Beyond The Gate - Book 2 of the Golden Queen Series

by David Farland

  Maggie was looking up at the sky, too, and she whispered, "Ah, Gallen, look at all of the stars." "We must be close to the galactic center here, closer than we are back on Tihrglas—"

  "Not much closer," Maggie said. "We're on the far side from Tihrglas, closer to the Dronon worlds. They're out on the rim, but we're halfway to the galactic center here, a little above the spiral. See that bright band—how wide it is?"

  And Orick saw. Indeed the Milky Way was but a dim river of stars back on Tihrglas, but here it took up the whole night sky. The starlight alone was enough to see by, fairly well.

  "Gallen," Maggie whispered, changing the subject, worry in her voice, "what was that hand signal you gave Zell'a Cree?" Orick could barely hear the question over the sounds of running feet, the creak of wagon wheels, the jostling of springs.

  "I don't know," Gallen whispered.

  "What do you mean, you don't know? Is it something you learned from the Inhuman?"

  "I really don't know," Gallen said. "I was just standing there, and it came to me. It seemed the right thing to do."

  Maggie seemed to take this in, and Orick realized that they were discussing something private, something dangerous. What would Gallen have learned from the Inhuman? Orick wondered. They were whispering, and with the way the backboard for the driver's seat leaned, it would baffle the sound for Ceravanne and Fenorah.

  Maggie sat up and readjusted her pack, using it for a pillow. "I wish we were underground this night, Gallen," she said. She looked at Orick.

  "Orick, are you still awake?" Maggie asked.

  "Huh, ah, yes." Orick yawned.

  "Oh, good night, then," she said; she rolled over.

  Orick saw his mistake. If he'd feigned sleep, then Maggie and Gallen would have kept talking. Instead, Maggie drifted into a light sleep. But Gallen lay for a long time, his muscles rigid, until the rumble of the wagon lulled even him to sleep. Orick roused enough to look over the backboard, and a hundred yards back, the giants were running three abreast behind the wagon, a strong, comforting presence.

  Orick lay watching the sky, and the marvelous wagon moved so gently over the road, he felt that he was floating under the stars. They passed through several small towns, and each time, dogs would bark and geese would honk, and then they'd be left behind. But then the trees closed over them, and for a long time there were no houses to pass. They were moving deeper and deeper into the wilderness.

  A few hours before dawn, they came to the sea and clattered over a long bridge, then at some woods along an empty beach the giants stopped for the night. Two of them stayed up as sentries, watching the road, and the others built a small fire and napped. Ceravanne and Fenorah camped under a tree, while Orick slept in the wagon with the others. At dawn Orick got up, while the giants fixed breakfast—salty corn cakes covered with peaches, dried apricots, and cream.

  Orick walked along the road, and quickly realized that they were on a small island between two branches of a river. And on the island two enormous cliff faces, each over two hundred feet tall, were carved with the images of eagles. One eagle, with its wings raised, faced the north sea. The other, with its wings folded, looked upriver, its beak wide as if it were screeching.

  And the bridge they had crossed was a marvel—nearly a mile of vast granite pylons held stonework that was intricately carved along the side with a massive frieze that displayed images of grotesque gargoyles, squatting and grunting as they shoved handcarts over the bridge. The images were somehow both comic and beautiful. And the bridge was enormously wide, enough so that four or five carts could have gone abreast.

  On the far side of the island was a shorter bridge, just as intricately decorated, and Orick suddenly saw why the giants chose to camp here: the island could be easily defended.

  Orick climbed a steep, pine-covered ridge until he reached the top of the eagle that gazed out to sea. There, on the head between the eagle's wings, he found Gallen sitting, dangling his feet as if unaware that he was perched above a deadly drop. Gallen wore the black gloves and boots of a Lord Protector, along with his robe that would stay black unless he willed it to change some other color or let it blend into whatever background he happened to be standing in.

  Orick climbed beside him, sat gazing out to sea, resting his muzzle on his paws. The double suns had just risen, and the sea was flat, smooth, a deep, pristine blue. Orick could see salmon finning in lazy circles out in the water, and cormorants were flying out to sea, shooting just above the waves.

