kingdom,” I pointed out.”
“Well, yeah, I guess,” Torvil said, dubiously. “You haven’t conquered it, yet. But even just on this side of the mountains, it’s three days just to get to Mochara.”
“On foot,” I agreed.
Bronze was really good about it. I was gone for years and already I have an errand for her. She might have given me a slightly reproachful look, but I did tell her she could come back as soon as the three were in sight of Mochara. The cart was barely big enough for the three of them, but with Bronze towing it, they made very good time. I just hoped she wouldn’t set fire to the wooden axle at those speeds.
I sat on the bridge over the moat, watched them go screaming southward on one of the canal roads—the one on the west side, as it happens—and thought about the future.
What have I learned? I’ve obviously been asleep for a while. Long enough for a city to be built on the coast. Long enough for the mountain to move from the Eastrange out to the plains. And, judging by the canals, I’d say it’s been long enough for the mountain to grow canals. This stonework isn’t individual blocks; it’s smooth, unbroken stone, like the towers and buildings of the mountain itself.
So, a long time. Possibly a very long time.
I could have asked a lot of questions of my three new knights, but that’s hard to do when worshipful faces are looking at you. It feels like letting them down, somehow, to admit ignorance. I’m going to have to work on slowly breaking it to them that I’m neither omniscient nor omnipotent. Maybe, while they were assembling an historical account of Karvalen, they would ask themselves why I needed it.
As my first guess, I’ll say I’ve been asleep for a hundred years or more. That’s lots of time for a city to grow. A hundred years is probably too long for anyone I knew to still be alive. On the other hand, Tort is supposed to be alive… possibly very old, as she is “the Lady Tort,” so we’ll see. If I’m wrong and it’s much less than a century, I can revise my thinking. I wouldn’t mind being wrong.
I glanced up at the mountain, now covered in a city of sculpted buildings.
But I don’t think I am.
Interlude
“Got him!” Tyrecan said, sitting bolt upright, white eyes snapping wide open.
“Where?” Hagus asked.
“I’m checking now,” he replied, eyes focused on things beyond the confines of the room. His hands moved slowly, as though guiding tendrils of invisible smoke. “East of Vathula… more south… about…” Tyrecan frowned and his eyes focused on the room again. “Damn. He’s in that haunted mountain.”
“Well, of course he would be,” Hagus said, disgusted. “Figures. Get a look, will you?”
“I’m working on it,” Tyrecan replied, moving to stand before his largest mirror. “You go get Rakal and let him know, then tell the Prince.”
“He prefers to be called ‘king,’ you know.”
“He can prefer to be called God-Emperor of the Underworld. He’s still just a prince.”
“I won’t argue. But don’t let him hear you talk like that, Tyrecan,” Hagus cautioned. “Call him ‘my lord’ if ‘king’ offends your sensibilities.”
“I can live with that,” Tyrecan replied, waving a beringed hand before the rippling surface of the mirror.
“We should also put that sword away,” Hagus added.
“Good luck with that,” Tyrecan muttered, concentrating on the mirror.
“I’m serious. If it notices, it could ruin everything.”
“Maybe that’s why Parrin wanted it kept out with the fighting, rather than here.”
“But now he’s ordered it recalled,” Hagus pointed out.
“It doesn’t read a mind deeply enough to tell the difference,” Tyrecan assured him. “Nor does it have any interest.”
“It’s a sword that speaks within minds,” Hagus argued. “It’s bound to know something is wrong with her.”
“So? It’s not going to figure out what; it’s not a demon. It’s a dragon,” Tyrecan
“Well, yeah, I guess,” Torvil said, dubiously. “You haven’t conquered it, yet. But even just on this side of the mountains, it’s three days just to get to Mochara.”
“On foot,” I agreed.
Bronze was really good about it. I was gone for years and already I have an errand for her. She might have given me a slightly reproachful look, but I did tell her she could come back as soon as the three were in sight of Mochara. The cart was barely big enough for the three of them, but with Bronze towing it, they made very good time. I just hoped she wouldn’t set fire to the wooden axle at those speeds.
I sat on the bridge over the moat, watched them go screaming southward on one of the canal roads—the one on the west side, as it happens—and thought about the future.
What have I learned? I’ve obviously been asleep for a while. Long enough for a city to be built on the coast. Long enough for the mountain to move from the Eastrange out to the plains. And, judging by the canals, I’d say it’s been long enough for the mountain to grow canals. This stonework isn’t individual blocks; it’s smooth, unbroken stone, like the towers and buildings of the mountain itself.
So, a long time. Possibly a very long time.
I could have asked a lot of questions of my three new knights, but that’s hard to do when worshipful faces are looking at you. It feels like letting them down, somehow, to admit ignorance. I’m going to have to work on slowly breaking it to them that I’m neither omniscient nor omnipotent. Maybe, while they were assembling an historical account of Karvalen, they would ask themselves why I needed it.
As my first guess, I’ll say I’ve been asleep for a hundred years or more. That’s lots of time for a city to grow. A hundred years is probably too long for anyone I knew to still be alive. On the other hand, Tort is supposed to be alive… possibly very old, as she is “the Lady Tort,” so we’ll see. If I’m wrong and it’s much less than a century, I can revise my thinking. I wouldn’t mind being wrong.
I glanced up at the mountain, now covered in a city of sculpted buildings.
But I don’t think I am.
Interlude
“Got him!” Tyrecan said, sitting bolt upright, white eyes snapping wide open.
“Where?” Hagus asked.
“I’m checking now,” he replied, eyes focused on things beyond the confines of the room. His hands moved slowly, as though guiding tendrils of invisible smoke. “East of Vathula… more south… about…” Tyrecan frowned and his eyes focused on the room again. “Damn. He’s in that haunted mountain.”
“Well, of course he would be,” Hagus said, disgusted. “Figures. Get a look, will you?”
“I’m working on it,” Tyrecan replied, moving to stand before his largest mirror. “You go get Rakal and let him know, then tell the Prince.”
“He prefers to be called ‘king,’ you know.”
“He can prefer to be called God-Emperor of the Underworld. He’s still just a prince.”
“I won’t argue. But don’t let him hear you talk like that, Tyrecan,” Hagus cautioned. “Call him ‘my lord’ if ‘king’ offends your sensibilities.”
“I can live with that,” Tyrecan replied, waving a beringed hand before the rippling surface of the mirror.
“We should also put that sword away,” Hagus added.
“Good luck with that,” Tyrecan muttered, concentrating on the mirror.
“I’m serious. If it notices, it could ruin everything.”
“Maybe that’s why Parrin wanted it kept out with the fighting, rather than here.”
“But now he’s ordered it recalled,” Hagus pointed out.
“It doesn’t read a mind deeply enough to tell the difference,” Tyrecan assured him. “Nor does it have any interest.”
“It’s a sword that speaks within minds,” Hagus argued. “It’s bound to know something is wrong with her.”
“So? It’s not going to figure out what; it’s not a demon. It’s a dragon,” Tyrecan
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