The Ancient Ones (The Legacy Trilogy Book 3)

by Michael Foster

  ‘Stay close to me at all times,’ Samuel told them, speaking softly. ‘I am not certain if this magic has any purpose, but its potency is dangerous enough in itself. I have never felt anything like it in all my years.’

  They left their boat and marched along the tiny wooden boards of the landing, onto the shore. Their footsteps sounded deafening in the quiet—a strange, unnatural silence infused upon the city.

  Here, the houses were well spaced. As before, there was no sign of life—no dogs, no cats, no birds, no bugs, nor grass. There were only the rundown buildings and the blackened dirt between them—no sounds but the wind amongst the houses and the pervading thumping that emanated from the dome—that incessant force that worked to drown out even the thoughts in their heads.

  ‘What has happened to everyone—to everything?’ Daneel asked.

  ‘Maybe it was always like this,’ Leopold suggested. ‘Or because of the war.’

  ‘No,’ Samuel said. ‘Once this city was a thriving metropolis. Poltamir has made it thus.’

  ‘There!’ Orrell said, for the streets were not entirely deserted. Ahead of them, some figures were wandering in open view.

  The people did not notice them as they approached and it took several attempts before the ragtag trio—two old men and a woman—would respond. Their clothes were filthy and torn, their dark Eudan skin covered with grime and sores they had not bothered to address. They were soulless, hugging onto what they carried—some knotted string, a cup, a mallet and a few spoons—as if they were treasures.

  ‘They are cursed!’ Kali declared, and from the astonished look on Captain Orrell and Daneel’s faces, it was clear they now understood her.

  ‘It was time,’ Samuel remarked in response to Leopold’s questioning glance. ‘No, they are not cursed,’ he then told Kali. ‘They are ... overcome, overwhelmed ... lost within themselves.’

  ‘What has happened here?’ Captain Orrell asked the Eudans, their language spilling unbidden from his lips.

  They stared at him, straining to comprehend his words. Leopold thought they simply did not understand, but a moment later he found himself corrected.

  ‘Go to the master,’ one of them spoke, hoarse and decrepit.

  ‘Where is your master?’ Orrell asked. The withered man would only look blankly towards the great white dome. The three of them then shambled away in a different direction altogether, clutching their bundles tightly.

  The party watched the pitiful figures depart, wondering what could have caused their state, when the slapping of sandalled feet approached.

  Two files of armed men appeared between the buildings—more dark-skinned Eudans. They were lightly armoured, wearing soft sandals so as to travel fast, with short swords at their sides. Unlike the three they had just encountered, these men were animated. They trotted along in time, pulling to a dusty halt before the party.

  Their captain stepped forward to address the strangers to his land. ‘Our master summons you.’ He was agitated, distracted.

  His men waited perfectly still, not moving their eyes from directly ahead.

  ‘What has happened here?’ Samuel asked.

  ‘Our master summons you,’ the man repeated.

  ‘Are you unwell? Is that all people can say around here? What’s going on here?’ Daneel asked the man.

  The soldiers drew their swords as one, emphasising that questions were not welcome. Still, they did not turn their heads, and their captain fidgeted nervously, stealing glances towards the dome.

  ‘Let’s go with them,’ Samuel suggested. ‘I’m keen to see what is happening here ... and to meet Poltamir. I don’t think we will get any answers from these men. All roads seem to lead to the dome.’

  The Eudan captain led the way and they followed, the troops trailing behind them. There was not a word or whisper from anyone. The men did not look left or right, or blink out of turn. Only the captain murmured occasionally, scratching at his arms and looking anxiously down side streets they passed.

  They traversed the criss-crossing streets, ever towards the dome, and the closer they came the more it loomed above them. It was huge, a mountain.

  They spied another such group of soldiers. These looked worn and battered, as if just returned from a long journey and they were herding a ragtag group of Eudan civilians, harrying them with their swords. The captives looked desperate, begging their captors for mercy, but the men did not respond.

  ‘Can we help them?’ Leopold asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ the magician responded, and the other group disappeared from view, travelling along another street towards the dome.

