Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 03] - The Ancient Legacy(V1.0)

by Mitchell Graham

  "Maybe we should let Collin do the negotiating,"- said Lara. "He seems to have developed a rapport with the lo­cals."

  Father Thomas, Ceta, and Mathew all turned to see what she was looking at. Outside the window, Collin and Hilde were talking to each other, their heads close to­gether. She looked up at him and smiled.

  "How fickle," Ceta said to Lara. "The first time you turn your back he takes up with another woman."

  "If you'll excuse me," said Father Thomas, pushing his chair back from the table. "I'll see if I can find out where we can buy the wine. Mat, would you care to join me?"

  "Lara and I can do it," Ceta said quickly. "You men get the things loaded up. It shouldn't take us long."

  "What's wrong with my doing it?" Father Thomas asked.

  "My dear, you're a wonderful priest and who knows what else, but as a wine merchant, well..."

  Father Thomas's expression turned wounded and he looked to Mathew for support. Unfortunately, he didn't find any there. "I think I've done very well so far," he said, somewhat offended.

  "If you pay what you did in Sarroy," Ceta explained, "we'll be bankrupt before we reach Nyngary. We don't have that much money left."

  It seemed that Father Thomas was going to argue the point but decided against it. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and said, "Fine. Mathew and I will load the wagon."

  Ceta and Lara both got up. "It's settled, then," said Ceta. "We'll meet you in two hours at the stables."

  Both exited the room, leaving a perplexed Father Thomas behind. "Was I that bad? I thought eighteen elgars a barrel was a fairly good price."

  "Let's go rescue Collin before you have another wed­ding to perform," Mathew replied, changing the subject.

  Ceta and Lara returned to the stables. They were fol­lowed by a fellow on a flatbed wagon being pulled by an old horse.

  Ceta introduced him. "This is Cedric. He sold us our wine and was nice enough to bring it here."

  Father Thomas, Mathew, and Collin all shook hands and then helped him load eight barrels onto their wagons. It wasn't until later that Father Thomas found out that Ceta had negotiated a price of eleven elgars a barrel.

  33

  New Raburn

  The Cut, also known as Cole's Pass, was a seventy-yard-wide opening, nearly five miles long, that ran through the mountain range separating Elgaria from Alor Satar. Mathew had heard stories about it from his father and then later from Gawl, both of whom had been ambushed there during the closing days of the Sibuyan War. Bran Lewin had taken two arrows that day and was pulled to safety by Father Thomas. But this was the first time Mathew had actually been there. The towering white cliffs were every bit as big and imposing as he'd pictured them. He scanned the terrain, trying to visualize what a fight in that narrow enclosure must have been like.

  Awful, he decided, and wondered if Father Thomas was thinking the same thing.

  Collin rode alongside the wagon on his horse. Their eyes met and a silent communication passed between them. Askel Miller had also been caught in the same trap. From conversations around the Millers' dinner table when he was young, he knew that Collin's father had exhausted an entire quiver of arrows within the first few minutes of the battle in order to give his companions cover as they crossed the river. Like most young boys, he'd been fasci­nated by stories about the war, but after seeing more than his share of battles over the last seven years, the Cut took on a new perspective to him. Men had fought and died on this ground, and there was nothing terribly romantic about it.

  Overhead, a few clouds were beginning to appear in the sky. Massive rock walls on either side of them added to the ponderous, claustrophobic feeling. Eventually they would emerge in Alor Satar, cross that country into Cincar before reaching Nyngary.

  Collin's voice pulled Mathew back to the present. "I'm going to ride up ahead and see if the way is clear. I'll be back in a few minutes." "Good idea."

  "Be careful," Lara called out.

  "I wish I had brought a spare horse along," Mathew said as he watched his friend disappear around a corner. "It hasn't been much of a honeymoon for you, Mistress Lewin."

  Lara leaned closer and nibbled on his earlobe. "I'm glad we're together," she whispered. "You can make it up to me later." To emphasize her point she trailed her fingers up his thigh.

