Firuz and Parviz led The Mountain through the Palace and up to a large library. Within was a woman more formally dressed than the others he met, though the clothes seemed designed to be comfortable and not hamper movement. She stood at a table, various scrolls and tomes spread out, quill in hand making notes and engrossed in her work. Oblivious to their arrival, The Mountain had a few moments to study her.
She moved with purpose, hands reaching to different materials before making additional notes. Her black hair was pulled back and kept away from her eyes by a jeweled hair pin. Her intensity added to her presence and bearing. Her bare arms pointed to a more active lifestyle than the present setting suggested. Almost overlooked was an ornate, though ancient looking scimitar hanging from a belt on the chair behind her. While exquisite, its craftsmanship spoke to a weapon made to be used rather than simply worn.
“I am, The Mountain,” he announced in a quieter voice in deference to his surroundings. Having announced his presence he dropped to a knee as a sign of respect. The guards were also more precise in their salute, their respect evident.
She looked up, eyes quickly moving to take in the newcomers and came to some assessment. Pulling herself to her full height she stood as tall as any he had met, perhaps even taller. She projected a sense of authority and her eyes shone with intelligence. She smiled politely. “Greetings The Mountain. I am Ruana, Loremaster of the Maghir, assistant to Kaveh. I am pleased to meet you.”
The Mountain grinned as he stood. “Me too.” His eyes strayed to the table with all the books, manuscripts and scrolls.
“Tell me, what…”Ruana’s question was cut off as The Mountain moved over to the table.
“Wow! Lots of books with squiggles,” The Mountain moved around then sighed. “None with pictures,” he concluded sadly.
The interruption and being ignored didn’t go over well with Ruana especially given The Mountain’s commentary. She looked poised to issue an angry retort and then stopped and watched him closely. He continued to stare at the various documents at all sorts of angles, scanning to make sure he hadn’t missed any illustrations.
“Are you unfamiliar with the written word?” The Mountain looked up confused. “The squiggles?” She stared deep into his eyes as he nodded. “And you’d like to see…pictures?” Her voice was cool and detatched, though not cold. He nodded again. “Very well.”
Ruana moved to the table and scanned across the various works. She rolled an ancient scroll to a different part, showing what might have been a depiction of the First City from ages past, though impossible to tell if real or imagined. The Mountain immediately became interested and moved over to review. Watching him she moved to another work – this one a folio, and found a battle scene focused on an impressive man wielding vast elemental power. She repeated the process until she had a half dozen illustrations of varying sizes laid out on the work table, then stepped back to allow him to examine them.
With each of the illustrations, The Mountain approached the work from the correct angle as it was clear which way it should be viewed. Through his process as he studied them, she studied him. As he neared the fifth illustration he asked, “So what is it that you’re learning about?”
Ruana had calmed down from her initial irritation and her voice was neutral when she replied. “I’m interested in the fall of the First Imperium and the state of the empire before the Theocracy of the Cleansing Flame swept to power. Large portions of the city were destroyed during the time of Leonydas val’Virdan, but before it the city was intact. Much of that original city is still here in the various levels of ruins and debris.”
She moved to the picture of the man wielding vast power. “Before the fall of the last Imperator, he had at his disposal a cadre of magicians that served him whose descendants became known as the Eryunellian Battle Mages. It was a time before the coming of the Sorcerer King of Ymmandragore, when the use of such powers were not considered anathema or heretical. It is an interesting time in history for as much as the churches’ teachings speak of the use of that power being a usurpation of the gods’ will and pure hubris, it was an accepted part of the fabric of life within the Imperial Court.”
She looks across the various documents as if seeking something. “Buried somewhere I believe are the keys to understanding the complex history of the interaction of priests and sorcerers. What caused the Battle Mages to fall out of favor? Was it the failure to protect the last Imperator? Was it their failure against the Myrantian Hegemony and were they blamed for the destruction caused by the war? Was it the hubris of the Sorcerer King and him being responsible for the beginning of the Time of Terror? Could it be that the churches were always against that channeling of the god’s power, but the will of the Imperators shielded them to operate as they saw fit? Was use of magic by those others that priests accepted by the population at large or were they feared even then?”
Ruana shrugged. “So little survived the time of Terror and then the Sorcerer King’s harvesting of both people and things of power, that there is little to go on. I have worked out a deal with Ambassador Tukufu who’s the proprietor at the Litera Scripta Manet to share research as well as access to rare tomes in the interest of discovering more about the Imperium of Man. These” as she gestured at the various works on the table, “are all I have been able to find discussing those times. The Ambassador has graciously offered to forward me any related works for a small fee of course. However, as interesting as that time and that particular peculiarity is, there is much to the ruins to be discovered of the heritage of at least five previous empires living here.”
Her voice had gained strength and passion, and both were clearly dear topics to her.
