“But it's not only the Keeper who lives long. Those who serve him in the tower are also long of life. They spend their days tending the fire and meditating the glory of Aton. They do not speak, only the Keeper may speak. If they spoke they would give voice to the mystery of the flame and it would no longer be a mystery.
“The keepers are very wise. The Emperors used to consult them on difficult matters.” Hrangil paused then added, “not Vorish I fear.”
“There was another fire tower,” said Keashil quietly. “We had one in Golshuz. But I doubt if it survived the invasion.”
On the third day after Am-Goluz they came to the Lansheral, the great wall Gilish had built to fence off his borders from the wild Anthorian hill men.
Their first sight of the wall came when they passed over a low hillock and saw the plain spread out before them with the mountains rising behind it. The plains were so flat here that they could see for miles from this small rise in the ground. The wall ran along the base of the mountains, an even, regular thing that wound across the contours of the ground on a line stretching from north to south as far as the eye could see. It looked like a natural feature of the landscape from a distance, like a peculiarly regular cliff that chopped off the foothills prematurely.
They halted their gallop and looked for a long moment, on their lips the word ‘impossible’ waited to be spoken. The wall was simply too colossal to believe.
It was Althak who broke their silence.
“Perhaps while we gaze on Gilish’s greatest achievement, we should remember one of his failures.” He laughed as he spoke and pointed away to the north east where a line of hills rose in the distance. “Azkun, beyond those hills lie the mountains of Kishir, the place of the dragons. In the mountains there's a city, and Gilish yearned to conquer that city, didn't he, Hrangil? But he couldn't conquer the dragons.”
“There are dragons? Dragons in those mountains?”
“No, no. There are no dragons there now. No one knows why they left their city but they're gone.”
Although they had seen the wall clearly from the rise in the ground they did not reach it until noon the next day. It grew and grew as they approached, each view of it made it appear quite close but still they did not reach it. Hour after hour it grew before them. Azkun had assumed that it was about twice the height of a man when he first saw it which, considering its length, was impressive enough. But when he finally stood at its foot and threw back his head to see its crenellated top he was astonished. It was at least three hundred feet high, not as high as the walls of Atonir’s palace, but it was over four hundred miles long. This was impossible.
Even Menish, who had seen it many times now and was not easily impressed anyway, stood before it speechless with awe. The wall always had that effect on him. He never believed his memory of its size and always it shrank within his mind so that each time he saw it he was astonished all over again.
Their road led them under the shadow of the wall and Azkun wondered, when they passed towns and villages, what it must be like to live so near to this colossus. Did these people stare at the wall afresh each morning as if it had grown up in the night? Or did they accept it as part of their world? He found himself continually looking at it, making sure that it really was as high as he thought, and peering ahead and behind as it wound away into the blueness.
When night fell they came to another amazing sight. They had followed the wall down into a wide valley where a great river ambled its way across the plain. A walled town, its wall looked foolish beside the great wall, stood on the riverbank. Not far from the town the Lansheral had been breached. It was as if a huge fist had punched its way through, leaving a crumbling opening. Some attempt had been made to fill the gap and the result was a good, solid wall that looked well made and adequate. It was only three times the height of a man. Like the town wall it seemed a childish imitation.
They spent the night at an inn built just inside the gates of the town. There were no courier post houses here. Menish knew the place well, for he usually spent a night here in his journeys to and from Relanor. The innkeepers, an Anthorian couple named Yartha and Vyanol, knew Menish, but not as King of Anthor. They thought he was a wealthy Anthorian merchant who traded hides in Relanor. There were many of these now that Relanor was peaceful again.
It was convenient to remain incognito here. Unlike the previous towns and cities they had passed through, such as Askonir, these border towns had no Drinol. A council elected by prominent citizens governed them and they were inevitably dreadfully self-important. If they found the King of Anthor within their walls they would want him to attend this feast and that, preferably for at least a week or two so that they could boast to the neighbouring towns.
He could simply refuse, of course, but they would still want him to spend half the night discussing some absurd local business anyway unless he had Althak and Drinagish forcibly remove them. Anonymity was the simplest way to avoid all that and get himself a good night’s sleep.
Yartha and Vyanol made him comfortable, serving him their best ale and the choicest cuts of the pig that roasted on the open hearth. They did have some ambroth but very little, they kept it more for medicinal purposes than for drinking. After the meal their hosts joined them as Menish and his company sat with their mugs of ale around the hearth while a bard played softly in the corner.
Menish liked these two. Yartha was a dark, powerfully built woman with hair as black as night and olive skin. Her face frequently lit with a bright smile and she had a vast capacity for ale. Vyanol, in contrast, was more pensive. He hesitated before he spoke, as if he took some care in choosing his words. They spoke in Relanese from habit, but they occasionally reverted to their native Anthorian tongue.
Yartha had much to say about the weather, there had been storms in the north lately, and how it kept away travellers. Not that the inn was empty, several groups were staying that night and a whole caravan had passed through a few days before.
Vyanol hesitated a comment about the recent elections in a pause left by his wife. He was annoyed that women could not hold office on the council. Any prominent citizen could vote, including Yartha for she owned the inn jointly with her husband, but she could not seek election herself.
“It's these foolish Relanese, and the Vorthenki are worse,” he said in his slow, hesitating way. “My wife would make a good councillor, better than some I could name.”
“I'm certain of it,” said Althak, a twinkle in his eye as he saw Vyanol remember the Vorthenki’s presence.
Menish smiled at their host’s concern.
“Fear not, Vyanol,” he chuckled. “Althak is not as Vorthenki as he appears.”
“M’Lord!” protested Althak and they all laughed at his use of the Vorthenki honorific which seemed to deny Menish’s words.
“Nonsense, Uncle,” snorted Drinagish. “He's as big as an ox, he likes the sea and he dresses like a, well, like a Vorthenki. What else do you call him?”
Menish changed the subject.
“There have been storms in the north?”
“So a man said who was through last week,” said Yartha. “You may have flooding. How far north do you travel?”
“Meyathal, no further.”
“Well, it probably won't affect you. I heard that Gildenthal was flooded.” She shrugged, “Mind you those northerners are a wild lot, they'll say anything.”
“He was a northerner?”
“No, a plainsman, at great pains to tell us how many cattle he owned, you know the type. But he heard the news from northerners when he was near Gildenthal.”
“It doesn't matter anyway. I'm not travelling that far on this trip.” But Menish was lying. The expedition to Gashan would take that route. He would soon find out more about what was happening up there.
“Perhaps you can tell us what's happening in Atonir,” said Vyanol. “They say the King of Anthor arrived on a golden ship and brought a great magician with him who warned that the Gashans will attack Anthor soon. Vorish is sending an army north and the whole town is required to organise a supply dump he's ordered.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Our worthy council is delighted with all the responsibility.”
Menish almost choked on his ale. How had such news reached here so soon? There must have been a courier that left before they did.
