Leaving Pelier.
As Paris led the Party towards the east side of the city, the gritty air irritated her still-sore lungs. As she coughed, she considered the portent of the newly-arisen volcano. Anton might be right. In finding the cache of ritual items from the churches right after the Two Became One (and Paris was sure that this was what the cache represented), it was possible that they had set off some supernatural trigger. That had, perhaps, created another tear between Tarot and Torat - represented by the volcano. If so, then it was entirely possible that this region was soon to know the terrors that Westmore had known. They would be forced to believe in magic and monsters in a far more personal way than they had ever imagined. Paris felt a grimness weighing in her chest. This was a poor gift to have given her Prince's city.
The Party approached the Eastern Exit from the city of Pelier. An impressive fortress, Paris thought. More impressive than Baronton. Possibly more impressive, if she understood the original dimensions of the Duke's city, than the original City of Westmore. Possibly. And its discipline was tight. She nodded her approval. The Eastern Battlement, it should be called. The Sunrise Gate, was what Prince William had called it when he had told her of his letter of introduction to its earl. Hmmm. Judging by the troops hereround, if anyone had knowledge of a supernatural incursion in the night -- if orcs had already started their march from one of the new tears to those peaceful outlying towns.... She thought with a pang of all that happy industry that she and her comrades had passed through. If there were tears, the places of power might be foci. The Tomb of the Lost King might be such a place.
She had somehow thought, from the lessons she'd heard, that the Battle of the Mountain of Pelier had taken place on the mountain. She had assumed, she now realized, that the Tomb of the Lost King had been built into the Mountain of Pelier, that it was one of the honeycomb of rooms Prince William had mentioned. Paris smiled at herself wryly. When would she learn to question and think, not merely assume?
Perhaps she had also erred in not allowing Mia to try her experiment with her crystal, to try to read the books they had found in the sealed room. The argument with Rhori -- and she still wasn't quite sure what would have settled his mind in that matter -- had left her wondering if she could risk trusting the Librarian with sensitive and controversial Religious Knowledge. After this morning's conversation with him, she now felt as she originally had. Prince William had implicit trust in the Librarian; so should she. Perhaps they should delay this already-started journey. Go back to the library and try to read the books. Paris glanced over to where Rhori rode. After she had talked that last time with the Librarian, she had explained what she had done very carefully to Rhori. The Crown Prince had asked only for knowledge of new-found rooms and so she had explained the room they had found to the Librarian and had watched as he had added it to the map he was apparently preparing for that prince. Prince William had asked for explicit knowledge of the books found and had asked that such be stored in a secure and secluded area. The Crown Prince had merely ordered that nothing be removed from the Library. Thus, Paris had explained to the simple giant, the Party had obeyed these orders in all respects. The letters she had written had provided the specified information and the Party had left what they had found in a secluded and secure area. Rhori had seemed to understand, but had not seemed particularly contented by the information. Paris shivered. It was almost unthinkable to have had a dispute about Right and Wrong with Rhori. She never wanted to do that again. And -- and it had not seemed to be a matter for that sort of dispute. What had she missed? Paris shook her head, unconscious of the action. She did not want to put Rhori in a place where they would have that dispute again. If there was no better argument for going back, then she would let her letter to Prince William decide. Now was the time to find out more about the task of going to Lions.
Well, if there were anyone she could question and get reliable knowledge on whether or no monsters were in the vicinity of the Tomb, it would probably be the Earl of EastGate. She had realized -- the pang took her again -- too late that the Head Librarian had tried in his quiet and unassuming way, to tell her that he was loyal to Prince William. She was glad she had left the letters with him. She wished she had trusted him more. She should have realized that her Prince would not have given her letters of introduction to any who would not, in his mind, be loyal to him. Therefore the Earl would also be someone Prince William trusted implicitly. It was even possible that the Prince had wanted her to use the letters -- even if it did not seem that she needed to -- to let these loyal people know who she was. Possible. Paris shook her head. She was no good at figuring out what was in someone else's' mind. She'd done so badly before. So ... better not think more along that line. She would stop and ask for the Earl -- but only to get knowledge of the route she proposed taking her comrades.