  They came to a short tower of polished ebony, jutting from the ground and rounded at the top, tapering to a point like a curved tusk. Samuel eyed it with curiosity. A house had been demolished to make room for it, the rubble still littering the ground.

  ‘What is that?’ Leopold asked, for the construction had no perceivable doors or windows.

  ‘A tribute, perhaps?’ Daneel suggested. ‘A sculpture?’

  Samuel peered closely at it. ‘I am not sure, but it reeks of magic ... of Poltamir. Everything here does.’

  The guards prodding at their backs meant they could not slow to inspect it, and they passed the tower by. Looking down the streets, they could see more of the columns spaced evenly in concentric rings around the dome, leaning outwards like layers of defences.

  When they met the foot of the dome the group gaped up at its curving wall in awe. It was a monstrous construction, towering over them as they stood in its shadow.

  ‘They could probably fit the entire Imperial Palace inside,’ Captain Orrell mused.

  ‘Or something,’ Samuel said gloomily. ‘I think we are about to find out.’

  The soldiers led them to an arched opening in the wall, large enough to accommodate one of the navy’s galleons without any qualms. The Farstride might have difficulty fitting, but with her masts removed and a bit of grease applied to her hull, she should just squeeze through.

  Looking along the length of the wall, they could see several other such openings, where single files of people were being ushered inside by soldiers, like ants bringing food back to their nest.

  Venturing inside, even Samuel gasped in awe. A hill dominated the dome’s centre, covered by a network of pale buildings, a palace complex with paths, stone work and balconies stretching between. Towers and domes speckled the scene, joined by bridges of white stone. If not for the cold, foreboding atmosphere, it might have been beautiful. Every inch was breathtaking in splendour and majesty, yet it was as deserted as the broken city outside, the Eudan soldiers and their captives barely visible amongst the structures.

  They were guided further inside, gazing towards the sky. The walls were translucent, dimming the light, but allowing enough sunshine inside to maintain visibility. The sun, the blue sky and the clouds were all visible through the skin of the dome. Great arches and framework supported the structure, likewise nearly transparent so as not to detract from the view.

  The ground was laid with intricate paving—similarly comprised of white stone—set together in spirals and patterns, yet it was cracked in many places, bulging and broken, unmaintained. Buildings were everywhere, looking unused, as if this had been intended to be the grandest palace in history, or a life-size museum piece that no one was allowed to inhabit.

  Some patches of bare, dark earth were visible atop the hill, beside the most elaborate buildings. Paving had slipped down the slope many years before and like everything, not repaired. More curved, black towers ringed the bottom of the hill, thrusting up at regular intervals, contrasting starkly with the paleness around.

  The incessant drumming in the air was worse in here, resounding from the insides of the dome, drilling into their temples and tingling inside their sinuses. The more one thought about the sound, the stronger its effect.

  Their escort took them to a nearby building—a freestanding cylinder of pale stone sitting in the open—and the captain waite
d. Some unseen signal passed to his men, and they turned and trotted back towards the entrance, leaving their captain alone.

  ‘What now?’ Daneel asked.

  ‘I will go see. Leopold, come with me.’

  There was no door, only a break in the wall. The two of them stepped inside and followed the inner circumference of the chamber until it opened into a hollow at the building’s centre. Indeed, it could barely be called a building, for there was no roof over their head.

  Standing there, upon a knee-high dais, was a figure cloaked in hanging folds of black cloth. He faced them, his features hidden deep within the shadows of his cowl. A tangible energy radiated from him, carrying the same monotonous pulse that threatened to overcome their minds, so intense it made Leopold’s vision hazy and distorted, and made him unsteady on his feet. The voice that spoke did not come directly from their host, but emanated from all around, sounding from the walls, and it echoed in the chamber ... a deep, growling voice filled with gravel.

  ‘Samuel.’ The words dragged out slowly, his tongue long unfamiliar with speaking. ‘Have you come to mock me?’

  ‘I have not, Poltamir,’ the magician responded.