  "Uh ... I wonder how Bran is doing," Mathew said. "He's fine. He adores Mother and Father. They spoil him, though. He'll probably weigh a hundred pounds by the time we get back."

  Mathew smiled. "It's a funny thing having a child, isn't it?"

  "You should try it sometime, if you think it's so funny." "I didn't mean it that way. I meant one minute I wasn't a father . . . and the next I was. It takes some getting used to." Lara looked up at him.

  "Don't get me wrong. I love him. I really do. But be­tween you and me, the whole thing's a little scary... I hope I... be a good father." "You will," Lara said.

  "I've been thinking about it. Once you're a parent, you start looking at the world differently. Does that make any sense? I mean, I'm still the same person, but I find myself thinking that when we get back there are so many things I'll have to teach him. I'd like to show him how to sail and navigate a ship, and about weather signs, and tracking, and numbers, and fencing, too, of course . . . I'm babbling aren't I?"

  Lara smiled and put both arms around him. "I love you," she said. "But you do owe me a honeymoon." Mathew smiled again and put his arm around Lara's shoulder and they rode awhile in silence until the sound of Collin's horse returning reached them.

  "Trouble," he said, pulling up on the reins. "There's a column of Alor Satar soldiers coming up the pass. They're less than three minutes behind me."

  "Tell Father Thomas," Mathew said.

  "Right."

  "What should we do?" Lara asked.

  "Continue being wine merchants." Mathew glanced over his shoulder at his sword, lying on the floor of the wagon.

  Collin returned a moment later, and Mathew felt the back of the wagon dip as his friend climbed in.

  "Father Thomas says when we see them, we're to pull the wagons off to one side and give them the road."

  Shortly, Mathew came around the bend and caught sight of the soldiers. His first estimate was that the column was closer in size to a' full battalion, of at least five hundred men and horses. Father Thomas's prediction about Alor Satar's reaction had been accurate. As instructed, he pulled his wagon off to the side, with the second wagon following.

  Two scouts were riding well ahead of the main body of troops. Both saw the wagons at the same time and came to a halt. One of them rode forward while the other turned back to report.

  The scout came to a halt in front of the wagons. He was joined moments later by two men on horseback. Both were well-dressed and wore insignias on their cloaks, marking them as officers. Mathew picked the leader out right away, a man in his late fifties with gray hair and sharp features.

  "Good morning," he called out.

  The soldier didn't respond immediately. Instead, he looked at the other wagon and gave a curt nod to the scout, who spurred his horse forward and proceeded down the pass.

  "May I see your passes, please?" the officer asked without preliminary.

  "I'll get them," Lara replied. "They're in here."

  She started to get up but stopped when he snapped, "Wait." To the man next to him, he said, "Check the back of the wagon."

  The soldier nudged his horse around to the rear of the wagon and looked in. "Just barrels," he said, "and another young man."

  "Very well. You can get your passes now," the leader told Lara. "My name is Julian Thierry and this is Hilton Brown, my second in command."

  While they were talking, Father Thomas pulled his wagon alongside them. "Morning, Colonel," he called out.

  "Good morning. My thanks for the promotion, but I'm a major. And you would be?"

  "Joshua Lane, a seller of fine wines. This is my wife Elise, and I see you've already met my son Thaddeus and
his wife Linda. That's my brother's boy, Mark, in the back. Why all the activity?"

  The major nodded a greeting in their general direction. "My men and I are on our way to a town called Graven-hage. There's been some trouble there."

  "Must have been a lot of trouble," Father Thomas replied, glancing down the pass at the soldiers. "Looks like you brought the whole army with you."

  Thierry smiled. "Not really. This is only a battalion."

  "Here are the passes," said Lara, emerging from the wagon. She handed them to Thierry.

  "It says here you're from Melfort and are heading for Corrato in Nyngary."

  "True enough," replied Father Thomas. "Would you or your men be interested in some good quality Elgarian Red? I could let you have it at a good price."

  "The correct name is Oridan," Thierry told him.

