and took up their trades again. But in their hearts, they still lived in the days of their youth. And they were sadder for it, Aeron, because they couldn't find the spirit for life they'd had before, and they spent their days trying to recall it.' Kestrel returned to his knife work. 'We could use your help, Aeron. I'll have land to clear, timber to cut, a house to raise. In my experience, good hard work is the cure for a lot of ailments.'
Because he loved Kestrel as his father, Aeron made himself think about the forester's words, but he couldn't bring the image into focus; every cell in his body seemed to shrink away from the prospect. He reached into the pouch at his waist and removed the wax-sealed letter marked 'Telemachon,' weighing it in his hand.
I've got to try it, he realized. 'I'm sorry, Kestrel, Eriale. My road doesn't lead to Saden.'
Six
A cold, gusty wind blew across the bright waters of the Inner Sea as Aeron disembarked in the crowded dock district of the city of Cimbar. The great city was a marvel beyond Aeron's comprehension. Everywhere he looked, myriads of people seethed and swarmed, engaged in a thousand activities. The docks were cluttered with the ships of many lands, and the broad roadstead within the city's seawalls was crowded with more riding at anchor, a floating forest of masts and spars. Drifting along with the press of people, Aeron shouldered his pack and headed into the city.
Dodging through the crowd, Aeron climbed up a steep hillside. Cimbar sprawled across several low hills that met the Inner Sea between two high, proud headlands about a mile apart. Aeron soon discovered that he'd landed in the part of town known as New Cimbar, which clustered around the western headland and its apron of hills. This was the commercial district, covering almost twice the territory of Old Cimbar around the eastern headland.
From Aeron's vantage high on the flanks of the hills of the new city, he could make out several majestic monoliths rising over the Old City, great pyramids of crumbling stone that towered over the white palaces and forums of the city's center. 'What are those?' he asked one passerby, a merchant's tout carrying a thick ledger crammed full of cryptic notes.
'The pyramids?' The fellow gave Aeron an odd look. 'New in town, eh? The biggest one is the Great Temple of Gilgeam, deserted by the Untheri when Tchazzar drove them back to their own lands four hundred years ago. It's naught but a landmark now. The little ones surrounding it are temples and shrines built to honor Untheri gods, back when Gilgeam was master of this land.'
'Are any of them still in use?' Aeron wondered.
'No, not by the Untheri,' the tout laughed. 'Some of the philosophers hold their schools by the minor pyramids, and many of the city folk use them as meeting places and places of debate. You can see the Sceptanar's palace there by Gilgeam's pyramid.'
Even in provincial Maerchlin, Aeron had heard of the Sceptanar. The faceless ruler of Cimbar, the Sceptanar was reputed to be a mighty mage and was considered one of the few kings strong enough to claim the title of Overking of all Chessenta. Aeron studied the alabaster citadel of the city's king for a long moment. To his surprise, a great dark crowd clustered around the palace gates, roiling and clashing in a sea of discontent. 'There's some kind of riot going on over there,' he said with some alarm.
The merchant shook his head, disappointed but not concerned. 'The Mob,' he said. 'The demagogues have been stirring them up, claiming that Tchazzar the god-king will return someday and depose the Sceptanar.'
Even though Aeron was half a mile from the scene, he could hear the dim roar of hundreds of voices shouting, and smoke drifted skyward from unseen fires. 'Why don't the Sceptanar's soldiers disperse them?'
'Cimbar balances on three legs, lad. The Sceptanar, the baseborn Mob, and the noble senators, who look after their own pockets. If the Sceptanar backs the Mob into a corner, they'll burn the whole city to spite him, and the high senators will step in to pick up the pieces. No, the Sceptanar knows that it's his task to look for enemies outside of Cimbar's walls, and until the demagogues actually try to overthrow him, he'll let them be. Our city has more pressing concerns than hooligans and rabble-rousers.'
