Chapter 14

It was shortly before noon when finally they began to approach the great city of Pencairn. As with Aglathrad there were many small towns and villages clustered about the city, and there was much traffic on the road as people went about their business in and around the capital.
      The Elflings already had noticed that the architecture of Pilinon was quite different from that of Arnedia. Whereas Arnedian houses and other buildings were constructed primarily of rough grey stone, the inhabitants of Pilinon seemed to prefer the daub-and-wattle cottage. Even many of the larger buildings such as the pubs and merchants’ shoppes were of timber-framed construction, with white-plastered walls framed and partitioned by black oak beams. All were surmounted by wide gables and then thatched over with shingles of cedar.
      They knew they had reached the city itself when they saw the enormous outer wall rising up before them. They entered the city through the West Gate, which was well-manned with armoured sentinels. Though the guards were clearly impressed by their appearance, especially that of the small Elflings in their chain mail and bearing the heraldry of Greycastle, they treated the company in a solemn and professional manner, enquiring as to their business in Pencairn before admitting them.
      Once inside they followed the main road south-easterly toward the heart of the city. They again took note of the many daub-and-wattle buildings which generally were inns and shoppes, but as they continued along they also began to encounter more stonework, particularly on the larger and more official-looking buildings. These often were adorned with elegant arches and columns and occasionally with statues and other expertly rendered stone carvings. Even the wooden doors to many of these structures were exquisitely carved, though many also appeared quite aged.
      After a time they came to the River Korsil, which split the city in two, though several bridges spanned it. The city was paved with flagstones right up to the river’s edge. As they walked along its bank in search of a bridge Raavan reminded the company that much of the water rushing by originated in the Greywall Mountains hundreds of miles to the north where it flowed by the gates of Ilimath between the banks of the Ceredil.
      Ilimath! thought Talen to himself. It seems a lifetime ago we were there, and yet, how could I ever forget the place where we lost poor Fifin...
      ‘And does it not then flow into the sea from here?’ asked Falco.
      ‘Yes,’ affirmed Raavan. ‘The ocean lies just beyond the city walls to the south. I am sure you will have a chance to see it while we are here.’
      ‘The sea!’ cried Dannadar. ‘How amazing.’ And then, more pensively, ‘I wish Fifin were here: he would have loved to have seen the ocean.’
      ‘Yes,’ agreed Talen, ‘he would.’
      ‘I wish he were here now,’ lamented the younger Elfling, now wiping a stray tear from his eye.
      ‘So do I,’ said Talen.
      ‘So do we all, lad,’ said Raavan sympathetically.
      Soon they had crossed the river and were headed once again toward the heart of the great city. Now the buildings began to take on a very stately appearance so that few in the party were not impressed at its majesty, and none doubted that Pencairn was indeed the grandest city in all of Entira, grander even than Aglathrad.
      ‘I can’t wait to see what the castle looks like,’ said Dannadar.
      ‘There is no castle,’ replied Raavan.
      ‘What?’ registered Dannadar in disbelief. ‘There must be a castle!’
      ‘No,’ said Raavan, shaking his head. ‘Well, there’s the Palurinan, but that’s more of a palace.’
      ‘A palace?’ said Dannadar with some doubt.
      ‘O, but you won’t be disappointed there,’ assured Raavan. ‘Just wait till you see the Palurinan!’
      In time they came to another large wall, this one appearing to encircle the innermost portion of the city. Here they were required to dismount and have their steeds taken by servants to the stables. Then they waited while a runner took their names to the king. Though the August sun shone brightly down upon them they were quite comfortable, for as Raavan informed them, the nearby sea kept the weather rather mild for much of the year.
      After a lengthy wait they finally were admitted into the Penthrad, the City of Lords, on word having been received that His Highness would see them at the Pilion where the King’s court was held.
