The Best of Men - an epic fantasy (Song of Ages Book 1)
Page 13
They cantered on, and Seama kept his thoughts to himself. His life was a burden not for the sharing.
LIVING MYTH
Medean Part 3057.7.19
It was a westerly route they took through some of the most populous parts of Pars. They passed through villages where people waved and wondered to see two such proud and strong men riding through, but the travellers never stopped except to water their horses.
For some time they made no conversation as they concentrated on their road and their own thoughts, but Tregar never could stay silent for long. Leaving other matters behind them, they fell into tales of past days. It was hard not to laugh at Tregar’s amorous and often ludicrous adventures. Seama was reminded that Tregar had been a troublemaker in his youth, having an eye for the girls and a good fight. Often in the wrong place at the wrong time he had been in as many prisons as bedrooms but never for as long: holding a wizard is by no means easy, especially when you think him a drunken lout with no more sense than manners.
Tregar rarely revealed his profession. He used magic only as a last resort. He had found that mystical powers got in the way, particularly with women. And so he had taught himself to use a sword well. He was proud of his duels up and down the three continents, of his victories and even his defeats. And though all this had happened when he was younger there was little doubt, even after fifteen relaxed years at Ayer, that Tregar wasn’t someone to pick a fight with.
And yet he was a warm-hearted man. He seemed to have more friends than he could easily count and though he saw these friends rarely he spoke of them with great affection. He had never married but this was no tale of missed opportunity or unrequited love: he’d just never found anyone he needed to be with. He had no regrets. He didn’t need to have children to make him feel complete.
Seama sighed a little too loudly for Tregar not to notice.
‘You’ll’ve made a lot of friends yoursel’ over the years,’ he prompted. ‘Was there never—’
‘I have friends, Tregar. But it’s hard for them. When you’re on the road as much as I am – well sometimes I make it difficult for them to keep up. Most people need a place to be. It means that sometimes they have to stay and I have to go. And then life seems to tie them down: wives and children come along and get in the way. It’s hard being an adventurer forever.’
‘And maybe it’s hard, too, seeing other people settling down? Do you never feel the need—’
‘I have my family with me. Bellus and the Mule keep me going.’
‘Ah, weel, I’m sure ye love them well enough but—’
‘I do, Tregar. They’re all I need.’
Within three hours of the descent from Ayer, they rode steadily into Torhead Bottom. Torhead was a hamlet of seven houses with an inn and hordes of children: escapees from the nearby school. The inn looked promising. Both of them tired, hungry and thirsty, they agreed to stop for a while.
Still close to Ayer the famous wizards were recognized quickly enough and the publican was eager to refuse payment for the food and drink he supplied. Pressed to name some other reward he settled for a few tales of adventure for the gathering crowd, ‘and perhaps a bit of magic for the kids’. So Tregar handled the tall tales and, after a little prodding by the audience, Seama produced some sleight of hand to delight them. In terms of ale sold the innkeeper was well paid for his food, and when it was time for them to leave no one was sorrier than he, and the cry of ‘come back soon’ was most sincere.
A mile on, before the foot of a large drumlin, the road split two ways, and here the wizards paused. It was time to part company.
‘Well, Seama,’ Tregar said, ‘I’d wish you good luck but I don’t expect you’ll need it: a bunch of sorcerers shouldn’t trouble ye too much.’
‘I’m glad you’re so confident. I suspect they’ll be trouble enough. But, no, I’m not too worried about my end of it. Sorcerers are only men after all. What you’ll have to face may be another matter.’
‘That’s rather a strange thing to say, Seama.’
‘Is it? You know, all day long we’ve talked about this and that but never a word about the task in hand. Why do you suppose that is?’
‘What’s there to talk about? Where’s the point in speculating about some mysterious enemy no one’s actually seen; where’s the point in trying to make connections, one group with another? You saw what it did to Mador. If you hadn’t promised that the Council would take care of this Black Company, and all the trouble with Athoff too, Jade Throne or no he’d still be panicking.’
‘Oh I don’t think so. You don’t give him enough credit. It was the spell that got to him. But never mind that, I’m more concerned with what’s to come. You may see no point in it, Tregar, but speculation is my stock in trade. It’s the basis of theories and the theories are sometimes close enough to the truth to be important. Take a look at all the problems we’re facing, Tregar; do you see no pattern there?’
‘Er, no, not really.’
‘Well I can. And it makes me think that our biggest problem may well be in Norberry, where you’re headed.’
‘Well, thanks for that.’
‘I’m serious, Tregar. You say we don’t know what’s going on in the north, so there’s no point even thinking about it. You’ll just go along and face whatever there is to face and there’s nothing more to it than that. But I think these outlanders are important, Tregar. It’s important who they are.’
‘Go on then. Ye’ve obviously got some theory or other, so spit it out.’
Seama laughed. ‘Always the direct way, eh Tregar ? But you took you’re time with The Kræken of Great Spurl so you might give me a minute or two to get to it.’
‘Not as if we’re in any hurry.’
