Their journey eventually took Aralim and his friends out of the foothills and onto an enormous flatland that stretched far to the north and west of them. There was city down there, a hazy gathering of lines near the shining white light that was the Shrinking Sea. But opposite it, across the sunny, arid plain, was a glorious gathering of mountain peaks. The flatland sloped up, without foothills, to a great ridge with a hundred windswept points. “The Amirella Mountains,” Devran breathed. Dullah added that they truly were beautiful.
On the 9th of the month, they finally reached the city of Tal’lashar. The Forty-Seven Towers were visible all day as they approached, but as they got closer, Aralim realized there were no limitations to districts. Some towers were built in the center of the city, while some on the edges. There were city walls, but the boroughs spread much wider, not as slums, but as an ancient city. The shortest were five storeys, compared to adjacent houses. The tallest were much taller, on the order of ten storeys. They were, Aralim was quite certain, some of the tallest human structures he had ever seen.
The Shrinking Sea’s lapping waves were ten miles west of the city, while five enormous stone bumps extending out that way from the edge of the city. Each was like a dome that had been stretched out into a line and blasted with the loose sand that covered these lands. It took Aralim a moment to realize, from the way they reached the edge of the city, that they had once been wharfs. Now they were just eroded furrows of stone reaching for water they would never again touch.
Checkpoints guarded the ends of all Tal’lashar’s roads, so that even travellers who approached from the wilderness would pass guards before entering. Aralim led his group along the main road, and approached the soldiers openly. Nonetheless, the heavily armed group crossed spears and held up hands to bid them halt. A captain stepped forward, removing a cloth hood and veil. “Welcome, traveller. And welcome your fellow travellers on my behalf. Unfortunately, at this time, I can only allow you entry on certain conditions.”
Aralim frowned. “That’s unfortunate to hear. Are there problems within the city? We met some men who had been sent to the Sentry of Dathadar with supplies.”
“It has nothing to do with the task of Kim’alu,” the captain explained. He had similar bronze skin to the group they had spoken to in the mountains, but an thinly-shaped and very distinctive beard. “First, I will ask you some questions—ask your comrades if you do not know the answers for them. Then we will decide how to proceed. Have you been to Tal’lashar before? Have your friends?”
Aralim already knew the answer to that. “No,” he said, “None of us have been.”
“What about the Eye of Maga?” the man asked. “Have you spent much time there or do you have many contacts in the Palace?
“We stayed in the Palace on our way here, but it was my first time in the city. I certainly wouldn’t classify anyone as a contact,” Aralim explained. He looked at Grendar in confusion—what did the Eye of Maga have to do with this?
The Captain looked concerned, and, with a frown, muttered to one of his comrades in the Asha language. He turned back to Aralim. “I see. Do you have any proof of your business in Maga, or of your business here in Tal’lashar?”
“Yes,” Aralim said. He slowly unslung his pack and pulled the iron seal of Tag’na from the bottom of it. “I have this,” he said, sliding it out of the leather sheath to show the skeptical soldier.
The man looked at the seal with a look of surprise. He sounded out some of the words beneath his breath. When it finally made sense to him, he blinked and licks his lips. “I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t know you were a foreign dignitary. There has been an assassination in our city. We’ve been ordered to collect a variety of details and turn away entrants we deem risky. Those we allow in must go under guard. Would you accept an escort to one of the Forty-Seven where we can find secure lodging for your group?”
Aralim chuckled a little. “It’s no problem. An escort would be excellent, as I am not entirely sure where I should be going.”
In his language, the captain barked out a few orders. Four guards stepped up to the duty. “They will take you first to an minister’s house. The man will know where you should be given quarters.”
“Thank you kindly,” Aralim said. He stopped and leaned on his lantern staff. “Before I go, you were asking about the Eye of Maga. Was the assassination political in nature?”
The guard looked at Aralim with a blank face. “I’m not at liberty to share such information,” he said. “There are no public hostilities between our two cities. Again, I apologize, milord Ambassador.”
They were led along a dusty cobblestone street between short square buildings. With each neighborhood, the buildings grew taller. Here and there were three or four storey structures. They passed one five-storey tower before reaching a long single-leveled office. The man inside, a minister, according to the guard, was a short fellow with a round belly and a desk carpentered to make space for him. He checked a few notebooks and asked Aralim how many travellers had come with him.
Then they were sent deeper into Tal’lashar. The streets grew deeper as the buildings rose taller. Now no buildings were a single storey, save sheds and ovens. There were no children chasing each other and playing mischief in the alleys and courtyards. Instead, he saw a few walking in a group, carrying books or speaking quietly with one another. The streets were heavily patrolled. Aralim saw a hundred guards between their first entry to the city and their destination.
