Dorian leaned motionless against a wall, trying to absorb the impact of the unexpected apparition. He put his head in his hands, and rubbed his temples.
Where had that grotesque being come from? And why all the threats? Had the fight with the serpent been merely a trap, to test him? And how could he explain the transformation of his sword into a wriggling snake?
The Snakes Trainer...
He shuddered at the thought of those yellow eyes probing him, reading his thoughts. He refused to consider what that forked tongue had seemed to be suggesting, but...
He winced when Raduan suddenly appeared, followed by Sybil and Dorcas.
“There, quickly!” he said.
Sybil took the remedy bag off her shoulder and dashed into the other room, escorted by Dorcas.
Raduan turned his full attention to Dorian: he realized at a glance that something had happened.
“What’s going on?” he asked, shaking his shoulder “You don’t look well!”
He looked around and noticed the sword on the ground, a few feet away.
“What’s it doing there?” he asked, going to pick it up.
“Stop!” Dorian yelled, and barred his way.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Dorian studied the sword from a distance, as if it were an alien, dangerous object. Then, with extreme caution, he approached it and tentatively touched it, feeling it with his fingertips, from the blade-tip down to the hilt; then he clasped it and lifted it in disbelief.
“What the hell...” said Raduan, uncomprehending.
“Patience. I will explain everything later.” Dorian silenced him with a wave of the hand, without taking his eyes off the blade. “Now we must help the girl and her child. Is there a village nearby?”
“Yes” said Raduan, with a shrug “Dorcas believes there is a community of woodcutters not far from here. Do you think it’s better to take them there?”
“It is for the best. I hope we will find someone who can help them. We cannot do much more.” He paused thoughtfully. “We’d better hurry. The journey is still long and I want answers, now more than ever.” He sheathed his sword, and shook Raduan’s arm. “Come, let us go.”
They went back to the scene of the fight. Dorcas was kneeling beside his wounded comrade, wiping blood from his chest with a cloth, while Sybil mixed herbs in a jar. As soon as she saw them enter, the healer gave them a confident smile.
“He is out of danger, Commander. The cut is shallow, and there are no signs of poisoning. Khorl is hard as a rock, he’ll be up again within a few days.”
Dorian nodded, satisfied: “Good work.” He then turned to the hunter: “Dorcas, as soon as he has been given the first treatment, I want you to lead us to the woodcutters’ village. We will leave him there, until his condition improves. Sybil” he added, turning to the healer “you must stay with him. I want no surprises. And I also have another request for you...”
He turned his gaze to the mutilated farmer’s corpse.
“This man has ceased to suffer, and I am sure they will give him a proper burial. It is his wife who bothers me: Sybil, do your best to help her forget.”
“Yes, sir.”
But he couldn’t tear his eyes from the ravaged body. He felt anger and grief growing inside him, at the thought that that man had been the innocent victim of some foul game; a minor player on the stage that the Snakes Trainer had set for him. The first piece of a new puzzle, as if he didn’t have enough to solve already. New questions without answers. With each passing day, things were becoming more complicated.
“Zontar” he thought, clinging to the name like a talisman.
He could only hope that the Sage had answers...
Later, in the village, Raduan finally managed to talk with Dorian and sate his curiosity. The Commander told him in detail of his meeting with the Snakes Trainer, trying to recall every single word and gesture. As much as he wished to however, Raduan was not able to shed any light on the matter. Neither was he able to give a plausible explanation for the appearance of the murderous snake.
“We must ask Zontar” was all he could say.
Dorian rolled his eyes. He had hoped that his friend would have more ideas than he, but he was wrong. The best thing to do, as he had imagined, was to proceed to the Gray Tower with as much haste as possible.
He stood up. Two woodcutters glanced at him nervously and stood back as if he was contagious. “I can take it” he thought. He had feared that the farmer’s death, in those suspicious circumstances, may have generated a dangerous tension between them and the villagers. Luckily, however, this had not been the case. The villagers had reacted with understandable distress, but no one had dared to question the role played by Dorian and his companions, despite the widow’s confused testimony.
Too many stories had been told of the Wayfarer’s Company and of the frightening events of which it was part, and too great was the fear inspired by the steel of their swords for anyone to be brave enough to question their word. With regret, Dorian had to admit that a bad reputation, even if unjustified, could be of enormous help in getting out of difficult situations. Understanding this, neither he nor Raduan had made any effort to make themselves less intimidating in the eyes of the villagers.