Seama chose to ignore the sarcasm.
‘For a start, they’re no army of Athoff’s whatever Mador might think. Have you ever been to the Dedicae?’
‘Not much,’ said Tregar, ‘I went to look at the Coldwater Gorge once, from the Kellestan end, and that was pretty impressive; and when I was younger I spent some time in Terremark and got to know some mountaineering types. They were forever trying to get me to go with them but I didn’t much like the climbing when I did. Too much hard work getting to where ye’re going and then too much hanging on by your fingertips in the pouring rain, thinking ye’re about to die. Not what I would call fun. And what’s the point to it, anyway? A lot of effort just for a good view.’
‘It’s the challenge, Tregar. Some folk need the risk to remind them they’re alive. The mountains are dangerous: climbing suits them. But it doesn’t suit everybody. Even if Athoff gathered all the mountaineers together there’d be less than a hundred and I doubt they’d agree to go to war for him, whatever he promised. And anyway even if he could get them to climb the Table, how could they possibly get across the Coldwater? No, it’s not Aegardeans. The whole idea’s absurd.’
Seama had thought long and hard about it, he was absolutely sure of himself, but still he looked for support.
‘Do you agree so far?’ he asked.
‘Agree? Why not? I will admit it seems unlikely.’
‘You say unlikely, I say impossible. Whatever, if not Aegarde, and Gothery we can discount as allies, then it must be Masachea. That’s what I thought at first. In the normal way of things it’s easy enough to cross the Hurgals. But then Mador insists he has the crossings under his control and I believe him. You’d hardly get a haywain through never mind a small army. Fair?’
‘Almost. What if they came in after the attack on Aristeth? Everything was coming apart then. I remember in Ayer we had opposite reports every other hour. Nothing was secure ‘til the four Houses reached the border.’
‘You’re saying an army has been roaming around northern Pars for four months and nobody noticed until a few weeks ago?’
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�Well—’
‘Of course not. Now there is one path over the border that wouldn’t be guarded. The Masacheans know it well enough and it could put them quickly into the east end of the Norberry Part. The pass that divides the Hurgals from the Eastern massif.’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous. Kentreth’s Grave? Your Masacheans, Seama: they’re no’ gods.’
‘You don’t need to be a god to walk that path, Tregar. I’ve done it. I made the crossing.’ It was hard not to pause for effect. Tregar was visibly shocked. It was a remarkable claim to make. Seama almost enjoyed the look of incredulity, but at the same time he couldn’t help feeling oddly uncomfortable to talk about it. ‘Only once, of course, a long time ago.’
‘But… You couldn’t! For gods’ sakes, Seama, it’s against The Rule.’
‘Perhaps that’s why I did it.’
‘Then you’ve all the makings of a fool. Waldin’d throw a fit if he knew.’
‘He does know, but he wasn’t so high up in those days so it wasn’t his place to say anything. Actually Waldin and Holander nursed me after I got free of it.’
Tregar’s habitual grimace softened slightly. ‘What happened? How did ye survive?’
‘I don’t know. I think I nearly died. It took a long time for me to recover.’
Seama shook his head at the memory of it. What on Ea’ had possessed him to think of taking on such a trial, when everything they were taught warned against it?
‘Kentreth’s Grave. So few escape and those who do are damaged. I knew that, but I couldn’t help myself. Perhaps the lure was just too strong. Power, Tregar, that’s the promise. That one line in the Texts: ‘If thou desireth the Greater Power, seek then Kentreth’s Grave.’ No explanation, no advice, just that one teasing sentence. It’s driven hundreds to try it. And hundreds have been lost.
‘Yet the promise is so vague. You go into it still guessing: what is this ‘Greater Power’; how can you claim it, make it your own? Nothing is clear. It’s all down to interpretation and you know how easy it is to misread the Texts. Oh, I survived, Tregar, and I can tell you my power is stronger as a result but I don’t know whether it was worth the pain. It was… as if a fire raged inside me, destroying everything I was and everything I knew; it over-filled me. There was nothing I could do to let it all out.
‘I was lucky: a farmer found me lying in the dirt, raving and delirious I guess, twenty miles or so from the Stone. I could so easily have fallen over a cliff or drowned in a pool. He was a good man. Watched me through my madness and when I was able to tell him my name he sent messages to Errensea. By the time Waldin came for me the fever had gone but left me a weakling. Even though I could feel the power coursing in my veins I couldn’t use it for months after.’ Seama winced as though the mere memory galled him. ‘Never be tempted, Tregar: the path to power is a dangerous one. If I had my time over I would not take it.’
Tregar looked at Seama, half in wonder, half in disbelief at the madness of the endeavour. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I think I’ll give it a miss then.’
Seama smiled wanly. ‘Good choice. Anyway, to get back to the point of all this, even if some group of Masacheans did manage to enter the valley there’s little chance they’d have come out on the other side. Common soldiers could not endure.’
