Beyond the Gate (The Golden Queen) (Volume 2) (24 page)

In the late afternoon, the road became cobblestone and wound down out of the hills to the sea, leading to an oddly shaped granite bluff, where the road led into a vast cave.

There were a few buildings perched next to the bluff—a sizable stable, some shops, but no houses—and people were going into the cave with wagons filled with wood and produce. Maggie realized with a start that the inhabitants of this city all lived within that monolithic rock.

She studied the place a bit—some rounded pillars had been carved into the rock, and they thrust up high, carrying a bit of smoke. In other places, holes had been gouged into the roof, giving light and air. In some holes, she could see through to whitened walls.

As with the temple she’d first noticed back in Northland, this place was built by someone who had no concept of symmetry. Each of the chimneys was a different height, and the windows were each shaped in their own ways. And yet there was a gracefulness, a peaceful organic feel to the structure, that was both comforting and inviting.

Cormorants and gulls wheeled out over the gray ocean, and the skies were getting dark, promising rain. Maggie and Gallen went down to the city.

Under the arching entrance, they could see the city before them—a vast cavern filled with people and noise and the smells of smoke and sweat and fish. The rock had been carved away so that long stone staircases led away under great arches. The walls were not only painted white, but crystals had been set in them, casting light back like stars.

Between the skylights and the guttering lamps on wrought-iron posts placed strategically beside the roads, the caverns sparkled with light.

Maggie looked up, and along the roads going up the hill were side corridors, where people of a dozen races lived. Children screamed and played in the corridors, and clothing was left along stone walls to dry.

There was the smell of seawater in the air, and off to the right, a path led to the ocean. There, on broad stones at the sea’s edge, sea people swam through an underwater channel, bringing up fresh fish and crabs. Maggie saw a gaggle of hooded merchants who were bartering loudly for the fish, offering brass bracelets and sacks made of fine cloth.

Directly ahead, just above sea level, a central pillar, like an enormous stalagmite, filled the middle of the complex, and carved at the column’s center were several shops and a large pub where a dozen burly giants guzzled mugs of beer at wooden tables. The delicious scent of fish and sausages filled the air.

As Maggie and Gallen headed toward the pub, a grizzled giant approached. He wore a green tunic over black leather pants, and had a rope tied around his waist. His dark brown hair was tied back, and he wore beads of aqua and cardinal woven into it. His enormous beard spilled down his chest, thinning into a ragged wisp at his belly. It wasn’t until he was nearly on them that Maggie realized how truly large he was—eight feet tall, with broad shoulders. He wore a short sword on his hip, but he handled himself like a man who wouldn’t need weapons.

“My name’s Fenorah,” he grumbled, studying Gallen’s sword. “Welcome to Battic, where land kisses the sea.”

“Thank you,” Gallen said, lifting his chin high to stare the man in the eye.

“We’re a peaceful town,” Fenorah’ said, scratching his nose. “I’ll be straight with you. You carry a sword, and from the way you wear it, I’d say you know how to do more than split kindling with it. And there’s blood on your boots—and I’d rather not know how it got there. But these are my folks, my town. There’s peace here.”

He looked deep into Gallen’s eyes, as if trying to gauge what lay beneath their cool blue surface. “I appreciate an honest man,” Gallen said. “And I admire one who seeks peace. As long as I’m given it, I shall give it in return.”

The giant laughed, slapped him on the back. “You look hungry from the road. I saw how you eyed the pub. May I buy you dinner? We’ve the finest flounder you’ll taste on the coast.” Gallen hesitated, but Maggie could sense something in this giant, a lack of guile, that she found refreshing.

“We would be honored,” Maggie said, and the giant took her arm, led them into the pub, where they dined on sea bass roasted in rosemary and a fruity wine. Other giants like Fenorah lumbered around.

Fenorah talked long and boisterously, asking Gallen’s business. When Gallen said that he wanted to purchase a wagon and draft animals, Fenorah called a serving boy and ordered them, as if he’d been ordering dinner, and the boy rushed to fetch them.

Then, Fenorah took them down to the “docks,” the stones where the sea people rose from the dark waters, their tails flashing silver, and there Fenorah talked to Gallen of the city’s trade agreements.

He showed Maggie and Gallen a great cavern where the annual fairs were held, where images of the city’s founders were carved in three giant stalactites, so that their beards were hanging shards of stone. Fenorah then took them to the upper chambers above the city, where small swarthy men and women of the Ntak race still carved, singing in high voices as their picks and hammers rang, with each blow extending the city back deeper and deeper into the bones of the earth.

The giant seemed to Maggie to be enormously proud of his city. He was obviously a man of wealth, a man of worries. And at last when they were in the far upper recesses of a cave, looking back down over a vast stairway of a thousand feet, and the ringing of hammers and picks below them rose like some strange music, Fenorah motioned for Gallen and Maggie to sit on a rock. Then, with a grunt, he knelt down beside them, and stared down into the distance.

“Gallen, my friend,” the giant whispered, his voice a mere grumble, hard to be heard over the ringing hammers, the piping music. “There was a ship that burned last night, a ship not far off the beach. Its sails lit up like a bonfire, and we could see it sailing as if it would fall off the edge of the world.”

“Aye?” Gallen asked, curiously.

“Aye,” the giant grunted. “The sea folk went to investigate, and they brought back some survivors.” The giant sighed, measured his words. “They told … stories, about a swordsman with two beautiful women. They hinted that he was a great warrior, and that they would pay well for his capture. Too well.”

“And what did you tell them?” Gallen said.

