With the missing pages from the Book of Inner Balance carefully stowed in the leather bag Torghen Quicksilver had brought expressly for that purpose, the Hand made their way out of the Monastery of the Immortal Heart. They soon discovered that the destruction of the so-called skreelox must have freed the remaining Khundari monks of the Order from their centuries-long living deaths. Each one of the five, laying in their mouldering beds, was now truly, peacefully deceased… and by the expression on their grey, sunken faces, glad to be so at long last.

“I think, my friend, whatever knowledge you take from your study of these pages,” Torghen muttered quietly to Draik as the group made their way back to the longboat awaiting them on the dark waters of the canal, “you should take with great caution. Keep in mind the fate of these poor fools… and do not call down the same destiny on yourself.”

“Have no fear,” Draik assured the Khundari Shadow Monk, exchanging a thoughtful look with Vulk, walking on the other side of their companion. “We have no desire to summon another of those entities, whatever they really are… and in any case, we’re not searching for immortality.”

“Indeed not,” Vulk agreed. “All Baylorium is meant to do is heal, and to make the lives given to each of us as healthy and productive as possible… within the span of years we are allotted, no more.”

“I hope you remain true to that goal,” Torghen sighed, “and do not become tempted by the lure of eternal life. After what we saw… well, I misdoubt the wisdom of letting anyone read these pages. No, no – do not become agitated… a deal is a deal, and you shall have the next few days to study the pages, as was promised. But notes only may you make, and not a true, full copy… as YOU have promised!”

••••••

Two hours later the Wind of Kasira was poled out of the Southern Gate of the Ahlürok Canal, and soon bid farewell to their Khundari Polemen as the wind once again filled their sails. Once out of the southern Kilnost Hills, and the last of locks lowering them back to neat sea-level, the final 20 kilometers of the canal passed through gently rolling farmland of Great Oceania’s Inner Shore, and on to the town of Southport.

“A minor port, really, for all that a great deal of traffic passes through it,” Captain Renault told the Hand, as they all gathered on deck to see the sights. The friends looked at one another and eyebrows were raised. The city coming into sight ahead of them was at least as large as Shalara in Ukalus… perhaps lager. If this was considered minor, what must await them in Avantir itself?

“It has a few sights worth seeing of course,” their clockwork companion continued. “The magnificent towers and walls of the ancient Fortress of Khar are impressive, to be sure… you can see it there, that great complex atop that hill ahead on the port side. And the High Bridge, which carries the Imperial Highway over the Canal, is an engineering marvel, but we’re about to see it in action now, so that will take care of that.”

Ahead of them, 200 meters from the left side of the canal, a great stone bridge began a gradual rise on a series of graceful arches, until it reached the waterway, where it spanned the flow in two long, leaping arcs before beginning a matching descent on the other side. At its highest point the roadway must have been 30 meters above the water.

“Which is impressively high,” Draik said when their native guide confirmed it, at the same time eyeing their own masts and making some calculations. “But not high enough for us to sail under, I think… at least not in one piece. And I don’t see any kind of drawbridge…”

The clockwork Captain laughed… he’s been working on it, Draik thought, hiding his wince. But it still just doesn’t sound… human. “No, it’s all Avantir blue granite under that carved and filigreed white marble. So nothing so crude as a drawbridge. Instead – ah, there, watch the center pier!”

As he spoke there was a faint grinding sound and the center portion of the bridge began to rotate around the pivot of the central pier that supported it. Slowly, it swung about until the central roadway and walls of the span lay at a 90° angle to the rest of the structure. As it ground to a rest, the Wind of Kasira sailed majestically through the newly opened gap, the men in her crows nests waving to the stopped traffic… which they were actually several meters above. Many people waved back good-naturedly.

“So, as I was saying,” Renault went on as the High Bridge swung back into place behind them, “Captain K’Jurol agrees with me, it’s worth the effort to make Avantir before sunset. It’s a 90 kilometer run across the Gulf of Telapinir, but if the winds cooperate – and they should, this time of year – we can easily make it in time.”

“In time for what, exactly?” Mariala asked. Physician Ar’Hanol, standing beside her, seconded the question.

“Ah, I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” the clockwork man said, and both women had the sense that if his metal face was capable of it he’d be grinning. “But trust me, I think you’ll agree it was worth it once you see it.”