Tregar was frowning and twisting at the reins he held as he tried to encompass the meaning of Seama’s revelation. His horse, Sirrah, snorted and stamped restlessly. ‘What happens to them, Seama?’ he asked, ‘The people who try it? You say hundreds have perished. Did they die after they got out or…?’
‘They did not get out.’
‘That’s why it’s called a grave then?’
‘Not what I meant. They did not come out but neither did they stay. There were no corpses or skeletons. Not that I could see.’ Seama sighed. How could he explain if he didn’t himself understand? Having introduced the topic, Seama was now oddly desperate to leave the mystery of Kentreth’s Grave out of the reckoning. And yet he knew that he shouldn’t. It was only as he spoke of that terrible place and what it did to him that he understood a connection to The Song of Ages; he realised there and then, and not before, where those echoes came from, those memories given life by the words he had read. He shied away from the notion. It was too much to think about here and now. ‘No Tregar, I’d rather not describe it; I probably couldn’t find the words if I tried. Let’s keep to the job in hand. The tale is this: if Masacheans cannot use Kentreth’s Grave, and all other passes are guarded, then this lot in the Norberry Part must be someone else.’
‘It doesn’t leave many alternatives, Seama.’
‘There weren’t many to start with.’
‘So, what then? Mad Mountain-men of Jinsa?’
‘This is no children’s story, Tregar.’
‘What sort of story is it then?’
Seama nibbled at his top lip, reluctant to continue. Why was it so hard to tell? He had been all around the houses but now that he came to it, ‘the theory’ building in him, he was reluctant to continue. Was it because he was scared he might be proved wrong and look foolish? What if Tregar laughed? Holander had laughed. He had called the Song ‘senile tommy-rot’ and couldn’t understand why Seama was drawn to it. All Holander wanted was to get to grips with the pair of villains who had set a fire in ‘his’ library and wanted no truck with ‘half-wit theorising.’ Seama was still smarting from that one. The last thing he wanted was Tregar adding insult to the injury. The problem was that, if the theory was right – and given what he’d been told about Jaspar and his mysterious Outlanders, it could well be – then Tregar would very likely be the first to meet them. It. Whatever they or it might be.
‘Two guesses left,’ he told Tregar at last, ‘The first that these Outlanders are criminals, robbers gathered together over the course of a few months. They’ve seen their chance with all the armies tied up on the borders, and very likely encouraged by stories of the Black Company in Aegarde.’
‘To my mind, Seama, that explanation’s been on the cards since the beginning and ye’ve taken a deal of time to come to it.’
‘That’s because it is the most likely and one I cannot satisfactorily fault.’
‘Though obviously ye don’t believe it. Ye still haven’t explained what ye meant by wondering whether it was men I faced. Give me your guess.’
Seama took a good, deep breath and began.
‘There’s a book, Tregar, by Haslem. It’s called The Song of Ages. The reason I know anything about it is because it called me.’
‘Called you?’
‘Summoned me. Very powerfully. Twice. The second time it happened was just a couple of months ago.’ Seama went on to give Tregar a short version of the events surrounding the fire in the Library. Tregar was outraged.
‘They could have killed hundreds of people if you hadn’t been there! Setting a fire in a library! For Neath’s sake, were they mad?’
‘It was just the one book, Tregar. They used naphtha: all over the inside covers, fired at a distance by a fairly simple spell. But you’re right, the consequences could have been terrible.’
‘Aye, and no mistake. They could have had the entire collection in ashes. Have we any idea why they did this?’
‘To stop me reading it, I presume.’
‘Is it a book of spells?’
‘No. Well not the bit we saved anyway. It’s more of a history.’
Tregar’s frown deepened. ‘I’ve never much cared for History books. By Haslem too. Some people would say it was asking to be burnt, but I don’t understand, why didn’t they just steal it?’
‘Not easy, Tregar. It was a huge thing, heavy as a paving slab. They’d never have got it past Grek. What I don’t understand is why now? The book’s been in the Library for a thousand years: all the world could have read it twice over.’
‘Well, part of the ‘why now’, I would guess, is because the book is important now and wasn’t before, though that’s not much of answer. And why are we bothering? Because I think it’s a part of everything that has been going on.’
‘You’d better explain that. What is going on?’
‘Well, it’s clear someone, or some group of people, is at the root of all the madness of the last few months: Gothery in chaos, Sirl ill; the Masacheans attacking Pars as though they’ve found a new purpose in life; Ayer itself under attack; and then to top it all this mystery in the North.’
‘Ye’re determined it’s all apiece?’
‘Yes, I’d stake my power on it. We have an enemy, a single enemy. I don’t know who and I don’t like to think I know why, but he’s been pushing the pieces around the board and plotting our destruction for months now. To say he has us on the back foot is understating it. We’re in deep trouble. How close we are to the end game we just don’t know. What we need, and fast, is information and that’s why you have to go north to delay them, while I go to Astoril.’
‘What about the Black Company? You promised Mador—’
‘Yes, yes. I did, I will. But do you see what’s happening? We’re being pulled here there and everywhere. But the answer’s in a library somewhere, not out on the road. The answer’s in what I haven’t read.’