“The blind woman sent you back,” Vaelin murmured. “She’s there, in the Beyond. She fights him.”

“She fought him then, but now . . .” Erlin shook his head. “Now it seems his power grows unchecked.”

Vaelin pushed the myriad questions aside, long accustomed to the realisation that any answers would be slow in coming. “The Seordah healed you,” he said.

“Yes. He brought others and they took me to their camp. My wound was grievous and it took many months before I could travel again. I learned their language, their legends, the truth of how our people had taken their land from them. I also learned there are no Dark enchantments protecting their forest, just great skill and fierce courage birthing enough fear to keep us at bay. In time, I said my farewells and went forth to fulfil the mission she gave me. I have not always been assiduous in my duties, given to distraction and sometimes wearied by the often-repeated mistakes and cruelties that beset humanity. But, I think I did what I could”—he glanced up at the misted steps above—“in the end.”

• • •

The mountain top lay under a vast silence as thick as the mist that covered it, only vague shapes visible in the swirling haze as they crested the final step. Erlin sagged a little from the effort of the climb, leaning hard on his walking stick and eyeing the shadowy forms ahead with naked trepidation. “I hate this place,” he breathed, voice soft as he straightened and started forward. “But then, so did those who built it, I imagine.”

They started forward into the mist, the shadows resolving into a cluster of buildings, all showing signs of having been crafted by the same hands that had built the ruins at the base of the mountain. They were mostly one-storey dwellings and smaller structures Vaelin took to be storehouses, forming a miniature echo of the Fallen City. But these were not ruined. The silence became ever more oppressive as they moved through the buildings, each empty doorway and window an uncaring witness to their passage. Despite the lack of damage Vaelin knew this to be an ancient place, the corners of the buildings smoothed and rounded by the elements. Also, in contrast to the Fallen City there were no statues here, the only decoration the faded motifs carved above doorways or windows, robbed of meaning by centuries of wind and rain. Whoever had built this place seemingly had scant time or inclination towards art.

It took only moments to clear the buildings, leaving them standing at the edge of a wide flat circle, in the centre of which stood a single flat-topped plinth. “Memory stone,” Vaelin said.

Erlin nodded and Vaelin heard the faint tremor in his voice as he replied, “The last to be carved, by the hand of a god no less.”

Vaelin’s mouth twitched in unwanted amusement and he turned to Erlin with a grin. “A god is a lie.”

They shared a laugh, only for a moment, the sound of their mirth soon lost amidst the mist and ancient stone. “Well.” Erlin took a firmer grip on his walking stick and started forward. “Shall we?”

Like the surrounding buildings the plinth’s edges had been softened by ages of exposure, though the flat top was smooth and unmarked, the indentation in the centre a perfect circle. “You’ve touched this before?” Vaelin asked Erlin.

“Four times now. I often seek out the ancient places, guided by the myths and legends I hear in my travels. One told of a forgotten city of towering majesty hidden in the mountains and guarded by savage tribes. I wasn’t overly surprised to find the reality didn’t match the legend, it rarely does.”

He extended his hand so it hovered over the stone, meeting Vaelin’s gaze. “Ready, brother?”

“I have touched these stones twice before,” Vaelin said, seeing the tremble in Erlin’s fingers. “They hold knowledge but no threat.”

Erlin gave another laugh, harsher this time. “All knowledge is a threat to someone.”

Vaelin extended his hand and Erlin took it, entwining the fingers. Closing his eyes, he took a breath and lowered their hands to the stone.

PART IV

By Alpiran reckoning King Janus Al Nieren was born in the tenth year of the New Sun, under a configuration of stars known to Alpiran astrologers as “The Rearing Lion,” a fact that would provide portents aplenty for admirers and detractors alike over the succeeding decades. His daughter, by contrast, was born under the comparatively mundane constellation of “The Hay Bale,” named for its resemblance to recently harvested wheat. The fact that the Loyal Guild of Imperial Astrologers recently voted to rename this constellation “The Vengeful Flame” says much for the subsequent course of Realm history, not to mention the essential vacuity of the astrologer’s art.

