeze that seemed to come mainly from around the door straight ahead, which – if he wasn’t completely turned around – was facing west. All three doors had heavy built-in locks designed so they could be opened without a key from this side, but (presumably) not from the other. Figuring the promise of fresh air was as good a reason as any, the Loremaster chose the center door. As with the hardware on the other doors he had encountered down here, the lock functioned fairly smoothly. The bolt shot back, he twisted the lever and tugged open the door -- and reeled back as icy rain lashed him like knives.
A scant few feet ahead, the corridor ended abruptly, framing a view of a cloudy night sky over the sea. Another blast of rain-laden wind spewed into the alcove, crashing futilely against the door but soaking the Loremaster.
Drey cowered back behind the door, shivering. What was this? Not a passage to another tower, but an aperture right onto the cliff face. By his estimation – and from that brief glimpse -- he had not descended nearly far enough to be at sea level. Either this was some sort of observation platform, or there was an exterior staircase down to the sea. He didn’t relish the idea of clambering down a wet stairway in the dark in the freezing rain, only to reach the rocky shore below. With a grunt he shoved the door fully closed again and wrung out his dripping shift while he contemplated the other two doors. These were most likely entrances to the corridors. Well, at least the trip would be less cold and wet. He opened the north door a crack. No rain or wind at least. Acutely aware that he didn’t have all night to skulk around down here, Drey pulled the heavy door open and stuck his torch inside.
Darkness. Not just plain old shadows, but total darkness. The corridor extended about another five feet to what looked like another doorway. It had the same pointed arch, but the innermost framing, instead of stone, was a silvery metal. And where there might be a door was instead… darkness. It was so complete as to appear substantial, like a solid door painted a black pigment that reflected no light at all.
Drey couldn’t believe his luck, though he didn’t know if this was going to turn out to be good luck or bad. Instead of physical tunnels connecting the U-Lyshak watchtowers, the architects had built Portals. He marveled at the magic they must have thought not uncommon so long ago, to create these enchanted gateways linking a mere string of guard towers. It required months of effort by powerful Alchemists to build such portals. The Loremaster hoped that the doorway at the other end was still intact. He wasn’t sure what happened if you got stuck in the middle of a portal, and he didn’t want to know first-hand. He did know from his few experiences with active portals that the best thing to do was to go through as quickly as possible. Sticking a hand or foot in as if testing the waters only caused a numbing chill, followed by a sickening sensation of falling as the portal sucked you through the rest of the way. (He understood that was a safety feature; the alternative being that your hand might end up on the ‘other side’ without you.)
Stepping back into the square room, he tugged the sea door open a crack. It was a transparent ploy to make the guards think he had gone that way, but he could hope that they weren’t all that bright. Drey then pulled the north door shut behind him and faced the black doorway. Taking a deep breath as if he was about to jump into bottomless water, the Loremaster stepped forward into the darkness.
Kalen and Jad emerged on deck to see the Navigator at his usual post on the foredeck. They joined Tar-esiir at the railing and Kalen noticed how much warmer the air seemed. Far off to starboard loomed a coastline of broken white rock; above which rose rolling hills covered mostly with what looked like vineyards and orchards. Ruuth had told them at dinner the previous night that Danarchis was known not only for its wines but olives and olive oil. Kalen figured that perhaps the orchards were in fact rows of olive trees.
Danarchis olive oil was quite prized for cooking uses, and she mentioned (with a smile towards Jad) that the oil was also used in making some finer soaps. The Naristral was picking up shipments of wine and olive oil, as well as changing some passengers. Kalen recognized some of the wine brand names that Ruuth mentioned, names from labels in his father’s wine cellar. He never dreamed that he would actually see the places where these expensive beverages were made.
Over the past few days Kalen had also acquired a new respect for the amount of labor and skill required to operate a sailing ship such as this – Navigator notwithstanding. Just unfurling a sail took the coordinated effort of several men dangling precariously dozens of feet above the deck. The various yards had to be set and adjusted, the webs of rigging constantly maintained, and all manner of other chores kept the crew busy at all hours. Now was a particularly busy time, as sails were furled and the ship prepared to navigate a twisting path between shoals and rocky outcrops to reach the city of Artha. The Navigator could keep the wind and water steady but only an experienced crew would guide the ship safely to port.
