by Robert Ryan
Kubodin scratched himself and grinned. He seemed pleased at their surprise.
“The Halathrin made this,” he said, gesturing around himself. “My master says that Halath himself walked here, and it may be true. But the elves are long gone now, and they don’t leave their forest.”
The light of the lantern danced around as he moved, and Kareste tapped the tip of her staff against the tiles and a bright light sprang from its tip.
Kubodin eyed her a moment. “Hey! That’s good magic,” he said. “A nice trick. Maybe you’ll teach me someday?”
“If you wish. But not everyone has the talent, or the willpower for the long years of training.”
Kubodin shrugged. “You sound just like my master. But he awaits below, so let’s go. He’ll be mad if I don’t bring you down quickly.”
They followed him down the tunnel. There were no side branches. At least none that Faran could see. But it would not be hard to conceal doors here. The walls were often decorated too, as well as the ceiling. There were numerous places that would hide any doorway. But he did not think this place had been built with a special eye for defense. The long tunnel itself offered a place where a few men, or elves, could defend well for a long time, and withdraw slowly if they were pressed back.
Faran walked easily. Despite being underground, this place was nothing like the tombs of the Letharn, and there was nothing dangerous down here. Except, perhaps, the greatest swordsman of the age. That was dangerous enough, but if Aranloth had wished to come here, then this man would likely be friendly.
There were colored lamps set in shelves from time to time, and Kubodin lit these as they passed. Soon the whole tunnel glowed, and the designs all about them came to life in the wavering light.
Kareste lowered her staff, and the light at its tip went out. Kubodin saw that and smiled to himself, but he said nothing. It seemed to Faran that the man only lit the lamps to show that magic was not needed, but he might have been imagining that.
At length, the tunnel came to an end. It opened into a central room, round in shape. It was large, perhaps forty yards or more across, yet there were no pillars to hold up the roof. And if the tunnel was well decorated, this room was more so. The floor tiles gleamed in the light, for there were many lamps set in niches within the wall.
The walls themselves were covered in carvings, reaching high into the hidden ceiling above. On the floor were rugs, spaced neatly apart, and there were several tables and chairs, as well as multiple fireplaces set into the walls, yet only one contained a fire at present.
“Hey! Master, you can stop combing your hair now.”
It was only when Kubodin spoke that Faran realized a figure sat on one of those chairs. The chair was large, almost like a throne, and the figure had been perfectly still.
“I was not combing my hair, Kubodin.”
“What then? Were you trimming your eyebrows again?”
“Neither was I doing that.” The figure stood in a smooth motion, and came toward them.
Faran studied him, and felt a chill. He had only seen a conjured image of Brand rather than the real thing, but this man before him had the same deadly grace. He made no hostile move, yet the potential for death hovered all around him. But just like Brand, for all the hardness of his eyes there was a kindliness there also.
The strange man came closer, all subtle grace and hidden death. He did not wear boots, but rather delicate shoes of white cloth, though they must still have a leather sole. His long tunic was also white, and of a fabric that Faran had never seen before. It seemed soft and luxurious beyond his imaginings. A sword hung from his waist, and the man wore it as naturally as another might don a cloak in cold weather.
“Welcome to Danath Elbar,” the man greeted them, “where once the high lords of the elves met with their king and decided the fate of nations.”
6. You are Observant
Kareste stepped forward. “My name is—”
“I know who you are,” the stranger said quietly. “You are Kareste, a lòhren, and friend of Aranloth, who is also my friend. And your companions are Ferla and Faran.”
He bowed then to Kareste, and gazed at Ferla intently for a moment before he bowed to her also. Then lastly he bowed to Faran.
“How is it that you know us?” Kareste asked.
“I know some things, but many others remain hidden. But first, allow me to introduce myself. I am Asana. For the moment, I dwell here at the pleasure of the elves. But my name at least you already know, for Aranloth sent you to me.”
Kareste held the man’s gaze. “You have the Sight, do you not?”
Asana sighed. “I am blessed with visions from time to time.” He looked suddenly sad as he spoke. “Or cursed with them, if you prefer. Sometimes I do.”
He paused then, and glanced at them all thoughtfully.
“To make the matter clear to you, I know who you are, and who you flee and why. I also know why Aranloth sent you to me.”
Kareste nodded slowly. “Will you do it then? Will you shelter us and teach these two Cheng Fah, the Way of the Warrior? Even if it endangers you, as you know it will?”
Asana’s face showed little emotion, but the sadness in his eyes deepened.
“You are hasty folk, at least compared to the Cheng. I find that … refreshing. So I will give you a direct answer.” His gaze fell again to Ferla and then Faran. “I will teach as best I can, for I owe Aranloth. Even if I did not, I would still help you, for your quest is noble and it serves the land. The evil in Faladir will not stay there. It will grow and spread. It will conquer nation after nation, unless it is stopped. And therefore I will play my role in the events to come.”
Asana turned to Kubodin. “You have done well, as always. Are their rooms prepared also?”