  "Oh, for pity's sake," Father Thomas answered. "You can't go changing the name of the wine, too. Everyone calls it Elgarian. Folks won't know what I'm talking about if I say 'Would you like to buy some Oridan Red?' "

  "You have a point," Thierry agreed, "but unfortunately it's the law."

  Father Thomas shrugged. "Whatever you say, Col— Sony, Major. We're just simple people trying to make a living. Can I offer you a sample? It really is top quality."

  "No, thank you very much. It wouldn't do for my men to see me drinking while they're waiting in the sun. Tell me, Master Lane, did you happen to see or hear of any problems on your way in from Melfort?"

  "Can't say as I did," said Father Thomas. "But to be honest, we didn't get near Gravenhage on this trip. Be­tween you and me, it's not much of a town. The people there try to squeeze the blood out of you. How are the roads into Alor Satar?"

  "They're fine for traveling, if that's what you're asking."

  "That means- they're still not safe at night," Father Thomas said to Ceta. He then turned back to Thieny. "I thought you people were going to do something about the brigands. We've heard all kinds of stories about them, I can tell you. It's getting so a person can't go out anymore. A lit­tle help from the army would go a long way toward keep­ing prices down. If I get robbed, we just wind up passing the costs along as part of doing business, and no one likes that. Prices go up and—"

  "I'm sure something will be done as soon as we've set­tled the trouble in Gravenhage," Thierry interrupted, handing the passes back to Lara.

  "Say," said Father Thomas, "is there any chance you could let one or two of your men ride along with us until we get to Ardosta? I'll throw in a banel at half price."

  The offer produced a small gasp from Ceta, who touched Father Thomas on the arm and tried to get his attention.

  Thierry laughed. "I don't think so. Besides, I don't think your wife would approve."

  Father Thomas started to say something, but the ex­pression on Ceta's face obviously changed his mind. She leaned forward and said something in his ear. In a second they were both whispering angrily back and forth to each other.

  Mathew observed the entire interchange in silence. He thought the act his friends were putting on was a little dra­matic, though it definitely looked genuine. Apparently, Major Thierry thought so as well, because he was now searching for a way to end the conversation and get it back to the original topic.

  "At any rate," Thierry said, trying to interrupt them, "my men and I will be going now. Good luck to you all." If Father Thomas or Ceta heard it they gave no indica­tion. They were still arguing when the last man in the col­umn passed. As soon as he rounded the bend, however, they burst out laughing and hugged each other.

  "Our first argument," Father Thomas said, wiping a tear from his eye.

  Ceta tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and took a deep breath. "Oh dear," she said, raising a hand to her chest. "You had me convinced," Collin told them. "That ma­jor nearly left skid marks trying to get out of here."

  "I'm afraid we didn't set a good example for the chil­dren," Father Thomas said, which started them both laugh­ing again.

  The priest gave the reins a flick while Lara, Collin, and Mathew exchanged bemused glances.

  When they emerged from the Cut, Father Thomas pulled his wagon to a halt and waited for Mathew to draw up alongside. Collin was back on his horse. The priest pointed at the black storm clouds behind them that were rolling in from the west.

  "I don't think we have much time before we get wet," he said.

  "How far is it to Ardosta?" asked Collin.

  "Another four hours at least. There are some ruins we can take shelter in just over that ridge. I haven't been there in years, but many of the buildings were reasonably intact."

  "I don't want anything to do with ruins," said Collin. "The last time I visited one, someone tried to blow me into the next province."

  "We don't have much choice," said Mathew. "That storm's coming in fast."

  Collin twisted in his saddle and studied the horizon for several seconds. The clouds were moving in their direction rapidly. A rumble of thunder apparently changed his mind. He muttered something under his breath and turned back to Father Thomas.

  "I'll ride up ahead and check them out. Over that ridge, you say?"

  "Correct. You'll see them as soon as you get to the rise. We'll meet you there."

  Collin kicked his horse to a full canter while the wag­ons followed at a slower pace.