  ‘Then ... have you come to kill me?’ the voice asked, sounding strangely hopeful.

  ‘I have come for my son,’ Samuel said.

  Leopold bent slightly and tried to look into the face of their host, but the hood hung low and contained only darkness.

  ‘Ah,’ Poltamir said after short deliberation. Hidden within his cloth, he swayed as he talked, as if about to fall at any moment. ‘I do not have him.’

  ‘Then where is he?’ Samuel asked.

  ‘Come to my chamber. I will speak with you more ... about your son and about the traitor Lomar and all that he has done.’

  ‘So it is true. He betrayed you as well,’ Samuel said.

  ‘Come. Come to my chamber at the centre of my Palace of Loneliness and we will talk. I have been waiting so long to meet you. This is the end, Samuel, for one of us. How I have been looking forward to it. I do not want to rush. This is something to be savoured and enjoyed. Take your time ... come.’

  Poltamir would say nothing further. Samuel raised an eyebrow with curiosity.

  ‘Is he coming?’ Leopold whispered to the magician.

  ‘It seems not,’ Samuel replied, and they made their way from the chamber, leaving Poltamir behind, wavering gently upon his stage.

  The Eudan captain was waiting wordlessly with the others and as Samuel and Leopold re-joined them, the man jerked to life, starting up the paved incline towards the palace.

  ‘What are all those people doing?’ Daneel asked the man as they followed. From their vantage point they could see lines of people moving between the buildings, climbing sets of stairs; everyone moving upwards, no one coming down.

  The captain kept pacing along in silence, as if he had not heard the question at all. He had lost his nervousness, and kept his face set squarely on the hill above. Only his eyes retained emotion: red and trembling.

  ‘Everyone here is under the spell,’ Samuel said. ‘They are Poltamir’s slaves, and you would be the same if you stayed here any length of time. Only my presence protects you.’

  Leopold looked over his shoulder to see if Poltamir was following, but no one emerged from his chamber. It seemed the man was happy to remain there, or else he travelled by some unseen or magical means.

  ‘This place is vile,’ Captain Orrell stated. ‘They tried to make it beautiful, but created a centrepiece of evil.’

  ‘Well said, Captain,’ Samuel replied. ‘He called this abomination his Palace of Loneliness, so I imagine he is aware of the atmosphere. Perhaps he chose to set this scene purposefully.’

  ‘Will we kill him?’ Leopold asked.

  Samuel raised a finger to his lips. ‘None of our words are private here. This is Poltamir’s domain, and everything we say is within his capacity to hear. Even your thoughts would be open to him if he had his way. Suffice to say, we will only do what we must. I am sure he realises that already. He has said as much.’

  Their guide led them up stairs and across bridges, through hollow halls and across vacant, echoing courtyards and gardens of stone, leading them into a grand chamber set at the side of the hill.

  As they entered, Leopold caught sight of more figures on the hillside, climbing up and over the crest. He could not glimpse what was waiting there to meet them. A shiver ran along his spine. All going up ... none coming down. What could be up there?

  Inside, the room was comfortable, decorated as if in use. Padded chairs and rugs faced another raised platform, and again, they were met by a figure draped in a shroud of black—presumably, Poltamir. They had moved quickly all the while, so it was a surprise to find him already waiting for them, standing idly, unhurried. Then again, magicians relished such confounding acts.

  ‘Is it him?’ Leopold whispered and Samuel nodded in reply.

  They remained standing despite the presence of chairs, facing their host and awaiting his address.

  ‘So,’ the voice of Poltamir rumbled. There was no hint of a face or features beneath that hanging cowl. Everything, as before, was hidden. ‘You have come.’

  ‘Where is my son?’ Samuel asked fiercely.

  ‘Not so quickly, oh father of Marrag Lin. First, there is a bargain to be made, an exchange of favours to be laid.’

  ‘I am not fond of bargains. Speak up, and I will hear it.’

  ‘I do not know where your son is. I only know that Lomar let him escape. But Lomar will surely know where he is, even if he cannot recapture the devil himself. I will tell you where Lomar is hiding if you only promise to kill him for me.’

