Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) (23 page)

With the light of the new dawn, Michael studied the dilapidated buildings around him as he was given his breakfast. Aneh had told him of towns that had been destroyed by the city’s army a thousand summers ago, but if this was one of those cities, Michael thought it was still in remarkable condition. In his own land of England, Michael had seen ruins of castles and abbeys of five, six or more hundred summers. He had never seen anything that had been uninhabited for a thousand summers with most of its walls standing, not to mention roofs in place on some buildings.

But then he had never seen any stone buildings like these, either. Each building seemed to be made out of a single piece of rock – there were no joins he could discern anywhere. It was as if the town had been carved out of a mountain of smooth granite, rather than built. If the violence of a destructive army hadn’t descended on it, Michael thought the entire town might have survived intact for the millennium since its abandonment. The structures also reminded him of the tents of the Elahish – there were no corners to the buildings, their edges were curved and the roofs that were still in place were domed.

He was hurried back into the saddle after he had eaten, however, and he regretted that most of the rest of his examination of the buildings needed to be done from the back of the Karrabesh. As they rode, he saw carvings above some of the doorways, and the few windows he could see were unusual shapes – none of them having traditional corners – but more than that he couldn’t tell as small trees and shrubs had found the protection of the old walls ideal for growth, now peaking through doorways and windows, and hiding many of the buildings’ architectural secrets. They quickly settled into a gallop to speed their journey, even while still on the ancient town’s roads that were overgrown with grass. Whether he would ever be able to return to take a closer look, he didn’t know, but something inside him hoped so.

Once beyond the nameless town, they continued on at a gallop until the Karrabesh tired, when they slowed just long enough to rest them before another short race. If they arrived at the city today, the mounts would have a moon or more to recover, so pushing them to their limits would be worth it for the soldiers. The mountains grew ever closer as the day progressed, their tallest peaks disappearing into clouds that hung like white crowns adorning a row of dark lords.

By mid-afternoon they started to come across fields that looked tamed. The harvest season would now have ended, and the fields used for grains were empty. But others contained livestock of one description or another, and people would occasionally be seen who would wave happily, and if in earshot wish the soldiers well. The occasional dwelling could also be seen, and Michael noted the change in design. Unlike the derelict town they had stayed in the previous night, where buildings were rounded and appeared to be carved from rock, these buildings were more like the old stone cottages that would be seen in the English countryside: small square buildings built from local stone, smoke gently wafting into the sky from their chimneys.

The mood of the soldiers had lifted noticeably since they had entered the borders of their city, the familiarity giving them a comfortable sense of home before their arrival. One or two even smiled at Michael, although they still kept their discussions amongst themselves.

Then, finally, as the sun was setting they crested a small hill that had looked like any other, pausing at its summit. There it was, Aperocalsa.

Michael almost fell off his mount with surprise when he saw the city. He recognised it.

CHAPTER TWELVE:
 

The Guardian

Does power corrupt, or are the corrupted drawn to power? Even those who reach the world’s seats of influence may not be able to tell. For the lies they must tell themselves as they seek the acceptance of their subjects hides the truth from even their own souls.
 

From the Wisdom of Ashael

***

It was another hour before they finally entered the city’s gates. Although the darkness of night had now fallen, the approaching road was lit by massive torches allowing the soldiers on the walls to see anyone approaching from at least a couple of hundred yards away. Recognising the return of the Rist, the guards had worked quickly to raise the huge iron portcullis, allowing them to walk through on their mounts four abreast.

Michael’s mind had been racing since seeing the city for the first time. To its right lay a large lake, perhaps two miles long and half as wide. A river flowed towards the riders briefly before swinging right to the south. On the lake’s left, the ground gradually rose at first, the city’s entrance only a few feet above the water’s level. But after a few hundred feet its incline sharpened, a steep cliff face then becoming the lake’s border; rising to well over a thousand feet in height by the time it greeted the imposing mountains that enclosed the city on its east and north sides. The mountains in the east continued south past the lake and into the distance as far as he could see.

The city appeared to run the entire length of the cliff, and the face of the precipice was lined with a series of waterfalls. The first appeared where the rock face had risen a little more than a hundred feet above the lake, the cascade from the cliff-face maybe twenty or thirty feet below the city streets. Each waterfall that followed the first was similarly twenty feet or so from the surface of the city. Thus as Michael gazed at the scene he saw flows of water from the cliff gradually rising into the distance, giving a beauty to the scene as the rising height of the waterfalls reflected the dying light of the evening. Even from a distance, while the daylight lasted the multi-colour of rainbows could be seen amongst the spray.

At first, they had been too far away to see much detail in the city, but the unmistakable sight of the lake and water-strewn cliff wasn’t the only thing Michael had recognised. In the far northeast of the city, at its highest point, rose a huge building covered in towers and spires. It looked exactly as he remembered it from the crystal medallion. He remembered staring at the object while sat in the armchair of his flat, thinking that he would like to examine the building, and during the hour or so of their journey from the crest of the hill to the city entrance he had been filled with conflicting emotions.

A part of him was excited to be seeing the city that had appealed to him just before his arrival in the land. He remembered being drawn to the city, only just before he had caught sight of the camp where the Elahish lived, and he wondered whether he would have arrived in Aperocalsa rather than in the forest had his gaze remained on this place. At the same time, he knew that the city’s inhabitants were enemies of Aneh’s people, and that he would now be considered a traitor amongst them. The guilt that such knowledge gave threatened to overwhelm him many times, his desire to explore Aylosia’s only city a conscious betrayal to Aneh and her family.