Once convinced that no one would cause problems for Khorl and Sybil, they decided to get back on the road. They could only hope that the Snakes Trainer - whatever his motive had been - would not come back to torment the village. They had no certainty, but reasonable hope was better than nothing. Dorcas saddled the horses, and they mounted without further delay.
Passing between the modest homes, Dorian read mute accusation on the people’s faces, as if the guilt of what had happened was to be laid on him. He thought with a pang of sorrow that they were probably on the side of reason for once: an evil shadow seemed to follow him wherever he went, leaving a trail of innocent blood behind.
They rode tirelessly and without incident throughout the rest of the following week. Dorcas always managed to get around the few obstacles in their path, thus avoiding costly detours. As they proceeded eastwards, the fertile fields gave way to woods and uncultivated plains. The air was fresh and clear, and a light breeze began to blow through the branches. A couple of times, a curious fox or reckless squirrel crossed the riders’ path, then darted away terrified by the hollow sound of the horses’ hooves.
On the seventh day, before sunset dyed the treetops orange, they reached their destination.
It was the first time Raduan had set foot there. Dorian had already visited, but only in passing. It was therefore a pleasant feeling for both to stand at the foot of the famous Gray Tower. It appeared before them without notice, alone in the middle of a shady glade skirted by pine trees. It was a lower and less imposing structure than they had imagined. It was more like an ancient pillar forgotten by time than a military fortress. Although it had been built hundreds of years before, by unknown hands, and for a purpose long forgotten, it gave the impression of having been there for no more than a few years. There was not a scratch on the smooth surface of the gray stone blocks, which had been cut with rare skill. Overall, the tower gave off a palpable sense of security and solidity, and a mysterious beauty.
It was not by chance that it had been chosen as the residence of a man of such reputation as Zontar. Within the borders of the Kingdom, legends were already rife of how the powerful Sage had been able to evade the magic defences and deadly traps of the Gray Tower, thus earning the right to live within its walls.
Although located beyond the trade routes, the tower was often visited by traveling scholars, court dignitaries in search of advice, or simply by the curious. The latter usually failed to get beyond the Tower gates: a small but well-trained troop of guards had the task of keeping away unwelcome visitors, as the Sage did not tolerate time-wasting.
When Dorian and his companions approached the gates on horseback, two men came to meet them, halberds pointed towards them. No visitor was welcome at that h
our, especially those with such a suspicious appearance as the three approaching in the twilight.
“Who are you? What brings you to the Gray Tower?” asked one of the guards as he ordered them to halt. He had a round face and plump hands, and wore a gray uniform with the symbol of Zontar, a tower flanked by two green trees.
“I am Dorian, commander of the Wayfarer’s Company. These are my brothers in arms.”
The guard seemed alarmed:
“No one warned me of your arrival. What brings you here?”
“We request an audience with Zontar the Sage, may his wisdom illuminate our path” said Dorian. A little deference could often open more doors than any magic.
“Uhmpf!” grunted the man, without lowering his guard “Don’t you think it is too late to disturb the Sage with your petitions? Come back tomorrow, and perhaps Zontar will receive you then!”
Raduan did not care for the arrogant tone:
“Who are you to decide in your master’s place? We have no time to lose, so step aside and let us pass!”
The guard gasped at such an affront. Before he could respond, Dorian tried the card of diplomacy again:
“Please excuse my companion’s rash words. The tiring journey must have clouded his mind...” While saying this, he turned to glare at Raduan. Then he went on, in a humble tone: “But if you would do us the kindness of asking Zontar, we would be most grateful. The circumstances that have led us to him are extremely grave.”
The man gave it a thought, mollified by Dorian’s politeness. He finally acquiesced and sent someone to clarify the issue directly with the Sage. They did not have to wait long for an answer: a man came out of the tower, tall and lean, and walked towards them with an almost prissy air of calm. He wore an elegant gray robe and shiny shoes. He introduced himself with great self-importance as Zontar’s head servant. He showed no particular interest in the identity of the unexpected guests.
“Master Zontar wants to be sure that you are received in a proper manner” he said “He will grant you audience once you have recovered from the fatigue of your journey.”
He motioned them to follow, leading them to the stables leaning against the tower walls, where they left their horses. When they crossed the massive portal at the entrance to the tower, they were immediately struck by the atmosphere of silence and order that reigned.
“We are not used to accommodating many people. Our master likes his solitude. But he has decided to make an exception in your case.”
Dorian and Raduan exchanged relieved looks: finally some fortune, after so many misadventures.
