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!”
“Your condemnation is from yourself not me. Relanor does not see a crime in such things. It is the Anthorian in you that condemns you. You never told your wife.”
“Of course not. I curse the day I went to Atonir.”
“Is that all?” The Keeper’s gaze wandered over to Azkun and Tenari.
“No, I bring you a question. Do you know who this man is? He doesn't eat or drink, he has stood in dragon fire unscathed.”
The Keeper regarded Azkun for a long moment then he turned back to Menish. There was a hint of a smile on his face.
“You call him Azkun and he comes from Kelerish. You would have added that he drove away a korolith, or so the Vorthenki call them. He calmed a storm, but you do not believe that, King of Anthor. And he raised a man from death. He is the son of Thalissa, the woman you thought you had killed.
“But all this you know, you wish me to tell you if he is Gilish or Kopth. And I can answer that question.” He paused, watching them with amusement. “You are going to the land of Gashan. This Azkun will, in Gashan, declare himself to be Gilish.”
“That's not what the priests of Atonir thought,” said Menish.
“The priests of Atonir are fools. What do they know of power? Only our flame has been alight since Gilish placed it here himself. Theirs was allowed to die and be rekindled three times. Only our flame holds the truth!”
As the echoes of his shouts subsided the Keeper made an odd, choking sound that Menish did not immediately recognise as laughter. Menish found himself wondering what made a man take the vows of eternal silence that bound him to the fire tower: a fear of the outside world or a yearning for mystic power?
“You came to me for an answer and you do not like my answer. So be it, but that is still my answer. Yet perhaps I can give you something for your remaining guilt.”
“I told you she drugged me!”
“Of course, yet you still blame yourself. Such guilt is easily paid for by placing Vorish on the throne.”
“Vorish? You approve of him? Why?”
“What do you know of us, Menish of Anthor? You have visited a Fire Tower but once before in your life. The rest you know is mere rumours, the idle talk of men outside. Yet you presume to know of whom we approve and disapprove.”
“I only know that Vorish tolerates you. He doesn't visit you, he doesn't leave offerings before your fires.”
“Do you think we care? Does our power rest only with the approval of the Emperor?”
“Power? You'd speak to me of power? Where were you when Telish was killed?” retorted Menish. “I have said all I wanted to. I do not accept your answer about Azkun. But I wanted to tell you that Thalissa is alive.”
He turned and faced the cloaked figures that stood motionless in the shadows. Before he could walk towards the door the Keeper called him back.
“Stop, Menish of Anthor. I have not dismissed you. You are presumptuous, yet you will be humbled before the Fire.” In front of him the fire leapt high into the air with a roar and Menish threw up his hands to shield his face. “I have something more to say to you.”
Menish turned and faced the old Keeper, angry at him and yet awed. “What is it?”
The Keeper leaned back on his throne and a look like glee crossed his face.
“The ways of Aton are strange, as mysterious as the shape of fire, as unknowable as the dwelling place of the Ammorl. You do not see it yet, Menish. After thirty years you have not seen it. Yet we have known, we who sit in this tower, we who never leave it. The ways of Aton are strange.” He leaned forward.
“We approve of Vorish. We absolve you of guilt. You are his father.”
“What?”
“Of course. How could you not know? He has the look of you.”
Vorish had dark, Anthorian eyes but he was otherwise Vorthenki looking. Menish had always thought he looked like Thalissa.
“He looks like his mother, you haven't seen him.”
“And he looks like his father. Did you not commit your crime nine months before he was born?”
Menish’s mind raced as he tried to remember over thirty years before. He had been in Anthor when Vorish was born. The Vorthenki had not used the Relanese calendar in those days and they were still rather haphazard about recording birth dates. The timing might or might not be correct, he did not know.
“So you see,” the Keeper went on, “you have placed an emperor of the line of Gilish on the throne. Not, unfortunately a direct descent in the male line, but for the present we are content. The means are not relevant. Do we not call Gilish ‘the two handed’ for that reason?”
Menish said nothing. He simply glared at the Keeper as if he had insulted him.
“You may go,” the keeper dismissed him. Muttering oaths Menish turned and walked to the door.
Chapter 19: The Lansheral
For the next three days they continued their journey across Relanor, leaving before dawn, changing horses at way stations and sleeping in post houses. They had to slow their pace somewhat because Keashil grew tired. She was unused to riding, and she was stiff and sore each night.
Menish wondered if Tenari also suffered with the pace, for as far as any of them knew she had never ridden before. But she had lapsed back to her old, sullen manner, having eyes only for Azkun. Other than that she appeared to manage fairly well. Menish could see Azkun was doing his best, but he was not so used to riding that he could hope to keep up this pace as long as the Anthorians and Althak. He looked relieved when Menish said that they would rise later and halt sooner.