The other man pulled his pants a little higher, which the axe seemed to be weighing down, and tightened his belt. He did not seem to care that he did this in company.
“I’m no butler. But hey, I did what you asked. The rooms are ready. I’m sure our guests will be as comfortable as pigs in mud on their birthday.”
Asana did not seem to notice the man’s actions or his tone of voice. For that matter, Faran was becoming adjusted to them quickly himself, nor did he think any offence was intended. The man just had a direct way of speaking.
“Yes,” Asana agreed. “You are no butler.”
Faran detected the slightest note of amusement in the man’s voice.
Asana bowed again. “Kubodin will take you to your rooms, and he will provide you with food also. Though I fear you will miss eating meat while you stay here. We eat only vegetables, but of those we have many varieties.” He glanced at his servant, and the smile flickered over his face again briefly. “Kubodin is a better cook than he is a butler.”
“I’m no servant,” Kubodin said. “And the master knows it. I’m a warrior, even if I don’t have a pretty sword like his.”
“My sword is not pretty,” Asana answered. “It is a tool of death, and death follows me.” He faced toward Kareste. “May you all sleep well. In the morning, I will begin to train your charges, but for now I feel the need to meditate.”
That faint smile on his face was gone, and he seemed sad again, or resigned to something he did not like.
Kubodin shuffled off, somehow ungainly and graceful at the same time, and they followed him. There were corridors that led away from this central chamber, and he moved to the closet one on the left.
The corridor was not long. Kubodin lit another lantern within it, but soon they came to a doorway. This was made of timber, and Faran did not think it was the original. It was plain, unlike the stonework, and the Halathrin were renowned for their woodwork.
Beyond was a large chamber. Again, the floor was marvelously decorated, and if the ceiling was lower than in the main room it was still high. Frescoes decorated it, depicting forests and hunts and swift streams racing amid dark tracts of pines.
It was luxury such as Faran had never seen bu
t had heard tell of in stories. There was a long table also, for meals, and various padded chairs.
Kubodin pointed to the back of the chamber where there were yet more doors.
“Over there you will find several bedrooms. Pick and choose them as they seem best to you. This,” he said, gesturing around him, “is a communal living area for you all.”
Faran could not believe it. He had loved the cottage in the valley, but this was a palace by comparison.
“Thank you, Kubodin,” Kareste said. “You and your master are most hospitable.”
Kubodin seemed uncomfortable at that, but before he could give any answer Ferla asked him a question.
“Why is Asana so sad? He tries to hide it, but I can see it in his eyes.”
Kubodin glanced at her sharply. “You are observant, you are. Yes. Very. I have noticed the same thing lately, but I don’t know why. He won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
For all the rough ways of this man, Faran suddenly saw how much he cared for his friend.
“Time will reveal it, one way or the other,” he continued. “I’ll bring you some food shortly.”
He left then, sauntering out in his strange walk, and adjusting the axe at his side once more. Why he had not put it down earlier, Faran did not know. But he unbelted his own sword and placed it in a corner of the room. Ferla did likewise, and they removed their armor as well. For the first time in days, Faran felt safe.
They sat down around the table and talked quietly. At least Faran and Ferla did. Kareste seemed thoughtful, though what she was trying to puzzle out Faran could not tell.
“At least we know that Asana will teach us,” Ferla said. “I’d feared that he would not.”
Kareste stirred. “You should know that the Cheng rarely teach their skills to outsiders, still less one of Asana’s standing. You are more privileged than you know.”
“Tell us about the Cheng,” Faran asked. “Asana does look foreign, but not nearly so much as Kubodin.”
Kareste grinned. “I like Kubodin. What you see is what you get. Asana, though I trust him because Aranloth did, well, I just cannot quite figure him out. His mind is closed to me, but he is only half Cheng according to what Aranloth told me. His father was of the Duthenor, but his mother was a Cheng lady.”
“Strange that you should say that,” Faran said. “When I first saw him, he reminded me of Brand.”
Kareste did not answer that. Instead, she told them more of the Cheng.
“They once had a vast empire,” she said. “It was a long time after the fall of the Letharn, but still ancient history to us.”
Faran listened carefully. This might better help him to understand Asana, and that was important. If the man was going to teach him swordsmanship, Faran wanted to be a good student. He wanted to learn. He needed to learn, and insight into his teacher was key to that.
Kareste continued. “They were a mighty nation, and their skills and arts were advanced. But they were also a warrior people, so much so that even their name itself, Cheng, is also their word for warrior.”
She sat back in her chair, thoughtful. “Even Aranloth never knew their full history. And they were a long way away even from the borders of the old Letharn empire. But they traded with the Duthenor and Camar, even before those tribes came east to settle the coastal tracts of Alithoras.”
It occurred to Faran that she spoke of the Duthenor and Camar tribes from the outside, as though she was not one of them. What nationality was she, then? There was a look about her too that was different, if even just slightly, from the people he had known all his life.
“It was inevitable with the trade,” she went on, “that not only goods passed from hand to hand but ideas passed from mind to mind. That included military strategies and the arts of the warrior, for traders always brought bodyguards with them. So some of what you have already learned derives from the Cheng, changed by the years and developed to suit Camar swords and armor, which are somewhat different from the Cheng.”
