Islands of the Inner Sea

by L J Chappell

  He’d written that down as well: perhaps the idea would interest her.

  Unfortunately, it had only occurred to him to start making notes some two months into their trip. It had not been until Darkfall that he realised his memory probably didn’t function at the level that Iera would demand.

  After leaving Corvak, they had first travelled north by the Great River, crossed the Peragian Hills in the east and then sailed downriver to the port north of Dinnet’s Head where their three ships had met them. The ships had carried them up the eastern coast of Mehan’Gir, and then along the Northern Reach to the port of Stormhaven in Tremark.

  That journey had taken three weeks, and Pireon remembered little of it except standing on deck in the wild weather. It almost never snowed in Corvak, but on the ship it had been bitterly cold and the snow never seemed to stop. When the wind whipped up over the waves, everyone had ice in their eyebrows. In contrast, on the way back from Tremark they had sailed south along a chain of islands known as “the Durrandir Spine” and each day had felt warmer than the day before.

  Less than fifty Priests, Neophytes and others had disembarked at Ariste together with their wagons and horses: the remainder of the Darkfall mission had stayed onboard for the long journey home by ship. They would take the sea route back again, but their return voyage would take far longer than the outward leg as they would mostly be sailing against the wind. Still, they would reach home weeks before Father Ykerios and his party, who followed the wide Imperial highway instead, east towards Emindur. Those who had been given the choice had almost universally opted for the long sea journey, rather than the trek through foreign lands.

  Travelling by land was certainly more comfortable than the ship, so far: their party normally rode in the wagons but on difficult stretches they sometimes walked, to reduce the load and to help push when required. They were accompanied by an Imperial Officer, Captain Devanson, and eight uniformed horsemen from Ariste. Each night, their little caravan stopped in a sizeable town along the road, and each morning the Captain sent a man ahead to arrange the following night’s accommodation.

  The delegation to Emindur might be far smaller than had travelled to Darkfall, but it still included Temple Priests and Neophytes, Dancers of Linatt and four agents of the Oracle. The Dancers rode in a separate wagon with the party from the Oracle, but when they were all on foot, Pireon was occasionally able to spend time with Ajiila. She usually walked with one or more of the other dancers – Ephinnia or Lysitha – and he sometimes joined them. Their conversations were often on topics that he didn’t really follow and to which he had no contributions to make, so he normally just listened. At other times, when he joined in, they often laughed at what he said even when he hadn’t meant to be funny.

  Sometimes he preferred to watch her walking from a distance while he waited for an opportunity to talk to her alone. Even the way she walked was so precise, so elegant, that it made everyone else look clumsy: she was casually perfect in everything she did. That unusual conjunction of attributes seemed to capture something of her essence, something of what he found so attractive about her, something of what set her apart from everyone else.

  On the few occasions when he saw her alone, he would join her if he was able to and their conversations were lighter and more relaxed and didn’t drift into silly giggling. They had started on Elagion in the same year and had been close friends, confidants and co-conspirators. Somehow that closeness had slipped away from them and been lost as they had grown older, but these private minutes they spent together on the road almost recaptured their close bond, however fleetingly. There weren’t many such moments, but they always lifted his day: put a smile on his face and a bounce in his step for a few hours.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, catching her up. He was still carrying a folded page of notes in his hand: he tucked it away inside his tunic.

  ‘Oh, hello Pireon.’ She smiled, always so warm whenever she saw him. ‘You’re always scribbling these days,’ she said. ‘What are you writing about?’

  ‘Whatever I see. Not everything, but anything unusual. It’s for Iera.’

  ‘What – like that?’ she pointed to a tree at the side of the road.

  ‘That’s Barraena Wood,’ he said. ‘We have those at home, in Corvak.’

  ‘Do we? Well, what about that one?’ she pointed to the next tree along.

  ‘That’s Barraena Wood as well,’ he laughed.

  She shook her head: ‘Well, it sounds boring to me. Trees. I don’t know what Iera is hoping you’re going to see.’

