She Who Has No Name (The Legacy Trilogy) (49 page)

‘They are putting the finishing touches to this temple,’ Balten explained.  ‘It has been
under
construction for over a hundred years.  At times
,
there were tens of thousands of workers
labouring
on it, and towns built all around to house and support them.  Now, only these last few artisans are left, finishing their carvings, making the final adjustments.’

‘But why would anyone build such a thing out here?’ Eric asked, but again Balten was silent.

Some dark-skinned boys ran to the tall magician’s side, wearing sandals and short skirts
,
and they jabbered to Balten excitedly, and he replied to them in their own tongue.  The
party
stopped under a canvas at the base of the temple and they all drank from gourds of water that were brought by the Paatin women.

‘Follow me,’ Balten said, after they had each drunk their fill, and he started up the stairs that had been cut directly into the side of the great stone slabs.

The others
filed
after him, following him into a shadowed opening and into the side of the temple. 

Their footsteps echoed in the stone halls.  Every inch of wall space was carved with figures: gods and demons battling
,
people cowering from wild beasts
,
crops and rivers and symbols of harvest.  Passages were written in Old Tongue, with letters hewn large and deep into the stone, but Samuel could
not
read more than a handful of words before Balten’s voice sounded back, hurrying him along.

‘Why do you think they call this the Valley of the Ancients?’ Eric whispered to Samuel.

‘I’m not sure,’ Samuel replied, somewhat louder, for he was trying to resist the strange temptation to whisper.  ‘I think we are about to find out.’

They climbed a further set of square stairs that led up into the heart of the temple, passing the odd craftsman
sitting
here and there in the dim light, chiselling or hammering at their work.  Statues lined the chambers they passed, but the figures they represented were unknown
to them
.  They passed several enormous rooms, several of which were filled with shelves of books and papers.  They caught a glimpse of figures standing in the aisles: not the local desert-men, but fair
-
skinned westerners.  Some of them were common folk, but others had the unmistakable aura of magicians.

Balten waited ahead at an open doorway and motioned for them to go in.  ‘Please go in and everything will be explained.’

Samuel did as he was told and passed the man by.  ‘Who is in there?’ he asked, for the magic that surrounded the pyramid seemed to emanate from within that room, flowing out the door in regular, rhythmical pulses that were immense and stifling. 

‘Go in,’ said Balten, ‘and meet my teacher.  Don’t worry.  He will speak with you and then you will be free to leave.’

Samuel stepped wide-eyed into the room, for not only was it dense with magic, but
also
with precious artefacts
:
vases, jewels, paintings and sculptures of gold, piled and stacked against the walls and to the ceiling.  A small space had been left bare at the centre of the room
.
It
consist
ed
of only a
circle
of padded chairs, crammed amongst the teetering treasures and each facing inwards. 

The others had already sat themselves before their host, who had been waiting quietly in his seat.  Samuel had to subdue his magician’s
sight
, for the aura around the man was blinding, as if the blazing sun had fallen across his shoulders and
was
fused around his body.  Whoever he was, their host had access to unspeakable power and Samuel was eager to see what such a man had to say. 

He made his way to the last vacant chair and sat beside Sir Ferse.  It was only at this point that he realised Master Celios was now missing, but looking to the rest of the group,
he realised
they had either not noticed or were unworried by the fact. 

Their host waited patiently, smiling as they settled themselves.  He wore robes of brown, tied with a simple white cord at his waist
.
H
is
bare
feet
were
flat on the floor and his hands rest
ed
lightly upon his thighs.  He was a bald and bony man, brown of skin
,
although it looked like he had gained his colour from wandering under the sun, rather than from birth.  His age was undefinable, for he was smooth and without wrinkles, but his nose was bulbous and his earlobes drooped almost to his shoulders.  His bones were knobbly beneath his flesh, yet the knots of his muscles
stood out
like clumps of iron. 

Samuel knew he should feel worried, but there seemed to be an air of calm in the room that had everyone enthralled.  Samuel, too, felt compelled to sit quietly and await the address from their host, although he could not explain the feeling.  Only Horse looked unsettled; he had a bead of sweat on his brow and was holding onto his armrests tightly. 

After a moment, the old man sitting before them spoke and his voice was composed and welcoming.  He oozed compassion, but it was also an uncomfortable feeling, as if it was being impressed upon them without their consent. 

‘Welcome to the Valley of the Ancients,’ said the host.  ‘This is my home and you now find yourselves in the heart of my Temple of Shadows.  I know your journey has been long and you all have much yet to do, but I am glad to see you finally here.  I had instructed my student, Balten, to assist in this as required and
,
once again
,
he has not disappointed me.  You may notice that Master Celios is not present.  I have arranged for him to be taken to his room to rest.  I will be requiring his unique skills almost immediately, so he will not be continuing with you on your quest. 

