the moment let out a high pitched whoop. The other horses sprang eagerly after the king and they galloped along the starlit road with a wild joy in their hearts. Running, racing was all they lived for.
All day they kept up a mad gallop. Every few hours the travellers stopped at a way station by the road briefly to exchange their tired horses for fresh ones. At noon the pause was long enough to eat and drink, and then they were off again.
The country they passed through was flat at first but by the afternoon it was low, rolling hills. In the lowlands the flat fields were swampy but lush and people waded through the mud tending watery crops that were growing vigorously. In the higher country the fields were drier but no less lush. There were small villages where chimneys smoked from mud houses and dogs barked.
In the late afternoon the country became flat again and they skirted wide lakes where men in little boats paddled or waited with lines on poles for fish. One of the lakes had a whole village built out over the water on poles. It was full of boats and people coming and going. Azkun was interested, but they did not stop there.
They rode on into the night until Azkun was nearly asleep on his horse. At last they came to another city. All Azkun noticed was that it was rather like Atonir, including a palace, and they had to cross a great bridge to reach it.
They passed the gate guards and rode to the palace where Athun met them. He had ridden back from Atonir the previous day. The city, Althak told Azkun, was named Askonir and Athun was the Drinol of the city. He looked as tired as Azkun felt. His palace was alive with soldiers, officers shouting orders, cavalry drilling and, in the smithies, the clang and clash of metal on metal. Preparations for the war with Gashan, if it were confirmed, were already under way.
Even as Athun welcomed them a messenger came to him with news of horse counts from further up the river. He ran a weary hand through his dark hair and bade them follow him.
Inside the palace they were provided with rooms and servants. Baths were filled and food was provided. It was already after the main meal of the day so they ate in their rooms, not in the great hall. Azkun did not wait for them to finish eating or bathing. He found his bed and, without bothering to remove his jerkin, went to sleep.
The next day began much the same as the last. A thump on his door before dawn and a wild gallop across the plains. When they stopped for their brief noon meal Azkun could see that the land was becoming more hilly again. Away in the blue distance the hills rose to mountains with a hint of higher mountains beyond.
In the middle distance the ground rose to a blue-black crag that leapt out of the treeless plains. Menish and Hrangil stared at it as they ate their dried meat and fruit.
“I will see the Keeper,” said Menish, a grimness in his voice.
“Sire? The Keeper?”
“Yes, I have… questions for him.”
“The Eye?”
But Menish did not answer. He swung himself up onto his horse and waited silently for the others to mount. Then they galloped off on the road towards the crag.
As the afternoon wore on the details of the crag became clearer: a tall finger of stone pointed skywards, black on the black crag below it. Smoke curled from the tip of the finger and, when dusk enclosed them, a twinkling, yellow light shone from there. They rode on into the night towards it until they came to the foot of the crag. A small post-house stood there, the crag looming above it and the stone tower with its light above that.
They were met by a tall, lean man with a grim mouth and eyes that glowed in the light of the lamp he held. Unlike the other way station attendants, and they had met many in the last two days, this one spoke no word of greeting. Althak presented him with the Imperial pass he carried but the man looked at Menish and nodded as if he recognised him.
“I wish to speak with the Keeper of the Flame,” said Menish.
The man nodded again and beckoned them to follow him inside the post-house.
It was like the many others they had seen in the past two days: a simple, two roomed, stone building with straw pallets in one room and benches and tables in the other. The man’s silent manner stifled any other speech and Althak half whispered an explanation to Azkun.
“He's forgotten speech. Up there,” he indicated the tower on the crag, “they tend their fire for years and years without uttering a word.”
Menish indicated that Azkun was to accompany him, Tenari followed without being asked. The post-house man led them through a rear door. The night closed around them as they were taken along a narrow path that wound up the crag to the solemn tower above.
It was not a long climb, for the crag was not high, but it was difficult. In some places it was treacherous. Loose rocks turned under their feet and others were slippery. Even the lamp was of little use, for the rock of the crag was black and appeared to eat up the cheerful, yellow light. Their guide went slowly ahead of them, effortlessly for he knew the path, but he made no effort to warn them of obstacles.
Azkun, who had not been bothered by the night since Tenari had appeared, felt that there were spectres not far away. They could not see him yet, but they were there. He pulled Tenari closer to him as he walked.
She had changed over the last two days, reverting to her previous blankness. The miles on horseback obviously did not agree with her.
When they reached the top of the crag their legs and eyes ached from the strain and the silence of the place had enfolded them. They stood at the base of the tower whose black stone rose sheer and windowless from the rock of the crag to a dizzying height above. No doubt, thought Azkun, it was built by Gilish. High above them the fire burned. They could see its flames leaping over the crest of the tower.
A door opened at the foot of the tower as they approached and a robed figure beckoned them silently inside. Azkun could sense the awe Menish felt at this place. It was an awe that bordered on, but was not quite, fear. They entered the doorway and found themselves in pitch darkness. The door boomed shut behind them and they heard the sound of heavy bolts sliding into place. The darkness and the silence crowded around them. From the echoes of their footsteps Azkun realised that they were in a large room. He was also aware that the room was full of people. People who were silently waiting in the darkness.
People or spectres? He still held Tenari’s arm but he could see nothing in the blackness. The muffled breathing of a large company surrounded them. He shuddered. The waiting went on and on until he was too terrified to move, afraid to draw attention to himself. He could only stand and wait for them to come for him.
There was a sudden flash of light, blinding after the darkness. A great fire erupted before them, which climbed to a high ceiling and then sank to a yellow glow. On the far side of the flame, on a high, black throne, sat an old man. He was so old his flesh had withered onto his bones and his hands trembled like small branches stirred by the wind.
Surrounding them on every side were silent figures who stood motionless as statues. Hooded cloaks obscured their features making them seem like black-robed spectres waiting for prey.
The Keeper of the Flame rose slowly to his feet, a stick-like arm raised in greeting. “Welcome to the fires of Am-Goluz. May Aton grant that you find what you seek, if what you seek is yours to find,” he croaked, then he sat back on his throne. “You may approach.”
Menish led his company forward, past the flames to the steps that led to the throne. His heart pounded as he looked into the ancient face of the Keeper.
“You are the same keeper?” he demanded. The silence of the place turned his voice into a hoarse whisper.
“I am the same. Many years ago I remember a younger man with a heavy burden who came to me from the burning of Atonir. You had a child, a boy, with you then. I told you he would become Emperor.”
“It was more than twenty years ago. You were old then. How?”
Amusement tinged the Keeper’s face.
“I was ancient then. Menish, must you doubt so? What was your reason for coming here?”
Menish paused, wondering how old the Keeper really was, but not daring to ask in case the answer stretched his credibility too far.
“I came to tell you she is alive.”
“The woman you left to die? I am glad. You are free of murder.”
To Menish his words sounded like an accusation.
“She drugged me!”
