Think of myself in… This world was too odd. But I gave it a try. I considered what might lie on the other side of the curved wall. Then I ran my fingers across it - the smooth blue surface felt like stone - and imagined how it would feel to walk through it. I considered the thwop sound I’d heard for the past hours. No luck.
“In,” said Vroon, quite seriously. “Not through. Not beyond.”
I imagined the curved walls and turned them inside out so they were curved around me instead of away from me. At the same time I brought to mind all the ideas of “in-ness” I could: being under the blankets in my bed, closing a door behind me, walls, clothes, gloves… And then I was in.
No storm raged inside the tower, no wind blew. I saw no dim, gray light or black-and-purple sky or green stars, and certainly I found nothing I might have expected to be inside the narrow, twisting spire of smooth blue stone.
Here I was, gawking again. The chamber in which I stood was large and round, centered by a gracefully spiraling stair that reached toward a simple vaulted dome of pale yellow, almost impossible to see as it was so high. At every one of at least ten levels the tower was ringed by a gallery of sculpted stone. Though this soaring space seemed larger than the outer dimension of the tower could accommodate, I could have accepted that my eyes had been fooled in the uncertain light of the land. But this rotunda was not the whole of the tower’s interior.
Beyond a great open doorway to my left was a chamber that could have enclosed the great hall at Comigor with the ballroom thrown in for good measure, both of them strung together lengthwise and stretched into a chamber that was at least ten times longer than it was wide. To my right was a set of double doors of a size equal to the open doorway on my left, with no hint as to what might lie beyond them. Behind the stair, I glimpsed smaller doors, some open, some closed. The place was immense.
But I didn’t dally to peek into the other rooms, for the Guardian had hurried into the grand hall on my left. I gaped at the vast chamber as I stepped through the doorway.
The vaulted ceilings reached to at least half the height of the rotunda, and the walls, hung with simple rectangles of plain dark green and red fabric, bowed slightly outward. Near the ceiling, far out of casual reach, iron rings held hundreds of burning candles, casting a glow of burnished bronze about the space. The floor was dark green slate, huge, square plates of it, smoothed and set in simple rows.
The room was sparely furnished. On a raised dais at its farthest end stood a simple high-backed chair of smooth light wood, set in front of a heavy gold drapery. A few padded benches stood along the walls, and a long wooden table sat in one corner. Nothing in the way of variety or the gaudy decoration you might see in a Leiran palace marred the simple structures or disrupted the mellow light. But, considering what I’d seen so far of this strange land, it was very fine. Quite pleasing, in fact.
The Guardian hurried toward the far end of the hall and the dais with an irregular, awkward gait. A plain, close-fitting shirt and breeches and a sleeveless gray robe revealed that he was strongly built, thick-chested and wide in the shoulders. His limbs might have been twisted of coarse steel wire. But his joints appeared to be all knobs and knots like his malformed cheek, as if he had three joints everywhere ordinary men had only one. Perhaps that’s what made him so ungainly. Difficult to say how such deformity might affect a man’s fighting abilities.
As I surveyed the room from the doorway, Paulo popped into view beside me, his eyes squeezed shut and his arms thrown over his head. Vroon, Ob, and Zanore were supporting him. “Am I here yet?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “You got here.”
“Cripes. This is the damnedest - I told ‘em I wasn’t no good at imagining. They said they weren’t allowed to come in uninvited, but I said that if they didn’t get me in, I’d unbound their hides and bounce them so hard their new names would fall right off again.” He lowered his arms and craned his neck about as I had done. “Demons, how’d they squeeze all this inside a pile of rock?”
“Come on. We need to talk to this fellow.”
By the time we crossed the length of the hall, the Guardian had taken his seat on the dais, not the simple, fine-looking chair, but a backless stool just beside it. Though his apparel seemed plain for such imposing surroundings, he had set a thin gold circlet on his unruly black hair, and a heavy gold chain hung about his neck. From the chain dangled a gold key, embedded with rubies.
“Who is this person?” said the Guardian, glaring at Paulo.
“My companion,” I said as we approached the dais. “And a defender of justice. He allows no one to harm those he cares for.” I failed to mention that I was no longer included in that number, but the Guardian had no way of knowing that.
“You have no need for protection here. He was not invited to come into my fastness.” The man surveyed Paulo with flared nostrils and a curling lip.
“I’ll judge my own needs, sir. And I understand that this fastness is not yours, but was built for this king you are expecting. Is that not the case?”
“I am the Guardian. I hold the King’s Fastness until he comes. You are not he.”
“I make no claims. All I seek is to understand this land and perhaps a place to stay while I hear the story.” And as this person seemed to be the only one with the answers, I needed to stay here. Besides, I’d seen no one else along the road who looked capable of providing much in the way of hospitality.
“About the name you carry… ”
“I couldn’t possibly discuss names until my business is done. Mynoplas is so pleasant on the tongue and sits on the mind so solidly. I’ll try not to forget it. My companion and I are very tired after our long journey.”
“I suppose you wish refreshment.” He didn’t exactly grind his teeth, but he was very close to it.
“That would be very gracious. We’ve traveled a long way with little sustenance. And my new friends, your messengers” - the three of them were still bunched up at the door from the rotunda - “I’d like them taken care of in whatever way they’d prefer. They’ve done good service.”
“If you were the king, you could command me, but you are not. I decide who shares the king’s bounty, and it is not Singlar messengers. They must return to their fastnesses like any other of their kind.”
I didn’t know exactly what prompted the Guardian’s cooperation. Perhaps the anticipation of the mysterious naming ritual, or possibly the secret fear that, despite his assertion and my own, I might truly be the awaited king. But for whatever reason, I was grudgingly accommodated. After commanding a serving man to bring food, he himself led me up the curved staircase to a modest bedchamber.
It might have been a small bedchamber at Comigor: a narrow box-bed piled with blankets, two small square tables and a slightly larger round one, one chair, and two backless stools. On one table stood a washing bowl, and under it a lidded urn that I took for a night jar. Several lamps hung high on the walls, but the room had no hearth. A single slot window opened to the cold and very wet wind, though you couldn’t see out of it worth anything. The wood floor underneath it was damp and puddled.
“This appears quite comfortable, Guardian. My thanks. Now where will my companion sleep?”
“This person is not welcome in the King’s Fastness. He must remain outside.”
“On the contrary, sir… ”
And we went through it all again. The Guardian argued that two guests were just too difficult to manage, that Paulo was dirty and clearly had no business in a king’s house, and was so very… crude. I finally prevailed by saying that Paulo would share my room and my plate if the king’s Guardian could provide no better, threatening to leave immediately if he didn’t agree.
“You ought to keep your eye on his nasty little thoughts,” Paulo said when we were finally left alone. He stuffed an extra blanket into the slot window, which left the room somewhat drier and warmer, while I pulled the chair and a stool close to the table. Two serving women in belted brown tunics and wide white ruffled collars had delivered a tureen of hot soup, a heaping basket of fragrant breads, and four flagons of wine. “I don’t trust that one no farther than my boot. If I could get into his head like you can, I’d do it in a spit, and see what’s filthy growin‘ in there.”