“I wouldn’t dream of stopping anyone from attending,” Tintel said, rolling her eyes. “But I would appreciate it if a few of you volunteered to remain here, in case our services are needed.”
Heads nodded, and one or two offered to stay. Talk turned to the likely contestants. Mirar listened closely, intrigued by this method of making a great game out of the selection of a ruler.
“You’ll be going?” Tintel asked him quietly.
He smiled. “Yes - unless you have other uses for me tomorrow?”
“No,” she said. “I can’t help but think of it as your first public appearance. How will the Voice attending the Trials react to you, I wonder?”
“I doubt he or she will notice me at all,” he said, chuckling. “I have no intention of dressing up for the occasion or strutting about asserting myself.”
The corner of her mouth twitched into a half smile. “No, I don’t imagine you have. I have to admit, I’m relieved to hear it. You announcing your presence here when Dekkar was leaderless did give a few people cause for concern.”
Mirar sobered. He hadn’t thought of that.
“They have nothing to fear,” he told her. “From what I’ve heard, the contestants have to run around Kave seven times. I’m a little old for...”
The table fell abruptly silent. People had turned to look at the main door. Following the gaze of his fellow Dreamweavers, Mirar saw a man in a fancy uniform standing at the end of the hall.
The man cleared his throat.
“Is the sorcerer known as Mirar here?”
All heads turned to Mirar. He rose. “I am he.”
The man strode around the table and bowed formally. “I bring an invitation to you from Fourth Voice Genza, Holy Servant of the Five, to join her in witnessing the Chieftain Trials tomorrow. I am to ask if you are free to attend.”
Mirar felt a muscle in his belly tighten.
“I will be honored to attend,” he said.
“A servant will come here at an hour past dawn to escort you to the ceremony.” The messenger bowed again, then strode out of the room, leaving it quiet but full of both excitement and fear.
The caravan leader, Korikana - known as Kori to the caravaneers - was a small man. One of his legs was shorter than the other, so he walked with a jerky, pronounced limp. He was more at home on his arem than on his feet, and doted on the creature so much it was clear he regarded it as a companion as much as a beast of burden.
During the day Kori travelled up and down the line of carts and platten, checking that passengers and goods were in order. Two days ago he had pulled up beside the platten Emerahl had bought a seat on and pointed to a dark line that had appeared on the horizon.
“Hannaya!” he had declared before riding on.
Now she witnessed the same scene repeated. This time, however, his finger directed her attention toward what the dark line had become: a high cliff. Or, more specifically, a section of the rock wall.
She hadn’t had more than the occasional glimpse of it in the last day and she couldn’t see much now. The country she travelled through was covered in strange trees. They varied in size and also appeared to come in a few similar types. The largest had either a single or several trunks springing from its base. Sometimes they were straight, sometimes they twisted sinuously. Their bark could be smooth or rough, pale or dark. All were remarkable in that they had no branches. At the top of each trunk was a mop of large, stringy leaves of varying colors. Some bore odd fruit that was popular with the locals. Its flesh was sweet and dense. Others bore richly flavored berries that could be eaten fresh or dried. Another smaller variety produced spicy seeds. Emerahl could see potential for cures in the seeds and berries.
Another common variety of local plants were the ones with sharp prickles. They grew in all kinds of bulbous shapes, from tiny stone-like ones that quickly discouraged any traveller from walking barefoot or sitting down without first checking the ground, to enormous spheres twice as tall as a man with spines as long as her arm. Most varieties were edible, apparently, and Kori had demonstrated this once by slicing open a head-sized plant with a sword and scooping out the surprisingly sweet, watery contents for them to taste.
The platten turned and Emerahl realized the road they had been following since the coast had met a wider thoroughfare. People, animals and vehicles travelled back and forth on this new road. Looking up, she caught her breath.
The cliff was now in full view, and the sight was like nothing she’d ever seen. The high rock face had been carved with tier upon tier of windows and balconies. Near the center, enormous arched windows suggested grand halls within. Toward the edges, smaller ones hinted at more humble abodes. Smoke wisped from what looked like horizontal chimneys and water cascaded out of the mouths of carved faces.
“The palace!” Kori said to her as he rode past, gesturing grandly.
It was both fantastic and ridiculous. In one place the face of the cliff had collapsed, revealing abandoned rooms within. Emerahl wondered how far the tunnelling went into the rock face and if any other collapses were hidden within. She knew she wouldn’t feel completely at ease in this city; she would always be expecting the ceiling to fall on her, or the floor to drop away.
As the caravan drew closer to the cliff face, Emerahl was relieved to see plenty of buildings at the palace’s base. The citizens of Hannaya didn’t just live in the rock wall. More buildings filled the gap between the rock wall and the river.
She regarded the boats on the river wistfully; she had wanted to buy a place on one, but the fee had been too expensive. Kori halted the caravan in an area alongside the river where several other collections of carts and platten had camped. She paid him the final quarter of his fee and asked where she should look for accommodation. He drew a symbol in the dust, a star inside a circle, then gave her directions. When she was sure she had memorized the instructions well enough, she bade him farewell and set off in the direction he’d indicated.
She found the accommodation easily and was amused to discover it was a place for women travellers run by Pentadrian Servants. They gave her a bed in a room with three other middle-aged women, who appeared to be travelling together. The women tried to strike up a conversation, but Emerahl pretended she didn’t know the local language well enough to hold one. Which was partly true. Though The Twins had taught her Murian during her long journey, the speed at which the locals spoke made it difficult to understand at times.
She set a shield of magic about her bag and lay down on her bed. It didn’t take long before she was sliding into sleep - it was more of a struggle stopping herself lapsing into full unconsciousness. She had been travelling continually for months and craved a good long rest.
