Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

“Try me. I think you will find me most astute,” Avallach said. “At least, I will not be dissuaded so easily.”

The Mage mouthed a silent oath but launched into his explanation. “It is recognized among the wise that of al! signs of earth and sky, the omens of stars are most potent. We know that the heavenly houses through which the stars move in their courses”

“Yes, yes,” said Avallach impatiently. “Get on with it. I am not stupid.”

“To put it simply, the heavens may be said to represent that perfect order toward which all things on earth tend. Thus, as the stars fell from the House of Opportunity, passing through the House of Kings, we should expect to see in creased fortune-especially for those of royal birth. When kings prosper, it follows that their kingdoms prosper. Starfalls are always highly propitious. There are precedents in the sacred texts-too numerous to mention, unfortunately-which

bear out our opinion.” The Mage spread his hands to show that any right-thinking man would find this explanation satisfactory, if not self-evident.

Avallach was not so quickly convinced. “It is” also true, is it not, that the sign for opportunity has a twin?”

The Mage appeared surprised. “Why, yes, of course. Many signs have paired interpretations.”

“And is it not true that the twin of opportunity is danger?”

“This is true.”

“In fact, is it not true that the sign for danger and opportunity are exactly the same?”

“They are twins, Sire. Yes.”

“Not twins,” Avallach insisted. “The same sign.”

“It is so,” allowed the Mage cautiously. “But the sacred texts are clear: this is to be regarded as propitious manifestation.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it always is.”

“You mean because nothing evil has ever issued from such an omen.”

“Precisely,” replied the Mage. His colleagues nodded in smug self-assurance.

“I have always thought it unwise to Believe something will not happen simply because it has never happened before. Does nothing ever occur for the first time?”

The Mage sputtered and appealed to Seithenin for help. “Sire, if you are displeased with our service, please send us away. But I assure you we have studied this matter most completely and carefully.”

Seithenin raised a hand soothingly. ‘ Tor my part, I am not displeased. But perhaps you will wish to look into the question Avallach has introduced, eh? Further inquiry would do no harm.”

“As you wish,” said the Mage. All three turned as one and walked from the chamber, the air crackling with their resentment.

When they had gone, Seithenin turned to Avallach and said, “What you say has merit, certainly. But I am content. I see no reason to dispute the wisdom of the Magi in this matter.”

“I am of a different mind and will remain vigilant.”

“If you are troubled, that is no doubt best. But,” said Seithenin, slapping the arms of his chair and rising, “we travel tomorrow, and we both have wives waiting. Let us retire to more pleasant pursuits.” He moved toward the door.

“I will follow directly,” said Avallach. “Good night.” Seithenm closed the door, and the sound of his footsteps receded in the hall.

“Well?” Avallach stood and faced his seer. “What did you see?”

Annubi’s eyes flicked toward the door. “They were scared. Most of what they said was lies. Lies and foolishness. You were right to challenge them, but I think it will make them more stubborn. The Learned do not easily admit ignorance.”

“Frightened? Why would they be frightened? Unless they know more than they are telling.”

“It is just the reverse: they know less than their words imply. They simply do not know what to make of the starfall and so cover up this lack by inventing pleasant-sounding lies.” Annubi snorted. “They talk of precedents and sacred texts knowing full well that signs of this magnitude are exceedingly rare.”

“It is strange. Why would they do it? Why not err on the side of caution?”

Annubi answered in a voice full of scorn. “And allow everyone to see how little wisdom they actually possess? No, rather than disenchant the people or their powerful patron, they will utter nonsense and make it sweet so that men will swallow it.”

Avallach shook his head wonderingly. “It makes no sense.”

“They have lost the power of their craft,” explained An-nubi, exasperation shrilling his voice. “They cannot admit this to anyone, not even to themselves. They have forgotten, if they ever knew, that their purpose is to serve, not to rule.”

“And so, lacking the vision, they talk louder so as to drown out dissenting voices.” Avallach paused and added, “Setting that aside for the moment, what about the sign? Do you still think it ominous?”

“Most ominous, to be sure. I have no doubt-none whatsoever, “

“What of the Lia Fail? Will it help?”

“Oh, yes. When the time comes. But it is small and its use is limited, as you know. Still, it will help with more immediate events as they can be discerned.”

“Then I will trust it, and you, Annubi. And now, since there is no more to be done about this for the moment, I suggest we find our beds and go to sleep.”

Two young pages tumbled into the room just then with iron snuffers in their hands. They saw the two men, bowed hurriedly, and backed out the door. “No, enter,” called Avallach. “We are finished. Save the lamps for another night.”

The two kings and their combined retinues journeyed east from Seithenin’s palace toward Poseidonis. The days were bright and warm and the travel enjoyable, for the roads were wide and well-paved and the company convivial. The towns along the route were alerted well in advance of the kings’ arrival, and all turned out in force to welcome the noble travelers and wave them on their way.

The first night they camped just off the road in a field of new clover. The next night they camped near a town that feasted them with specially prepared food and drink for which the townspeople were famous among the Corani. The two nights following were spent in a fragrant cedar forest; the fifth night they camped on the estate of one of Seithenin’s noblemen, who provided a horse race for their amusement.

They journeyed on, passing through fields and forests, over smooth hills and broad, fertile plains across which herds of wild horses and oxen ran. And then, on the afternoon of the twelfth day, they reached the king’s causeway which led to the capital city. The carriages and chariots rolled through wooded hills and crossed swirling streams on bridges that thundered with the sound of the horses’ hooves. And as the sun tinted the lower heavens with its fiery gold, the long procession crested the rim of the valley and paused to look down into the broad basin which cradled the city of the High King.

Poseidonis was a large city-a city within a city, for the palace of the High,King was a city in itself-laid out in a perfect circle a thousand stadia in diameter, corresponding to the sacred sun disk. The circle was pierced by a canal that ran from the Temple of the Sun to the sea, a canal wide enough for two triremes to pass one another and straight as a spearshaft along its dressed stone length.

Three more canals, each a circle-one within the other, separated by rings of land, or zones-intersected the straight canal. These inner sections together formed the palace of the High King. The royal apartments were housed in the enormous temple which covered the disk-shaped island of the innermost zone. The canals were perfect concentric rings joined by huge bridges, which were approached by ramps and steeply arched to allow cargo-laden boats to pass beneath.

The entire city was surrounded by an immense outer wall of white stone from which at measured intervals rose spire-topped turrets. Beneath each turret was a brazen gate-each gate cast from a different metal: bronze, iron, copper, silver, gold, orichalcum. Through the gates passed the busy commerce of the city-traders from all Nine Kingdoms and the world beyond. Except for these gates, and the long canal which joined the harbor, the white stone curtain was seamless and unbreached.