She looked at them both earnestly. “But what you will learn now are those same arts, refined by the Cheng over the years, and made different by that passage of time as the descendants of two families change through the generations. This will give you a perspective, and skills, none of the knights possess, not to mention you will learn it from perhaps the greatest swordsman alive. Heed him well, for his kind is rarer than snow on midsummer’s day.”
Ferla nodded. “I can tell just by the way he moves how dangerous he is. Honestly, I’m excited to learn from him.”
Faran thought the same. This was not where he wanted to be, or what he wanted to be doing, but fate had served it up to him, and he would make the most of it.
They talked a little more, and not long after Kubodin returned.
“Food!” he said. “You may find it different from what you’re used to, but it’ll fill your belly.”
Saying that, he placed two large platters down on the table.
“More to come!” he told them, “But don’t wait. Cold food tastes like a badger’s armpit!”
Faran had no idea about that, but he had eaten cold rations for too long, and the sight of steaming food was delicious to him.
There was no meat, which was a disappointment, but there was a large array of vegetables and grains. Most came in startling sauces that tasted like nothing Faran had ever eaten before, but he liked some of them very much.
They had not finished when Kubodin returned. He carried more platters, and on each were delicate bowls of fine porcelain. Within these were yet more strange foods, and Faran wanted to try them all.
They did not talk much while they ate, for they were tired from their hasty journey, and the warm food, and so much of it too, that they grew sleepy.
Soon they explored the rooms at the far end of the chamber, and selected their bedrooms. There was little in these, but there were comfortable beds and Faran put his head down and fell asleep swiftly. Tomorrow was a new day, and a new stage in his life. He wanted to be ready for whatever it would bring.
7. A Wise Man is Prepared
Asana sat in the High Seat in the central chamber where he had met the travelers, and thought.
The chair was one of the few original items left in these underground halls. Halath himself might have sat in this same chair, probably in this same spot, and felt the burdens of the world.
Asana sighed. Just as he did. Kubodin sat opposite him, on the ground. Chairs were for the nobility the little man always claimed, and he would not use one even though there were several others in the room, if smaller. He also said that sitting in a soft chair made one’s backside soft, which in turn caused a soft brain, but that was Kubodin for you.
The evening had passed quietly, and it was now deep into the night. His guests had eaten well, and now slept. He wished he could do the same, but of late sleep came with difficulty. Not so with Kubodin. The man could sleep on any surface, anywhere, day or night. Nothing seemed to trouble him, and Asana envied that.
Perhaps it was his own fault. He overthought things. This was a trait that Kubodin did not have, though the little man surprised the unobservant. For all his peasant ways, he had one of the sharpest minds Asana had ever encountered. He just chose not to put it on display.
Kubodin stirred from his position on the floor. He looked upward.
“Why so sad, master?”
Asana was surprised. Of course, he did not show that. A gentleman retained balance at all times, neither showing surprise or anticipation.
Kubodin did have the habit of asking questions like that when least expected. It was his way of trying to get an unfiltered answer, and to slip past Asana’s guard.
It was true though, and he had no wish to lie to his friend. Yet still, he would not burden him with foreknowledge of tragedy.
He forced a smile. “Who says that I am sad?”
“I do. I’ve seen it these last few days. Even the girl sees it, and she doesn’t know you.”
“She is
observant, that one. But she will need to be.”
Kubodin ignored that. He knew it was an attempt to change the subject.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I am not sad. Nor am I happy. I seek the Path of Nature, which is simply to exist peacefully, to accept fate with equilibrium and to shun the desires of humanity which inevitably lead to misfortune.”
“Pah! You and your Path. It’s no way for a man to live. Breathe deep instead, feel the heat of a fire or the cold blast of a winter wind. Feel the warmth of a woman in your bed, and hone your hatred of enemies until it becomes cold steel. That’s how to live!”
“It is one way to live.”
Kubodin shook his head. “Still, you ignore my question.”
The night was growing old, and Asana did not want to talk of this. Yet he did still want to talk, and he was curious about their guests. Each, in their way, was intriguing.
“Tell me of the newcomers. What do you think of them? Start with the lòhren.”
Kubodin frowned, no doubt annoyed at his question being put off again, yet his expression turned thoughtful at the task set him.
“She isn’t like Aranloth. Not a bit. Except where it counts. Her loyalty is strong, and she wouldn’t abandon her charges though all the forces of hell descended on her in fire and fury.”
Asana considered that. Kubodin was the shrewdest judge of character that he knew, and the little man’s judgement matched his own.
“I agree. But speaking of Aranloth, where is he? I expected him to arrive with the others.”
Kubodin did not seem concerned. “It’s probably just as well. More guests are more work, and I have enough of that already.”
“Nevertheless, I will ask in the morning. His absence disturbs me.” Asana thought some more. “Now, tell me what you think of the girl Ferla. Apart from the fact that she is observant.”