  Orick said, "Did you see the bridges?"

  "Indeed." Gallen sighed. "This place is called Profundis, and those unbreakable bridges were carved long ago by a race called the Thworn. If you look west, on that bluff over there, you will see the walls to an ancient city, Tywee." Orick looked over to a dome-shaped bluff beside the sea and noticed for the first time some crumbling walls among the trees. "Eight hundred years ago, a young man named Omad fell in love with a beautiful princess, and she agreed to marry him if he took her armies and unified this region. He did so—by making pacts and trade agreements, so that never a drop of blood was spilled. And after their wedding he wisely built the bridges—not only to facilitate travel in his own lands, but to keep enemy ships from sailing upriver into the heart of his realm.

  "You see, this river accepts drainage from all the land within a thousand kilometers in any direction, and so it is the major artery leading south into the heartland."

  "Did the king build these statues, too?" Orick asked.

  "Yes. A bloody, barbaric race called the Dwinideen were great seamen, and they had often raided deep into the fertile inland. As the bridge was being built, the Dwinideen harried the craftsmen, slaughtering many people, much to the dismay of Omad. But the Dwinideen were superstitious, and they feared Capul, the sky god who appears in the shape of a fish eagle. They believed that if one dies, and the fish eagle gets at the body, the eagle will carry off the dead person's spirit to be eaten so that the dead can never be reborn. So the King of Tywee carved this statue, and when next the Dwinideen attacked, Omad took thirty of the Dwinideen captive. With his own hand he hurled them from the eagle's head to the rocks below, crying, 'Thus shall my enemies die!' There were many fish eagles living here then, as there are now, and they fed on the carcasses. Afterward, the Dwinideen feared this place and never returned. For the rest of his days, Omad regretted that he was forced to shed blood to protect his kingdom."

  Gallen fell silent. His voice seemed grim. Almost, Orick thought, as if he were grieving for the long-dead king, and there was pain in his eyes, a quiet wisdom that seemed out of place on Gallen's features.

  "Hmmm . . ." Orick said, wondering how Gallen had learned so much. Gallen must have spoken of this place with the giants.

  In the distance, toward the ancient city of Tywee, Orick saw the white flashing of wings as a fish eagle swooped to grab a fish from the water.

  "If this bridge is so important, why isn't there a city here now?" Orick asked.

  "The kingdom fell into ruin. Itwas attacked from the south, by men who came out of the desert. The villagers who live here now are weaker men, too divided to stand against their overlords. They pay a small tribute and live in relative peace."

  "And who might these southern warriors be?" Orick asked, knowing that they would have to go south soon, and might have to pass through their lands.

  "Can you not guess?" Gallen said. "They're the Tekkar."

  Orick licked his lips. "I don't like the Tekkar." He'd known that they served the Inhuman, but somehow he imagined that they would be far away—not a present danger. "Will we meet more of them soon?"

  Gallen said, "We made good time last night. A hundred kilometers since sunset. And it's a beautiful, clear day. We'll go a hundred more kilometers before the day is done. But we are almost a thousand kilometers from the desert, and the Tekkar do not like climates as cool and wet as this. It will be a few days before we find them."

  Orick grunted in relief, and Gallen sat brooding,
looking out to sea. Orick headed down between the dark pines to see if breakfast was ready. Squirrels were out in the morning sun, searching for nuts, chattering. At the foot of the trail, Orick found Maggie.

  "Have you seen Gallen?" she asked.

  "He's up top."

  "Is he all right?"

  "Quiet," Orick said. "He just seemed to want some time alone, to think."

  Maggie bit her lower lip and frowned. She glanced up the trail, then headed up in a hurry.

  Orick watched her leave, and something in her face bothered him. She'd been panicked, as if she didn't trust Gallen to sit and think for five minutes.

  Orick almost headed to camp, but curiosity got the better of him. Maggie was nearly running up the steep trail, darting between trees.

  Orick turned and rushed after her, but halfway up the trail, Gallen met Maggie coming down, and Gallen had obviously seen Orick. The two of them walked down together, arm in arm, and Orick tagged along, certain that once again he had missed out on a chance to hear their secret conversations.