The man led them down a narrow corridor that ran inside the walls. He assigned them a room with three beds.
“There are bathrooms down the hall” he informed them “Feel free to use them.”
And as he watched them with barely concealed contempt, they realized it was a clear invitation for them to take better care of their hygiene.
“I would like to see him after two weeks on horseback!” Dorcas whispered, and the other two had to stifle their laughs.
“Dinner will be served in an hour. Take the stairs down the corridor to reach the dining hall: I am sure it will not be hard to find. And now, with your permission, I must return to my duties...”
That said, and without waiting for any such permission, he turned away and walked down the hall.
“I sincerely hope Zontar is a more humble man” said Raduan.
“Indeed” Dorian assured him with a half smile. “Well then, let’s get cleaned up, we cannot appear before the Sage in this state!”
Within an hour, freshly washed and dressed, they reached the dining hall. With a low barrel-vault ceiling, it was decked with wooden tables and decorated chairs. Flames danced brightly in the fireplace, lighting up the environment. Another group of people were also enjoying Zontar’s hospitality: from their hunched way of sitting, and the fact that they seemed to prefer their tomes to a healthy conversation, they couldn’t be anything but scholars. The Tower received many of these during the year, all of them eager to compare their knowledge with that of their host. Few of them received the desired attention, but despite this, the rich hospitality was worth the trip.
The three warriors felt better as soon as they sat at the table: the food and drink was much more generous than they had expected, and left them ecstatic. Raduan in particular showed such enthusiasm for the roast boar in a sauce of wild herbs, and for the robust red wine that came with it, that Dorian was forced to remind him of his calling. He, however, also had to admit to being revived by the rich meal and by the warmth of the hall.
When he was satisfied, Dorcas took leave from his companions, seizing the moment to leave the scene. He had fulfilled his role in the journey, leading Dorian and Raduan to their destination in the shortest possible time. What happened next would not concern him, these were the affairs of the Commander and his right-hand man. The two friends bade him good night and left the table to sit on a bench near the fireplace. They lit their pipes and smoked quietly for a long time, exchanging no more than a few words.
Late in the evening, their host appeared.
He was a tall man, his complexion dark in contrast with the silvery threads of his beard and hair, which was tied in a ponytail that reached almost to his waist. The skin of his face and hands was wrinkled like that of an old man, but his hard gray eyes shone with a lively intelligence. A simple robe, as gray as the Tower, covered him to his feet.
He walked straight towards them, without a glance at the other guests. When he reached them, they made a slight bow.
“The Wayfarer’s Company warriors, I presume” said the Sage, in a gentle voice.
“It is a privilege to be granted an audience with you, wise Zontar” said Dorian, with humility.
“The honor is mine, Commander Dorian.”
Dorian raised an eyebrow in surprise. He did not remember having told his name to anyone other than the stolid guard at the gate.
“Why do I read surprise on your face?” Zontar continued, with a smile “Did you truly believe that the Wayfarer had never mentioned your name? A modest man you are.”
“I am nothing but a simple soldier” said Dorian, trying not to blush like a young boy.
“Hmmm, I doubt that a lieutenant of the venerable Abel could be regarded as a simple soldier. But we are wasting time in pleasantries. Tell me, who is your friend?”
“Raduan, my right-hand man” Dorian introduced him. Raduan made another bow.
“Well met, master Raduan” nodded Zontar “Be welcome in my home. I hope that my hospitality has thus far been to your liking.”
“In all honesty, sir” said Raduan “I had never imagined that such delicacies could spring from the kitchens of the Gray Tower...”
“Ahahah!” Zontar laughed aloud “Thank you so much! I thought I had enough problems with the scholars, but from now on I will also have to beware of the Kingdom’s gluttons! That is just what I needed!”
The two laughed in return, but they soon fell into an embarrassed silence. Zontar spoke again:
“However, I suppose it was not the skill of my cooks that brought you this far.” He looked at them with gravity. “Has something happened? And why has the White Wayfarer not come with you? He knows how much I value our conversations!”
Dorian tried to answer, not knowing where to start:
“A lot has happened in recent months, wise Zontar, and I regret that it is all bad news.”
Zontar frowned but said nothing.
“The news that we carry is grave. We come to you for guidance.”
“So... my suspicions are confirmed...” Zontar murmured, stroking his beard with one hand. The two stared at him in surprise.
“I think I have an idea of your troubles, unfortunately. But these are issues that must be treated with caution. Come, come into my office. There we will be able to safely discuss matters away from prying eyes and ears.”