      As they passed through the gate into the inner city the newcomers in the party were awestruck by the appearance of the place. The Penthrad was almost entirely constructed of white marble. Even the flagstones that paved the walkways between the stately buildings were of marble. Punctuating those walkways were beautiful green lawns and reflecting pools, great marble statues of brave warriors and winged saints, and occasionally a silvery-white eruil tree bathing its elegant branches in brilliant sunlight.
      Raavan named several of the buildings as they passed them by. One of the first was the Riarach-taránach, where the Riarach , or Council of Lords, met. This was a great rectangular building with imposing columns and prominent inscriptions written in what the Elflings guessed was some ancient language of men.
      On they went till they came to the Pilion, another very important-looking building, where a contingent of guards were stationed at the entrance. Raavan led the party up the great marble steps to where the proud knights stood with their polished armour shining in the sun.
      ‘Your name and business,’ enquired one of the sentries.
      ‘Raavan of the Kastairi,’ replied the wizard. ‘I am here to see His Majesty, King Eiliath, on important matters of state.’
      At this the guard took on a somewhat troubled appearance. Instructing the visitors to wait there he went inside. When he returned a few moments later he beckoned them to follow.
      They found that the building was as impressive inside as out. Bright red banners hung on the walls, adorned with the heraldry of Pilinon. The guards within wore white robes over their armour with the same bearings, which consisted of a falcon descending with open talons onto a serpent.
      Finally they entered the throne room, which was entirely white. All was bathed in the brilliant sunlight that shone down through great windows set both in the ceiling and high in the walls. At the far end upon a raised dais sat two thrones, though neither were occupied. Below the dais were set several chairs, and there sat three men.
      Two of the figures sat facing the party as they entered, one a very richly dressed youth of perhaps seventeen years, very handsome with shoulder-length blonde hair and thoughtful features, and the other a white-haired old gentleman with spectacles and a large white moustache. They conversed quietly with a brown-haired warrior in black armour.
      ‘Raavan,’ said the youth when the party approached, ‘welcome back to Pencairn. It has been several years since we have seen you.’
      ‘I am sorry to say that it has,’ said Raavan with a deferential bow. ‘But I am glad to see that you have grown into a man, young Telurin. A fine prince of a man, at that.’
      The Prince only nodded his head.
      ‘Will your father be in court today?’ asked the wizard.
      The Prince replied: ‘My father is dead.’
       
       
      ‘Natural causes,’ the old man with the white moustache explained. From the dialogue the companions gathered that he was a royal advisor, and also that he had somewhat of a sour disposition. ‘His Highness, King Eiliath was not well for some time—several years at least.’
      ‘Yes,’ said Raavan thoughtfully, ‘he seemed a bit weak last time I saw him. It is a great loss. He was a good king. When is your coronation?’
      ‘A week from today, in fact,’ replied the Prince.
      ‘Very good,’ said Raavan. Then, gesturing to his companions he went on: ‘Prince Telurin, may I present to you my most honourable comrades: first, the Dwarf Burak from the Belling Hills, a Goblyn cleaver and Ghoul hewer almost without peer; Falco Whiteleaf, a formidable archer and swordsman from Laurelindor, the land of the Elflings; Talen Featherby, another fine warrior and musician, also from Laurelindor; and Dannadar Hawksbill, a most clever negotiator and as fine a marksman as you could ask for, also from the land of the Elflings.’
      ‘And the other gentleman?’ said the man with the white moustache rather shrewdly.
      Raavan replied, ‘This is Alatar son of Avalar, wandering warrior and horseman of the East, royal descendent of Natektelen of Terenyale and the chosen wielder of Noromendor, the Green Flame, the sword of the high kings of Aresse since the Third Age of the world.’ Then turning to Alatar he instructed, ‘Show them the sword, Alatar.’
      At this the Aressian warrior knelt upon one knee and slowly drew forth the green-glowing blade from its scabbard. Resting the blade upon his outstretched palms he offered the hilt to the Prince, who hesitatingly took it in hand. Immediately it ceased to glow. Alatar stood as all eyes were riveted upon the sword.