  When they got back to camp, the Im giants all sat around a small cooking fire, circled by dark trees. Their tunics were stained by sweat, and they smelled none too sweet to Orick, but the humans next to them didn't mind. Breakfast was ready, and they passed out the com cakes, tasty enough fare for the road. Even Tallea was up to sitting a bit while she ate. It felt good to Orick to be in the daylight, with the sun shining on his fur.

  Ceravanne addressed them all as they ate. "Today we must make some decisions. The roads to Moree are many, and each is fraught with its own dangers. We've come west out of expediency, but how far west shall we go? And when do we head south? I walked abroad in this land many years ago. The hills and mountains look little changed, but rivers have turned, old roads are forgotten and new ones are unknown to me. So I think it best to ask our friends, the Im giants, for their advice, and to ask Tallea the Caldurian for her help."

  "I not been to this land," Tallea said.

  "I know the roads along the sea," Fenorah said, "and I know the roads inland by reputation. You could head south this morning at Marbee Road. It's a wide road built upon a bed of stone, and it follows the river where it passes through many small hamlets, and borders many a field. The folk along the way are friendly enough, and accustomed to strangers. But I fear it is a dangerous road for you: the hosts of the Inhuman have already gone south on Battic Road, and Marbee Road will meet it in one hundred and twenty kilometers. They may be waiting for you there or beyond. Still, if you hurry, the chances are good that you could keep ahead of them."

  "What other choices do we have?" Ceravanne asked.

  "Beyond Marbee, fifty kilometers, lies the Old King's Road," Fenorah said. "It is a winding road among the hills, built to connect old fortresses, many of which no longer exist. But there is many a farmstead along it, and a few villages."

  "And some places along the road often flood," Ceravanne said.

  "In the spring, this is true, but the roads should be clear this time of year," one of Fenorah's men protested. "But once again, it meets Marbee Road in two hundred and forty kilometers, at High Home. Beyond that, the next best trail would be the ancient highway at the foot of the Telgood Mountains. Only a few wild people live in those mountains-Derrits and the like. The road is mostly unused and has gone to grass. Some would claim that it is no longer safe, but I have hunted along its trails, and a sturdy wagon should make it through."

  "I know that way well," Ceravanne said. "In younger days it was called the Emerald Way. The caravanserais would come out of Indallian, and at night when you camped in the valleys you would see the lights of their fires burning like winding rivers of stars along the hills."

  "That could not have happened within the past three hundred years," Fenorah mused, a faraway look in his eyes, "though my grandfather recalled those days—the glory and the wars."

  "Indeed, it was the richness of this land that destroyed it," Ceravanne said.

  "If Derrits along road, road not good," Tallea said. "Troublesome people."

  "What are Derrits?" Orick asked.

  "They . . . are solitary giants," Ceravanne said, "built for life on a sterile world. They are very strong, and very cunning." "They're cowards and killers," Fenorah said, glaring, grasping the hilt of his sword as if he wanted to cut one down.

  "Eat other people," Tallea said. "Build traps."

  "They can eat just about anything—from carrion to raw soil," Ceravanne said, "and they will eat you, if you're alone and fall into one of their pits."

  "We can't use that road," Maggie said, "not with a quick-running animal."

  "I agree that it is a dangerous choice," Ceravanne said thoughtfully. "But beyond that old highway, there are no roads south until you cross the Telgoods. They're a high mountain range, and we couldn't cross easily."

  "Six hundred kilometers," Fenorah said, "just to cross the mountains, and that land is so distant, I do not know the roads there."

  "I have been there," one of Fenorah's men said. "The roads south are good, better than any we have here, for the Lords of Telgood keep them. But the mountains also veer west, and if you go to Moree, then you will be spending much time in the high passes. The wingmen live there, and it is not safe to travel in parties as small as yours—especially without bows."

  "More importantly," Ceravanne said, "we would be traveling hundreds of kilometers out of our way. And we need to hurry."

  "So," Gallen said, "it sounds to me that perhaps our best choice is the Old King's Road. It gives us a chance to race against the Inhuman, and it sounds safer than the far roads, more civilized."

