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

by Mitchell Graham

  Fifty yards away a celebration was going on, though it only took up a small part of the hall. Families with children were milling about talking or strolling up and down rows where merchants sold different food from little stands. A platform had been erected near the middle of the gathering, and on it three men and a woman were playing music. Mathew remembered celebrating the Festival of Saint Trista the week they had left Devondale, and he found it comfort­ing that people were still celebrating it in this odd place.

  "This was once used to hold great conventions," Harry told them.

  "It's enormous," said Collin, staring up at the ceiling, open-mouthed. "The whole city must have met here."

  "I doubt it, young fella," Harry said. "Bekham Marsh, one of the men who lives over on South Street, figures there were over fifty thousand people living here once."

  Mathew kept his face straight when Lara glanced at him. He knew what his wife was thinking. She'd made it plain enough in the past that cities were not her favorite places, and from Ceta's expression, he guessed she was probably in agreement.

  "Well, it looks like just about everyone's here," Harry said. "I can take you around and introduce you, or you can wander and get to meet some folks for yourselves."

  "We'll wander," said Father Thomas. "Thanks for the hospitality."

  "No problem, Gen— Sorry, do you want me to call you 'Father' now?"

  "I think that would be best," Father Thomas told him. Harry nodded. "Garvin said to tell you he would have your horses fed and the wagons brought over. There's a tan building two blocks from here where you can stay for the night. It's no inn, but it's a far sight better than the Red Tower, where you were. There's no heat or running water there."

  "The Red Tower?" Father Thomas repeated. "We don't know what the proper name is, so that's just what we call it," Harry explained. "Anyway, you'll find most people here are pretty decent sorts. They'll be happy to have a priest to talk to, if you don't mind, that is."

  Father Thomas shook his head. "I don't mind at all. Why don't I use that platform in the center to deliver my sermon? You can let me know when. Afterward, anyone who needs to see me can come by to speak privately if they're comfortable."

  During the next hour Lara and Mathew strolled along the aisles, talking to people and looking at the merchan­dise for sale. In various conversations, they learned that

  everyone in New Raburn lived within the city itself. In fact it was the law. One man explained that was because the governing council wanted to prevent anyone from know­ing about the city for as long as possible.

  From what Mathew could see, their plan was working. Once a month a different group of men would leave New Raburn to trade with towns along the Elgarian-Alor Satar border. They brought back whatever supplies were needed. The people, he thought, seemed realistic, knowing the situation would change one day, but they were deter­mined to nurture it as long as they could. The reason they all lived in the buildings suddenly began to make sense. To a casual passerby. New Raburn looked exactly as it had for hundreds of years—an abandoned ruin.

  Perhaps the most amusing thing he and Lara heard about was New Raburn's plan for discouraging visitors. The men who went to trade in the border towns spread ru­mors that the buildings were haunted and inhabited by the dead. Personally, Mathew had never believed in ghosts, but he had met a fair number of people who did. Whether that was an effective deterent or not was still up in the air. Twice during their walk through the aisles they passed Harry and another man. The two seemed to be deep in conversation, so they didn't greet them. The third time they came upon them, however, the man with Harry looked di­rectly at him.

  "Uh-oh," Mathew said under his breath. "I think they may have recognized me."

  To Lara's credit she didn't turn. "They're probably jealous because you're so handsome," she said. "I'm not joking."

  "I know," she said calmly. "I saw them look at you when we passed them earlier. We should let Father Thomas know when we find him."

  "We found him," Mathew said, looking toward the platform.

  Lara followed his gaze and saw Garvin and Father Thomas walking up the steps to the platform. The musi­cians stopped playing and on the floor heads turned in their direction. Garvin held up his hands for quiet.

  "I'm sure most of you know that we have guests with us tonight. This being the second night of Saint Trista's Feast, and us being without a priest for the last three years, I've asked Father Siward Thomas if he would mind deliv­ering the holiday sermon, and he agreed. He and his friends hail from Devondale in middle Elgaria, so let's make them as welcome as possible."

  When Garvin finished introducing him, Father Thomas got up. At some point during the evening he had changed to his black robes. The last time Mathew had seen the priest speak to a congregation was at his father's funeral.

  "First," Father Thomas began, "I would like to thank you for the hospitality you have shown us. These are diffi­cult times and it is nice to know that common courtesy still survives. We sincerely appreciate the many well wishes and your generosity in providing food and shelter to us.

  "This evening I have met Vargothans, Alor Satarans, Elgarians, people from Cincar, and families from Nyn-gary. Yet when I look out on you now, I see none of these. I see no different countries, no uniforms, no biases of cul­ture or ancient hatreds—I see only people. People who wish to live their lives quietly. People who wish to raise their families without the threat of war and death hanging over their heads, and people who have come here to avoid being conscripted into an army and forced to fight.

  "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps establishing New Raburn was the wisest thing to do. You are free and happy here—for now. Those whom I have talked to seemed to be intelligent people. In each instance I posed a question. I asked whether you think your situation here will last, and I was told, no. Many of you said, 'It's fine for the time being.'

