Candro’s Crossing drifted through the waves, leaving the small, mountainous isle behind. New Mallam had been visible as soon as they rounded the rocky island, overlooking it from a tall, grassy mound on the Great Isle. As they drifted closer, Farek realized that only a portion of the city was visible, a few three- and four-storeyed estates amidst guard towers and smaller buildings. The rest of the city was hidden by the curve of the land.
The harbour of New Mallam was built at the base of a long, cobblestone road, at the base of the hill. A dozen wooden wharfs spread commotion and a plethora of sails around the base of the hill, where the salty waves gently washed the shore. Farek’s passenger ship was one of a hundred vessels in the port. They dropped anchor in the channel between the coasts.
While the Captain and a few others went ashore to secure docking permission, Farek and his men prepared a stretcher for Matek. The poor man spent most of his time asleep, as foretold by Rodim the healer. Occasionally, his mind reached a state of near lucidness, and he spoke quietly with his friends. Not much of his speech made sense, however. He spoke about silly things, like birds in the sea and the smell of coffee, though no others could smell it.
“We’ll find an inn in the harbour town,” Farek said. “If I find a healer, I’ll bring them down to us.” As they waited for Captain Candro to return in his rowboat, he eyed the long, uphill way to the city proper. He didn’t want to carry a sick man up that slope, if he could avoid it.
New Mallam was far larger than Farek initially realized. He left Sievus in the Tricky Marina Hostel with their sickly patient, before climbing the hill with Diaren. The city stretched down a far more gradual slope—from the Copper Gate, overlooking the bay, they could see most of the city’s streets unobstructed. There were easily fifty-thousand people living here, Farek guessed. It was comparable in size to the remnants of Noress-That-Was, and slightly larger than Farek’s home.
They paid a handful of coins out to innkeepers and street corner criers, following leads through the town in search of the greatest healer in New Mallam. The streets were wider than those of Soros, though in many districts, the privies poured down into a trough through the center of the street. The cobblestones made for a tricky way between, though it was hardly unusual to Farek.
A few sources told them to visit the Ageless Academy. The first time Farek heard the phrase, he thought he’d misheard them. What a strange place, he thought, but he led Diaren towards it. Located on the south side of New Mallam, the Academy was hard to find. They followed a few different directions before finding it in the convoluted and far denser streets on that side of town. Though the establishments and estates they passed were grand, the suburbs seemed far more dangerous. There were no knights in heavy plate armour patrolling these avenues, not like the upper city behind them. Despite the lack of the staple warriors of the Great Isle, they ran into no dangers until at last finding their destination.
The Ageless Academy was built in a three-storey building. The third storey was clearly a later addition, while charcoal and ashes smeared the side of another building. Farek wasn’t sure what to think of the damages he saw, the severed pillars that patrolled the walkway to the broad building’s façade, the birds that nested in the rotted wooden eaves, the layers of dust in the deep, insect-infested grooves between clearly ancient bricks. Had this place been permitted to fall to disrepair to fit its name better? But the fire damage he saw reminded Farek of accounts of the Blasted Wall in Saanazar—did this building predate the Orrish?
The wooden steps leading up to the front door of the Academy groaned with the weight of his steps. They certainly would have been built later, if parts of this structure were that old. A cast bronze animal head held a doorknocker at chest height; whatever the likeness had been, time had smoothed out its lines and obscured its design. Farek tapped it against the door thrice, and waited.
They waited for two minutes, perhaps, before a white man opened the door. The man had strange, shiny hair, far fairer in colour than the brown hair of everyone north of here. He bowed to them and said, “Welcome to the Ageless Academy. Please come in.”
Diaren entered first, his hand resting on the pommel of the sword at his waist. Farek followed behind him. They walked quietly into a long, square foyer. Old stone sculptures—marble busts or low reliefs of historic figures Farek could not name lined the walls of the room, while a more modern desk sat in the way, between the front door and the building’s central corridor. It looked like an atrium through there, Farek noted, or a courtyard.
“I am major-domo Torga,” the man told them, standing before the smooth wooden desk. He wore an ankle-length cotton robe, dyed black. “Are you here to seek the advice of one of our scholars, or to conduct research? Or do you seek enrollment?”
“I’m uncertain what the Ageless Academy is…” Farek muttered. “But we seek a healer.”
“Ah,” Torga said. The man’s short blonde hair stayed in place when his head moved, from some sort of grease or styling oil. “In answer to your first question, the Academy is a place of study, primarily of magical artifacts and relics from eons past. Only the finest scholars are permitted tenure here, but many of them bring additional skills. Among our staff are a few accomplished healers, from my knowledge. If you’d wait here, I will see if Mistress Domugh has returned from her Journeys. She’s known abroad for her mending abilities.”
“Of course,” Farek said, tipping his head. “You have my thanks.”
“Do not stray from this room,” Torga said, bowing at the waist. He withdrew without another word, pacing through the back of the room and taking a right through the central yard beyond.
Farek craned his neck after the man. “Is that supposed to be art?” he asked, peering through the doorway. There was a large structure made of interlocked old stones, in the centre of the atrium. Something was on display in it, like a dark curtain of some kind.
“Do you know who this is?” Diaren asked. Farek turned around to watch Diaren, hunched over to eye level with a bust, tap the marble head on top. “Plaque says King Hamu? Hamnu?”
“Never heard of him,” Farek muttered. “And I’ve never heard of this Academy, either.”
“Me neither,” Diaren said, approaching the desk. He looked at some of the books on it and started reading out titles. “The Priolithic People: A discussion of findings from the 1280 excavation in Tav Rock. Boring. The Sages of Antiquity: A treatise from Brother Niroa on the masters of yesterday. That sounds a little bett—”
“Hands off, please,” Torga said, striding through the door once more. Diaren dropped the book onto the desk again with a quiet thump and leapt a few paces back from his meddling. The major-domo smiled stiffly. “Thank you. Here is Mistress Domugh.”
A middle-aged Raderan woman with a long nose and a strange, boyish haircut stood in the doorway, and took a step forward. She wore a similar robe to Torga’s, though a leather satchel strap crossed her torso from her left shoulder. She bowed her shoulders and head to Farek and said, “Please to meet you, sir…”
“Farek,” he replied. He didn’t desire to give his family name to these strange people. “Farek of Var Nordos.”
“Ah,” the woman said. “I can appreciate a need for discretion. Torga mentioned you were simply here in search of healing? Did you travel far?”
Farek smiled. “Well, one of my… mercenaries, fell ill on our journey to the Great Isle. I’d like him well again, to aid me in my business. And I value his service, and his health.”
“Commendable,” Domugh said, with a tip of her head. Her braided hair bobbed behind her head. “What ails him?”
“A doctor on the coast diagnosed it as sleeping sickness,” Farek asked. “Are you able to heal this?”
She nodded. “Take me to him,” she replied.
“Oh, thank you,” Farek said, overtop of a similar expression from Diaren. The foreign prince walked toward the front door with the magician in tow. He explained, “We can offer a sizeable payment, whatever you name.”
“A modest wage will be sufficient,” the mistress said, smiling. “It might take a few days, though.”
“Whatever you need,” Farek said, leading the way outside. Diaren followed behind Domugh, while Torga made certain the door was closed securely. They navigated off the Ageless Academy’s grounds and into the streets. “He’s at an inn in the waterfront right now. Matek.”
“Take me to Matek,” Domugh said. “So you and your comrades can get on with your business on the Great Isle.”
Farek smiled and led the way.