At the Tenth Tower, the travellers from Rema were greeted by Queb Rionar’s Tower Chief, a man named Min’ri. The Tower of Queb Rionar was seven storeys tall, square at the base, and rose narrower after each storey, allowing a small battlement at each floor. The tan rocks that laid the shape were worn by wind but the archway over the door was polished.
He listened to one of the guards, then came over to speak to Aralim, where he introduced himself as Vishol Min’ri. Aralim promptly realized that Vishol was a title, and the man he had met on the road was simply known as Kim’alu. He had ignorantly called Kim’alu by the first name of Vishol.
Queb Rionar’s tower housed a large staff but far more stairs. Aralim grew tired following their guide, but he was glad to be given quarters. On the second, third, and fourth levels were six quarters a piece. Each was a small combination of bedroom, anteroom, and privy. Min’ri explained with a proud smile that the tower had plumbing pipes running through its walls. Aralim was sweating—the air in the higher floors of the tower seemed hotter than even the surface of the road.
As they settled into their quarters, Aralim had a moment to speak to Vishol Min’ri. The Aura stood quietly in the corner of Aralim’s room, while the Tower Chief stood in the doorway. Aralim had already said a dozen words to the man, but he was more specific now. “Is there someone specific I should look to talk about Tal’lashar as a whole? A system of elders? A group of scholars? I’m not well versed in your culture at all, I’m afraid.”
“If I was not so busy myself, milord Ambassador,” Min’ri began, “I would enjoy a discussion of knowledge. However, the place for those who wish to idly discuss personal matters would be a chillhome. It is similar to a tavern, for your southerners, with one or two key differences.”
Aralim nodded. “Interesting. Thank you for your help. And should you find yourself with time to spare, please don’t hesitate to find me.”
“Ularagona, milord.” Min’ri bowed, the most common expression in his repertoire. “Er, of course.”
Min’ri excused himself to see if the Mistress Dullah needed anything further. Aralim looked at the corner. “Are you coming?” Aralim asked the Aura.
They walked down all the flights of stairs. The street seemed to be even quieter now—the people who passed Aralim and the Aura were few and far between. Each wore drab robes to protect against the gritty weather, while ornate carving and illustrious architectural styles rose above them on either side of the cobblestone path. The people here were expressive of their wealth, but not in the manner Aralim was accustomed to.
The directions the guards had given them were just a few blocks away. It was one of the only single-storey buildings on the street, but the entrance was different than the others. The stairs led down half-a-storey, to a first floor that was half buried under the arid earth. Aralim led the Aura inside; to his surprise, the floor above-ground seemed entirely blocked off by etched wooden ceiling boards. The only ways out of the room were the main entrance, a broad stairway leading further down, and a small attic door in the ceiling. A few tables were set up in the full-sized room, as well as cupboards and counters.
The tables were occupied by men and women and populated the room with a hubbub of conversation. One man, with a thick black beard, stood up and came over to see the newcomers. He rambled a greeting to them that they did not understand, before pausing and saying, “Welcome. Is that right?”
“Yes,” Aralim said. “Your Common is excellent.”
The man smiled. “That is good. Good. Have you come to a…. ilad’henar,” he pointed down at the floor of the place, “before?”
Aralim shook his head. “No, this is my first time.”
“There are drinks down, uh, there.” The man pointed at the downward stairs. “People come here to stay, uh, good when the sun is hot, or speak about things, or,” he mimicked moving cards around, “the games.”
“Good,” Aralim said, smirking a little. “Do I need to pay first?” he asked, reaching for his coin pouch.
The man chuckled. “No, no. Queb Rionar pays for this place.”
Aralim and the Aura headed downstairs in the chillhome, entering the incredibly cool air of the room below the ground. Brass pipes lined the walls in a vertical pattern, open at the top and filled with water. The relief was so palpable, it took Aralim a moment to assess the remainder of the room. A small bar adorned with glass bottles and flagons ran along one side of the room, while the rest of the room was cluttered with tables and another flight of stairs ran even further down. No one attended the bar, and no one of the room’s twenty inhabitants immediately approached them.
The Aura quietly followed Aralim to an empty table. The two sat down, to a few ‘Ejeral’s from those sitting nearby. “Ejeral,” Aralim said back to them.
A moment passed, awkwardly, at the table. Then a woman rose from another and walked over. She was short, wide-hipped, and smiled widely as she walked up. She waved a hand at the unattended alcohol bar. “Greetings, travellers. Can I pour you a drink, or is our shade enough?”
“A drink sounds good. What is the common drink of Tal’lashar?” Aralim asked.
The woman put a hand on her thigh. “We have a paru, which is a malt from the grain called millet, a traditional barley beer, water. Also, Tal’lashar is sometimes known for it’s tea, which we consider an evening tea here for when the night cools the heat of the sun.”