  "There is a parable in the scriptures that instructs us that it is better to teach a man to fish than to feed him. The slogan is simple, and one your parents probably taught you, but have you ever considered the meaning behind it? Obviously, if a man or woman can fish, their future is se­cured because they will never go hungry.

  "The true message in those words however, is that a temporary solution is fine for the time being, but it won't ensure the future."

  Mathew saw that people were listening carefully to the priest's words.

  "Most of you have families," Father Thomas went on. "The children standing by your side and playing at your feet are not just your future, they are the future of our world. You have given them a fish by coming here and founding New Raburn, but you have sacrificed their future. "Freedom, my friends, does not come cheaply. It is al­ways dearly bought and difficult to hold on to. There are those who wait in the shadows to take it away. It has been this way throughout history. A storm is coming, and it will sweep our lands. When one country trods people under­foot, the small community of nations in our world can ei­ther say how fortunate they were that such things didn't involve them ... or they can act to correct the problem.

  "Strike at freedom and you strike at the foundations of what we are as a people, regardless of borders or religious beliefs. To look the other way is but a temporary solution, because the next day- they will come for you.

  "As parents our job is to protect our children. As God­fearing men and women, can we do less when our neigh­bor is hurt? I submit to you that the answer is no.

  "That, my friends, is the true meaning of the parable. Look not just to today, but for what the future may bring. Your children will bless you for it."

  A long silence followed Father Thomas's sermon. Many people had broken up into small groups and were talking among themselves. Garvin didn't look happy, nor did several other men. A number of people were waiting at the bottom of the platform to speak to the priest.

  Mathew didn't have long to consider the situation be­cause Harry and two other men, he recalled from the Red Tower were approach
ing him.

  "Your friend's a good speaker," Harry said. "He's got a lot of people talking."

  "Yes, he is," Mathew agreed.

  "Can we talk over on the side for a minute?" Harry asked.

  Lara started to object, but Mathew spoke first, saying, "I don't have any secrets from my wife. She can come with us or you can say what you want to say right here."

  The men looked at one another and nodded their agreement.

  "All right," Harry said. "We'll all go." Mathew and Lara followed them into a shadowed area away from the noise.

  "I suppose I should introduce everybody," said Harry. "This is Gordon Baker and Alfy Denholm. They're both members of our council."

  The moment Mathew introduced himself as Thaddeus Lane, it was obvious they knew he was lying.

  "I'm not meaning to offend you," said Harry, "but I recognized you a while back. You're Mathew Lewin, aren't you?"

  He knew there was no point in trying to hide it any longer, so he answered, "Yes."

  "Gordon here was at Ardon Field, and Alfy hails from Tremont. I wasn't in either of those battles, but there were enough pictures of you posted all over the country a cou­ple of years back. We heard you were dead."

  "Well, he's not," Lara said. "Now what do you men want?"

  "We don't want anything, ma'am, except maybe the truth," said Gordon. "We certainly don't mean you or your

  people any harm, if that's what you're asking. The thing is, we have families to protect, and if there's going to be trouble, we think we have a right to know about it. Is that unreasonable?"

  The explanation seemed to mollify Lara. "No, that isn't unreasonable," she replied.

  The three of them turned back to Mathew. "All right," he said. "First, I have no reason to believe our being here will put you in danger. We told you that at the Red Tower. Second, if you know who I am, then you know why my identity has to remain a secret, as do my plans."

  "This has something to do with the rings, doesn't it Mat?" Alfy asked. "I was on the wall at Tremont when you and your friend came tearing in there with about a thou­sand Orlocks chasing after you. I recognized Siward Thomas earlier, just like Harry did, but I wasn't going to say anything. He did a hell of a job for us that day."

  "And I saw you fight Karas Duren at Ardon Field," Gordon told him. "That explosion at the end knocked me down, and I was two hundred yards away. Duren would have roasted us alive if it wasn't for you."

  Mathew returned a tight-lipped smile. "Look, I'd tell you men what we're about if I could, but the fact is I can't. I will say this... there's a reason for those rumors about my being dead. I can also tell you is that if it suddenly gets out I'm alive, what I have to do will be a whole lot more dangerous—not only for me but for everyone around me. Have you mentioned this to anyone else?"

  "Only Alfy, Gordon, and I know," said Harry. "I wanted to make sure before saying anything."

  Mathew looked at the other two and they both nodded. "Good, and I give you my word that no one will hear about New Raburn from my lips once we leave here. Per­sonally, I think Father Thomas has a point, but if that's the way you want it, then that's the way it'll be."

  "Excuse us for a second, Mat," Gordon said, and the three men moved a few feet away and conferred privately for nearly a full minute. While they were talking, Alfy looked back at his hands. Mathew made no effort to hide the fact that his ring was missing, but neither was he going to bring their attention to it, even if he thought they had al­ready figured it out.

  Alfy approached him once the conversation was over. "There's no denying everyone in this room owes you a debt," he said, "at least those from Elgaria. I don't know exactly what happened in Sennia between you and Teanna d'Elso, but your secret's safe with us. If we don't see you again before you leave, good luck."

