GODSWAR: The Spear of Athena, Chapter 6

Our friends reach Salandar, and we learn something about these people that they're going to have to work with...

-----

 

 

 

Chapter 6.

Quester smelled Salandar before he could see it. There was a tang of fire and metal, the smell of forges at work; there was the faint understench of garbage and rot from the waste of many people living nearby, but no stronger than that of most places; Salandar must be reasonably clean. The scent of flowers, fields of gravelseed almost ready to be harvested, fresh water flowing; and the many different-yet-similar odors of humans en masse.

Sure enough, as they rounded yet another gentle curve in the Great Road, the clear area ahead was populated increasingly by buildings, concentrating to a dense clump a few miles in the distance. There seemed, however, to be something… not quite right about it, and he puzzled over that impression for several minutes before Urelle spoke.

"Why… I don’t think they have a wall around the town!" she said, disbelief clear in her tone.

"That was what was bothering me," Quester agreed instantly, chagrined by the fact the least-experienced of them had seen something so obvious before him. "I see no indication of such a defense." He focused attention narrowly, directing light to be concentrated in a somewhat different way, magnifying the road ahead at the cost of drastically narrowing the width of his field of view. "Hm. There is some sort of barrier or impediment, perhaps, but it is not terribly high. Certainly not what we are accustomed to seeing elsewhere."

"Indeed," Victoria said. "You will likely not see anything quite like Salandar anywhere else, either. They have chosen a unique approach to their city, rooted in their individualistic spirits. Every home is a fortress unto itself, and they are connected in time of trouble not by roads, but by tunnels – tunnels patrolled constantly, and enchanted by the allies of the Salandaras to prevent any easy access from below."

Ingram squinted. "So there wouldn't be anyone outside if they were under attack?"

"Only those involved in any battle," Victoria said. "All the people you can just make out, now, would be inside."

"What is that, Auntie?" Urelle asked, pointing to a peculiar structure located to the south and east. It reminded Quester vaguely of a nested set of pipes that had been cut diagonally, leaving an opening into a central area surrounded by concentric semicircular walls that rose up to the south.

Victoria's mouth tightened as she looked. "The Crucible of Children," she said quietly.

To Quester the phrase meant little, save a hint of something tragic yet proud from the clouded memories within him; Ingram's blink and raised eyebrow showed he, too, did not understand.

Urelle, however, went visibly pale. "The Crucible… I thought that was a story. A horrid story!"

"No. It's very much real."

"What is the 'Crucible of Children', Victoria?" Ingram asked. "I've never heard of it, and I don't think Quester has, either."

"It is a… testing area, one through which all able-bodied children of the Salandaras are sent once they reach no more than ten to eleven years of age," Victoria said after a pause. "The details of that, and the other testing and training the Salandaras put their children through, are not otherwise known."

"It is known," she went on, after another pause, "that many of the children do not survive. That area around the Crucible, the one that seems grayish from here, is the Memorial Garden, with a memorial for every child lost."

With a shuddering feeling within his very shell, Quester focused his gaze. Just in his range of vision, the gray abruptly turned to a multitude of distant carven gray stones, interspersed with walkways and dotted with color here and there of gems or flowers or other things in front of the monuments. "Mother's Mercy," he buzzed, aware vaguely that his voice must be almost incomprehensible to the others. "There are thousands of them."

It would be far less stunning in his own species, of course; larvae were not developed people yet, and were often disposed of for various reasons; the Queen could lay far more eggs than any Nest could support as adults. But for human children…

"Salandar has stood there a long, long time," Victoria said.

"What kind of monsters are they?" Urelle whispered. "Sending children that young to die…?"

Quester directed a spellstunned glance with Ingram. This certainly does not fit with my impression of Druyar, he thought to Ingram.

No. But if I've learned anything, it's that surface impressions are often really, really wrong.

"Not monsters," Victoria said. "A people under a most peculiar blessing… and curse. To meet its requirements, they maintain themselves as they are known – which means that even the children will be tested to near-destruction. The curse deprived them of the genius that could have been theirs; the blessing compensates for it, if they maintain the strength of their line."

Ingram seemed far less shocked, and memory told Quester why; the Camp-Bel traditions. Perhaps not so many died, but the deaths of both Camp-Bels, and of candidates for God-Warrior, were not few, and also involved those Victoria, certainly, would call children.

"What sort of… curse is this?"

