THE LETTERSEEKER

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

            As he followed Dohan along a winding route through nearly empty side streets, memories of his life in the cities and towns of the Midlands stirred the Letterseeker. Esti was not large, but compared with the tentcamps of Mindilfir Hunterchief it was a metropolis. The streets were lined with two-story buildings made of stone, and every wall that faced the sea was painted blue, though the shoreward walls might be allowed pink, white, or yellow. This was a very old tradition, Dohan explained. Some thought it came from an old way of camouflage, But the bright blue now in use and the number of buildings made the city fairly visible from the sea except in foggy weather.

            They climbed a street of bakers' shops, all of them closed, and came to the top of a hill. The street plunged steeply down the other side, where it leveled again at a height well above the bay. There stood a building larger than most. It was three stories high, broad and imposing—all blue, with a pair of heavy wooden doors facing the street. One of these doors stood open.

            The building was set away from neighboring structures by a walled garden on either side. From the seaward garden a tower rose, the tallest and most graceful in Esti, buttressed in a clever fashion about its base and painted in seven bands of color ranging from indigo at the bottom to a smoky grey-blue at the top. A chain of steps wound about it in a spiral. At the top was a row of windows.

            “That is the Tower of Quastid, from which he studies the heavens,” said Dohan to Stoneglow. “Below is his house—there, where the people are gathered.”

            He referred to the crowd of two dozen or more near the doors. Dohan began to lead them down to the house, but just then a man stepped from a nearby doorway.

            “Who seeks Quastid?” he demanded.

            His voice was cultured, carrying an impression of calm reserve overlaid by strain. All could see that he had been involved in the previous night's warfare. His mail coat and his leggings were stained with blood, though he himself was not wounded. A broadsword hung at his side in a bronze-edged leather sheath. He was taller of stature than most people of Esti, lean, in his late twenties, with sandy hair and exceedingly delicate features. His eyes were violet-blue.

            “Are you not Ellasté the son of Quastid?” said Dohan. “I saw you last as a youth. I am Dohan whom your father knows.”

            “And what may be the names of these others?” said the man. He was looking at Liesa, who lowered her eyes.

            “This is my son Lieth and his sister Liesa. You have met them before, though you may not remember.”

            The man relaxed. “It is well,” he said. “These are two of the names that Quastid bade me seek for when it was brought to us that a man called Dohan came. I am Ellasté as you guess. But this other cannot be the one named Trask? He has not your look.”

            “I am Stoneglow Threescar, Ellasté Quastidson,” The Letterseeker stepped forward and put his left hand in a friendly fashion upon Ellasté's shoulder, noting that Ellasté almost matched himself in height. “Dohan and his family are my friends. They have brought me to see your father on a matter of great importance. What we have to say to Quastid may be of help to the city. Will Quastid see us now?”

            Among the people of Esti a gesture of friendship is not regarded lightly. Ellasté responded by placing his hand upon Stoneglow's shoulder, returning his gaze with an open but weary smile. “Well met and well said, Stoneglow Threescar. It seems you come from afar, for you have an unfamiliar accent. But we value courtesy in Esti and the House of Quastid trusts Dohan Firmhand. Also we have need of fighting men here as you have seen, and though your sword is short I warrant you have had good use of it—or did you get those marks by a playful cuff?”

    “The thing that left this mark, Ellasté, is marked itself, and far more grievously.”

            “I thought as much. Follow me then.”

            Ellasté turned and led the way toward the house. But once again for an instant before he turned his eyes rested upon the face of Liesa Summercurls.

* * *

            Ushtorth the Seadog was a deceptive man. He had more wealth hoarded away than his rags would indicate. He was stronger and bigger than most men thought, and the humped appearance of his back was due to the way he had learned to stoop, not a deformity. He was old, but most of his teeth had been lost due to brawling, not to age. He did not need the crutch he carried except on certain occasions when a cramp of the mind would seize him and leave him half- paralyzed for an hour or a day; for his mind was not entirely his own.

            Too many years had Ushtorth spent complaining of life, until he let himself descend in thought and spirit to those shadowed places where the Image Nameless might dominate him. So he was attuned to the thought and will of Urtri. A few days past, during a fit of immobility, the whispers came and told him this: Whoever finds and kills a scarfaced stranger and destroys his gear by fire will receive a rich reward.