  He held out his hand and Mathew took it. Gordon and Harry waited for Alfy to join them, and the three of them walked back to the celebration together. Mathew put an arm around Lara's shoulders as he watched them go.

  "They're good men," he said.

  Father Thomas and Ceta were talking to a group of people, and Collin was off to one side watching the dancing. While Mathew waited for the priest to get free, Lara spoke with Collin. Mathew saw her whisper something in his friend's ear. They both turned to look at a little boy who was walk­ing with his parents. The child reminded Mathew of Bran. Collin said something back to Lara and they both laughed.

  It might have been their demeanor, or because their heads were close together. Whatever it was, Mathew felt a twinge of jealousy. Nor did it help when he saw Lara kiss Collin on the cheek.

  Mathew watched them out of the corner of his eye for several seconds more, trying not to be obvious. After a moment or two he became angry at himself for his reac­tion. Lara was his wife now and Collin was his best friend. They had been together for four years and probably still had feelings for one another, he decided. It was petty and stupid of him to be annoyed. But he could not entirely convince himself.

  It took an effort to keep his expression neutral as Collin approached.

  "You heard?" Mathew asked his friend.

  "It was bound to happen sooner or later, Mat. Your face was everywhere for at least two years. We'll probably run into a lot of people who remember you. Maybe you should grow a beard or something."

  "I had one and just shaved it off a few days ago. I think the best thing for us to do is get out of here as soon as pos­sible and continue on to Nyngary."

  They both glanced out the window. It was still raining and the wind seemed to have picked up again.

  "The storm ought to blow itself out by tomorrow," said Collin. "We can be on our way at first light. I'm guessing, our friends here won't be sorry to see us go."

  "You're probably right. What were you and Lara talk­ing about?"

  "There was a little boy who reminded her of Bran. They both walk the same way. Garvin told me a couple of the ladies fixed up rooms for us across the way. There's a tunnel that will take us directly to it."

  Mathew nodded.

  Whether it was to make sure they didn't get lost or to prevent them from wandering around New Raburn, Garvin had two men escort them to their building. It was nowhere near as large as either the Red Tower or the con­vention hall, but was certainly big enough. Both the food they had brought in their wagon and their bedrolls were waiting for them on the second floor. The men explained that the building had once been used as a residence and that there were five more like it in the city. Some of the people they'd met earlier lived on the top three floors. The second floor, the one they were on, was empty, the men said, so they were free to sleep wherever they chose. The only requirement was that the room had to be on the inside of the building rather than facing the plain, to prevent any lights from being seen by passing travelers. After saying good night, Mathew and Lara spent a few minutes exploring their new lodgings. It was an apartment consisting of six rooms and equipped with the same type of yellow light globes they'd seen in the tunnels, except these were sensitive to movement. As soon as you walked into a room they came on. The first time it happened, both of them froze and looked around before they figured it out. The lights did the same thing in the other rooms. It was disconcerting until they got used to it. Lara solved the problem when she found a switch on the wall that con­trolled them and flipped it down.

  Whatever furniture that might have been in the apart­ment was carried off years earlier. Even the cabinets that once hung on the kitchen walls were gone, their outlines visible on the faded paint. A set of windows looked out into a street that faced the interior of the city and another building directly across from them. The wind was still blowing hard and the rain showed no sign of letting up. It was an interesting place, Mathew thought, but he couldn't imagine living there for any length of time. Obviously, that was not the case for the people of New Raburn.

  He and Lara discussed this for several minutes after they lay down:

  She felt the same way he did: Under
the best of cir­cumstances, living in rooms like these was a compromise of life. Nevertheless, she conceded that protecting one's family came first and she said she admired the sacrifices that the people there had made. Mathew didn't agree but said nothing. They went on talking for a while before sleep overtook them.

  38

  Rocoi, Alor Satar

  Eric Duren sat in his library, weighing the recent turn of events. The implications of Eldar's letter were staggering. There was now little question that Vargoth and Cincar had formed some type of pact with the Orlocks. That much he had already deduced from his conversations with Teanna and the information his own spies had been able to procure. What he was not prepared for was the size of the Orlocks' army or the navy Coribar was now said to possess. He had almost laughed out loud when he read the figure in Eldar's letter saying that Shakira intended to pit a million Orlocks against them. But while Eldar might be a book-reading fool, Teanna was certainly not. His niece possessed her mother's intelligence and cunning, and ac­cording to Eldar, she had heard the information from Shakira's own lips. To complicate matters, Eldar went on to say that the Orlock queen now possessed one of the rose gold rings. By itself that would have been enough to worry him, but Eric was also privy to the fact that Vargoth had recently acquired cannons from Felize.

  Momentous things were afoot and the political land­scape was changing rapidly. He was no stranger to power plays of this type. They were inevitable, and something to be dealt with if one wanted to maintain an empire as vast as Alor Satar's. His father had been an excellent teacher in that regard. For years Eric had planned how his country would react when the attack came. It was like the game of kesherit. If one did not anticipate his opponent's moves, the game would end quickly. Like his father, Eric was an excellent kesherit player. His strength lay in his ability to think five or ten jumps ahead.