Sallax nodded grimly in response.
They rode through the day, always north, and Steven soon noticed a change in the landscape. Hardwoods gave way to evergreens and the rustle of leaves under foot quieted into a soft carpet of fallen pine needles. The climb in elevation was gradual, nearly undetectable, but by the end of the day they had reached the southern slope of what appeared to be a range of more substantial foothills that spread far into the distance as misty indigo swells along the horizon. From time to time the group came within sight of the Estrad River; the once-deep current had narrowed to a fast-moving stream.
Versen led the way, accompanied by Mika, who was eager to learn everything the more experienced woodsman could teach him. Steven could understand why Mika was so impressed with Versen: his knowledge of the forest seemed second to none.
Steven rode between Garec and Gilmour and the trio spent much of their time talking. Garec, always alert with his bow, felled several rabbits and a pheasant along the way; the small band would eat well again this evening.
As the new friends exchanged questions and answers about their different lands, Gilmour would periodically chime in with an explanation of Pragan, Falkan, or even Malakasian culture. Garec was astounded at the level of technology in Steven’s world; the young banker’s description of air travel, medicine and warfare had him transfixed. Steven was equally impressed by the complacency about magic that permeated the Eldarni populace. Garec talked about magical incidents, places and historic events as if they were as common as a spring thundershower.
Gilmour’s questions related to the history of various nations on Earth; Steven had to keep reminding himself that the venerable Larion Senator had been there to see much of it unfold. He was most interested in the American Civil War, and spoke in fascinating detail about troop movements and political decisions Steven had never known about. He rattled on at great length about the carnage at Sharpsburg, the accuracy of artillery fire on Henry Hill at Bull Run and the esoteric eating habits of General Lee.
‘I do wish I could have stayed on to observe the end of the war and the reconstruction that followed, but regrettably, my knowledge and leadership were sorely needed in Eldarn,’ Gilmour confided wistfully.
When he heard that President Lincoln had been killed before the Confederate surrender, his mood turned dark. He told Steven he was certain John Wilkes Booth had no sense of fairness and ran one hand thoughtfully through his whiskers before adding, ‘If they were going to kill him, they ought to have waited until after the war.’
Steven had taken a Civil War course as an undergraduate and promised to retrieve all his textbooks from a cardboard box in his basement if Gilmour could spare a few moments while in Idaho Springs. He thought the old man was going to actually kiss him, but Gilmour contented himself with slapping Steven hard across the back and shouting, ‘Outstanding! It’s a nine-hundred-Twin-moon-old novel I will finally get to finish.’
While Steven was trawling his memory for any Civil War trivia that might amuse his companions, Mark and Brynne were getting to know each other too. They rode together all day; occasionally Sallax would cast them a disapproving look. The Ronan partisan was slow to trust anyone, and he was still uncertain about Steven and Mark: were they truly refugees from another world? He had forced himself to believe Gilmour, so for the moment he decided to keep his doubts to himself.
Brynne had obviously put aside her fury at being carted round as a hostage and tied to a tree. The friendly banter she and Mark were exchanging had Brynne blushing and Mark grinning like an adolescent about to steal his first kiss. Sallax cringed each time his sister reached across to touch Mark’s hand or to give his arm an amiable punch, even though he thought he respected the foreigner: at least he had shown a willingness to fight, a tough resilience in the face of danger. He appeared to be extremely bright, and skilled at solving problems under pressure. Sallax supposed Mark might be his choice for Brynne – if he knew the two strangers could be trusted. Until that moment, though, he would look with caution on his sister’s new suitor.
They made camp that evening in the Blackstone foothills. Versen said the bulk of the great range was several days’ ride north and west; they would turn west in the morning, leaving the river and the Merchants’ Highway behind. Although there were a number of passes between the tallest peaks in the Blackstone range, the most commonly accessed trails would be patrolled, perhaps even guarded, by Malakasian sentries. If word of their flight had reached the northern border patrols, no passage through the mountains would be unwatched by occupation forces.
Versen was confident that their only safe route lay to the west, over uncharted peaks and through unmapped passes. Both Garec and Sallax were loud in their dismay at the prospect of navigating a new trail north this late in the season. The potential for bone-chilling cold and deep snow grew with each passing day, and none of the travellers knew enough about the northern slopes to speculate what lay beyond the westernmost peaks.
Gilmour tried to reassure them, telling them their turn to the west was necessary for another reason. ‘We must get to Seer’s Peak,’ he said that evening as they sat around the fire-pit. ‘I must try to contact Lessek before we set sail for Malakasia.’
‘Lessek, the founder of the Larion Senate?’ Garec asked.
‘That’s right. He sometimes visits me when I pass within the shadow of Seer’s Peak.’ Gilmour sucked the last bits of meat from a pheasant leg and tossed the bone casually into the fire. ‘Although this will be the first time I have ever tried to contact him. Usually he comes to me without warning.’
‘Can you do it?’ Mika asked, amazed that anyone could be able to summon a spirit.
‘I don’t know, Mika,’ Gilmour said honestly, ‘but I have to try.’ And, in an offhanded way that surprised everyone around the fire, he added, ‘So must Garec and Steven as well.’
Steven sat bolt upright. ‘Why?’ He looked around the fire hoping for an ally. ‘What could he possibly tell me? I’m not Eldarni.’
‘No, but you have brought Lessek’s Key back to Eldarn,’ Gilmour explained. ‘Your role in this endeavour may be more important than you think.’
‘I didn’t, though. I mean, it’s still there on my desk. I didn’t bring it anywhere.’ Steven tried to talk his way out of meeting with the long-dead ghost of the world’s most powerful magician. ‘I just stole it from- well, found it, really, at the bank.’
‘Without you, Steven, it would not now be within our reach.’ Gilmour glanced at Mark before continuing, ‘Lessek may expect more from you than you can imagine, perhaps from Mark as well.’
‘And why me?’ Garec asked quietly.
‘That will become clear in time, my friend,’ Gilmour answered. ‘But I know Lessek will wish to speak with you.’
Versen was sharpening a small axe against a whetstone. Slowing the rhythmic pattern, he commented, ‘You make it sound as though Lessek can control what will happen to us. Is that true?’
‘No,’ Gilmour answered. ‘I don’t believe he can have an impact on anything directly, at least, he hasn’t in a long time, which is why we must go to him and hope he communicates with us.’ The old man leaned forward and warmed his hands near the flames. The firelight danced off his bald forehead; it looked as though a small, flesh-coloured moon had risen over their camp. ‘Lessek has an important vantage point from which to observe the goings-on here in Eldarn, a view from the balcony, if you will. He has access to histories and ideas we cannot understand, and his insights are critical to our success. He may disclose much, or he may not come to us at all, but we must endeavour to tap that resource before making plans for our assault on Welstar Palace.’
‘Welstar Palace,’ Steven said, ‘Nerak’s stronghold.’