The armies of Yarik withdrew as sullenly as they had waited on the fringes of Tal’lashar. They dwindled away, stumbling and shambling up the slopes and into the foothills of the Amirella Mountains. The wagons, laden with the wealth the First Queb had surrendered, was brought away with them, trundling along the old highway toward the strange city out there.
A few days later, Grendar and Aralim began planning their return journey. They intended to leave on the first day of the next month.
“Sir, my recommendation would be to avoid the first stretch of Highway altogether. We should sail a ship down the coast of the Shrinking Sea and then walk inland to Crossroads. We can pay the Highwaymen there, for passage to the Eye of Maga.” Grendar pointed to a map that lay on the tabletop between Aralim and he.
Aralim blinked. “Why? Are we short on coins?”
Grendar stared at him confused. “No sir, not at all. I’m worried about marching in the footsteps of an army.”
“Oh, yes,” Aralim mumbled. “Following an army of the dead does sound like a way to catch a terrible illness. Would this actually put us further from Yarik?”
“Between fifty and a hundred miles, sir,” the guard explained. “More if we put out deeper into the Sea.”
Aralim examined the map. He had been holding out hope that they would find Vishol Kim’alu or the missing Sentry of Dathadar, but an army lie between them. “I suppose none of you care to risk it for the chance of meeting someone from Yarik.… Kim’alu, the famous warrior, or even one of Yarik’s mages… Very well. The group comes first. We’ll go by boat.”
Grendar nodded and folded up his map. “I’ll see to the arrangements,” he said.
Aralim spent a few minutes looking out his window at the chaotic cityscape. He had never seen a city with such a variance in building height. And he had never seen anything as tall as the First Tower. Then he started to pack his supplies away, though he had a few days left in the city. He made certain the Emperor’s iron seal was secure next to Dullah’s new masterwork map.
Someone knocked on Aralim’s door. He opened it and was surprised to find Whiteleaf standing beyond. The Aura stood in the hallway nearby, his usual position when Aralim was alone. Aralim smiled to the other Ambassador.
“Ambassador, how do you fare today?” the tall man asked. “May I come in?”
Aralim waved his hand into his suite. “Of course. It’s unfortunate that we’re already planning our departure, but I’m well otherwise. How are you?”
“Busy, as always. And feeling that wayward tug to be on the road. I visited today because of your approaching departure actually.” He frowned and explained, “I won’t be able to join you this time. There is no doubt in my mind that a journey to Numa’nakres will be my next venture, but my place is here for a moon or two longer.”
Aralim gave him an expression of disappointment but also of understanding. “That is unfortunate, but I understand. You’re needed here. I’m happy to hear you’ll be visiting in time though.”
“Do you have any idea where I may find you? A specific address in Rema, perhaps?” Whiteleaf asked.
“I expect to reside at the Emperor’s property on West Corid Avenue, where I stayed before. However, I could have already been sent abroad once more,” Aralim noted. “Allow me to write a letter of introduction—the Three Courts of Rema is something you needn’t deal with.”
Whiteleaf blinked. “And your word would carry me through?” He regarded Aralim and nodded. “I would certainly appreciate such a gift.”
“The least an Ambassador should be able to do is get you an audience.” Aralim smiled and fetched a quill and leaf of parchment from the top of the nearby dresser. He quickly wrote: ‘This man is Whiteleaf, Ambassador from Tal’lashar. He has proven himself a friend of Rema and a peer of Aralim’s. Please show his party hospitality, and escort him directly to Rattar until the First Court can be called. If Rattar is busy, Muria. Pleasantly, Aralim, Walker of the Path, Ambassador to the Eternal Emperor.’
He handed the letter to Whiteleaf, and then pointed out the orange-robed man who spectated their conversation. “People dressed as this man are called Aura. Any one of them would be able to receive you. Guards can as well, but they tend to be busier.”