The Naristral swung around to the west and the low sun peeked out under the clouds and over the waves behind them. By the fine amber light Kalen could see towering outcrops of stone ahead: pillars fashioned by nature that jutted straight out of the ocean depths. Beyond, upon a rocky peninsula, he glimpsed clusters of gleaming marble structures turned to gold in the morning light.
“Behold! Artha, capital of Danarchis.” Cried Tar-esiir, favoring Kalen with a rare smile. "We have reached the north coast of Emer.”
“Emer!” Jad sighed. “A whole different continent!” He sounded a little wistful.
Artha was a lovely city, but as they drew nearer, it became apparent that it was actually not that large — a fraction the size of Haalkitaine or Lethys. For some reason Kalen had expected everything on Emer to be bigger and more grand. That had been a naïve assumption, of course. Just because Emer was a much greater landmass than Jaiman didn’t mean that everything on it was larger as well. But in a few days they would be in Sel-kai, and by all accounts it was indeed a metropolis to dwarf even the great cities of Rhakhaan.
They were soon joined on deck by the other passengers, everyone seeming to find the docking as interesting as Kalen did, though of course for the crew it was a routine procedure. Tar-esiir appeared to merely observe the process, not using his magic to actively aid the crew at all. Even so, it proceeded smoothly, and in no time the ship was easing up to the pier, men on the docks pulling us the last few feet in and making the ropes fast. Taluk and Bertram were apparently as eager as Jad to get off the ship, both already standing near the plank and shuffling their feet.
As the gangplank was being extended, the captain joined them. “Remember, we are leaving at first light tomorrow, so it is imperative that all of you are on board tonight when we pull in the plank at the sound of the evening quintar. In the meantime feel free to enjoy Artha. The city is quite safe. I’d advise you to familiarize yourself with local regulations.” He turned and left them before Kalen had a chance to ask for an elaboration on the last warning.
If anything, Artha at first glance looked almost too homogenized and orderly. Everything was spotlessly clean. Warships patrolled the harbor, and the Marquess spotted several men wearing what looked like uniforms – and armed with short swords – patrolling the docks where several other merchant ships were moored.
They said their goodbyes to the passengers who were not continuing to Sel-kai and disembarked. Pushcart vendors right on the bustling stone pier were offering a number of trinkets and baubles, but also some more useful items, including maps of the city.
Kalen noted immediately the somewhat different appearance of the Danarchans. While taller than most Jameri, they lacked the more powerful build of most Laan, and had somewhat darker complexions; though the latter could be due to increased exposure to the sun in this warmer climate. Almost all seemed to have the same black hair, and rather than straight it was often wavy or even curly. They spoke amongst themselves using a language that was not Shay, yet the vendor they approached also had a working knowledge of that language. He did seem almost offended when the Marquess paid the asking price for a folded parchment map.
“A bronze piece seems like a steep price.” Kalen muttered, stowing his money pouch as they walked away from the vendor.
“Perhaps you were supposed to bargain with him.” Taluk ventured.
Kalen scowled. He hated bargaining. Why couldn’t the price for something just be the price and be done with it?
Jad meanwhile was busy studying the map. “So where shall we go? We have limited time.”
“I guess that depends on what we want to see and do.” Kalen shrugged. “The city’s not that big, we could start by walking around the main square, which is right through those buildings. There are bound to be shops there, and places to eat.”
“That sounds good!” Bertram grinned. “Now that we are on solid ground again, I’m hungry already.”
Taluk rolled his eyes, but Jad as usual was ready to sign on to any activity with the potential for food.
