What happened then in Argattha three millennia before, as told by Yashku, brought a gleam to everyone's eyes. While Kalkamesh had turned to fight Morjin's guards with a rare and terrible fury, Sartan had made his escape with the Lightstone. He had fled Argattha with the golden cup into the snowy wastes of Sakai where he and it had vanished from history.
'Very good,' Kane growled out as Yashku again paused to wet his throat. His eyes were as black and bottomless as I supposed the tunnels of Argattha to be. 'And now for Kalkamesh and Telemesh.'
The many verses of the poem, to this point had been only a sort of preamble to the poet's true subject. This was the incredible valor of Kalkamesh and Telemesh. As we settled back in our chairs and sipped our beer, Yashku told of how Morjin had captured and tortured Kalkamesh. Believing that Kalkamesh must have known where Sartan intended to take the Lightstone, he had ordered Kalkamesh crucified to the mountain out of which was carved the city of Argattha. He had questioned him day and night, but Kalkamesh had only spat into his face. There, bolted naked to the side of the mountain, he endured every morning the rising of the blistering sun. And every morning as the sun's first rays touched Kalkamesh's writhing body, Morjin had arrived personally to cut open his belly with a stone knife and tear out his liver. He then used a green gelstei to aid this immortal man's already astonishing regenerative powers, and each night Kalkamesh's liver had grown back. It had been the beginning of the Long Torture that would last ten years.
But Morjin was never been able to break Kalkamesh. The story of his suffering and courage spread into every land of Ea. High in the Morning Mountains, the young Telashu Elahad, who would one day ascend the Swan Throne to become King Telemesh, heard of Kalkamesh's torment and vowed to end his misery. He had set out on his quest and crossed the Wendrush all alone. And then, on a night of lightning and storm, he had climbed Mount Skartaru in the dark to free Kalkamesh from his terrible fate. Yashku's words now rang out like silver bells deep in my souclass="underline" The lightning flashed, struck stone, burned white -
The prince looked up into the light;.
Upon Skartaru nailed to stone
He saw the warrior all alone.
Through rain and hail he climbed the wall
Still wet with bile, blood and gall.
Where dread and dark devour light,
He climbed alone into the night.
And there beneath the blackened sky,
He met the warrior eye to eye,
The ancient warrior, hard as stone -
He raised his sword and cut through bone.
The lightning flashed, struck stone, burned red, And still the warrior wasn't dead.
Where eagles perch and princes walk,
He left his hands upon the rock.
And down and down they climbed as one
To beat the rising of the sun.
Through rain and ice and wind that wailed,
With strength and nerve that never failed.
They came into a healing place
Beneath Skartaru's bitter face.
And there, the One, the sacred spark,
Where love and light undo the dark.
The lightning flashed, struck stone, burned clear.
The prince beheld through rain and tear
The hands that held the golden bowl,
The warrior's hands again were whole.
'Very good,' Kane growled out after Yashku had finished reciting the poem. 'You sing well, minstrel. Very well indeed.'
Kane sat sipping his dark beer, which he had asked Duke Rezu's grooms to serve him hot like coffee. He was a hard man to read and an even harder one to look at.
There was a heart-piercing poignancy beneath the brilliance of his black eyes, and he might have been considered too beautiful but for the harsh, vertical lines of a perpetual scowl that scarred his face. A server, it is said, with the aid of a crystal sphere can look into the future. There was something about him ageless and anguished as if he could look far into the past and recall all its hurts as his own. I wondered if he, like Thaman, had lost his family to the depredations of the Red Dragon. How else to explain the volcanic love and hate that threatened to erupt from him at every mention of Morjin's name?
'So,' he said, 'Kalkamesh and Telemesh – Sartan, too – defied Morjin. And shook the world, eh? I think it's shaking still.'
We all agreed that this was so, and we thanked Yashku for singing us the poem.
Then Maram turned to Master Juwain and asked, 'What befell Kalkamesh after Argattha?'
'It's said that he perished in the War of the Stones.'
Thaman turned to Kane and regarded him coolly. 'And what of Sartan Odinan? He might have spirited away the Lightstone, but to where? The Song doesn't say.'
'No,' Kane agreed, 'it doesn't.'
'Surely, then, Sartan must have perished himself trying to make his escape. Surely the Lightstone must lie with his bones somewhere buried in the snows of Sakai or in the sands of the Red Desert.'
'No,' Kane said, shaking his large head. 'If Sartan was strong and cunning enough to enter Argattha, then surely he must have been resourceful enough make his escape unharmed.'
'Then why,' Thaman asked, 'do none of the epics tell of this?'
At this, Kane fell silent as he took a draw of his hot beer. And then Master Juwain interjected, 'But, of course, some of the epics do.'
We all turned to regard him with surprise. It was the first time on our journey from Silvassu that he had spoken of the Lightstone's fate.
'There is the Song of Madhar,' he said. 'And the Lay of Alanu. The first tells of how Sartan brought the Lightstone to the islands of the Elyssu and founded the Kingdom of Light early in the Age of the Dragon. The second tells that he hid the Lightstone in a castle high in the Crescent Mountains and studied its secrets. It's said that Sartan, too, gained immortality, and used the Lightstone to create an order of secret Masters who have journeyed across Ea for thousands of years opposing the Lord of Lies.
And there are other legends, almost too many to mention.'
'Then why aren't these songs sung in Surrapam?' Thaman asked. He looked around the table at the curiosity on all our faces. 'Why aren't these legends told?'
Master Juwain rubbed the back of his bald head with his knotty hand. Despite his ugliness, he had a glowing presence that commanded respect. Maram, especially, regarded him proudly.
'Do you read ancient Ardik?' he asked Thaman. 'Do any of your countrymen?'
'No – we've no time for such indulgences anymore.'
'No,' Master Juwain agreed, 'it's been over three hundred years since your King Donatan closed the last of the Brotherhood schools in the west, hasn't it?'
Thaman took a gulp of beer and then grimaced in shame. He obviously didn't like it that Master Juwain knew so much about his country. I smiled proudly along with Maram because Master Juwain knew more about almost everything than anyone I had ever met.
'I read ancient Ardik,' Duke Rezu suddenly announced to everyone's surprise. 'And I've never heard of these legends, either.'
It was a victory for ignorance, I thought, that some of the Valari king-doms had stopped sending their sons and daughters to the Brotherhood schools. But Anjo, at least, for all its troubles was not one of these.
'If you'd like,' Master Juwain told the Duke, 'later I'll show-you a couple of books of the Lightstone legends that I've brought with me.'
'Yes, thank you,' Duke Rezu said, 'I'd like that very much.'
'Books, legends,' Thaman spat out. 'It's not words we need now but men with strong arms and sharp swords.'
Master Juwain's bushy eyebrows suddenly narrowed as he pointed his gnarly finger at my side. He said, 'Strong arms and swords we have in abundance here in the Morning Mountains. But without the knowledge of how to use them, they're worse than useless.'
'Use them against Morjin, then.'