No more could be got form the usually loquacious man, and eventually everyone returned to other pastimes. Mariala, Lurin and Raven returned to their interrupted brunch, while Draik and Vulk returned to their study of the recovered pages from the Book of Inner Balance. Toran and Torghen went below decks to resume their reminisces on their lost youth away from all that nerve-wracking open sea, and Erol and Devrik resumed their sparring with the half-dozen crewmen who had become a de facto martial arts class, Aldari eagerly in tow.

The winds were indeed favorable, and as the sun began to sink toward the west, the dark silhouette of Avantir island appeared on the horizon, growing swiftly larger. As the rugged slopes and jagged crestline of the volcanic island resolved themselves, the terraced farmland, thickly wooded slopes, and blue granite and white marble of the many building perched on the cliffs and ridges became visible. The ship turned toward the south at that point, skirting the looming hills on their port side as they made for the Sea Palisade and the famous Sea Gates of Tyvos, and Captain Renault called everyone who was interested back to the foredeck.

“I know that some of you, especially young master Aldari and Lady Raven, may not be fully versed in the history of Avantir,” he said once everyone was present, “so I thought I’d take these few minutes before I lose your attention to give a brief history lesson.

“The island of Avantir, at the heart of which lays the City of Avantir is quite circular in shape and some 10 kilometers across. It is in fact a volcanic caldera… as legend has it, the shattered remains of the ancient Mount Falnakir. Said to be the most beautiful peak in the ancient world, it was around the feet and on the lower slopes of Falnakir that the capital and greatest city of the Co-Dominion once stood — proud Alvönika of ancient memory. First home of the Immortals, where they lived side-by-side with their Telnori, Umantari and Khundari children, Alvönika was a place of great beauty and even greater bliss for many centuries.

“But then came the Demon’s Fist. When it struck, at the Final Battle of the Demon Wars on the Plains of Summer, the destruction was staggering; and not least amongst the terrible results was the explosive eruption of Mount Falnakir and the collapse and sinking of the lands all about it for hundreds of kilometers.

“Alvönika was utterly destroyed, of course, and in the end only the shattered top of Falnakir itself remained above the waves as the land sank and the seas poured in… just a ring of steep, barren peaks reaching for the ash-gray sky. On the inside of this caldera the slopes of the peaks were sheer and cliff-like, while on its outer side the slopes fell away somewhat more gently to the sea… although still very broken and rugged.

“For several years the caldera smoked and fumed, though there were few living mortals to see it beyond a few starving savages on what would one day be called Great Oceania. As the Immortals strove to hold the shattered world together and repair its hurts, through the five years of the Endless Winter the remains of Falnakir smoldered and quaked. And then, just as life was beginning to return, one last cataclysm wracked the island.

“In that last eruption the southwest section of the caldera rim wall was blown outward by a convulsive lateral blast, and the sea poured to fill the caldera and at last cool the burning stone. Only a small, domed island at the very center of the new lagoon remained above the waves. For many years after that final convulsion the remains of Falnakir lay desolate and empty, devoid of all life.

“The Immortals worked for many years to return the world to stability and health, and gradually life did return to the rocky shores of the nameless volcanic ring. First of all were the seabirds who to this day make the cliffs and slopes of the island their home. Plant-life soon followed, especially the tall, straight blue firs and pines that came to cover the Outer Slopes, and three hundred years after the Devastation of Navarthül the first civilized Umantari made their way back to the lands of the Shattered Sea.

“These men and women were of the House of Ingram, survivors of that noble people who were one of the Five Great Houses of the Umantari in the years of the Co-Dominion. They first settled on the Inner Shore of Great Oceania, attempting to bring what civilization they had retained back to the savage, primitive tribes of the island. They succeeded in teaching them much, at least in matters of craft and building. But in matters of civilization and humanity… they were less successful. All too soon the Lost Men had taken the arts of the newcomers and turned them against them, especially in the matter of ship building. They became the fierce Sea Peoples, and they terrorized no only the high folk of lost Ingram but others of their own kind, raiding, pillaging and killing at will.

“Eventually, seeking a haven from the predations of these barbaric, savage Sea Peoples, legend has it that the Ingrami were guided by the Immortal Tyvos, Lord of the Seas and Islands, to the sheltering, encircling arms of Avantir. There they founded a fishing village on the central island of the Inner Lagoon, which they called Gevar’dahal. There they were safe, for the shoals and reefs which guarded the narrow strait from the outer sea they alone knew how to safely navigate, thanks to the wisdom and grace of Lord Tyvos.