“Do the Eryuni…men Battle Mages still exist?” asked The Mountain, caught up in her tale.
She eyed him once more and shrugged. “It is said the last perished in fighting the Sorcerer King and the Myrantian Necromancer Lords. It’s possible that their descendants yet found sanctuary somewhere, hidden away from the plight of their brethren and away from the vast destruction the Time of Terror brought on. They would be a very interesting find as would any ruins or relics from their past. Sadly, any remains of note most likely can be found in the dusty tombs of Myrantia or upon the Isle of Tears.” “Can you go and get the stuff from the dusty tombs? A good broom would get rid of the dust and make the stuff you’re looking for easier to find.”
Ruana looks at The Mountain a bit incredulously and then chuckles. “The capital of the Myrantian Hegemony sank into the Kraldjur Morass near the border between the Malfaelen’s of the Fellglade and the Ss’ethregoran Empire. It would be a bit hazardous to get there.”
The Mountain’s eyes got big. “More than a bit! Walking between two people fighting is a bad idea and walking between a lot of two people fighting a REALLY bad idea,” The Mountain moved away from the table and stared at the far wall. “Wars are dangerous places,” he noted thoughts far away.
She regarded him for a moment before walking over to him. “Why don’t we sit?” and she gestured to where a set of chairs and couches were arranged for a discussion.
“Ok,” and he walked over and took a seat on a couch. Ruana followed and sat in a chair opposite from him making talking easier.
“You fought in the 6th Crusade of Light as part of Count Felix’s Irregulars, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I may be good at fighting, but I don’t like war. Too many people die.”
Ruana nodded sympathetically.
Switching topics, The Mountain gestured to the scimitar. “Have you used that?”
It took her a moment to place the question in context. “Yes. I have helped sponsor expeditions into the undercity and elsewhere. Often I go along to see what I can learn or find. Lots of times the journeys are fruitless, empty corridors and rooms, dusty or damp or filled with mud. At times though we find new inhabitants who don’t like their homes or nests disturbed.”
She goes over and recovers the scimitar. “This is an heirloom that has been passed down from generation to generation and kept by the Loremasters of the Maghir. We are defenders of our people and more importantly the ways of our people. I have used it the defense of myself and others.”
“Keeping people safe is good.”
Ruana nodded. “I find it curious that Nasha thought I might be a good match for you. Why do you think that might be?”
“You’re good at telling stories, right?”
“Yeeesss….”
“I love good stories!” The Mountain adds with a bit of excitement, the somberness transforming into happiness once again.
She just looks at him. “Anything else?”
“Well, I like to travel and help people. So I go a lot of different places and find all sorts of strange things. I’ve been to the Haina Empire, through Almeric, Milandir, the Coryani Empire, the Hinterlands, the,” she cuts him off before he continues to run down what might be a very long list.
“I see. Do you like to tell stories?”
“Uh huh! I have all sorts of stories. Do you want to hear them?”
Ruana settles more comfortably into her chair. “Please.”
“Ok! So this necklace is a champion’s chain. I got this after beating a REALLY BIG ss’ressen. He was even bigger than me, though not by a lot. Both of us had beaten a lot of opponents to get to the end. And there we were, he with his axe and me with my trident. The battle was really tough! It wasn’t supposed to be to the death, but he wouldn’t give up and I didn’t want to die. He killed all of his other opponents. That’s sad. So we started out by waving to the crowd…”
For the second time that day he launched into a beloved and often told tale. From there he spoke of different adventures he had been on and the places he’d visited as well as the unusual people and creatures he’d encountered. At first Ruana just listened, but as he got further along in his storytelling she began asking more questions, probing at details and descriptions of places, people, the languages they spoke or how the speech sounded. He was sometimes able to remember a word or phrase from the conversations. Though not always clear what the words originally were, Ruana was able to identify each one. At a lull she seemed pensive.
“You have given me a lot to think on, The Mountain. Thank you,” and with that she stood up. “It is getting late and I believe we both have things we need to do.”
The Mountain stood as well, then dropped to a knee in respect. “Thank you for the time as well,” before standing back up.
“Can we talk again?” he asked her. “I’d like to hear some of your stories.”
Ruana nodded. “That would be nice,” she decided.
The Mountain smiled and headed for the door. As he stepped through he glanced back and saw her at the table moving one of the tomes that she had opened to an illustration had badly creased one of the folio pages below it. Cursing quietly she moved the book on top and slowly smoothed out the page below with her hand. When she was done it was if the crease had never been there. She glanced up as The Mountain finished moving through the door, aware that he had likely seen what she had done. He shut the door and looked at Firuz and Parviz.
“Can we get something to eat? I’m hungry,” and as if on queue his belly rumbled.
“Of course, The Mountain,” Firuz responded. “I expect you’ve had a busy day and with that they headed back towards the kitchens for a late dinner.
To be continued…
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