She gazed out at the nearing city. "The Salandaras themselves speak little of it. It may be they know the details but consider them sacred secrets, or that they have forgotten the truth. What I have heard over the years, from sources that might know, is that many thousands of years ago the first Salandar (not their name then, of course) and, perhaps, his family, were involved in a great contest of gods; which of the darker gods is not clear; some say it was Kerlamion, others one of the Elderwyrm, others still that it was the Lightslayer itself. Their opponent is equally disputed – Terian, Chromaias, Odin, the Triad even. In any event, at the last the Salandar managed to win this contest, but by an act of what the enemy considered sheer, ridiculous luck, aided and abetted perhaps by brilliance, but still offensively improbable. Infuriated by what it considered defeat from a fluke of luck, unable by the letter of the agreement to kill the Salandar, it unleashed a tremendous curse upon the helpless human.

"But – again, according to the stories – at the precise same moment, the dark god's opponent sent down an equally powerful blessing. The two powers contested unexpectedly and dangerously, focused into a single mortal soul… and the result was not what either desired."

A faint smile moved a corner of Victoria Vantage's mouth. "The evil one had intended to reduce his victim to an imbecile and a cripple, one with barely the wit to understand what he had lost and unable to even clean or feed himself, yet long-lived enough to suffer for decades, with none able to undo what had been done. The being of light had wished to reward his successful agent, giving him the best of fortune and ability for so long as his line remained faithful.

"What they got…" she chuckled, a laugh that somehow still carried a note of sadness. "What they got was an entire clan, a line of descent and of association, whose mental capacities were drastically reduced from what they might have been… but not nearly so much as the enemy would have hoped."

Understanding brightened within Quester. "Ahh. Thus Salandar, from the Ancient Sauran S'Alandar – without knowledge." Depending on context, he knew, that word in Sauran could easily mean idiot.

"Yes; an insult that they embraced and made their own. They were, from the blessing, strong and courageous… and fortunate. But they were also bound to challenge themselves against the forces of the world, from the youngest to the oldest, and if they failed to do so, the original curse might win out, and this time affecting not just one man, but all those descended from him and bound to his destiny."

"So they're stupid and strong?" Urelle said after a moment.

Another snort of sad laughter. "Less intelligent than they might have been, though not all of them would be called stupid. And not, at that, forbidden a certain share of common sense and wisdom. But their fortune is the key, and many, even most, believe that what truly happened is that a god of fortune – perhaps the very essence of luck – intervened in that clash and took the Salandaras for its own. Those who survive the Crucible, thus, are seen as those chosen by Fortune. The others, I assure you, were no less loved, and they do not die unmourned – nor, I think, are their souls left to drift. They are claimed and protected by whoever or whatever their patron is."

She looked forward, to where the buildings were now drawing much closer. "And that is why it is said that any who know a Salandaras well may see their great cheer and great strength and spirit… and sense a sadness beneath, for not one of them who lives does not have a brother, a sister, a friend who went into the Crucible and failed to return."

Quester looked on the strange huddle of buildings and the towering shadow of the Crucible of Children with a new, painful empathy. Cursed to a course they could not escape, they could have broken, died away or become less than they were. Instead, they had embraced the curse and blessing they had been given, and let it become their strength, instead of their weakness. "And thus they are known to be worthy of trust, for their resolve is shown to be so very strong."

"Certainly my view," Victoria agreed. "I've heard many stories about the Salandaras, but one that I've never heard is of one committing treachery. Even the Dragons and the Saurans can't say that about their people."

A tall, broad figure of a woman stood in the road before them. She wore a long coat of mail, emblazoned with a simple device of sword and shield crossed that Quester recognized as the general symbol of the Salandaras. Her hair was dark, fairly straight, and tied back – visible because she wore no helm. She did have a bow and a longsword, with a shield leaning against a low wall nearby. She nodded as they came closer. "Passing through or staying?" she asked after they responded with similar nods.

"We may stay a day or two," Victoria answered, "though we are bound for the Freehold."

"Ah. Many go to Freehold," the woman said after a thoughtful pause. "Not so many here now. War, you know."

Ingram pursed his lips. "So many of those who usually live in town have gone to the Freehold?"

"Right. Safer there. Send workers, farmers if not needed, many warriors. Some stay, keep road safe; Bridgeway, Dragonkill need it."

"What of Artani? Is that road –" Victoria fell silent at the shake of the big woman's head.

"Artani… burned." Her voice was filled with both sadness and anger. "No open road to Empire of Mountain left. Adventurers say Avalanche Gap sealed."

