The sun was gone now, but its rays still touched the tips of the mountains, leaving them looking like some golden bronze crown over Queen Willa’s palace.
Hyden struggled to read aloud a street sign, advertising fresh baked goods, and the best cheese in the world. Vaegon prodded, and helped him through the words. Over the last few weeks, he had been learning, but hadn’t gotten far. Writing was even harder for him. He could spell out his elven friend’s name in the dirt, Talon’s, and Mikahl’s as well, but he had come to the conclusion that without parchment, ink, and quills, he would get nowhere, fast. He would surely be able to find those items, and a few books here. The idea of looking for a place to purchase them, in this mass of people and buildings, so crowded in together, was daunting. He was discouraged, and overwhelmed by it all, but he was still determined to learn as much as he could about everything that he could. Learning to read and write was the obvious first step.
The color of the sky reminded him of his dream from the night before. A glance at Urp’s soft white coat brought forth the image of the White Goddess, pleading for him to respond to her call.
“Do you know of a temple called Whitten Loch?” Hyden asked Drick, as they closed in on yet another gated wall.
“I know of Whitten Loch, yes,” Drick answered. “But to call it a temple, is to call a single dying tree a forest. It’s a swan shelter, and a small filthy one at that. It sits along the elevated rim of the lake’s retaining wall, at its westernmost end.”
“Whitten Loch means White Lake,” Vaegon said, matter-of-factly.
“I wouldn’t know what it means,” shrugged Drick. “But you’re about to see it for yourself.”
Unlike the other gates that they had come to, the one before them was closed. The wall, some twenty feet tall, covered in vines, and moldy growth, had a single row of arrow slits up high, and a wicked looking, spiked iron overhang, running along its top.
Before Hyden could study it further, a gruff voice spoke out to them.
“You’re expected,” the gatekeeper said, while eyeing Urp cautiously.
He let out a loud whistle, aiming his head up towards someone unseen on the wall. From deep within the stonework, came the sound of rattling chains. Slowly, the ironbound gates began to creep open, and beyond them, Hyden saw all the splendor of the world revealed before him.
In the foreground, was a fountain lake. Around it, stretching a way to either side, into the dusky night, was a well tended forested park. It was illuminated by lanterns, hanging from evenly spaced poles, along white marble tiled pathways, that wound through the trees, around manicured gardens, and perfectly trimmed shrubberies. Beds of multicolored flowers were scattered here and there among private benches and open plots of lush trimmed grass.
Beyond the lake, and reflecting dizzily on the surface of the rippling water, was the palace of Xwarda: a castle of white marble blocks that thrust up out of the earth and looked like a growth of crystal shards. The glittering stained glass panels were brilliantly backlit. The scenes that each of them depicted were clear, vivid, and at least forty feet tall. Hyden recognized a few of them, from stories he had heard Berda, and more recently Vaegon, and King Aldar tell.
There was the wizard, Dahg Mahn, surrounded by all of his animals on a battlefield, across from a horde of monsters. Another panel showed the forging of the Hammer of Doon and Mikahl’s sword. Two dwarves, with faces aglow with dragon’s fire, were hammering away at the creations. A wizard and a group of elves, hovered around behind them, while a long-haired giant watched over them all, with his huge muscled arms folded across his chest.
Another depiction showed a trio of dragons. One was a bluish-green color, another white as snow, and the third was a dark, ruby red. They were circling in flight around what Hyden thought was the Summer’s Day Spire. The center depiction was of a golden armored warrior fighting a horde of dark and familiar looking creatures. A hellcat, and what might have been one of the bat-like creatures that had killed Grrr, and a dozen other crimson-eyed things with fangs and claws faced down the hero.
“Pavreal,” Hyden mouthed in awe.
Another depiction showed a mountain split in two and legions of ax and hammer wielding dwarves racing out to meet a mass of greenish skinned, trolls.
The rest of the scenes, thirteen in all, were no less spectacular. Hyden figured that if one of the panels was laid on the ground, it would be twenty paces wide and just as tall. He figured that only the greatest magic could have created such a wonder.