            When he saw the man with scars disembark at Esti Quay, he thought himself favored by the gods. He made his way then to a tavern south of town that even the smokers of fish found unsavory. There he ordered bread and wine, which he paid for with a few shalk, the bronze pennies of Esti, and nibbled and sipped while he waited.

            At a late hour Esnert Dimweal and his son Gaunt came in. They ordered tankards of ale, bread served with lumps of butter, and meat. The talk in the tavern was all of the raid the night before by Thrrl the Destroyer. The Dimweals praised the raid, since they had their very victuals that day by means of what they had looted from homes while good people fought the fires. Then Gaunt saw the old Seadog motioning to them so he grabbed his father by the arm and drew him over to Ushtorth's table to see what he might want. On more than one occasion Ushtorth had tipped them to big takings for a percentage.

            “You are eating well, Esnert,” said Ushtorth as they came near, “Give thankyou to Thrrl the ghost of Hrrl.”

            “His little party yestereve did no harm to our pockets,” said Esnert. “And what of yerself?”

            “There's a rumor that your benefactor Thrrl has other needs, and will pay well for their satisfaction.”

            “What d'yer mean? Speak plain.”

            “You've not heard that Thrrl will pay a fortune for the head and gear of a certain stranger to Esti?”

            “Eh? No, can't say I've heard that. What's it to do with us?”

            “I know where that stranger can be found,” said Ushtorth, who had only created the story about Thrrl at that moment.

            “Whyn't you say so?” said Gaunt, his voice piping though he had turned thirty that year. “Where's 'e at and what's 'e worth?”

            “He's worth nothing,” said Ushtorth. “Kill him and bring his head and his gear to me. If it proves the right gear I guarantee a big profit. I'll take half, though.”

            This got Esnert interested. “Where's 'e at?” he repeated Gaunt's question. “Is 'e an easy take?”

            “He sailed in this morning with an old man and some younglings, one a girl. He wears a blue cloak, and he's been taken to the house of Quastid.”

            “Quastid!” said Gaunt, “A damn magician they say. I want none of him, father.”

            “Easy,” said Esnert, who did not believe in magicians. “What's this bluecloak got? Treasure?”

            “If he has money you can keep it,” answered Ushtorth, picking his teeth. “What Thrrl wants the gear for is Thrrl's business, but he wants to see all of it, however worthless it may seem. And his head to prove he's killed.”

            “Ahh-h,” Esnert's eyes took on a rheumy gleam. “I see, a political killing. This bluecloak's an ambassador or the like, eh? May be Thrrl looks to the throne of Esti? We'll expect good pay for that. Show us something now or we'll not go.”

            “Talk I've shown you, talk's all I've got. You take your chances along with me. If nothing comes of it, if he's the wrong one, you'll have what you've taken from him, which could be plenty. If he's the right one we'll all benefit.”

            “Arr, we'll see, we'll see. P'raps we'll case the house and watch our chance. If it's easy we'll do it.” Esnert fingered the long iron dagger he carried at his belt.

* * *

            The reason for the crowd at Quastid's door soon became clear. Other than the two or three that had dashed from the dock to warn the healer that a party of visitors led by Dohan Firmhand was on its way, the rest waited on relatives or friends who were inside being treated for wounds. Led by Ellasté, Stoneglow and his companions passed through the door into a hall that led to a large room with pallets on either side, upon which rested women as well as men, for the women of Esti were not unskilled in arms and many had fought alongside the men when the pirates descended upon their homes. Attendants in grey robes worked in pairs, cauterizing and bandaging. There was a mingle in the air of medicines, sweat, blood, and singed flesh, eased by a sweet incense that rose in threads of white smoke from stone bowls. At the far end of the room woman played a small harp, accompanied by a drummer who tapped a skincovered metal cylinder. The woman hummed a dronelike tune that had a pleasing anaesthetic effect.

             In a side room they found Quastid. He was instructing an assistant in treating a great open sword gash which an unconscious soldier had across his chest. When he was finished he looked up, nodded at Dohan and Ellasté, and took the party into a huge study, or at least it was partially a study: At one end there was a long writing desk with a big wood-and-leather chair behind it. On the desk were stacks of parchment, some bound as books. There were benches and cushions there too, and upon these Quastid indicated they should sit. Ellasté however remained standing, and Lieth followed his example, apparently feeling he should duplicate the brave warrior's stoicism. Liesa sat upon a pair of red cushions, while Stoneglow and Dohan occupied a short leather-padded bench.