“How much does the tea cost? I’ve only just arrived today. I’m not familiar with your money.”
“What you get in the chillhome is provided by the chillhome,” the woman said. “You can also be welcome to help yourself if you need more, but I can bring you a tea, yes?”
Aralim shrugged. “Please. I’ll come with you, so I know how to get it myself next time.” He grabbed his lantern staff as he followed her.
The Aura followed from a distance, while the woman showed Aralim a cupboard with a variety of teas, but then grabbed a kettle from a small rack near the door. The only heat sources, such as the small brazier under the tea kettle, were kept on the wall with that door. She poured the butter tea—two cups, and then followed Aralim and the Aura back downstairs.
“Is there anything else you would like?” she asked, looking at Aralim and then his companion. The man in orange robes did not touch his tea. The Aura ate plain food. The bare necessities usually.
Aralim looked at the Aura, smiled, and then back at the woman. “We’ll be fine for drinks. Though I’m curious if there’s anything I should know about Tal’lashar, as I am new here.”
“There’s a fair bit of political turmoil, though only a little more than seems usual here. Unless you intend to get involved in the affairs of the Quebs, you are probably in the clear.” The woman smiled and chuckled.
Aralim nodded. “Political turmoil is somewhat of a norm at home as well. What’s a Queb?”
The woman’s grin did not fade. “A common question for those unfamiliar with Tal’lashar,” she replied. “Well, in the south they have ‘lords’ or ‘kings,’ right? In Tal, we have only Quebs.”
Aralim took a turn to smirk. “Then I will most likely become involved in their affairs. The Path often leads me to leaders.”
“Ah, I see,” said the woman, her mouth straightening. “May I sit and give you some advise?”
“Of course.”
The woman sank into the third of the table’s four chairs. The tables were backed with curved wooden ovals which made it comfortable to sit straight but uncomfortable to lounge. Aralim sipped his tea as she got situated. She folded her arms and said, “I’m Beluri. I’ve been an advisor to three different Quebs, over the years.”
“And my name is Aralim. Nice to meet you, Beluri.” She nodded to him, with a smile, and looked to the Aura for his name. The man in the burnt orange robes stared back at her blankly. Aralim smiled. “He doesn’t really talk. It’s complicated, though I still enjoy his company.”
She shrugged. “There are other monks, north of here, who take vows of silence.” Then she leaned closer to Aralim. “So, you may have noticed all the towers, and certainly heard tell of them before travelling this way—the Forty-Seven Towers. That means there are forty-seven Quebs in Tal’lashar. Anyone with the ingenuity and coin to build a tower taller than four storeys is declared one. So my next question—have you come to Tal’lashar to compete?”
“Compete in tower building?” asked the Walker, blinking. “No. I’ve come to learn from Tal’lashar.”
“Ah, very good. So the thing to remember when dealing with them is that as much as knowledge is valued in Tal’lashar, coin can usually out-build it.”
Aralim rotated his tea on the table. “So the two most valued commodities are wealth and knowledge… in that order?” he asked. Sounds like a land of Ovoe’s, he thought, sarcastically.
“Yes, but don’t repeat that to anyone who’s anyone. We are a proud people, and not proud of our greed,” the woman explained. She smiled, but it was the sort of smile that as much a warning as a friendly expression.
“Every group needs its flaw, I suppose.”
Beluri shrugged. “Some more than others, and I don’t want to exaggerate—our recent unrest is quite extreme than usual. Most Quebs die of natural causes.”
Aralim frowned again. “It was a Queb that was assassinated then?”
“Indeed,” said Beluri, lowering her eyes. “Queb Tylan of the Third Tower. His late son was killed under mysterious circumstances near the Eye of Maga, the same Moon that Queen Zanna the Merciful was usurped. Only two weeks’ past, Queb Tylan Senior was found, poisoned, and without an heir.”
“Which leaves a his estate, position, and enemies unknown…. what an interesting time to have arrived,” Aralim said, and smirked. He a strand of hair out of his face. Even in the chillhome, the dry heat of the desert was getting to him.
Beluri nodded. “Indeed. This is why the gates to the city have been partially closed. Or at least enforced with additional security.” A moment passed as Aralim sipped his tea. “Is there any particular knowledge you seek in Tal’lashar? Perhaps our own Queb Rionar would be a good man to start with?”
“The knowledge I seek is not anything specific, no,” Aralim said. “But I would enjoy speaking to Queb Rionar very much.”
“The Quebs are very busy men. If Vishol Min’ri hasn’t already, just ask him to set up an appointment.” With that, Beluri stood up and Aralim bowed his chin to her. She waved to the Aura, who, to Aralim’s surprise, mimicked Aralim’s bow.
Aralim took another sip of the tea, and then wiped the sweat off his brow.