Aeron stared. The great city, overrun by rioters in the streets while its overlord watched idly-he never would have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. He felt acutely conscious of his rural upbringing; nothing in Maerchlin had prepared him for this. He let his eye rove past the Sceptanar's palace across the old acropolis. On the seaward side of the hill from the king's palace, a jagged stump of an obelisk speared the sky like a broken sword blade, barely clearing the skyline of gleaming buildings opposite him. 'What's that jagged building?' he asked.
'That's the Broken Pyramid, once the stronghold of the Untheri mages who ruled Cimbar. It's said that the Untheri shattered it themselves rather than allow it to fall into our hands when Tchazzar led us against them. Those buildings nearby are the university.'
'The university? That's where I'm going.'
'You don't strike me as a philosopher or sage, so you must be an artisan. What is your craft?'
'You misunderstand me. I intend to study at the College of Mages.'
The merchant snorted. 'If you say so. You'll want to head for that building there on the seaward point of the acropolis.' The stump of the Broken Pyramid was ringed by a low wall and several bland stone buildings covered by brown vines. The elevatation isolated the tower and its surroundings from the city proper; its nearest neighbors appeared to be a small number of walled palaces that shared its lofty vantage, and then the cluttered streets of the docks and merchants' homes. 'I'll leave you to your studies,' the merchant said, 'although you shouldn't consort with wizards, lad. Magic is dangerous stuff.'
More dangerous than armed bands pillaging in the streets? Aeron thought to himself, but he thanked the merchant and let the last remark pass without argument. He descended into the broad, sun-warmed thoroughfares of the city's center and made his way into Old Cimbar. Here the buildings were generally smaller and built closer together, constricted by the remnants of ancient city walls that had been pulled down and moved farther outward as the city grew over the centuries. Keeping his eye on the pyramids marking Cimbar's eastern border, Aeron circled well clear of the Sceptanar's palace and wound his way up the steep, doubled roads that climbed Old Cimbar's acropolis.
At the top, Aeron got his first good look at the college. There weren't many trees or buildings on the hilltop to block the howling north wind of late Marpenoth, and his cloak fluttered and snapped behind him as he gazed over the grounds. Cimbar's great harbor fell away behind him, with its moored ships and maze of docks and piers. The hill was only a couple of hundred yards wide, and past the college Aeron glimpsed the rough brown foothills of the coastline arcing eastward along the Inner Sea.
The wind drew tears from his eyes, but he stood motionless, absorbing every detail. Once, long ago, a fortification here commanded the entrance of Cimbar's harbor. A low stone rampart of great age edged the hilltop. Long buildings of rough stone blocks formed a wide quadrangle, with a large, impressive hall of some kind in the center. A six-foot wall of the same fieldstone ringed the buildings, broken by a couple of wrought-iron gates.
To his right, the ruins of the Broken Pyramid stood to the south of the college buildings, a tumbled mound of weed-grown rubble that divided the mages' school from the rest of the university and Old Cimbar below. He could feel the Weave that surrounded the place, the subtle demands of existing spells, the bright surges of spells being worked nearby even as he watched, and the dim remembrance of unimaginable power in the ruins of the pyramid.
After a long moment, Aeron shook himself and set off for the nearest gatehouse. Two soldiers in gleaming breastplates stood guard, sheltering inside the small building. As Aeron approached, they barred his way. 'Halt and state your business,' said one.
'I'm here to study at the college,' Aeron answered.
The guards laughed. 'If I had a silver talent for every waif that marches up here to become an archmage, I'd be a wealthy man,' one remarked. 'Go away.'
'I have a letter of introduction,' Aeron said. 'Can you tell me where to find Telemachon?'
'That would be Master or Lord Telemachon to you, pup,' growled the second guard. 'Let's see it.'
Aeron reached into his tunic and pulled out the letter Fineghal had left for him. The parchment had a golden gleam in the afternoon light. He handed it to the guard.
The guard scrutinized the letter. 'What's this chicken scratching?' he said, pointing at the name.
'It's written in Espruar. Elvish.'