            The rest of the room surprised the Letterseeker. It was obviously a laboratory. Two long tables occupied the center, covered by a clutter of bottles, flasks, crucibles, and other chemical paraphernalia. On shelves along one side of the room were ceramic and glass jars labeled in a script Stoneglow could not read.

            Quastid took his place in the big chair behind the desk. He was as tall as his son; a good bit leaner, white haired and cleanshaven, his face a mass of tiny wrinkles. Within these his eyes blazed with an indigo light that belied his apparent age. He wore a long plain robe of grey cloth and no ornamentation.

            “Dohan!” he said in a resonant voice. “Long it is since I treated your wife Cleva. How fares she now?”

            “Six days ago she died, Quastid,” replied Dohan. “Before that she had a vision that led us to you. We are not here on our own account but for the sake of Lord Stoneglow Threescar here whom we have sworn to serve until his quest is achieved.”

            “Died! Ah, Dohan, that is sad news.” Quastid gazed closely at Stoneglow for a long moment. Then he spoke again: “Lord Stoneglow, it is my guess that you are not from the Broad Lands. Am I right in this?”

            Surprised, Stoneglow answered directly. “Yes, Quastid, though it puzzles me how you know.”

            “A feeling. And a welcome one! Never have I had a chance to speak with a man who has come through one of the legendary Doors as you surely have. This is an honor beyond my hopes! I had not thought elihh would rise upon a day that I might meet such as yourself.”

            “Elihh rise?” said Stoneglow. “Then you think of the sun as Elihh? That is not my understanding. Surely the sun is only one among the countless gledes of Erta. Elihh rests far beyond, at the heart of The Brilliance—or so I have been told.”

            Quastid looked at him amazed. “You are right, Lord Stoneglow,” he said after a moment, “but here we sometimes call the sun elihh in a lesser sense because of its likeness to The Brilliance. By the same custom, we may also refer to that side of the moon which is dark as Arem's shadow—”

            “It is of that fearful shadow we have come to speak,” Dohan interrupted in a bitter tone.

            Quastid raised his eyebrows and Lieth drew back slightly, doubt and aversion showing in his face; for his was a world of open sea and sunlight and he liked not the darks of life.

            But in Stoneglow's mind memories and insights of the past swirled about and the nostalgia that had grown within him at the sight of the city now drew him even closer to his Stalkworth-past. He broke the silence with a verse, in the habit of one not unfamiliar with discussion of universal ideas.

                        “A golden shield protects the face of truth;

                        Remove it, then, that the Truthfinder

                        May perceive Truth's glory unimpeded.”

            “That is a saying, Quastid, out of the wisdom books of the Midlands where also Light and Truth are known to resemble one another.”

            The tension broke. Liesa looked up at Stoneglow with unabashed pleasure. Then Quastid slammed his left hand palm down upon the polished surface of the desk, a vigorous gesture that startled even Ellasté. “A scholar! By Elihh's Desire, a scholar! Twice welcome then. Ellasté, see that food is brought for our guests and ourselves. And fetch Edis. There will be conversation tonight, and ever thought takes wing from the nest of sustenance.”

* * *

            Ellasté returned with Edis, Quastid's close colleague and friend, who had worked with the healer for many years. She was particularly loved by Ellasté for she had acted as the mother of his childhood— his natural mother, Qhastid’s wife, had died giving birth despite all that the healer had done to save her. Edis took Liesa to a bath and fresh clothing. Ellasté did the same for Dohan, Lieth, and Stoneglow. They enjoyed a hot-room that cleansed their pores, followed by a lukewarm bath of scented water in a pool rimmed by polished stones and large enough to hold a dozen bathers. After this they dressed in tunics and leggings of that simple grey cloth worn by all in Quastid's household, and leather sandals. Their old clothing was taken to be washed.

            Clean and refreshed, they rejoined the others in a dining hall that had tall narrow windows in it looking southwest. There was a view of the tower garden with the waters of Esti bay below. The sun was just dipping behind the high hill on the far side of the bay. Stoneglow paused to watch it and Liesa came to his side, slipping her arm in his. Together they gazed through the glass at the sunset. The panes were tinted lavender but remarkably free from blemish. Stoneglow leaned forward a bit, studying the glass.

            “Do you meditate upon your distant homeland, Stoneglow?” said Liesa lightly. “You peer at the sun as though you would pass through it.”

            He straightened and turned toward her. “I wasn't looking at the sun, Liesa, but at the glass, the window pane. It is well made and of a delicate color.”