“For many years they lived off the bounty of the sea, and they grew in number until Gevar’dahal became a small city. Then the people began to build homes in the faces of the Inner Wall of the Encircling Hills, delving into the rock itself to make spacious dwellings; and terraced farms were created where possible, wherein they began to grow new crops to feed the ever-growing population… and this was in the Fifth Century following the Demon’s Fist.

“For years the people refrained from building on the Outer Slopes, for fear of the still-powerful Sea Peoples; but eventually population pressure forced them to make the move. Combined with an increasingly large and powerful fleet, better able to protect the Outer Slopes, more settlements and farms were built Beyond. Eventually the ships of Gevar’dahal were able to sweep the Gulf of Telapinir clear of the Sea Peoples, freeing the Inner Shore of Great Oceania from their predations. Then they came to the warring tribes of the larger island, their cousins, as saviors and peacemakers.

“As the population and power of the Avantiri grew, the need for land grew as well. Although they established ports in many places on Great Oceania, Avantir was always home and the center of their power. As the Outports grew in influence, however, the rulers of Avantir saw a danger of the center of power shifting away from them… legend says that Tyvos himself came up out of the sea and told King Valosin the Great that he must make land from the sea, and in doing so his people would gain mastery of all the seas.

“Not one to spurn the advice (or prophecy, if you will) of an Immortal, in the year 993 SR, Valosin began the Great Work – the building of the Sea Palisade and the draining of the Inner Lagoon. At the same time the plans were laid for the construction of the Grand Canal and the Serene Canal, which would, respectively, lead to and surround Gevar’dahal, keeping it an island. For another part of the Prophecy of Tyvos was that only so long as the little island at its heart remained connected to the sea by water, would Avantir rule the seas.

“And so it has remained for the last two thousand years. Even today the Sea Palisade stands just as Valosin the Great saw it, when he was the first to sail a ship through the Sea Gates of Tyvos… and just as you see it now.”

With that, Renault gestured behind his audience (he’d been speaking from the starboard railing, to keep their backs to the island), and as they turned a gasp rose up. The golden light of the setting sun kindled the shimmering, blue-black stone of the immense wall of the Sea Palisade into cerulean fire and burnished the towering bronze statue of Tyvos to molten gold. Devrik realized his mouth was hanging open, and he shut it with a snap.

“Well, you were right my friend,” he said to Renault, never taking his eyes off the blue fire of the Palisade. “This was worth missing out on a lot of things!”

The Sea Palisade spanned the blown-out gap in the Encircling Hills, holding back the sea from the lowlands within. Made of the blue granite of the island, its face had been treated with a process which had fused and crystalized the stone into a shimmering sheet of blue-black glass – but a glass stronger than diamond or steel, second only to the torlixam of the Ancients.

The wall was over a kilometer wide, 250 meters high 100 meters thick, and pierced by twin gates. Each was wide enough to allow two large galleys to pass abreast through, and tall enough to accommodate the masts of the tallest ship. Between the gates towered the immense, imposing statue of Tyvos himself, trident in one hand, the other hand raised in an ambiguous gesture of either greeting or warning. Beard flowing, his crowned head towered 70 additional meters above the top of the Sea Palisade, his trident even higher. On the opposite side of each gate were smaller bronze statues of the children of Tyvos – on the left was Ashira, his daughter, Lady of Storms; on the right, his son Valentus, Lord of Islands. Both were portrayed in the form of Tritani.

“Beyond the Gates of Tyvos lies the High Pool,” Captain Renault went on as the Wind prepared to pass through them, “although most sailors call it the Tide Pool. It’s a semicircular harbor nearly a kilometer across and half a kilometer deep. It is lined with docks and quays, and is the commercial heart of the Empire. From its apex extends the Karshen Locks of the Grand Canal, which steps vessels from sea level 15 meters down to the water level of the City’s canal system.

“There’s a wide strip of land around the perimeter of the Tide Pool which is lined with warehouses, merchant’s headquarters, seaman’s hostelries and guild houses, taverns, inns and flop houses, and beyond it the ground slopes down in a series of roads, ramps and stairs to the plain of the Inner Land. We’ll be docking in the Tide Pool, I understand, and then taking a barge through the looks and into the Circles of the City…”