He wondered how his experience in the land would have been different if this had been the place of his appearance? If what he had learned was true, he wouldn’t have been told of the Weaving, or if he had it would have been in terms that portrayed it as evil. Perhaps he would have been safe from Chet’tu. But a Shosa wouldn’t have claimed him, and he wouldn’t have met Aneh. The thought of her knotted his stomach as it always had done since he had awoken amongst the soldiers, knowing that he would probably not see her again, and praying to whatever god ruled this land that she was safe.

He forced his mind to continue its deliberations, and he wondered whether he would have been accepted if he had come to Aylosia in the city. Would he have been welcomed or feared? How would that change now that he was coming here having been taken from the Elahish? And why had the soldiers rescued him from the demons anyway?

The light had quickly faded and every time he had looked again at the city they were approaching he had seen lights from buildings large and small dotting the rising cliff-top. The time had passed with his thoughts battling each other, and now that they were passing the giant walls he felt anxious of what would follow. He had not been in any position to escape from the soldiers, of course, but somehow being enclosed behind walls that rose fifty feet and which had trained watchmen atop them made him feel like a trapped animal; as if the last remnants of his freedom were being stripped from him.

His anxiety didn’t last long, though, as they didn’t even pause at the gates, continuing on their mounts into the city, and his attention quickly moved to the sights and sounds that now greeted him. The street they climbed was twice as broad as the city gate, and though night had now arrived, the city was bright with lanterns and torches atop tall stone columns that lined the road.

The stone buildings either side of the road rose three or four stories and were well set back. Crowds of people gathered, strolled and made merry in equal measure amongst fountains, monuments, and courtyards. At the sight of the soldiers, all made way. Some of the city’s inhabitants would cheer and wave, while others looked sombre, perhaps noting the diminished numbers or the hidden bandages covering the wounds of battle. Michael thought he occasionally would spy someone in the crowd carefully examining the returning warriors; sometimes relief flooding their face as they identified a loved one, sometimes fear growing instead. But no-one tried to interrupt their journey through the city.

The scene barely changed as they made their way towards the towered building in the northeast corner of the city that Michael now intuitively knew was their destination. After twenty minutes or so, the road curved around to the left and widened. On the bend itself, overhead ran a wide column of stone – a visible partition between what he would later come to realise were the upper and lower city. The buildings in the upper city side became grander, with statues welcoming visitors on either side of paths, and gold lining ornamented roofs. There were no torches here, but the lanterns had grown in both size and number so that Michael could see clearly the details of the people and structures they passed.

As he looked ahead, he could see their journey’s end. He had thought it was a single building, but now realised it was a complex. Two towers guarded the entrance. Built for decoration as much as security they reached into the sky like spires, their circular roofs ending in a single point, and each topped with a flag that was fluttering in the night breeze. Dotted along the crenellations atop the wall were soldiers, each carrying an upright spear on which also flew small flags. Behind them rose a dozen or more towers and spires that Michael could see, each clearly lit in the night sky. And in front of it all, in the middle of the street, stood a statue. Twice the height of the mounted men, it was of a woman who held a small boy on her lap, arms protectively around him. Standing behind them was the towering figure of a man, his right arm raised, and his sword pointed to the sky. As they passed it, Michael was able to read the words that were inscribed in large lettering below their feet:
That they may become.

As they finally arrived at the entrance to the complex, the soldiers finally dismounted in a large courtyard. A group of men had been waiting for them, and led the Karrabesh away for their deserved rest and care. Amafar dismissed his men, Cesir leaving with them.
 

The Warmaster then looked at Michael for a moment, before speaking to him, “It is likely that on the morrow the Guardian will summon you. This aide will attend you.” He motioned to a woman who had appeared at his side. “Sleep well,” he said. Then, after looking him up and down he raised an eyebrow as he finished, “and wash.”

At that, he turned and left, heading through some grand doors that were directly in front of them. Michael assumed that the leader of the Rist had to report his mission before he was able to retire for the night.

Unsure what to do now, he looked at the woman on his left, “Hi” he said, trying to smile. He should have been weary, but the sights of the new city had kept him alert. “I’m Michael.”

The woman was in her late thirties. Her long blonde hair was drawn behind her head into three bunches which, if connected, would have formed a triangle, and as she returned his smile, he thought that her green eyes also smiled. “Welcome to the Palace,” she said. “I am called Leta, and I am happy to aid you in your stay with us. Will you follow me? I will take you to your chambers.”

Michael nodded his approval, and then followed Leta as she turned and led him from the courtyard. Walking behind her as they entered a tall building to their left, he examined the deep red cloak she was wearing. It had a golden border, and in the middle of her back was the image of a large hawk of some description, also in gold. The bird held a sword in its outstretched wing, the point angling downwards, and Michael thought it looked like an insignia of some kind, and that the cloak was part of a uniform, rather than a fashion choice. He remembered the red and gold of the soldier’s uniforms and thought the colours were the same.

The building they had entered was warm inside, a fire lit in the entrance hall, and with warm fireplaces also appearing at regular intervals along the corridors. After a short walk, they went up a couple of flights of stairs, then walked some more; first turning right, then left, then left again. He didn’t think he would easily find his way back – the thought that he was trapped again stabbing at his stomach – but there was little he could do, so followed in silence.

When they finally arrived at the room he had been given, he was surprised to find that it was a suite, larger in fact than his flat had been in England. They entered into the main living area, where there was a blazing fire that was emitting sufficient heat to warm the room. A large sofa faced the fireplace, and another chair was angled next to it. Behind the seating, a table was surfaced with a range of fruits, bread and meat, a tall decanter standing next to two goblets.

Leta showed Michael the bedroom, where a four-poster bed lay against the far wall, and a wardrobe contained clothing that she explained was for his use and should be suitable for him. She finally showed him the bathroom, where there was already a bath full of steaming water, a tall mirror facing it.