      Suddenly the Prince arose, and holding the distinguished sword by the blade he then dropped to one knee and offered the sword back to Alatar. The warrior took it in hand again, whereupon it once again glowed with a green light that amazed all at the court.
      ‘Please, Your Highness,’ said Alatar, ‘do not kneel for me.’
      ‘You are more a king than I,’ said the Prince.
      ‘Nay,’ said Alatar, ‘I am not yet a king, for I have no kingdom and it will be some time before I do, as my people are virtually gone from the earth.’
      ‘But you have the blessing of the sword,’ said the Prince now returning to his feet. ‘There is no higher authority in the land, to my knowledge.’
      ‘My Lord,’ said Raavan, ‘may I make a suggestion?’
      ‘Of course,’ replied the Prince, ‘you are a Friend of the Realm, and your words have ever guided my father.’
      ‘Then perhaps, My Lord,’ said the wizard, ‘it is time that you send for a ladder.’
      ‘A ladder?’ said the cranky old advisor.
      ‘Yes, indeed,’ replied the wizard, now gesturing ominously toward an ancient sword hanging high on the wall behind the twin thrones. ‘A ladder, my Lord.’
      ‘Would that be appropriate?’ said the advisor doubtfully. ‘The Prince has not yet ascended the throne.’
      Raavan replied, ‘As the Prince has already pointed out, there is no higher authority in the land than the three Swords of Power. I am sure the Prince would not want the coronation to go forward without first receiving the blessing of Niisilme, the Sword of the South.’
      At this Prince Telurin glanced up with uncertainty at the sword, and then for a moment he looked about thoughtfully for inspiration.
      ‘Send for a ladder,’ he said at last.
      While a servant was sent to fetch a ladder the Prince welcomed all the companions to Pencairn and wished them a pleasant stay. He then introduced his irascible advisor as Quainen and the black-armoured warrior as his chief general, Kelenir. Like the other knights Kelenir wore over his black metal suit a white robe with the crest of Pilinon upon it.
      Soon a pair of servants returned bearing a tall ladder which they then used to fetch down the ancient sword from the wall. With solemn reverence they handed the venerated weapon to the Prince, who held it in silence for a moment as he regarded its richly ornate scabbard.
      Finally, stepping well back from everyone in the court he suddenly drew forth the blade to the ringing sound of metal on metal. As he held the weapon aloft a blue flame blazed forth from the blade, to the awe of all who saw it. The flame reflecting brightly in the Prince’s eyes, the whole host knelt before him—every one—and bowed their heads in the eerie blue glow.
      A king had been chosen.
       
       
      They breathed deeply the fresh sea air as Raavan led the companions across the courtyard. It was a smell the Elflings had encountered only once before, at Aglathrad, yet it stirred something in their spirits which they felt they had always known was there. Presently they began to hear the distant waves and the calls of seagulls drifting on the breeze.
      Now they were on the uppermost tier of the Penthrad, approaching the top of its high southern wall. As they reached the wall they looked out over a vast sea of blue and white that stretched across the horizon. Below them a number of great ships sat at dock, rocking gently with the waves. To east and west they could see a rocky shoreline occasionally breaking into sandy beach.
      This was Cirya, the Great Sea. They had come to the ocean at last.
      Though the Elflings would gladly have spent long hours just standing there watching the approaching waves and tasting the smell of brine, Raavan promised they would have plenty of time for that later. For now they were expected to pay their respects to the deceased King. The sea could wait.
      Turning back from the wall they headed west. Just a short distance they went and then they saw the most magnificent building which any of them had ever imagined. It was entirely white, an enormous palace made of the purest marble, with arches and spires that curved elegantly toward the heavens. Graceful buttresses curved down from the high walls to meet smoothly with the marble flagstones of the courtyard. A set of rising marble steps narrowed to enter a tunnel-like entrance surmounted with pointy arches, one inside the other.