"Great Balance," she murmured. "How, then will the Archmage's forces reach Hell's Edge?"

Quester exchanged quick thoughts with Ingram. "Our guess would be that he will bring them up the Nightsky River as far as Kheldragaard, then march just south of the southern reaches of the Broken Hills to join with the surviving Great Road north of Dalthunia; I doubt that Dalthunia's border guardians will try to oppose such a force as long as it is not trying to invade the country directly."

"I suppose. That will be a much harder journey, though."

"As our enemies doubtless intended." Ingram shrugged. "It isn't our problem, thank the Lady. Guardian… what is your name?"

"Kaydrin," she answered with another small bow.

"An honor to meet you, Guardian Kaydrin."

"Ha! Not true Guardian, just guarding here for moment. But thank you."

"You do the job, you get the title, I think. Is there still an open inn?"

"The Long Bar still open," she said. "Not close that unless invaders, and then will fight in bar doorway."

"Excellent!" Victoria brightened. "That's a sight worth seeing. You can just make out the start of it ahead."

Kaydrin stepped aside – not that she truly had to, with the hundred-yard width of the Great Road mostly open. "Enjoy. And good fortune."

"Good fortune to you as well," Victoria said, and the others echoed the phrase.

Once they were well past, Ingram glanced back and frowned, puzzlement clear on his face.

What is it, Ingram?

How in the name of the Gods is one Guardian supposed to keep the town safe and the road open?

Quester buzzed in amusement. I do not know, but I would guess that Guardian Kaydrin is likely not as alone as she appeared, and that she has methods of alerting the town close to hand. They have, as Lady Victoria said, been here for millennia; time for them and their many allies to have placed many subtle and powerful enchantments as well as physical defenses.

Better believe it, Urelle's mind-voice said. I did some looking around while you were talking and there's a whole wide band of territory absolutely saturated with magic, looks like it surrounds the whole city. I didn't try analyzing it, but I'd bet anything that there's all kinds of alarms and defenses just waiting for someone to be dumb enough to think they could just charge through the guard. She paused. Almost as intense as the defenses around Zarathanton, actually, which is scary. These people take their protection seriously.

"As well they should, with their history and interests," Victoria said. "And that means, having been passed inward by their guard and whatever unseen observers and spells there might be, we are much safer now than we have been."

She smiled, her teeth bright in the light of the setting sun. "Now look ahead and see one of the most amusing wonders of the world."

Quester focused his eyes forward again.

"Hello? Quester?"

He became aware that he had stopped dead in the middle of the road, staring in disbelief. "By the Mother. That is…"

"The Long Bar," Victoria said, her voice carrying the satisfaction of one who has seen the reaction they had hoped for.

"I'm not clear on what we're seeing," Ingram said. He pulled out his far-viewer device. "It looks like something sitting across the… Athena and Ares!"

Quester understood his friend's reaction all too well, as he still could not quite believe what he was seeing.

The Long Bar was a gigantic structure that straddled the entire Great Road, constructed of blocks of polished stone and massive, ancient beams of wood cut from trees that must have been some of the greatest monarchs of the forest in their day. Twin doors were swung wide – each door fifty yards across and well over thirty high, mounted on immense rollers to swing easily shut, but with signs that they had likely not been shut in years, if not decades. Within the vast tunnel of the interior, Quester could make out counters, storefronts, doors leading to the interior of the building on either side of the road, loading docks…

The gigantic building extended far down the road – at least a thousand feet, perhaps twice that, nearly as long as the Dragon's Palace was high.

"Great Mother," he buzzed again. "What need for a city have they? That is a city unto itself!"

"The Long Bar often is a city of its own, when there is no war," Victoria said. "You have seen how busy the Great Road is to the West in time of peace, have you not? This is scarcely less busy, for any traffic bound to or from the Empire, or to and from Dragonkill, must pass through here – and Salandar is the only truly safe location in several hundred miles in either direction."

She smiled again and nodded in the direction of the Bar. "And unlike many establishments within cities, the Long Bar is designed with accommodations of all types, including ones to serve beings vastly larger than ordinary humans. Accomodations including markets, private rooms, meeting rooms… and, of course, food and drink!"

She turned back towards the Long Bar, which now showed a faint glow from within as twilight began to fall. "Come, we will discover word of the road to the Freehold, and stay in the most comfortable beds for a hundred miles and more!"

Even though he found himself far more tolerant of variation in bedding than his friends, Quester approved of this course of action.