So saying, he invited them to follow him from the
dining hall. As he passed between two of the rows of fawning scholars, once again he ignored their greasy bows. Dorian and Raduan followed close behind, catalyzing envious looks: it was rare for the landlord to welcome his guests in person.
They went up two flights of stairs and walked along a short corridor at the end of which the door of Zontar’s study blocked their path: it was of solid wood reinforced with metal inlays, and was seemingly indestructible. The Sage drew a key from his robe and turned it several times in the keyhole before the door opened inwards. He entered first, and lit an oil lamp.
The light filled the small room, casting shadows over a desk covered in parchments and over the book-crammed shelves that lined the walls. Zontar bade them sit on two comfortable padded chairs, and he in turn sank into a high-backed armchair. Raduan and Dorian looked with awe at the enormous number of books and scrolls piled up inside the room, which was steeped in ancient wisdom from the floor to the ceiling. Hanging on the wall behind Zontar was a white banner with the image of a stylized sun and moon in a field of stars. Dorian recognized the symbol of the Brotherhood of the Enlightened, whose council was chaired by Zontar himself.
He racked his brains to recall what Abel had taught him about the Brotherhood. It was an alliance of scholars, established through the joint efforts of Zontar and a handful of other wise men. Composed of members scattered throughout the four corners of the Kingdom, its sole purpose was the conquest of knowledge. It was said that they were backed up by magic and arcane powers, and that with such they knew no obstacles. Abel had always insisted on this point: that by virtue of their knowledge and their formidable network of information, the Enlightened were a force to be reckoned with.
If truth be known, they were opposed to another, equally powerful, congregation of Sages known as the Children of the Night, whose stated purpose was to use their arcane knowledge to dominate the entire human race. Crawl, the chief shaman of the barbarian tribes of the North, was its undisputed leader, and seemed willing to do anything to achieve his goals.
It had not always been so. In calmer times, unity had prevailed amongst the scholars of all lands, and the discoveries that arose from their studies were a blessing for all humanity. But when King Feldnost died, leading to the division of the Kingdom into three parts, the alliance of the Sages was compromised, so far as to lead to the birth of two hostile factions.
This was more or less what Dorian remembered from Abel’s lessons. He had never really given them due value, but he knew how important it was to keep himself informed of the political games taking place in the Kingdom, and of the forming and disbanding power groups on the scene. It was all useful information, especially now that he no longer had the Wayfarer to guide him. An example was his awareness of the influence that Zontar had over Feledan. According to rumor, the Sage was preparing the timid prince for the oncoming war against his elder brother.
“Well then” began Zontar, breaking his train of thought “How long gone is the Wayfarer?”
The two started.
“How... how do you know?” Dorian stammered.
“Please try to understand” said Zontar, with a slight trace of disdain in his voice “A man in my position must always be on a par with things.”
“Spies?”
“I prefer to call them informants. They are my eyes and ears in the Kingdom, they help me to keep track of important events like this. Actually I wasn’t sure of this, not until I saw the expressions on your faces.” He smiled, and a network of wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes. “The Wanderer often acts in an unexpected way; this would not be the first time that he has surprised me. But your reaction makes me think I am right.”
Dorian hesitated. If Zontar knew... How many others did? The Company had made several powerful enemies over the years. As soon as they found out that the Wayfarer was no longer with the Company they would fall upon them like wolves!
“Do not worry Commander. Your secret is safe with me. I know the trouble it would cause, if the news spread. Please believe me when I say that I have always considered the Wayfarer a friend and an ally. Though he has never revealed much about himself, he has always made it clear that we share the same values.”
His deep gray eyes stared into Dorian’s.
“And now, please explain what has happened.”
“Where to start?” said the warrior, sighing.
Raduan gave him a nod of encouragement.
“Start at the beginning...”
The warrior tried not to miss anything important: Abel’s mysterious farewell note; their futile attempts in pursuit; the Company’s ongoing mission; Iarmin’s return, his mutation and his last words; the encounter with the Snakes Trainer and his monstrous pet...
Zontar interrupted him several times, wanting to clarify some issues. When Dorian finally stopped talking, the Sage was silent for several minutes without looking up from the surface of his desk. He was so immersed in his thoughts that Raduan thought he could have been taken for a statue. He almost jumped with fright when Zontar roused himself and spoke.
“The news you bring is grave indeed. I will be honest with you: I fear for the fate of the White Wayfarer...”