  ‘That goes without saying,’ Samuel admitted. ‘I would kill him anyway.’

  ‘Why don’t you kill him yourself?’ Leopold piped up.

  The faceless cowl turned towards him. ‘I would if I could, brave one, but I have built this city—my tribute—around me and I cannot leave without causing its destruction. I have not grown that desperate ... yet.’

  ‘You know, you have changed much since we last met, Poltamir,’ Samuel stated. ‘You were not so enamoured with mystery. Has Lomar really caused you so much pain for it to come to this, hiding yourself away in this empty palace? Ruling over a city of dust and decay?’

  ‘He caused me great pain,’ rattled the voice. ‘He stole your son from me and ruined a plan ten thousand years in the making. When Lin returns he will spare me no vengeance. He will take everything I have worked so tirelessly to accumulate, and I will be born again to start from scratch. I cannot hide from him like this! Everything shall start over. Do you know how hard it is to escape from the devil, Samuel? It is very hard indeed.

  ‘Now, I celebrate my loss here, awaiting my master’s punishment; but at least I can end my days with the cold comfort that Lomar is dead. And he shall not be reborn. Lin shall devour his soul. I shall have that small victory, thanks to you, Samuel ... and perhaps one other modest pleasure. But now, you have come far and although you have changed, young Magician, your companions are still very much mortal. They need to rest. You will have your lunch and then we shall discuss further the man who has become the bane of my very existence.’

  ‘I think rather we should conclude our business,’ Samuel told their host. ‘Your offer is hospitable, but I find our surrounds rather ... unaccommodating.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ growled the voice, saturating the room. The man in the black cowl wavered to and fro like an unsettled candle flame. ‘I find my palace to be most beautiful, a triumph of architecture. It reflects my mood precisely. I want you to enjoy it ... to savour it. Perhaps you can learn from my mistakes ... from the greed and vanity that tortured me during its design. I planned its creation for a thousand years and it contains the qualities of every culture that has graced this world that I can still recall.

  ‘But in truth, I understand what you say. Somehow with every stone I added, my castle only became emptier. I must admi
t now that bricks and mortar alone do not make a home. A palace needs a princess, after all. Ahhh ... No, stay. Bathe in my hospitality. I would not have it any other way.’ His final words ground together like great rusted cogs in a titanic, yet failing machine.

  Samuel was annoyed, but they were left with little choice. Their guard raised his hand and signalled for them to follow yet again. His eyes were rimmed red. He had not slept in days, or was desperately holding back tears, but he led them without complaint.

  They traversed an empty, echoing hall and entered a stately dining room. The head of the room was hidden behind a lush velvet curtain, hanging as if to soon draw back and reveal a stage, perhaps a performance with it.

  The smells of cooking were wafting in from an adjoining kitchen and as they sat, serving staff in immaculate costumes filed in one after another and presented a feast. The men and women were groomed to perfection, every strand of hair in place, their clothing tailored precisely, each lacking emotion. They set the platters and dishes on the table, then the majority departed, leaving some waiting at the side of the room with their hands clasped neatly before them.

  ‘This is horrifying,’ Daneel whispered.

  ‘Is it safe?’ Captain Orrell queried, eyeing the food suspiciously.

  ‘It is,’ Samuel said with a solid nod.

  ‘Come. Dig in,’ came the echoing voice of Poltamir. The heavy curtain slid aside, pulled on unseen strings by unseen hands, revealing the cloaked man, again standing on a rounded platform. The drawn-off section of the room lacked doorways and exits. It was impossible for Poltamir to arrive without using his magic.

  ‘Please ... eat,’ Poltamir bid them. He never moved more than to sway about, never raising an arm or taking a step. It could have been anyone hiding under those folds of cloth. ‘These are the delicacies of a dozen lands, cooked to perfection. There is no need to worry. Everything is delectable ... and safe. There is no deceit on my part. I would not poison you. This sorry excuse for a man only wants to see someone benefit from what I have done. Otherwise, my entire existence has been for nought, and I am as hollow and porous as I feel.’