  "But therein lies another danger," Ceravanne said. "If we pass through hamlets and villages, undoubtedly we will meet more servants of the Inhuman. Do you suppose that they pose no threat?"

  "All roads may lead astray," Orick said, "and the longer we sit here, the more dangerous they become. I think Gallen is right in his choice."

  Ceravanne looked to Fenorah, as if the giant held the final word. "The choice is yours, dear lady," he said. "No one should make it for you."

  "Then I will follow Gallen," Ceravanne whispered. "Still," she said more loudly, "there is another matter we must consider. And that is the question, Who of us shall go? We know that the servants of the Inhuman are rushing ahead of us, we know that they will be prepared. If any choose to come, they will be risking great danger. So, I have spoken with Fenorah, and he has agreed to let any who desire return to Battic." Her eyes rested on Maggie.

  "None of us will return to Battic, I wager," Maggie said. "None of us are cowards."

  "Yet there is good reason to consider the offer," Gallen said loudly, and he stood, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "For one among us has already been infected by the Inhuman's Word, and all who travel are imperiled by it!"

  Orick looked around the camp. One of the Im giants leapt to his feet as if ready to attack the traitor, and Ceravanne looked from Gallen to Maggie, her face a mask of fear.

  "Who?" Orick cried.

  "I am infected, my friend," Gallen said, and there was a sadness in his eyes. "Forgive me. The Word burrowed into my skull while we were aboard ship, and the Inhuman has been sending messages to me for the past two nights."

  "And what kind of messages does it send?" Fenorah asked, scratching his thick beard.

  "It sends memories of lives spent and wasted. It tells me that the world is unfair, and that the peoples of Babel have been treated shabbily. The Inhuman cries out for justice, and reparation, and equality. But the humans of Northland will hear none of it." Gallen paused and closed his eyes, looking inward. "The Inhuman teaches me to be ashamed of my own species, and to mistrust them and the Tharrin who lead them." There was a long moment of silence.

  Tallea, who had been leaning weakly against a tree, pulled herself forward, fixed her eyes on Gallen with desperation. Until now, she had always spoken crisply, breaking off her words and her sentences. But now, as if to emphasize their
import, she spoke as others on Tremonthin did, in her harsh voice. "You can fight those voices, Gallen," she said. "I know those who fought and won. At first, when you hear those voices, see their memories, it is like falling into a great darkness, and your own small voice is a tiny light—"

  "No," Gallen growled. "It is like falling into a vast and yawning light, and my voice is the small darkness!"

  "Why did you keep this infection hidden from me?" Ceravanne demanded.

  "Because I hoped that my mantle could defeat it. Because I believed that it could jam the frequencies that the Inhuman sent its signal on."

  "And your mantle fails you?" Ceravanne asked.

  Gallen looked away to the north. "The Inhuman is switching frequencies, sending messages in short bursts. I have . . . memories flowing into me, like water gushing through a swollen dike. In the past few hours, I have recalled five lifetimes."

  "No, Gallen!" Maggie cried. "It can't have!"

  "But it has," Gallen said.

  "I don't understand," Maggie said. "The Word shouldn't be sophisticated enough to do what you're saying." .

  Gallen shook his head, and there were tears glistening in his eyes. "Apparently we have underestimated the Inhuman once again. The Word is sending signals in coded bursts. My mantle tries to block them, but when it does, the Inhuman then begins sending on a different frequency. My mantle doesn't have enough power to block both signals."

  Maggie frowned in concentration. "This is worse than anything I feared." She took his hand and looked up into his face steadily, searching his features. "We can stop this! We can stop it! We could—take you underground."

  "Aw, and what use would it be, my love?" Gallen shook his head. "You can't just hide me away from it. I'm fighting. My mantle is fighting, but it cannot stave off the attack. I must warn you: you go to battle the Inhuman, but by the time we get to Moree I may be Inhuman."

  "The Inhuman's Word can be defeated, as Tallea said—" Ceravanne intoned hopefully, "by those who are strong of purpose, by those who are wise. I can help you defeat it."