Afternoon found the four young men lounging at a tavern’s outside table on the central marketplace, enjoying a carafe of wine and watching the city’s residents go about their business. It had gotten quite warm; they had all cast off their jackets and opened their shirts, and still they seemed overdressed compared to the Danarchans, most of whom wore light tunics and calf-length breeches, with slipper-like shoes or sandals. Some – men and women – were covered only by a belted tunic falling to the knee, which Kalen thought made them look like they were out in public wearing only their nightshirts. He wondered if the weather in Sel-kai was as temperate, even at this, the coldest time of the year.
“So what shall we do now?” Jad asked of the group after draining the last of his wine. “We have most of another quintar before he have to be back on the ship.”
“We could go up to the Palace Gardens, I hear they are very pretty.” Taluk ventured. He always had an interest in flora; Kalen knew he had hopes of being an herbalist one day. He’d certainly spent a lot of time with Ruuth on their journey so far – no doubt that’s where he’d gotten his information about the Artha gardens.
“I’d rather have my toenails yanked out.” Bertram grimaced.
“If it wasn’t for your herbal tea, you’d be hanging over the railing wishing you were dead this whole voyage!” Taluk retorted defensively.
“Anyone have any other suggestions?” Jad asked, trying to change the subject.
Kalen spread his map on the table. “The temple to Shaal is supposed to be quite impressive. Or we could just shop around this area some more…”
“I vote for more shopping!” Jad exclaimed.
“…except I really would rather not spend any more money than we have to. This trip is already more expensive than I had anticipated.”
“Oh.” Jad looked deflated, then recovered himself. “But this was your parents’ idea; it’s not your fault the Navigator-guided ship was so costly.”
“I know, but I want to be able to at least get settled in Sel-kai before asking for more funds.”
“We could still look in the shop windows.” The Squire said hopefully. The thought of touring gardens didn’t appeal to him any more than it did to Bertram. All three looked expectantly at Kalen, obviously assuming he would take the leadership role.
“The city is so small, I don’t see why we can’t do a little of everything.”
T’tania Al-Nirak peered out from the shadowed hiding-place, watching the large snowflakes float down outside just a few feet away. The young Dúranak woman was angry with herself for not finding better shelter than this shallow cave, but at least it was something. She tried to suppress a shiver – and knew she wasn’t entirely successful when she felt Sten’s powerful arm tighten a little across her shoulders.
“Not your family’s ancestral mansion, but it is dry and shelters us from the wind.”
T’tania looked up into the Myr’s pale blue eyes then and saw only trust and contentment on the young warrior’s handsome face. He would follow her obediently and without question even to death, she knew. Even though he had been spared most of the mind conditioning which the Dúranaki inflicted on their Myr slaves, he was incapable of disobeying her, much less harming her. She felt the guilt rise in her again, constricting her throat, blurring her vision. She loved Sten, but had she been fair to him?
For millennia the Dúranaki and the Myri had co-existed in Tanara in a somewhat symbiotic relationship. No, T’tania corrected herself; it was more like parasite and host. The powerfully built, blond Myri minded their own business, farming and herding in the Tanaran hills and lowlands, while the Dúranaki periodically kidnapped the best among their youth, programmed their minds using an ancient artifact of the Lords of Essænce, and made them into obedient, submissive slaves.
Because Sten was a member of the Thavan – the Dúranaki police/defensive force – he had received only minimal conditioning to preserve as much of his personality, intelligence and learning ability as possible. But T’tania knew that he still did not possess completely free will. And that nagged at her.
She had been brought up to treat her family’s Myr slaves as valued servants, or even as pets, but not as equals in any way. They were an inferior race and in the natural order of things they exist to serve the superior Dúranaki This despite their greater strength and often-demonstrated ability to quickly learn new skills, she thought to herself, not for the first time finding this philosophy to be a bit paradoxical. In fact, the Dúranaki only dominated the Myri because of their more advanced weaponry, their magical abilities, and the fact that they were a more paranoid culture.
