The sun was an hour over the mountains when Palanthas finally came into view. At last feeling safe, Teldin reined in his horse to savor the view of the city from the top of the pass. Teldin had forgotten how – even during the war – Palanthas had been a majestic and inspiring sight.
Nestled in a bowl-shaped valley with its back pressed against the gleaming, blue-green Bay of Branchala, the city had the vague shape of a huge wheel. Concentric streets radiated from the heart, culminating in a massive walled ring pierced by great gates. The wall had long ago proven ineffective at containing Palanthas’s vibrant growth, and the city had tumbled from its confines to climb the surrounding hills and form the maze called the New City.
Teldin pointed to a cathedral-like building standing at the edge of the central square in the middle of the city. “That’s the palace of the lord of Palanthas," Teldin told the giff, indicating one of the sights. "See those low buildings, closer to us, along the road in? That’s the library where the sage Astinus is supposed to stay." Gomja showed only a minor interest in the architecture "The walls are dwarf-built,” Teldin explained tersely. He was slightly vexed that the giff wasn’t paying attention to his descriptions. “They say the walls are among the oldest in the world, built even before the Age of Might.”
“What is that dark tower that stands by itself?” Gomja asked, pointing toward a jet-black structure not far from the palace. The tower was actually one main edifice with two slender supporters, each topped by a blood-red minaret.
Teldiri shuddered as he looked toward where Gomja pointed. He had been unconsciously avoiding the structure. “It’s called the Tower of High Sorcery. Can’t you feel the evil?” The farmer marveled at the way the giff calmly looked at the dark structure.
Gomja shrugged, relatively untroubled by the palpable vileness the tower radiated. “Magic is not the giff way,” was all he could offer by way of explanation.
Teldin accepted the answer and turned his gaze back to Palanthas. He noted, with surprise, a new feature to the landscape. On the far side, outside the city walls, was a huge rock topped by a partial castle. The whole structure sat canted in a field at the edge of the New City. During the war that space had been a drill ground, he recalled. He pointed out the curious structure to the giff, but Gomja only nodded with disinterest.
“It is much like the Rock of Bral,” the giff observed, casually comparing the strange feature to a relic of his home, the void. He looked over the city’s radiating streets. What about inns? Do they have any that serve meals? I don’t think I’ve eaten for days, sir.” Even as he spoke, the blue- skinned alien looked sincerely up at the farmer.
Exasperated but amused, Teldin shook his head. “Yes, of course there’s food.” He rubbed his weary eyes. “To the city then, men!” Teldin finally said brightly, sitting up straight and playfully speaking as if to a thousand men. “First, a horse market to sell this fine steed. Second, breakfast!” Orders given, Teldin led his imaginary army toward the city of Palanthas.
By late morning, Teldin’s purse jingled and Gomja’s belly rumbled pleasantly once again. Vandoorm’s stallion had brought a fine price at the horse fair, though the sale was helped in great part by Teldin’s knowledge of horseflesh and the horse dealers of Palanthas. Years as a mule skinner among the Whitestone forces had not been a total waste, the farmer reflected. The sale provided enough steel for the pair to get by for several weeks, though Teldin was forced to lower the estimate by the time Gomja had finished breakfast. After overcoming their fear of the strange robed figure, the serving wenches had kept the trooper supplied with a seemingly endless flow of fruits and vegetables. Teldin could only take consolation in the fact that at least the giff spurned the more expensive roasts and sausages that were offered.
Teldin fretted as he and Gomja made their way through the streets of the Old City, bound for the Great Library of Palanthas. “How am I going to get in to see Astinus?” he asked himself. “We’re not exactly nobility-we’re not even bathed!”
“Sir?” inquired Gomja.
“Nothing.” Teldin looked up, startled. "I was just thinking. You see, this Astinus, the sage, well, he doesn’t have a reputation for hospitality, and I was just wondering how we were going to get in.”
“Perhaps he will be curious about me, sir.”
“I don’t think the word ‘curious’ applies to Astinus. He probably already knows about you. They say Astinus knows everything and spends all his time writing it down. Supposedly, he wrote all the books in the Great Library.” Teldin shook his head in wonder at the thought. “Not the kind of life I’d want."
“Nor I, sir,” Gomja added. “No fighting. Maybe he will take pity on you, sir.”
“Not likely. The cold fish didn’t lift a hand to help the armies during the war,” Teldin answered with scorn. "He stayed in his library the whole time, writing. You’d think he could have put what he knows to good use.”
Gomja pursed his lips, which were barely noticeable on his heavy jowls. “Bribe?” he finally suggested.
Teldin shook his head. “The Order of Aesthetics, which surrounds him, provides all he needs. We don’t even have enough to bribe the gatekeeper.”
Gomja kept silent, leaving Teldin to his musing, and the two said nothing more until they reached the Great Library. Entering the grounds, they passed through a small park, rich with the growth of late summer. Couples, strolling through the gardens, stopped and gawked at the strange and filthy pair. Teldin paid them no mind; he bore little love for the citizens of Palanthas. He recalled how they had cowered behind their walls while far better men, many his friends, had died defending the city from the dragonarmies. He returned to the problem at hand and headed directly for the main building.
Like nearly all the buildings of the city, the Great Library was a monument of gleaming white marble. It consisted of three wings, long halls whose colonnaded walls were pierced by small windows. Although it stood three stories tall, the library gave the impression of being a low, squat structure. Perhaps this was caused by the broad roof, or possibly the building’s plain front. Save for the columns that graced the entrance there was none of the fanciful ornamentation of which the Palanthians were so fond.
Teldin led the way past a small, unimpressive entrance to the public section of the library and took Gomja to the next door down. This was a grand facade with a curving marble stair and pillared portico. Reaching the top, Teldin took a deep breath, then pounded on the glass-paned door.
For several moments nothing happened, but just as Teldin was about to knock again, the door swung open.
“What do you seek of the Order of Aesthetics?” asked a young man standing in the doorway. Of average height and somewhat plump from a sedentary life, the man wore simple, plain robes. His dark hair was neatly trimmed and his clean-scrubbed face made no attempt to hide the disdain he obviously felt for the grubby vagabond who stood before him.
“My friend and I-” Teldin motioned for Gomja to come forward- “seek an audience with the great sage Astinus.” Teldin kept his voice low and respectful, being genuinely awed by the presence of so much obvious power. Gomja, on his best behavior, stood behind Teldin, his own head rising over the human’s. As the two had agreed beforehand, Gomja pulled back the blanket covering his head. Teldin hoped this would intrigue the monk, and not terrify the man out of his wits. The giff wiggled his ears and even smiled, revealing the gaping extent of his mouth.
The doorman’s eyes widened. The look of scorn vanished and was replaced by dumbfounded amazement. "Wait here,” he squeaked, then scuttled away into the huilding’s dark depths. In his baste, he left the door open.