As for the words of the Keeper, Menish did not believe him. He had been a fool to go to the fire tower. It was a place where old men burbled stupidity and made it look like power. Many years ago, when the weight of his cares and his guilt at leaving Thalissa to the mercy of Thealum’s mob lay heavily on him, he had visited the tower to try and find some solace. He had found peace and understanding, if not compassion, at the place. It was appropriate that he should give them the news that Thalissa was alive.
But this talk of power was nonsense. The Keeper had spoken grandly of things far away, things he could not have known about without being some kind of oracle. But Menish knew better. Vorish was also good at obtaining information. There was no need to surround it with mystery and awe, it was simply a matter of having spies in the right places and asking the right questions.
And yet, although he told himself these things over and over, he found himself watching Azkun, wondering about Gilish. During the long gallops and short halts Vorish’s face appeared again and again in his mind. It was slowly changing to look more like his own.
On the evening after the one spent at the Fire Tower, when they had eaten, Drinagish made a remark about Am-Goluz.
“Tell me more of the Fire Tower, Master Hrangil,” asked Azkun.
Hrangil raised his eyebrows and an eager look crossed his face, as if this were some sort of test he knew he could pass.
“The Fire Towers, there are two of them: Am-Goluz and Onen-Goluz, were built by Gilish when he first landed in Relanor. To the uninitiated they were signal beacons to warn Atonir of a Monnar attack and to summon aid.
“Gilish built them to be impregnable, and neither tower has ever been conquered. Even the Vorthenki could not breach their doors, although Thealum brought great engines to Onen-Goluz because he thought Vorish lay within. In years past they have been a refuge for the Imperial family in times of danger. Gishirian the Good was born in Am-Goluz and lived there until he came to the throne in his thirties.
“But they are more than beacons and refuges. They are the source of the sacred fire. The temple of Aton, in the palace of Atonir, was intended to be another source of the flame, but its flame was lost when… when Gilish fell at Kelerish. Alas, the flame of Onen-Goluz was also lost in the time of Kulash the Usurper. Both were rekindled from Am-Goluz, but they do not retain their former power.
“Because of the flame of Am-Goluz the Keeper lives to a great age. There is no man alive who remembers when the present keeper came into his office, I have heard it said that it was two hundred years ago.
“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.