            She smiled. “Aye, it is like you to notice both. I think you have an eye for both skill and beauty. Well-satisfied will your eyes be here, for there are many marvels in Quastid's house.”

            Stoneglow smiled back. “You are the greatest marvel, Liesa,” he said, meaning it. Liesa was not clad in grey cloth but in a close fitting white dress fine-woven and delicate as silk. It was bound at the waist by a woven band, Esti-blue, with gold thread worked into it. Her hair was newly combed and shining. Twin braids she had pleated at each temple; these touched her cheeks and passed before her shoulders, ending by the gentle rise of her breasts. The remainder came loosely down over her shoulders, conforming to them as might a stream of gold, falling then 'neath the small of her back. The window light found the edges of her beauty and enhanced them each, a magic philter within whose aura the daughter of Dohan Firmhand, descendant of sea-kings, glistened as a treasure beyond hope of finding. And around her neck hung the little ochre pouch. Faintly, faintly it came to him—the perfume of the rose.

            She laughed, delighted by his words and his look, which reminded her of their first meeting when he had shown such courtesy and called her My Lady Summercurls.

            “Do you like the dress?” she asked. “Edis insisted upon it. She said grey and rough was fine for men and older folk but not for me.”

            “She spoke well and she chose well,” came a voice from behind Stoneglow. It was Ellasté, who had been standing near at another of the windows. “But will you join us at the table now?”

            Liesa took her hand from Stoneglow's arm and turned toward the great-table. A hint of pain, which none noticed, twinged the Letterseeker's countenance as she left him; or it may have been only the purple-tinted light of the bloody'd sun that darkened his cheek-scars as he turned.

            The dinner was a feast: cold slices of baked fowl, chilled by ice from the northern mountains; strips of smoked fish, cheeses, vegetables, milk, fruit wine, and loaves with butter. When all was done hot cups of ushluth were brought in with a good supply of small round seed cakes that were sweetened with honey and dotted by fat brown raisins.

            Over the cakes and tea Dohan told of Cleva's vision. And Stoneglow explained that the Bodla of Berainn had been damaged (though he did not reveal that he carried its shard). Thus the barriers that kept the Image Nameless from the world were shaken. Cleva's sudden seizure and the attack upon Esti, he guessed, were a result of this flawing.

            Quastid nodded gravely, and Edis at his side said: “We have not yet brought it to King Trren, because we wished to be sure; but in the past week strange deaths and worsening of the mind-wry have plagued us tenfold the norm. We suspected some foul force at work.”

            “And in the battle last night,” Ellasté interjected, putting down the cookie he had been about to bite, “like men drugged or fiends they seemed, those we fought.”

            “Saw you their leader—Thrrl the destroyer?” It was Lieth who asked.

            “I saw him, though I could not reach him. He was a hundred yards from me when he called retreat and escaped, for at last our greater numbers would have taken his army. He had a guard of twelve warriors who fought without mail, bare chested and all a- beard. Twoscore of the king's guards near-gulfed them yet could not throw them down. A demon he was in the light of the flames.”

            Lieth, without knowing it, allowed his jaw to drop as he stared at the young warrior. Youthful was Quastidson, full of pride and raw enthusiasm, but he was grim and skilled too and his speech brought the clash of arms to their table as if there had been a bard-lay sung there.

            “Where do they come from?” said Dohan. “We have not seen war on this coast for many years. Folk look for peace near Esti, not raids of wick-men.”

            “They came, I think, from far eastshore,” said Quastid. “Merchants speak of robber bands breeding among the islets, making prey as far this way as 'Bshal Head and Stallet. Yet they would never have been so bold to strike at Esti had not an evil reached them and pulled away their senses. I think you speak truly, Lord Stoneglow. This smells of the Emptiness of Asli-Trrgja.”

            Dohan's grip whitened where he rested his big hands upon the table's edge. Lieth shut his mouth and his sister bent her bright glance down, seeming to take some of the light, which came now from oil faggots set upon the walls, away from the board. Quastid broke the sudden silence with a question.

            “But surely, lord, you are not here only to bring us this disconcertion. Dohan said you were on a quest.”

            “That is true, Quastid,” said Stoneglow, and all eyes turned back to him. “I am looking for Atalaté the Treefather in Drred- Srrnyo. What he may give to me I shall take to the Stoneshield of the Broad Lands. If done well this will avail against the Emptiness. But I do not know how to find the Treegorge or the Stoneshield. With her dying word Cleva indicated that you can show us the way.”