—VERNIERS ALISHE SOMEREN, A HISTORY OF THE UNIFIED REALM: INTRODUCTION, GREAT LIBRARY OF THE UNIFIED REALM

VERNIERS’ ACCOUNT

“Did she know?”

I watched the harbour as we drew near, its vastness testimony to Alpira’s origins as the greatest trading hub of the lower Boraelin. It stretched in a broad curve some three miles long, piers and moorings beyond counting, and many ships, more than was usual in fact. As we drew closer I noted most were warships, an army of labourers at work on every vessel, steel plating hammered onto hulls and mangonels hauled into place.

Empress Emeren calls her fleet to the capital, I deduced. For what purpose?

“My lord?” Fornella prompted. Her rapidly greying hair was tied up today, drawn back from her features, which remained handsome despite the growing number of lines. With her plain dress and tightly wrapped shawl she conveyed the appearance of a comely matron, those ashore perhaps mistaking her for the captain’s wife. The thought provoked me to a short laugh.

Fornella frowned in annoyance but refused to be diverted. “She did, didn’t she? She knew about you and the Hope.”

I shrugged, giving a slight nod. She glanced at the captain and edged closer. “Pay the pirate to take us away from here.”

“We have a mission to perform, Honoured Citizen.”

“Not at the expense of your life.”

“I gave my life to the Emperor. The law decrees I now offer it to his successor, along with my wise counsel.”

“You really imagine she’ll listen?”

“I know she will. What she does afterwards is more of a mystery.”

We docked at one of the minor berths near the northern edge of the harbour, the captain being obliged to pay double the normal mooring fee to a harassed junior port official.

“I’m on official business from the Unified Realm and the Meldenean Isles,” the captain growled. “That’s got to be worth a discount at least.”

“You’ve also got a hold full of spice,” the young official replied. “And space is at a premium.” He handed the captain a chit for the berth then held up his hand in expectation.

“Is there a problem?” I asked, moving to the captain’s side.

The young man stared at me for a long moment, retreating a step with rapidly paling features. “You are Lord Verniers,” he breathed.

I was accustomed to a certain notoriety in the better-educated corners of the empire, but it was usually confined to politely spoken compliments or requests for attendance at various learned functions. So the sight of the pale-faced bureaucrat stumbling backwards along the gangplank before turning and running along the wharf was somewhat unnerving, his return a short time later even more so, since he was accompanied by a squad of soldiers. They proceeded towards the ship at a run, the young official trotting in their wake and gesticulating wildly as he called to the surrounding stevedores. “The traitor! The traitor returns!”

“I think, Captain,” I said, hefting my bag of books and making for the gangplank. “You had best be on your way.”

“Ship Lords told me to keep you safe,” he said, though his shrewd eyes betrayed a deep concern at the commotion unfolding on the wharf.

“And I am grateful for your efforts.” I extended a hand, expecting him to ignore it. Instead he gripped it tight, grimacing in regret.

“Luck to you, honoured sir,” he said in surprisingly good Alpiran.

“And you, honoured sir.” I glanced at Fornella, seeing how fearfully she eyed the approaching soldiers. “I should be grateful if you would take her back to the Realm.”

“No.” Fornella took a deep breath and moved to my side, forcing a smile. “We have a mission, after all.”

We waited on the wharf, watching the captain hound his crew into frantic motion as they hauled oars to push them back from the quay. The sailors soon set to work rowing themselves towards open water in accordance with the bosun’s urgent drumbeat.

“What was its name?” Fornella asked. “The ship.”

“I never thought to ask.” I turned as the soldiers came to a halt a short distance away. They were conscript infantry judging by their armour, half a dozen youths under the command of a less-than-youthful sergeant.

“Your name?” he demanded, striding forward, hard eyes intent on my face.

“Lord Verniers Alishe Someren,” I replied. “Imperial Chronicler . . .”

“No,” he growled, moving closer with his hand on his sword. “Not now you aren’t.”

• • •