Iraj whistled a merry tune as they set out and he kept it up for most of the morning, although Safar saw him glance in his direction every now and then, eyes hooded, as if measuring. After a time Safar pushed the vision away and made it into the mere nightmare that Iraj had suggested. He began to feel foolish for even mentioning it. He remembered his father's caution that the mountains could create a melancholy, distrustful mood, and finally he decided that what he'd seen was no vision, but the result of a fevered imagination brought on by melancholy's chill.
In a short time his own youthful spirits rose naturally to the fore and he joined in Iraj's tune. As they whistled their eyes met and their lips twisted into grins that turned the notes into airy bleats and they both exploded with laughter. The laughter was followed by much giggling over silly boys jokes. They staged mock fights and wrestled, behaving like the striplings they were.
The day was half gone by the time the two friends reached their goal. The ground was covered with hard-packed snow, marked here and there by green shoots struggling out to greet the spring sun. The day was warm and windless and as the trail steepened they began to perspire from the effort of their climb, forcing them to shed their coats. The narrow path curved and swooped over the snowy rocks, carrying them to the summit. Progress was impossible to mark. In many places broad overhangs and outcroppings blocked their view of everything but the rocks around them and the path under their feet. The goats and llama scrambled ahead, disappearing around a sharp bend.
Even though Safar knew what to expect when he rounded that bend, the view leaped on him as suddenly and delightfully as the first time he'd come this way.
They emerged into bright light, finding themselves on a broad ledge looking out across the northern side of the mountain range. Just below was a small, grassy hollow where mountain berries abounded. A spring burst from the rock beneath their feet, plummeting down to gather in a crystal pool in the center of the hollow. The goats were gamboling among the berries, bleating with joy. The llama ignored his less-than dignified cousins of the wool, his snout already buried deep in one of the berry bushes.
Falling away from the green hollow was a wonderland of white-capped crags that tumbled down to the great desert wastelands of the north. Fat columns of towering clouds drifted across the blue skies, islands of layered browns and grays and cottony whites. The desert sands caught the sunlight, casting it back at the skies and the whole appeared to be formed of glittering, multi-colored gems.
Beyond the desert there was nothing to stop the eye. Safar's vision sailed swiftly for the horizon's rim, a dark blue line where the vault of the sky mated with the earth. He heard Iraj gasp and knew that even heborn to the vast southern plainshad never looked such a great distance. The view was overwhelming but everything also seemed enlarged in the thin air so the horizon somehow appeared closealthough Safar knew from the caravan masters that it would take much time to travel so far.
He glanced at his friend, who had a foolish grin on his face. Iraj reached outhesitantlyas if trying to touch the horizon. Safar laughed for he'd done the same thing the first time he found the place.
"Follow me, he said. There's more."
Safar shed his light pack and clambered down the rocks running along the rushing spring. About half way the water sheeted over a cave mouth. Safar pointed it out to Iraj, then showed him how to edge his way between the falling water and the rock face and duck into the cave.
He'd left materials for torches there on his last visit and he quickly assembled several, then struck sparks with his flint tool to fire one. Instantly the cave was flooded with an eerie light. The walls and floors and ceiling were carved from smooth, green stone that captured all light and flung back a ghostly glow.
When Iraj had recovered from his initial amazement he fired a torch of his own and peered about, noting the place where Safar sometimes made a fire when the weather was cold. Then he saw a mass of pentagrams and magical symbols and star signssome old, some newerinscribed on one wall and the floor.
"A wizard's den, he said.
Safar nodded, not mentioning that the clumsier and newer symbols were his attempts to copy and learn from ancient masters. He'd yet to make magic with them, hampered as he was by youthful doubts. But in the back of his mind he knew it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to the temptation to cast a real wizard's spell.
Safar pointed to a series of faded red symbols etched on the floor. They led deeper into the cave, as if indicating a path. Iraj gaped as he recognized the symbolsthe demon moon and comet of The Conqueror.
"Alisarrian came here? he gasped.
"I don't know, Safar said. But I think some of those who knew him used this place."
He motioned Iraj forward and they followed the path through the several chambers that made up the cavern. One room had a stone shelf with ancient jars still sitting on it. Although some of the magical symbols identifying them were still plain, the contents of the jars had dried up long ago. Another room featured a small pile of weapons and armor so rusted they'd bonded together. Iraj examined them with much interest, commenting with authority on their purpose and former quality.
The final room was empty, save for brackets mounted on either side of the far wall. Safar lit two more torches and placed them in the brackets.
"This is what I brought you to see, he said, pointing to the broad space between the two torches.
Iraj peered where he pointed but at first saw nothing remarkable.
"Look closer, Safar said. It takes a minute to see the first time you try. After that it's easy because you know what you're looking for."
Iraj's eyes narrowed with effort and he turned his head this way and that, trying to make out what Safar was pointing at. Then the young potter smiled when he saw the stare turn into a look of wonder as the image between the mounted torch brackets leaped out.
A large painting had somehow been created just beneath the translucent surface of the stone. It was barely visible until the torches were litand only then if it were looked at a certain way.
The picture was of a tall, handsome warrior dressed in the archaic armor of a prince. He was fair skinned and had long light hair and fierce eyes as blue as the waters of Kyrania's holy lake. The warrior carried a helmet under his right arm and about his brow was a simple gold band of kingly authority. He had a sword in his left hand, held high as if greeting or challenging another warrior. Safar had never decided which.
Above the warrior king was the symbol of the Demon Moon and ascending comet.
"Alisarrian, Iraj hissed.
"None other, Safar said.
Iraj laughed in loud delight and clapped the young potter on the back, thanking him profusely.
"A secret for a secret, he said. Although I got the better bargain, my friend."
At that moment Safar realized that sometime between the moment they'd set out on the journey and their arrival, they had become friends. The knowledge made him feel somehow more adult. He'd never had a real friend before.
Iraj gazed at the portrait again. I've studied everything about Alisarrian, he said, but I've never seen such a likeness before. He looks every inch a conqueror. A man fated by the gods to rule a great empire."
He drew his sword, flourished it, then struck a pose like that in the paintingsword held high, head lifted and eyes far-seeing.
With a jolt, Safar noticed something for the first time. You're left-handed, he said, just like Alisarrian."
Iraj nodded, face sober. And tall and fair as well, he said. But my eyes are dark. His eyes are blue… like yours."
Safar blushed. One of the many reasons he treasured this secret place was that here was another blue-eyed person like himself. It made him feel not only less strange, but superiorif only for a little while.