  ‘I think she’s probably hoping I’ll be attacked by a Dragon or a Mage. So I can capture him and take him back for her to see.’

  Ajiila laughed, easily and relaxed, and Pireon couldn’t help smiling along with her. ‘Well, if something attacks and eats you then I’ll make sure to take notes. So I can tell her about it.’

  ‘A quick sketch would be good as well.’

  ‘If there’s time,’ she promised.

  ‘Thanks.’

  They walked on a little without talking, while he looked around for something unusual to show her. Anything. Unfortunately, much of the north was little more than a barren, wasted land during winter, just as Tremark had been, and there hadn’t been much to write. But from time to time, he still saw birds and animals that, until now, had been familiar to him only from books.

  ‘There,’ he said at last, and pointed: ‘That tree there, the one with the twisty dark wood. They don’t grow in Corvak, so you’ll never see one there. It’s a Gnarled Blackhorn. Apparently Kuli Squirrels are particularly fond of its nuts in autumn.’

  ‘If it doesn’t grow in Corvak, how can you recognise it? How do you know what it is?’

  ‘There are compendiums and bestiaries in all the libraries; with pictures.’

  ‘You and your brother, you both know so much.’

  ‘Anyone can go and look,’ he assured her.

  As they travelled eastwards, he had a number of conversations like that with her. Inevitably, after a while, Dach would join them. The three of them would talk together, but after a few minutes he would find himself excluded from the conversation. Then he would either leave them or else they would drop back or speed up or move round to the other side, so they could be alone and their conversations largely unheard.

  Ten or eleven days after disembarking at Ariste, they passed a sign that announced “Pevensal”, and that gave Pireon a small shiver of recognition and anticipation. One of the epithets used most often of Emindur, together with “Emindur, the Capital of Empire” and “Timeless Emindur”, was “Emindur, in the County of Pevensal”. Not for the first time, he felt that their journey sounded more exciting than it actually was: the reality was hour after hour of trudging along a largely featureless road. Anywhere else in the Three Lands, they would have travelled by boat, but the highways of the Empire were so straight and so well-maintained that boats were normally slower if they were travelling upriver. They would travel by road for the entire time they were in the Empire and only switch to riverboats once they descended to the Steppes; once they were past the Great Iron Gate at Ruthin where fighting had raged, hot and cold, for ten or twelve years.

  Pireon had never seen real mountains until this trip, first from the boat and then in the distance in Tremark and, after Emindur itself, he was most looking forward to seeing the White Mountains. He had read that the highest peaks were visible from two hundred miles away, and as they followed the road east through the fertile valley of the meandering Vissenwy, he kept peering ahead. There was no sign of them yet. Of course, they were nothing like two hundred miles from the mountains yet, and wouldn’t be until long after they had left Emindur.

  Apart from Timorant, an inland port on the banks of the South Braithen, they had passed through no large cities along the highway. Instead, there seemed to be a smaller settlement every fifteen miles or so along the road: he had no idea whether that was deliberate, perhaps for convenience of accommodation or for changing
horses. As they came closer to Emindur, these towns became larger and larger until they were like small cities of fifty or sixty thousand souls, and the little caravan could take twenty minutes or half an hour to pass through them.

  The morning before they entered the Imperial Capital itself, they woke to find that a larger honour guard had ridden out from Emindur to meet them: a ceremonial escort of twenty horsemen on either side of their simple wagons, as well as a group in front and another at the rear. Captain Devanson from Ariste now seemed to be only the third most important officer by rank – the senior officers rode as a trio at the very front.

  The highway had taken a shorter route than the river, on the higher ground south of the valley, so they first saw Emindur as they came down towards it. Sprawling on either side of the river, it was huge, so large that it took a few minutes to properly grasp the scale of the place. Over a million souls, they said, which made it four times the size of any of the Floating Cities of Corvak. Pireon found it impossible to believe that the Winter Capital, Arafel, was even larger: surely there couldn’t be two such vast cities in the Three Lands.

  It was another two hours before they were riding through the outskirts.