‘I see before me two young magicians of great fame
:
Master Pot and Lord Samuel—the Saviour of Cintar, no less.’  Then he looked at the Koians sitting on his left.  ‘And here we have some guests from the distant Koian Empire
,
a very mixed and intriguing group.  I am pleased to finally meet one of the fabled Koian warriors.  In all the Ages, few cultures have reached such a high order of physical and mental discipline.  I am honoured.’  And he gave a small, yet humble
,
bow of his head, closing his eyes solemnly as he did so.  ‘The denizens of Amandia call this language the Old Tongue, for lack of a better name, and it is only practised by magicians and those who wish to cultivate its power, but you have kept this language alive and in everyday use.  You should be applauded, for your culture excels in preserving its traditions, while other people have perished altogether or given up their old ways many times over.  The Old Tongue, as many of you are aware, is a language of great importance.  It is the language of our history and of our forefathers and it has been ins
cribed
upon the walls of this temple to preserve the fruits of our knowledge for future generations.’ 

Then he turned to the Koian god-woman and gave her a smile that looked truly disturbing.  It seemed he was making an attempt to be welcoming, but it did not suit him.  His teeth seemed sharpened and feral
,
and his cordial air was rapidly evaporating.  ‘It’s not often that I can welcome a god into my temple, so I am very honoured to be in your presence,
O
N
ameless
O
ne.  You will not be staying long, but I hope my hospitality is befitting of one such as you, who has lived a host of remarkable lives.’

‘How do you know of us?’  It was the Emperor who spoke, and he addressed their mysterious host with suspicion.

‘I know many things,’ the gnarled
,
old man replied.  ‘I have many reliable people under my command
,
a network of the most trusted and powerful men and women that span
s
every continent of this world.  I have been on this earth for longer than all your natural years combined and, by any measure, I am perhaps the most powerful man in the world.  I build empires
,
then devour them; I raise kings
,
then destroy them.  I control everything of importance that has, and will be—to a point.  There is not much upon this world left to interest me, but I must say that such a collection of individuals comes close,’ and he moved his eyes across them all.  ‘I doubt that such a feat has been accomplished since the New Ages began.  I have been watching and following the progress of each of you for most of your lives.  I am Cang, and I am the leader of the Circle of Eyes.  Welcome to my humble home.’

Everyone was quiet and Samuel and Eric looked at each other, unsure of their predicament.  Nobody seemed willing to break the silence and Cang continued looking at them with his strangely bared teeth, like a cat about to devour a mouse.

‘So what does this have to do with the current state of affairs?’ the Emperor asked, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room.  ‘Why are we wasting our time here when we could be on our way?’

Cang clasped his hands before him
,
and he had great
,
gnarled cl
u
mps of hands.  He looked like he could tear knots out of tree trunks.  ‘This has everything to do with the current state of affairs, especially with your Empress.  Patience, Edmond.’  The Emperor however was not worried and did not flinch in the slightest at the sound of his name.  ‘I organised for the Empress and her boy to be taken.  I even arranged for the Paatin to invade your lands although
,
admittedly, it would have happened soon enough anyway.  I have engineered almost all of the events of all your lives for one ultimate goal.  I did all this because I had to, for we have reached a point in time that can no longer be avoided.’

‘What you say is ridiculous,’ the Emperor responded.  ‘Such machinations are beyond any one man.  How do you expect us to take you seriously?’

It was then that Samuel went to shift his legs and found that he was locked stiff in his seat.  The room was so saturated with magic and he had subdued his senses almost to nothing.  As such, he had not noticed any Holding spell take effect.  They were all stuck fast, until such time as their host decided otherwise.  He could not even wriggle his hand into his pocket.

‘Always so self-assured.  Then please allow me to illustrate.  It was a trivial matter to bring you, in particular
, here
.  You would never have come willingly, being the stubborn goat that you
are.
S
o Master Celios, long your faithful friend, planted the notion of an assassination amongst the Order—in the form of a prophecy.  This false hope—of a dead emperor and a pliable
E
mpire—started the self-assured fools out to achieve what they otherwise would never have dared.  Finally, through luck and perhaps determination, they succeeded and the Emperor was indeed slain.  You certainly proved yourself useful, good Sir Ferse, in those days following the assassination.  Master Celios strung you along with his advice and his visions and you never seemed to realise that, most of the time, his words
veiled
mine.  From there, I only had to lay some bait to bring you to my door
.
S
tealing away the heir of the Empire was a simple matter.  I had the feeling you would come running after him—and I was right.’