Chapter 17

The Firstborn laughed. “You don’t believe it, do you?”

“No, Master,” Shard Gingko admitted. “My eyes are no longer what they were, and after seeing this, I don’t believe I can trust them at all.”

“My eyes are as perfect as the stars,” Mouse said, “and they will never again see anything so wonderful.”

For four days, they had been traveling south along the Great Valley, easing westward, closer to the Western Wall, a giant’s saw of rocky triangles divided by green canyons. The highest peaks were permanently ice-capped, and soon the snow line would start creeping down the slopes, for last night at sunset, Shard had glimpsed the slender crescent of Chrysanthemum Moon.

The great march of mountains would have been impressive enough by itself, but they had arrived practically underneath the Portal of a Thousand Worlds. It had been visible for some time, but now they had just emerged from a sizable patch of forest, and it was noon, with sun striking diagonally along the front of the range. Legendary could never do it justice. It dominated the world. Shard Gingko’s whole experience rejected the thought that such a mass of rock could actually move, and even the carvings on it made him want to look away, for they were unlike any inscription or illustration he had ever seen.

“Master?” he whispered. “What does the writing on it say?”

For a long time, he received no reply. The Firstborn was staring up at the mountain with a worried frown. Eventually, he said, “I don’t know. I did once, I think, but I must have forgotten.”

His companions looked at each other in astonishment. He had never used that word before.

“Why don’t we rest the horses here, Master?” Mouse said.

The Urfather dismounted without a word, barely taking his eyes off the Portal. He walked over to a fallen tree, and sat down without even inspecting it for ants. Shard was happy to do the same. More and more he was coming to realize that he had become a burden on the two youngsters. Thanks to Lady Cataract’s ministrations, the Firstborn was now as healthy as he could ever expect to be, and at sixteen was probably close to his adult stature. Mouse was a staunch young man, with squared shoulders and chin held high. It was old Shard who wearied first. He was showing his age, holding the others back.

Fortunately, the Urfather was in no hurry, or so he claimed. He never said why he was so certain that the Bamboo Banner and the Imperial Army would meet somewhere close to the Portal of Worlds, but who would doubt his word on anything? He believed that it was his duty to make peace between the two sides, which seemed like a totally impossible job to Shard. The Firstborn said that he had done this before, although he admitted that he had failed much more often. If it came to battle, he would die in the ensuing massacre. Thousands of sparks might rise to the Fifth World, but his would remain here, in the Fourth. And once again he would be absent when the Portal opened next year.

The Portal—clearly a doorway, with carvings all over its surface and the frame around it, but so gigantic that the inscriptions at the top glistened with frost, while those below did not. The base of the door was hidden in forest, so how could it open? The base of the Great Valley was not perfectly flat, and a ridge trended out from one side of the Portal. Shard wondered if it could have been created by previous openings, pushing trees and detritus aside. If that slab of mountain could move, he decided, then anything was possible.

Having settled the horses, Mouse came to stand beside him. “We’re going to have company, Masters.” He was staring south. “Trader caravan, I think.” His earlier boast about his eyes had been quite justified. He could see a lark blink.

Shard hoped they would have some food to offer. Pickings had been slim lately. Undoubtedly, Mouse would be thinking the same, for he ate more than the other two together. He squatted down.

“This valley seems fertile. Why don’t more people live here, Master?”

He had put the question to Shard, but it was really intended for the Firstborn, and he answered it.

“Because it’s a no-man’s-land. The Emperors claim it, but they keep their army posts well back from it, behind the Fortress Hills, at places like Cherish. The mountain folk regard it as their winter grazing. Traders use it in summer, going north and south, east and west.”

Mouse frowned and looked to the east, at the hills. Most were round and grassy, but the taller ones had flat tops. “Those are part of the Good Land, though?”

“They belong to the strongest. Officially, their owners are of the Gentle people, but most of them are anything but gentle. We might go and call on some of them if there’s time. Let’s wait and hear what our visitors are going to tell us.”

They did not have to wait long. They were sighted by a couple of horsemen, scouts for the caravan, who spotted them and came cantering up, armed with lances and swords. They reined in uncomfortably close, both large men, richly dressed in leathers and furs, and their faces disfigured by barbarian mustaches.

“Declare yourselves!” demanded the elder, his lance aimed at them.

The Firstborn rose. “My name is Sunlight—in this generation.”

Enlightenment struck. Eyes widened. Both men slid off saddles and knelt.

“Ancient One, forgive us!”

“Nothing to forgive.” The Firstborn made a sign of blessing. “Who are you?”

The spokesman gave his name in a strange tongue, and then translated it as meaning “Grassfire.”

“You are obviously heading north,” the Firstborn said, adopting the same grating accent. “What news can you give us of the Bamboo Banner?”

Grassfire spat. “Scum! Madmen! They claim to be immortal. They look very surprised on the end of a spear.”

“Understandable! I know the feeling.”

The warriors hesitated and then laughed.

“Where is the Banner now, and which way is it going?”

“It is in the Great Valley, following us, but we travel faster than they do. And eat better.” Grassfire smirked, showing heavily stained teeth.

“The pickings are slim in the Valley,” the Firstborn said.

Right on cue, Mouse’s stomach rumbled.

Grassfire heard and raised his heavy eyebrows. “They are indeed, Ancient One. We tell everyone to leave until the locusts have passed.”

“And when will the swarm arrive here, do you think?”

“In a month, unless they turn off to loot elsewhere. They travel very slowly. The Bearer of Wisdom and his servants are most welcome to break bread with us today.”

“We will gladly accept your hospitality, fierce Grassfire.”

“It will be arranged!” The two barbarians sprang into their saddles, wheeled their horses, and took off at a showy gallop.

“Your intervention was well timed, Mouse,” the Firstborn said.

Mouse turned pink, but grinned anyway.

“A month?” Shard said. “We still have time to starve if we wait here.”

“Of course. But we also have time to make some new friends.” The Firstborn turned to regard the Fortress Hills. “And perhaps learn when the Imperial Army is due.”