  Across the rest of the Three Lands, thoughts of Emindur and the Empire conjured words like “broken”, “corrupt”, “ancient”, “decadent” and “bureaucratic”, and somehow all of these were manifest in the architecture of Emindur as well. But there was also something glorious about its golden spires and its massive walls, its grand promenades and brightly-coloured palaces, its flamboyant soldiers. And there was something vibrant just below the surface, which made everything feel as if it was moving, shifting and changing.

  From the outside, the Empire often seemed like a monolithic relic on the brink of collapse. It had seemed that way for hundreds of years and yet it endured: almost as old as Corvak itself, they said. Indeed now, if anything, it was expanding – as if the recent march of the Confederacy had revealed the giant to be merely dozing.

  Much like the Empire itself, its capital gave the impression of a place that might simply collapse and sink under its own inertia but, when observed from close up, didn’t seem likely to collapse any time soon. Four and five storey housing blocks jostled with the brightly-painted walls of grand residences and sprawling government buildings; imposing public libraries and schools and concert halls lined the edges of formal gardens and parks; and the spires, towers and domes of a hundred Temples stretched away as far as the eye could see. Regardless of its purpose, every building seemed slightly over-decorated, with ornate false columns in relief, or stone scrollwork, or ornamental detailing around the upper floors.

  Their first destination was the Embassy-Temple complex, a piece of Corvak in Emindur. Even in a city of buildings designed to be huge and imposing, the Embassy-Temple was memorable: simultaneously monolithic and graceful, and topped by a shining hemispherical dome. In total, there were no more than a dozen such compounds maintained by Corvak outside its own borders and the one in Emindur was the largest.

  When outsiders wished to deal with Corvak, they went there – that was how things had always been – so Corvak maintained very few diplomatic missions. There was a second Embassy-Temple compound in Arafel, and smaller Mission-Temples in two or three other cities across the Three Lands, as well as in the dependent and vassal states that lay upriver from the Lakes.

  In addition to religious delegations, the compound was used by private merchants and travellers, state officials, and a small standing corps of diplomats. It was presided over by a Priest-Consul, Father Demnadias, who reported both to the Council of the Great Families and to the Hierarch, Father Ykerios, directly.

  The Priest-Consul greeted them just inside the gates: when Ykerios climbed down from the wagon, they embraced briefly. ‘I’m glad you made it here safely, Hierarch. There have been reports of pirates sailing the waters of the Durrandir Spine: Grim Carradan, Redwolf and others.’ Piracy was normally restricted to the Evallian Sea, further south.

  ‘We had no trouble at all,’ Father Ykerios responded, as they walked.

  Both Pireon and Dach had been riding in the lead wagon during the last leg through the city, so now they walked just behind the Hierarch and the Priest-Consul deeper into the compound.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it, but I’m afraid your journey may have been a wasted one. The Emperor is not in residence – he has already left for Arafel, with half the court.’ Arafel was the Winter Capital, far to the south on the shore of Lake Lamonthyr.

  ‘That’s unfortunate. I was looking forward to renewing our acquaintance. I understood that he delayed his journey south in Festival years until the caravan from Corvak had been received.’

  ‘Usually yes, but this year he left a few weeks earlier. It is unprecedented.’

  ‘Do you have any idea why? Is he ill? Have we been officially informed?’

  ‘The Emperor has been extremely agitated these past two months, since his brother vanished.’

  ‘Which brother?’

  ‘The youngest, Prince Eriskant.’

  ‘Prince Eriskant had himself been distracted for some years, if I recall correctly.’

  ‘Yes. He has been something of a recluse since his nephew Prince Dalleric vanished. They were close, the third brother and the third brother, and there was a strong suspicion of foul play. That’s sometimes the way of things in the Imperial family.’

  ‘And this time?’

  ‘I’m sure that many will be suspicious again, but my sources tell me that Prince Eriskant put a number of his affairs in order before his disappearance. That would suggest a planned departure, rather than some unforeseen circumstance.’