Ever since Sten had been assigned to her Thavan squad a year ago, he had seemed different to her. When she spoke to Diren, the other Myr warrior in her charge, he would look at the ground subserviently, as was proper. But Sten would meet her gaze – fleetingly at first, but for longer periods as they worked together and interacted more. He would (respectfully) make suggestions as to tactics, and often they were good ideas. She began to ask his advice. This was unusual, especially to seek contribution from a Myr of his age, a year or so younger even than T’tania. But Sten, though perhaps not brilliant in some ways, was observant and quick to take in a situation. Certainly he was more capable than Diren.
What T’tania had not anticipated was the friendship that had grown between her and Sten. She tried not to show favoritism, but the two young men were so different that it was difficult not to. And Diren seemed resigned to his role… at least until the friendship deepened into something more, something absolutely forbidden by Dúranak law. She was falling in love with Sten.
And in a way T’tania understood why such a law existed. Ironically, it was to protect the Myri, who had been rendered by the conditioning to be less than complete beings. They lacked the will or full consciousness to make a decision as important and complex as whether to be in a real relationship. To expect something like that from one of them was unreasonable. It also suggested that the Dúranak involved was somehow inferior; that she was incapable of a relationship with one of her own kind and so was exploiting a person incapable of protecting himself emotionally. But Sten wasn’t like that. Or so she kept telling herself.
It had developed over the last few months, and at first T’tania thought she was imagining the way Sten would touch the back of her hand, or smile at her in a certain way. And she didn’t remember when putting a hand on his strong arm became more than comradely… or when she first felt a strange warmth when watching him spar with Diren, shirtless and sweating in sun…
“The snow is lessening.” He said softly, sensing that her mind was elsewhere from the here and now. “Do you think we should try to go on a bit more tonight? If we move now while it is still coming down, it will conceal our tracks.”
T’tania weighed their options. Their pursuers – several squads of Thavan – would have the same advantages and disadvantages as Sten and her, though their hunters would be better equipped.
“Though my night sight isn’t good and Orhan is crescent, the snow makes it brighter. And you with your night-vision could lead.” Sten pressed gently.
She smiled at him in the dimness. “I am as eager to get distance between us and Tanara as you are, but this uneven, snow-covered ground will be treacherous even by day. And if the snow grows worse again, we might not be able to find even this shelter.”
“Davix’s Dilemma! ‘Is the goblet half full or half empty?’ We could debate the ‘what ifs’ all night if you like.”
In a typically un-ladylike gesture, T’tania stuck out her tongue at her mocking lover. “Such insubordination!”
“Since we are now fugitives of the Dúranaki, I would suspect that we are no longer part of the Thavan, and so have no rank at all.” Sten raised his eyebrows and smiled mischievously.
“Technically you are incorrect, but by fleeing we have essentially admitted guilt and our trial will be a formality. So now we are a democracy? What is your vote – stay or go?”
“I say go. We might reach the Blackhorn Pass before dawn, and we will not be so easily spotted in the daylight if we are already descending the western slopes.”
“Very well.” T’tania sighed, knowing Sten was right but reluctant to leave even this meager shelter. She cast a Presence spell to be sure that no one waited in ambush nearby. The Dúranak Mentalist wished she had more range, but that would only come with more time and experience. “I sense no one in the immediate area, let’s move out.”
They slipped out of their shelter and into the muffling swirl of drifting flakes. T’tania undid her cloak and switched it from black to light grey on the outside as Sten did the same. Once though the pass they would be out of Tanara and entering the Rhakhaan Empire.
It was after nightfall when the four young travelers from Jaiman shuffled up the gangplank of the Naristral under the gaze of the annoyed first mate. “I know you are still well before the captain’s stated deadline, but remaining out in a strange city after dark is not prudent.”
“We’ll keep that in mind.” Jad snapped back.
The next morning Kalen was up early as usual. Jad remained in Reann’s land of dreams even after he’d washed and dressed, so the Marquess took his mug of coffee and went up on deck.