Having learned her lesson at the library, Paris mentioned Prince William's name in connection with the letter and found herself ushered with military promptness into a trim study housing a tall lean man in his late 30s. "Sir Reginald Givance, Earl of EastGate, at your service. How may I help you?"
Paris started her prepared speech. "I am traveling on Prince William's orders, sir, and would know if there is any reason I and my Party may not visit and camp near the Tomb ..." She broke off, his words suddenly registering. "Sir -- Givance?"
"Yes. And you are Paris, aren't you?" He smiled in a kindly manner.
"Yes, sir. I have the honour of studying with your son, sir. Under Sir Gryphon.
"Even so. And how does my daughter? Has she ever grown up? Does she still waddle?"
"Sir?" Paris wasn't sure whether or no he was joking. "The Lady Cordelia is a very graceful and gracious young lady, sir."
"Ah. It's been, what, two years," his voice rose into a question, "since I saw her last." The Earl seemed to lose interest in the discussion of his offspring. "Have you a little time you can spare?"
Confused as to whether or not she should ask to be allowed to continue on her way, but still hoping for a bit of information, Paris stuttered, "Of course, sir."
"Then come."
As Paris walked with the knight down a stone corridor, she ventured to continue her information gathering. "Sir, is it acceptable if I visit and camp near the Tomb of the Lost King?"
"I don't see why not. Lots of tourists do so. There's been no trouble on the plain."
"We intend to continue up to the city of Lions. Can you suggest the best way to get there?"
"The usual route is to go to the river and take a boat up."
Ah, Paris thought. It sounds as though all is normal. The volcano may not be Tarot-related after all. Her sigh of relief and puzzlement was cut short as the two of them entered what was manifestly a practice courtyard. Sir Reginald chose and handed her a practice sword. "I want to try you out."
"Yes, sir." Paris wondered if this was a different form of Sir Avenal's distrust of a woman with a sword, but moved smoothly into position and saluted the Earl with her blade. In her mind's eye, Sir Gryphon's big forefinger was poking into her chest again. 'If you're in a fight, don't you ever hold back.' Slowly she moved towards her opponent's right, observing his stance. He held his shield the same way Rodric did, she noted. Then he feinted with a combination stroke. She responded. The combat settled into earnestness. Paris was not holding back. And as she took a bruising rap to the back of her leg, neither was Sir Reginald she realized.
After the third halt had been called and they had both gotten their breath back, she settled again into the en garde position. Suddenly Sir Reginald said, "Yes, Sergeant?"
Confused, Paris stared at him, wondering if he could be possibly addressing her so. "Sir?" Then she realized that he was looking over her left shoulder. Could someone have come up so quietly? Paris started to glance back. Sir Reginald swung, slotting her fairly down the helmet -- a killing blow.
Paris bowed her acknowledgment of the blow and the older man grinned. "It's good to know that old age and treachery can still win. You are as good as I had been told you were." He patted the practise sword and gestured to the rack where they were to be stored. Paris moved to put her practise sword away. "Thank you, sir"
Suddenly a real messenger appeared in the doorway. "Sir, Fort Carcassonne is under attack by a strange army. They are requesting immediate assistance." The Earl was immediately all business, ordering deployment of horse troops and supplies. Paris listened long enough to realize that it was entirely possible that the ogres described by the Fool that fateful 42 miles out of Carcassonne might well be part of the "strange army." She felt the pang of guilt again. She should have investigated the Fool's tale. Her group could have then warned the Fort. She had not made a correct decision this entire trip. Earl EastGate was going to discover the strangeness of Tarot up close and personal very soon. She hoped that he had been well instructed by the Prince; it did not seem likely that he would have time to listen to advice from a cadet like herself right now. The Earl took a moment to politely excuse himself, then continued issuing curt orders. Quietly Paris made her way out of the garrison and back down to where her friends awaited her in the shadow of the Sunrise Gate.
"Eastgate" copyright 1999 P.Shea & S.Knowles. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.