      Into this arched entranceway they went. The palace was as impressive within as without. Just inside was a great hall with enormous windows that readily admitted the sunlight. Enormous golden chandeliers hung from the high ceiling. The ceiling itself was ornately carved and variously plated in gold leaf. The floor was polished to a smooth shine. Along the walls were crimson couches with finely embroidered upholstery and carved wooden legs. On the opposite wall were great, arched windows offering a view of the splendid ballroom beyond. This surely was more kingly than any hall they had seen before.
      ‘Welcome to the Palurinan,’ said Raavan, ‘the royal palace of Pencairn.’
      Down the great hall Raavan led them, past rich tapestries and bright pennants, past a red-carpeted stairway, and then round to another set of stairs leading downward. Into the cool basement they went, nodding politely to a sentinel stationed at the bottom of the stairs.
      Candles mounted in the walls illuminated their way. Though not nearly as ornate as the floor above, even the cellar boasted the finest architecture. In one wall of the modest antechamber to which they had come was a beautifully carved oaken door set within a finely sculpted, arching doorway. Taking a candle from the wall Raavan opened the door and led the others into the royal crypt.
      When the other candles in the crypt had been lit they were able to view the exquisitely sculpted columns and arches that decorated this resting place of ancient kings. The crypt was very long, so that the number of individual tombs stacked in stately fashion within the walls must have been quite large. Raavan informed the party that there were not only kings here, but many princes as well. Above each casket was a plaque engraved in large letters with the name of the person entombed and beneath that a lengthy inscription describing his life’s achievements and the dates of his birth and death.
      Finally they came to the newest addition to this venerated community. The inscription read:
       
       
and was followed by some flowery praise of his rule, which appeared to have been relatively uneventful. Here Raavan stood silent for a few moments to pay his respects. That he remembered the deceased king fondly was clear to the others as they patiently stood by. Finally, Raavan cleared his throat and continued wandering along the lengthy wall.
      ‘Let’s see, Yalmaane, Laireldar, yes, yes, good men...ah, Tyarost—a very good man. He eliminated much of the corruption in the Riarach; really shook things up. Then he was murdered. Such a shame. I never did get a chance to look into who was responsible for that. His father was murdered, too, come to think of it.’
      ‘I think a fair number of those resting here met that same end,’ said Alatar.
      ‘Quite true,’ agreed Raavan. Now he wandered further down the long crypt, half-mumbling names as he read from their inscriptions. ‘Ailinon, yes, Faikel-valain, yes, yes, ...and here is King Atruin, who led the Pilinonis against Mythron during the Ilimathäen War! Poor Atruin died right at the moment of victory. I don’t think he even knew that we won the war. Died in battle, on the plains of Tachán. Truly a shame.
      ‘And right here is his son, Edonnath, who took charge of the purging of Ilimath after the war and the hunting down and slaying of all the remaining spawn.’
      ‘How did he die?’ asked Talen.
      ‘Struck by lightening, as I recall,’ answered Raavan.
      Now the wizard went far down the wall, nearly to the end of it, before continuing. ‘And finally, here we have Taniquentar, who in the Fourth Age aided in the fight against the terrible Glarwaith. His son ascended the throne at the age of twelve—quite a prodigy he was. It was during his reign that this and several of the other buildings in the Penthrad were constructed. And he didn’t stop there! He went on to build an armada of ships and then personally sailed the oceans tracking down and destroying any pyrates that he could find. They called him the Great Pyrate Hunter . I’m pretty sure he died of natural causes.’
      ‘Yes, and so did his wife, according to some definitions of the word natural ,’ said a voice from behind them. Turning round they saw that it was Quainen, the Prince’s advisor.
      ‘Precisely how did she die?’ asked Burak.
      Quainen answered: ‘O, she went insane and jumped naked and screaming from the top storey of this building.’