“Tell us” said Dorian, impatiently “What did you make of my story? What do you think has happened to Abel? And how can we avoid the worst, or is it too late already?”
“These are many questions, Commander,” said Zontar, crossing his fingers under his chin “I wish I could give you clear answers, but unfortunately I cannot. And the Snakes Trainer’s presence troubles me. It is not the first time that his name has come to my attention.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Dorian, gripping the arms of the chair.
“In recent years, my informants have reported his appearance in a wide range of places, and always with the same consequences of violence and death. I cannot tell the leitmotif of his actions, but without a doubt he is endowed with special powers. He does not like to tread into the light, and, to my knowledge, nobody who has met him has ever survived to tell the tale. It is odd that he has decided to come forward with you. I fear it has something to do with the Wayfarer’s fate.”
He paused again. The two stared at him in silence, waiting.
“If only I could read the meaning of your dying companion’s words...” he continued “I have heard of the Valley of the Moon, that is for sure, but...”
“But?”
Raduan was finding it hard to control his impatience, why didn’t the old man get on with it?
“It is nothing but a myth, a legend! It is said that centuries ago a group of explorers came upon a valley so lovely as to bring tears of happiness to their eyes. This was why they gave it such an evocative name. A temple of solid gold is said to have stood in the middle of the valley. They retraced their steps to gather other men, but as soon as they turned their backs on the valley, they could no longer find it. A spell, perhaps, or… who knows. Legends are full of anomalies, and the fact is that nobody ever set eyes on it again.”
He gave a wry smile.
“Many others tried to find it after that first expedition and failed. Over time, the Valley of the Moon has become synonymous with illusion. Fabulous and bright, yes, but still an illusion. Like the moon reflected in the bottom of a well. I am surprised that you heard of it! Those ancient legends are losing their appeal...”
“Yet I am sure I heard that name coming out of Iarmin’s mouth!” insisted Dorian.
“And I can confirm it” said Raduan.
“Maybe... We cannot eliminate the possibility that your friend was delirious, though. Wasn’t he at death’s door?”
Dorian clenched his teeth, in fear of seeing their only lead vanish.
“I am quite sure of the contrary! He was still alert!”
“Believe it if you choose” said Zontar, dispensing with the matter with a hand gesture “You may use my library to learn more about it, if you like: you will realize that it is a futile effort, a story without head or tail. A fo
olish chimera that won’t put you on the Wayfarer’s trail.”
Dorian felt a stab of frustration, and the dark look that Raduan gave him reflected his own sense of powerlessness. They were back to their starting point, dashing all the hopes they had built up along the way.
“Do not despair” said Zontar, stifling a cough “I think I can help you anyway.”
“How? Explain yourself!” snapped Raduan, leaning forward in his chair.
Zontar gave him a slight smile.
“Calm down, master Raduan. All in good time.”
Raduan was running out of patience, but Dorian silenced him with a sharp movement of his hand.
“Forgive our impatience, wise Zontar, but... Put yourself in our shoes! We desperately need answers!”
Zontar made them uneasy with his gaze. He cleared his throat.
“Tell me, what do you know of the Arcane Arts?”
The question came so unexpectedly, that they found themselves without a sensible answer. Taken aback, they just sat in front of the elderly Sage.
“I can see that the Wayfarer hasn’t shared his studies with you” he continued, smiling conspiratorially “But I believe that a spark of knowledge will be necessary, at this point. Otherwise, you will not possibly be able to understand my proposition.”
“The Arcane Arts?” Dorian repeated, without concealing his dismay “Are you talking about... magic?”
“Yes, call it magic, if you want!” laughed Zontar “I see doubt in your eyes, Commander. Yet, how many supernatural events have you witnessed in your existence?”
“More than I care for. But...”
“I know you are not the kind of man who spends time questioning himself” Zontar said curtly “And I know that you have always done your job with honesty, without ever questioning the Wayfarer’s word. But I think it is time for you to open your eyes. It is your best chance, believe me. You will understand, later.”
Dorian and Raduan exchanged puzzled looks. They had never imagined that the discussion would take that turn, but it seemed clear to both that it was useless to argue with Zontar. Moreover, hadn’t they come to the Gray Tower for just that reason, for the Sage to show them the way?
“We are in your hands, Zontar” said Dorian, opening his arms.
“We have no time to lose then!” said the Sage, rising with unconcealed enthusiasm “Come, follow me: let us cross the threshold of mystery together!”
X - On the Streets of Dekka
City of the Automatons Page 9