The mountain top lay under a vast silence as thick as the mist that covered it, only vague shapes visible in the swirling haze as they crested the final step. Erlin sagged a little from the effort of the climb, leaning hard on his walking stick and eyeing the shadowy forms ahead with naked trepidation. “I hate this place,” he breathed, voice soft as he straightened and started forward. “But then, so did those who built it, I imagine.”
They started forward into the mist, the shadows resolving into a cluster of buildings, all showing signs of having been crafted by the same hands that had built the ruins at the base of the mountain. They were mostly one-storey dwellings and smaller structures Vaelin took to be storehouses, forming a miniature echo of the Fallen City. But these were not ruined. The silence became ever more oppressive as they moved through the buildings, each empty doorway and window an uncaring witness to their passage. Despite the lack of damage Vaelin knew this to be an ancient place, the corners of the buildings smoothed and rounded by the elements. Also, in contrast to the Fallen City there were no statues here, the only decoration the faded motifs carved above doorways or windows, robbed of meaning by centuries of wind and rain. Whoever had built this place seemingly had scant time or inclination towards art.
It took only moments to clear the buildings, leaving them standing at the edge of a wide flat circle, in the centre of which stood a single flat-topped plinth. “Memory stone,” Vaelin said.
Erlin nodded and Vaelin heard the faint tremor in his voice as he replied, “The last to be carved, by the hand of a god no less.”
Vaelin’s mouth twitched in unwanted amusement and he turned to Erlin with a grin. “A god is a lie.”
They shared a laugh, only for a moment, the sound of their mirth soon lost amidst the mist and ancient stone. “Well.” Erlin took a firmer grip on his walking stick and started forward. “Shall we?”
Like the surrounding buildings the plinth’s edges had been softened by ages of exposure, though the flat top was smooth and unmarked, the indentation in the centre a perfect circle. “You’ve touched this before?” Vaelin asked Erlin.
“Four times now. I often seek out the ancient places, guided by the myths and legends I hear in my travels. One told of a forgotten city of towering majesty hidden in the mountains and guarded by savage tribes. I wasn’t overly surprised to find the reality didn’t match the legend, it rarely does.”
He extended his hand so it hovered over the stone, meeting Vaelin’s gaze. “Ready, brother?”
“I have touched these stones twice before,” Vaelin said, seeing the tremble in Erlin’s fingers. “They hold knowledge but no threat.”
Erlin gave another laugh, harsher this time. “All knowledge is a threat to someone.”
Vaelin extended his hand and Erlin took it, entwining the fingers. Closing his eyes, he took a breath and lowered their hands to the stone.
PART IV
By Alpiran reckoning King Janus Al Nieren was born in the tenth year of the New Sun, under a configuration of stars known to Alpiran astrologers as “The Rearing Lion,” a fact that would provide portents aplenty for admirers and detractors alike over the succeeding decades. His daughter, by contrast, was born under the comparatively mundane constellation of “The Hay Bale,” named for its resemblance to recently harvested wheat. The fact that the Loyal Guild of Imperial Astrologers recently voted to rename this constellation “The Vengeful Flame” says much for the subsequent course of Realm history, not to mention the essential vacuity of the astrologer’s art.
—VERNIERS ALISHE SOMEREN, A HISTORY OF THE UNIFIED REALM: INTRODUCTION, GREAT LIBRARY OF THE UNIFIED REALM
VERNIERS’ ACCOUNT
“Did she know?”
I watched the harbour as we drew near, its vastness testimony to Alpira’s origins as the greatest trading hub of the lower Boraelin. It stretched in a broad curve some three miles long, piers and moorings beyond counting, and many ships, more than was usual in fact. As we drew closer I noted most were warships, an army of labourers at work on every vessel, steel plating hammered onto hulls and mangonels hauled into place.
Empress Emeren calls her fleet to the capital, I deduced. For what purpose?
“My lord?” Fornella prompted. Her rapidly greying hair was tied up today, drawn back from her features, which remained handsome despite the growing number of lines. With her plain dress and tightly wrapped shawl she conveyed the appearance of a comely matron, those ashore perhaps mistaking her for the captain’s wife. The thought provoked me to a short laugh.
Fornella frowned in annoyance but refused to be diverted. “She did, didn’t she? She knew about you and the Hope.”
I shrugged, giving a slight nod. She glanced at the captain and edged closer. “Pay the pirate to take us away from here.”
“We have a mission to perform, Honoured Citizen.”
“Not at the expense of your life.”
“I gave my life to the Emperor. The law decrees I now offer it to his successor, along with my wise counsel.”
“You really imagine she’ll listen?”
“I know she will. What she does afterwards is more of a mystery.”