Whiteleaf bowed as he tucked away the parchment. “I’ve noticed him with you all over Tal’lashar, never speaking or spoken-too. Why is he called Aura?”
“That’s difficult to explain…. Simply put, everything an Aura sees and hears is known by the Emperor. Making this letter rather redundant.”
Whiteleaf looked at Aralim with wide eyes while he spoke. Then his gaze flicked back to the Aura. “There are others, I assume? A whole army of them, that surround him like an ‘Aura’….” The delegate trailed off. “I’ve never heard of anything like it before.”
One of Aralim’s memory burst up, unsurfaced for such a long time. He remembered the Aura surrounding that attacker, the man of great strength who had crumpled the armour of the guards. That had been an army of the Aura, gathering around, unceasing even as members of their group died. He shivered despite the heat, but then glanced back at Whiteleaf pleasantly. “I wouldn’t quite call them an army. They volunteer to serve the Emperor. Once they begin their service they stop talking, but I do my best to show them kindness.”
The burly man nodded. “Indeed,” he said, and gave the Aura a faint smile. Then he turned back to the Walker. “I hope I see you in Rema, fellow traveller.”
“As do I,” Aralim responded. “I am sure that I can delay departure by a few moons.” He held the door for Whiteleaf and closed it after him.
With only a few days until his departure, Aralim had a lot to do. He knew Nilless was attending to a dozen other affairs in reaction to her sudden decision to accompany the envoys, so instead he climbed the steps of the Tenth Tower past her quarters to the private dining room of the Queb and his family. He had been up here a few times already, by invitation.
Rionar was still at his dinner table, though he had finished eating. A middle-aged man in servant’s garb stood near the Queb’s table, reading to him from a book. When one of the servants entered to ask Queb Rionar if Aralim could enter, the aide fell silent and Rionar waved at the wall for Aralim to enter.
“I’ve come to thank you for your hospitality,” Aralim said. “Your tower will be zealot-free in two days time.”
“Hospitality…” Rionar muttered. His blank gaze shifted as his expression grew sarcastic. “Most men think that means bread, but you’ve gotten a lot more out of me. I tell you, Aralim, I won’t need my eyes to hunt you across Gethra if anything should happen to my daughter.”
Aralim cleared his throat. “To be fair, that was neither my idea, nor my intent, but I understand.”
“She’ll be a damn measure happier, I’m sure,” Rionar said. “But I think she’ll miss on the bitter lesson of responsibility. Ambition. Something your friend Dullah seems to know about.”
“It’s interesting you say that. Dullah had given up on ambition before she decided to travel with me.… Maybe Nilless will have a change of heart also?”
Rionar pursed his lips and took a drink of a mug that his hand had never let go of. “Perhaps. Though I reckon Nilless’ll find herself so infatuated with the world at large she’ll never pick a cause to really get behind.”
“That really would be concerning. Distractions are a problem for the Path also.” Aralim tapped his lantern staff. It was a reminder to focus.
“Clever,” Rionar said. “I never doubted your cleverness. If you’ve come for my favour in your venture, you can have it, but remember my warning. No harm will come to my daughter.”
Aralim smirked; the old man couldn’t see it. “I’m not concerned with favour. But I am truly thankful for my time here. So thank you. And I will take care of your daughter for you.”
“I hope you will come and visit again some day, but I am an old man.” Rionar held his free hand close to his face. “When I say farewell to Nilless in a day or two, it will be my last farewell. Even if there might be another…. That takes a toll, let me tell you. But I’m sure you know how difficult goodbye’s can be.”
“… I do…”
Rionar nodded firmly. “Good. Then, may your adventures be fruitful, Ambassador.”
Aralim smiled earnestly. “As well to you.” He inched back a pace before turning for the door. He had a score of other farewells to give this day and next. And more packing to do. Though it was hard to tell, he felt that his leaving-taking from Queb Rionar had secured the old man as a friend.