  The ruins were more extensive than those Mathew had seen in Argenton, closer in size to a small city than a town. At least eight tall buildings were still standing, along with a host of smaller ones. The biggest was over forty stories. Near the outskirts were the remnants of two of the Ancients' elevated roadways. One ran completely around the city's perimeter. At some point in the past a portion of it had caved in, leaving a pile of rubble at the base. The other, which they were on, was supported by a series of huge cement columns and approached the city across an open plain, that spanned a dried-up riverbed. Much of the concrete was pitted and cracked, forcing the wagons to proceed slowly, but given its age, the surface was more than serviceable. Lightning flashes now lit up the sky behind them, accompanied by thunder that was much closer than before.

  At the opposite end of the bridge Mathew caught sight of Collin and waved to him. Collin responded by pointing at the horizon and signaled for everyone to hurry. Mathew didn't like what he saw over his shoulder. The sky had taken on an ominous yellow tinge, and parts were nearly black, making it look more like night than day. A haze over a section they had just passed through indicated that the rain was coming. Mathew flicked the horse's reins and quickened their pace. He estimated they had perhaps five minutes before the storm broke on top of them. Father Thomas's wagon also picked up speed and bounced over the road's surface.

  Thunder crashed again, and this time Mathew felt its vibration through the wagon seat. In the last few minutes the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees, and he could smell the storm in the air. They were nearly at the end of the bridge, where Collin was struggling to keep his horse under control. The whites of the animal's eyes were showing.

  "Make for that big granite building on the next block," Collin yelled.

  The wagons sped down the roadway, with Collin lead­ing the way. Mathew's mind registered details on the buildings as they went by. Drops of rain were already falling and stronger gusts of wind were pushing the wagon sideways. Lara gasped once when two of the wheels lifted off the ground. Ahead, Mathew could see the building looming like a giant stone sentinel. Collin galloped past the main entrance and around to the side, motioning for the wagons to follow. At the end of the building, a cement ramp led down to an open area beneath it. Mathew brought the wagon to a halt, then slowly followed Father Thomas's wagon down the slope, keeping one hand firmly on the brake to prevent them from gathering too much speed.

  Halfway down the ramp the rhythm of the raindrops splattering against the wagon's roof suddenly changed. Mathew looked up and winced as something struck the side of his face. Hail. It was falling in pellets the size of tiny pebbles. />
  Well, this is great.

  Lara pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and moved closer to him. By the time they reached the bottom of the ramp, the ground had turned completely white. He had seen hail in Devondale when he was growing up and again in the Great Southern Sea, but never any of this force. He climbed down off the wagon, brushed some pieces out of his hair, and went around to help Lara. The horse snorted at him as he passed.

  "Sorry," Mathew mumbled.

  Lara had been the better climber of the two since they were children and got down on her own. "What is this place?" she asked, looking around.

  "Some kind of basement," said Father Thomas, coming to join them.

  "It's so large."

  "Why are all those lines painted on the floor?" asked Ceta.

  Mathew looked and saw a series of faded yellow lines running perpendicular to the walls. At the far end of the basement was another ramp, similar to the one they had just come down, that descended to a lower level.

  "I think this is where they stored their vehicles," said Father Thomas.

  Ceta blinked. "There must have been hundreds of them. How many people lived here?"

  Father Thomas looked up at the ceiling and shook his head slowly. "I don't think this was a residence, dear. The old books show pictures of buildings like these . . . People worked in them."

  Ceta opened her mouth to say something and closed it again.

  While the others waited near the opening watching the hail fall Collin located a stairway in the corner. He disap­peared into it and returned two minutes later. "Hey, c'mon," he said. "You've got to see this." The rest followed up a flight of stairs, and found them­selves in the middle of an enormous, six-story glass atrium. Outside, the hail had finally let up, but the rain was back, moving up the street at an angle. With nothing else to do they began exploring. In the center of the room was a bronze sculpture of a heavily muscled man who stared down at them with a stern expression on his face. He was holding a trident.