Their fear was answered a moment later, when an arrow flew through the air, landing not five feet in front of where they had stopped to gaze at that distant half-mountain. Azariah’s horse reared back a second time, throwing him from the saddle. The Warden hit the ground with a thud but rolled quickly to his feet.
Pounding hooves sounded from their left, and six white horses raced into sight from within the canopy of stunted trees on the side of the small mountain, kicking up a massive spray of dirt and stone as they galloped. Jacob quickly steered his horse in front of Roland and Brienna, using the majestic beast as a shield in case anything went wrong. Azariah appeared beside him, a look of grim concentration on his flawless face.
The riders drew closer, close enough for Roland to see that the six men were dressed in heavy furs. They looked like what he imagined the barbarians from the Wardens’ stories would look like, and he couldn’t help but inch his trusty mare back a few steps, just in case. But when the riders pulled up, stopping within shouting distance, Roland’s panic abated. The men might have worn furs and full beards, but they didn’t seem to be rough natured. Instead, they seemed just as concerned as his travel companions, with no obvious trace of malice.
“Who rides on these hills?” one of the men shouted, his horse trotting out in front of the others.
For some reason Jacob’s smile made Roland more nervous.
“No, I think I should be the one who asks who you are, considering we are heralds from Safeway, and the village we just passed through is as abandoned as a dried-up well.”
One of the other men urged his horse forward. “An envoy from Safeway, eh? What proof do you have?”
“Proof?” laughed Jacob. “What more proof does Ashhur’s most trusted servant need than his mere presence?”
“Not one for humility, are you, Jacob?” asked Azariah in an aside.
“Nor you for humor,” Jacob scoffed, brushing the Warden aside. “These men pose no threat to us.”
The six men across from them huddled together, discussing something in hushed voices. Eventually they broke rank and began to slowly approach. They all had clubs within reach, and two had simple bows slung across their backs.
Jacob urged his horse forward and greeted the men with a half-bow from his saddle. The grin on his face was wide as could be, which obviously made the advancing men slightly uneasy, as the tight formation of their horses faltered.
“By Ashhur, it is him!” one of them said.
The man threw his leg over the side of his saddle and jumped to the ground. He virtually ran up to Jacob, casting aside his bow and club as he did so, and then fell to one knee. Despite his beard, he looked very young. “I apologize, Master Eveningstar. We knew not that it was you. Otherwise, we never would have fired a warning arrow.”
The others gaped in slack-jawed amazement. Roland found himself envying Jacob for his celebrity within the Paradise. He wondered whether folks reacted to him the same way in the east.
“Stand up, Bartholomew,” Jacob said, rustling the man’s unkempt hair with his gloved hand.
Bartholomew bounced to his feet, tossing giddy grins at the men behind him.
“You’re as silly as a schoolgirl,” one of the others said.
“He remembered my name,” said Bartholomew.
“Good for you,” said yet another.
The man who had first spoken to them dismounted and stepped forward. “You remember the boy’s name, but how about mine?” he asked.
Jacob smiled more widely. “Ah, Ephraim. Your boy looks just like you.”
Ephraim beamed. “So you do remember.”
“I never forget a face, my friend. Ever. However nice these pleasantries are, I must ask…why is the village deserted? It was an alarming thing to stumble on, especially for the boy.”
“I’m not a boy,” muttered Roland.
“It’s not for me to say, Master Eveningstar,” Ephraim said, ignoring him. “Please, follow us. I’m sure Escheton will fill you in on the details.”
“So the great Escheton is here, is he?”
“That he is.”
Jacob and Brienna exchanged a queer look, but they followed the others just the same. Roland waited until Azariah was able to tame his horse, and then they trailed after the group.
As they neared the strange, skinny mountain, Roland realized it wasn’t a mountain at all. No, it had been fabricated by humans-a massive tower that rose up from a wide and round base in a gravelly inlet close to the banks of the Rigon. People were gathered all around it, some raising heavy stones with ropes, while other stones seemed to be floating to the top on their own accord. Others were chiseling the great blocks, and still others were mixing huge vats of a strange gray substance. Hundreds of individuals were busily setting about their tasks-men, women, and children alike. Roland gave a low whistle of awe. Given the sheer number of people present here, it was no wonder the village had looked abandoned.
Even more amazing, however, was what lay in the tower’s periphery. It was as if the entire township had picked up and transplanted itself. The rock-strewn field was filled with tents and a few minor stone buildings. Roaring cooking fires peppered the encampment, and Roland could smell the sweet scent of roasting meat. His mouth watered and his stomach grumbled. He hadn’t eaten anything more filling than a few lean rabbits over the entirety of the journey north. He sure could go for a home-cooked meal, and soon.
The quartet was guided beyond the tower and past a collection of strangely robed men who chanted around a giant boulder. Their hands began to glow as they chanted, and the boulder started to change shape. It twisted and shifted, splitting into six pieces that became smooth and flat on all sides. It was a mesmerizing process; Roland had seen it a couple of times before, but not on such a grand scale.
“And that’s our…special craftsmen division,” said Bartholomew, his voice still giddy.
“Turock’s training spellcasters now,” Roland heard Jacob say to Brienna, which only made him all the more intrigued to meet this odd man.
Four of their guides stayed behind at the work site while Ephraim and Bartholomew led them into the encampment. They tied off their horses, dismounted, and followed the pair through the maze of fabric enclosures. Almost every face Roland saw lit up with a smile, but something wasn’t right. There was a certain darkness to the complexions of these northerners, and the heavy bags beneath their eyes told of sleepless nights and constant worry. Roland felt for them and wondered what could cause an entire populace such agony.
They stopped at the largest of the tents, positioned at the center of the encampment. Bartholomew held open the flap, nodding for Ephraim to lead the others inside. Roland allowed his elders and betters to go in before him, entering last and exchanging a strangely cheery farewell with Bartholomew on his way past him.
The interior of the tent was spacious, but that space was being taken up by stack after stack of hand-printed tomes. A man and woman stood in the center of the stacks, arguing so intensely that they didn’t seem to notice that others had entered their space. They both had heads of wildly curly red hair, but that’s where their similarity ended. The woman was short and very pretty, looking dignified in her blue dress, her upper body covered in a finely made cardigan. The man, on the other hand, was quite tall and wore an outrageous robe made from a greenish-yellow material that was so bright, it seemed to glow. His beard was trimmed to be thin, but it stretched all the way to the top of his stomach, an odd look for someone so young.
Ephraim whispered something into Jacob’s ear and then stepped out of the tent. Roland and his travel companions stood in a line, looking on as the argument droned on and on. Finally, Jacob cleared his throat-loudly-and the man and woman rapidly turned toward them.