            “Many in the Broad Lands know of the Stoneshield, including myself,” replied the healer, “and I have visited it. Far north it lies. In my youth I made a pilgrimage there to study the stones and learn what plants grow about its region. In my work room I have yet a jar that holds a few measures of the earth from near the central pillar. But I can tell you nothing of the Treegorge. That is different, a place of legend, and in all my travels I have met no one who could rightly claim to know where it is.”

            There were expressions of dismay and disappointment, but Quastid held up both hands, quelling the outcry.

            “Yet it may be found, it may be found! Every year I travel, talking with wise and old, recording tales and memories. Sea captains from the farthest strands bring me books and papers of every description. Not everything here have I read, nor do I recall everything of what I have read. My chief interest is in healing, not history; but it seems now healing and history meet, and your quest deals with the World's First Wound. If there is knowledge of Drred-Srrnyo left in the Broad Lands we may find it here among my papers.”

            At that Stoneglow stood up. “With your permission, Quastid, I will begin the search tonight. Where are your papers?”

            “In the study.” Quastid rose too.

            “We'll take our leave, then,” said Dohan. “Poring over old manuscripts is scholar's business, and we have Trask and the boats to think of.”

            It was agreed that Dohan, Liesa, and Lieth would return to the docks for the night, taking some of their feast to the elder brother. Ellasté sprang up, offering to escort them. This delighted Lieth. Edis also took her leave, saying she was needed in the sickrooms. Then Stoneglow and Quastid returned to the study.

            Before they began their work Quastid stepped to his desk and picked up a small object lying there. “Ah, Lord Stoneglow, the seamstress brought me this to return to you. It was in a pocket of your attire.”

            Stoneglow recognized the little package. “Thank you, Quastid. I had forgotten about it. There is a tea inside, but it has been soaked through more than once. The herbs must be spoiled.”

            “Did you say herbs? The wrapping looks secure to me. May I open it? Perhaps the contents were not reached by moisture.”

            “Of course,” said Stoneglow. “I would like to know myself. This came from the Narrow Lands and it is of value to me if it is unharmed.”

            Quastid's eager fingers undid the wrap. He peered closely at the fine grey powder, touched it lightly, raised the packet to his nose and sniffed. “What a scent!” he exclaimed, sniffing again. “Valuable indeed, I may guess—something very potent, though I cannot place it in my experience. Say you, lord, that I might take a pinch for study?”

            “Oh, no, Quastid—I mean, it is a measured quantity that I should not diminish.”

            “I understand,” said the healer, and he folded the leaf-and- leather back around the contents, then handed the packet back to Stoneglow, who set it in a sleeve-pouch that was sewn in the tunic.

            “To business, then,” Quastid said. They began a search of the old books. Traveler's tales, diaries, books of religion and hymns and chants—none yielded anything of value though in a song or two the Treegorge was mentioned, especially in a long lay called The Driving of The Nail. But in this song the Treegorge was fancifully located in the sky, with a hint that it might be on the moon.

            Then Quastid produced a copy of The Book of Whispers, that had in it the celebrated commentary of the great sage Bard-Ogghm. Therein was an account of the errand of Berainn and Vrrjhri with The O'Kuern to Drred-Srrnyo in search of the Alderbough. But after an hour of careful study they could draw no conclusion regarding the location of the Treegorge except that it was “south of the Stoneshield.”

            “That cannot mean due south,” said Quastid. “The lands there are well-explored.”

            “What about over sea, south of this coast?” said Stoneglow. “What lands lie in that direction?”

            “None, we think. Past three leagues offshore violent currents form a barrier beyond which few have ever dared to pass, and none have returned that we know of. In elder times Courageous Artil went south after he had cast down the Dragongate of Esling. No one ever saw him or his galleon again. It is said that he, as yourself, passed Karrath, and there are some who believe that Karrath will appear to any who dare to venture beyond the tumult, to destroy them if they be not worthy.”

            At last, well after midnight, Quastid slammed shut a volume. “It is as if Drred-Srrnyo has been wholly removed from the memory of Erta! Yet wait a bit, Stoneglow. Perhaps...”

            “What is it, Quastid?”  

            “In my tower I have other documents. Those pertaining to the stars, their movements, and their characters. Also logs of ships and maps of distant shores. None of these is as ancient as the works we have been searching, yet it may be that some mariner has left a record that bears upon what we seek.”

            “Let us go to the tower, then,” said Stoneglow.