“I sent them away, though I’ve thought better of it since. They had broken none of our laws, and yet.…”

“And yet what?”

“And yet I found it hard to spare them their lives.” Fenorah dug his hand into the stone at his feet, broke off a small boulder. Maggie had not seen any sign of a chink in the stone, and even Gallen caught his breath at witnessing the giant’s tremendous strength. “The thing is, Battic is small for a sea town, and distant from other cities. We don’t even have a port. And we’ve been careful to watch one another, protect each other. Perhaps for this reason, we have escaped the Inhuman’s scrutiny. We have been … beneath notice. But I fear that now the Inhuman will turn its face our way, if it is searching for you. It’s a small fear, perhaps unfounded.”

Maggie took all of this in. If the agents of Inhuman had been turned loose from town, then perhaps they would be out in the countryside, hunting even now. She suddenly feared for Ceravanne, who had only Orick to protect her. More importantly, she understood that Fenorah, despite his great strength, was asking them to make a hasty retreat.

“I suspect,” Gallen said, “that such fears
are
unfounded. Did you see which way they went?”

“Four of the Inhuman’s servants went to the south, toward the wilderness of Moree,” the giant whispered. “Five to the woods to the east.”

Maggie caught her breath. Despite their best efforts, the Inhuman’s agents were still searching for them in greater force than she’d imagined. It would be easy for a few servants of the Inhuman to find others like themselves, raise the countryside against them.

Fenorah studied them from the corner of his eyes. “I … have to admit that I am not above spying on a stranger. When the nine were alone in the medic’s chamber, I listened to them from the hole above. They spoke of a Lord Protector who should not be allowed to reach Moree.”

Gallen did not answer for a moment. “Even if it is true that you have escaped the Inhuman’s scrutiny so far,” he said, “it will not remain so forever. Unless the Inhuman is destroyed, you and your people will be found.”

“And what can one man do against it?” Fenorah grumbled. “I fear that the Inhuman is more powerful than you know.”

Gallen said, “There is more than one warrior here, unless I miss my guess. Perhaps you and some of your kind would join me.” Maggie held her breath, for she wished that this strong man would come with them. An army of them would be formidable.

“I am of the Im people,” Fenorah said. “I could not travel inland with you, away from the sea. Me and my brothers cannot drink your fresh water. We would die after a few days’ march.”

Maggie’s heart fell, and she wondered what Gallen would do without the giants’ help. Somehow, though she had not admitted it to herself, to go into that wilderness alone seemed … unthinkable.

“Then let me have a wagon,” Gallen asked, “and tell no one that I came this way.”

“Done.” The giant nodded. He looked at Gallen from the corner of his eye once again. “And more. I’ll come with you, and bring my brothers, so long as your road leads by the sea. The Inhuman will have to show some restraint, with us at hand.”

“I accept your offer, gratefully,” Gallen said.

“Good.” The giant slapped his knee and he got up, took Maggie’s hand and helped her to her feet.

“One thing more,” Maggie said. “Among the survivors, did you find a pale woman?”

“The Champlianne?” the giant said. “Aye, she’s safe.”

“She’s not Inhuman, I don’t think,” Maggie said.

“Neither do I. She’s well, resting in my own house,” Fenorah assured her. “My wife is caring for her.”

Maggie found herself suddenly teary-eyed with relief. As far as the others on the ship went, she had trusted none of them, but she hated the thought that this innocent woman might have died in the skirmish. Gallen put his arm over Maggie’s shoulders, hugged her for a moment.

Then Fenorah led them back down the long stairs, to the mouth of the city, where the serving boy had readied a fine wagon carved of cherrywood, with ornate scrollwork and bas-reliefs of trees and dancing rabbits on every panel. Gallen slapped the wagon, commenting on its fine Maker build, and Maggie wondered at his knowledge of it.

To pull the wagon, Fenorah had provided a beast that Maggie had never seen before, nor ever imagined. It stood tall as a horse, but was built more like a cow. It had a great hump at its shoulders, and while most of it was a creamy golden brown in color, shaggy black hair covered its head. Its small horns curved like those of a ram, and it glared about with small red eyes. It was both a fearsome creature, and powerfully built.

“What is this thing called?” Maggie asked.

“A travelbeast,” Fenorah answered, obviously surprised that she did not know. “His kind are greatly prized. He has greater endurance than a bull, and greater speed than a horse. He sees in the dark, and is smart enough to understand a few small words.” He hissed a little lower. “And he will trample anyone who gets in his way.”

Maggie climbed up into the seat of the wagon, saw that it was lightly loaded with baskets of fruit, a barrel of salted fish, and plenty of blankets. On impulse she grabbed the giant, hugged him tight. “Thank you,” she whispered fiercely, and found herself fighting back tears once again.

“It is my pleasure,” Fenorah said, and he went to find some men. In half an hour, six of the giants had gathered. Three ran out ahead of the wagon, while three others followed close behind.

Then Gallen nodded and slapped the travelbeast with the reins, and they lurched off, out the door of the tunnel. The twin suns were already down outside, and the moons had not yet risen. Clouds scudded across the sky, obscuring the stars. In the darkness, she could barely see the broad backs of the giants, rushing ahead into the shadows.

Gallen hunched at the reins, his face an unreadable mask in the darkness, and she felt distant from him. She could sense a change in him, a new uncertainty that he dared not voice.

As the wagon rattled over the cobblestones up toward the woods, Maggie had a sense of foreboding. It was dark under the trees, so dark that she could hardly see her hand in front of her face, and somehow she sensed that she was crossing into a darker realm than she could have ever imagined.

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