The ship was already well out of the harbor, heading east. The rising sun was blindingly bright just off the starboard bow. The Navigator was there as usual. Kalen noticed another man standing at the bow on the port side who was not a crewman; he must be one of the new passengers to board in Artha. It was hard to discern much about him from across the ship. He wore a full-length hooded robe of a deep indigo hue, and he hunched forward with his back to the ship. Something about his stance suggested youth and strength to Kalen, however. As the Marquess watched, the man’s hood was blown back and his head was exposed. Kalen was surprised to see a head of short-cropped, bright red hair caught in the morning sun. The man immediately pulled his hood back up, but he turned as he did and Kalen caught a glimpse of his face. He was indeed young -- even boyish-looking, with fair, unblemished skin and soft features.
Natural red hair was quite rare among all the peoples of either Jaiman or Emer that Kalen knew of. In a few cultures, dyes were used (mostly by women) to color the hair, but this looked like a natural auburn color.
Kalen made his way forward, his intention to speak with Tar-esiir and perhaps get a better look at the intriguing stranger. He had just reached amidships when the mysterious passenger suddenly turned from the railing and hurried down the steps from the forecastle. With head down in his deep hood and not even a glance towards Kalen, he strode past the Marquess towards the aft cabins, voluminous cloak swirling around him in the wind. It was clear to Kalen as they passed that physically he was above average in height and of very strong build, like the Myri.
The Marquess continued on and joined Tar-esiir at the balustrade. “Good morning. What is the forecast for today?”
The Navigator spared him a brief glace before resuming his intense examination of the horizon ahead. “The remainder of the day should be fair, but once we pass the Shield Isles and re-enter the Straits, I anticipate rough weather. As you know, our planned course takes us back north to the coast of Meluria.”
“To avoid Præten raiders.”
“Yes, hopefully. But the waters along the southern coast of the Melurian Peninsula are hardly less treacherous. The last leg of our voyage across the open sea before reaching the shelter of the Sel-kai islands is by far the most perilous, however. This is the worst time of year for storms and whirlpools.”
“You make this sound more like a dangerous journey into wild uncharted seas than a regular run by a merchant ship.” Kalen scoffed.
“It is true that the Naristral has made this trip dozens of times, many without the guidance and aid of a Navigator. But it is never wise to take anything for granted when traveling across Kulthea – as we all learned from the experience at Aranmor. Ships are lost every year to pirates, the whim of Shaal or his Oceanids, or any of a number of other dangers. However,” Tar-esiir’s face relaxed into something close to a smile, “I’m certain that nothing will come along that we can’t handle.”
“Have you seen our friend the whale lately?”
“Not since we passed the isles yesterday morning. If he turns up again tomorrow, I shall be quite intrigued.”
“You sound as if you almost expect it.” Kalen raised his eyebrows as he took a sip of coffee, scrutinizing the Navigator over the rim of his mug.
“Our ‘whale’ has already paced us far longer and more consistently than any other I remember. If I were to speculate, I would say that we are being followed, and not just by a random sea beast.”
Kalen found this to be a bit far-fetched, and apparently his expression betrayed that.
“We shall see, my Lord.” The Navigator nodded his head slightly.
“Speaking of mysterious comings and goings, I was wondering, who was that red-haired young man who was just up on deck near you?”
Tar-esiir shot Kalen a hard look in response, then returned once again to scanning the eastern horizon. “I don’t suppose that it’s a great secret. His name is Patrick O’Kiran; he is a monk of the Dia Khovaria, a religious order.”
“That’s an odd name. And I’ve never heard of the ‘Dia Khovaria;’ what sort of religion is it?” Kalen pressed.
“I’m not quite sure what their beliefs involve, to be perfectly honest. I know they are very interested in history and ancient knowledge, so perhaps they are adherents of Valris. I’ve heard that they come from the south and west, possibly Thuul.”
“Thuul? Isn’t that where the Pillar of the Gods is?”
“You’re full of questions this morning, Lord Endar! But yes, you are essentially correct: the Pillar stands in the center of Thuul, but there is also a vast ring of land surrounding it, inhabited by many cultures and races.”
Kalen found it impossible to imagine yet another huge land off to the southwest; but he knew that Thuul was just one of several continents on this planet. The vastness of Kulthea was just beginning to sink in.
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