  ‘And since his disappearance, the Emperor has not been himself?’

  ‘Exactly so,’ the Priest-Consul concurred.

  Father Ykerios stopped walking and turned round. ‘Dachaeron and Pireon,’ he picked them out from the following group: ‘I have found both Kirites together, just when I was beginning to think that you didn’t talk to each other at all. You heard all of that – what do you think we should do, with your fresh eyes? We are here, but Emperor Athendor is not.’

  ‘It’s outrageous,’ Dach said. ‘He normally waits for our arrival, but now he leaves Emindur just as we’re approaching and doesn’t even inform us. This is almost a deliberate insult. We should protest, formally, and leave.’

  ‘Pireon?’

  ‘If the Emperor is really so distracted that he left without telling us, then that should worry everyone in Mehan’Gir. We should show our support, maybe even travel to Arafel to counsel him.’

  ‘Hm,’ Ykerios was non-committal.

  ‘What will we do?’ Dach couldn’t resist asking.

  ‘The Emperor’s strong reaction to his brother’s disappearance shows how weak his mind is becoming. He is old, and will feel a shock such as this all the more keenly. Yes, we could support him, but our long term interests will be best served by cultivating the Crown Prince: I have always found Silvendor far more capable, rational and level-headed than most of his family. So we will remain in Emindur and flatter him with our attention – treat him as if he is his father, or is already acting as regent: as if we assume him to be fully apprised of events and Imperial concerns, and to have the power to direct policy. We will strengthen our relationship with him in consideration of the day that he assumes the throne, whether actually or effectively.’

  Ykerios turned back to Father Demnadias. ‘If we have received no official word from the Azure Palace, then we must act as if we do not know of any untoward circumstances. The manner in which they choose to inform us may be revealing. Send a message requesting an audience with the Emperor, according to the usual protocols. In the meantime, someone should show our party to their accommodation. Once we have cleaned off the dust from the road, we will perform the Sacrament of Congregation.’

  ‘Of course, Hierarch.’

  In the event, there was no need to send any message to the Palace. An Emis
sary arrived shortly after the Sacrament was complete with a sealed letter from the Crown Prince addressed to the Hierarch, Ykerios of Corvak. Their arrival had clearly been noted and reported back to the Azure Palace.

  Ykerios quickly scanned its contents:

  ‘The Emperor Athendor, Eighth of that name, bids us welcome to the Empire and to Emindur and apologises that “unavoidable matters of state take him south”. He recommends us to Crown Prince Silvendor of Pevensal. The Crown Prince looks forward to renewing our acquaintance tomorrow at the tenth hour and would be grateful for a reply at our earliest convenience regarding the suitability of that hour. He also extends an offer to our younger members to tour the city tomorrow in the company of a representative of the Imperial household, while we conduct our business.’ He scanned to the end without reading anything else aloud, and then turned round and clapped his hands for silence.

  Their entire party was still in the Temple.

  ‘Novices, Initiates, Neophyte Priests, Students of the Oracle and Junior Dancers,’ he called. ‘The Crown Prince has graciously offered you an opportunity to tour Emindur tomorrow in the company of a guide. You will start from the Azure Palace and I imagine finish in the same place.’ He paused, and added: ‘Emindur is a more dangerous place than Darkfall, especially at night, so this is likely to be your only chance to have a good look at it.’ Pireon guessed that was to discourage anyone from sneaking out later. ‘If anyone wants to go tomorrow, please raise your hand. Thank you.’

  Pireon raised his hand: looking around him, he could see that the majority were not interested.

  ‘Thank you,’ Father Ykerios nodded. ‘You should gather in the narthex tomorrow, at half past the ninth hour. I imagine that the event is supposed to be informal, but you will be representing the Mother Temple so wear dress tunics.’ He turned to Father Demnadias and added: ‘Send a notice back to the Palace, informing the Crown Prince that the tenth hour is entirely convenient and providing him with numbers for tomorrow’s excursion: I made it twelve. We will be ready to depart at half past the ninth hour.’