The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 17: The Way to Autumnsgrove, Part 2

 Eventually he caught up with Casimir, who was watching his master with some concern. "Knees," Ammas panted, doffing his hat to wipe sweat from his face. "Be grateful you have them as long as you do, lad." With a pained laugh he began climbing again, toward a copse of gnarled trees whose leaves retained the deep green of high summer. "Wait just a moment, Casimir," he called out as his apprentice appeared ready to plunge through the treeline to see what lay beyond.

Dutifully the boy waited for him until Ammas was at his side, panting, turning about to gauge the height of the hill, momentarily stunned that he had actually managed to climb the damned thing. "Getting old," he muttered to himself, and took a healthy drink of water from his skin. Casimir politely refused, looking entirely bemused that Ammas should be so out of breath. "If this hill is where I think it is," he said after he had regained a bit of equilibrium, "there should be something past those trees I think will interest you." Stowing his waterskin at his waist, he put an arm around Casimir's shoulder and led him across the hilltop.

Past the trees the land fell away sharply into a series of hills, all varying shades of white and green. At the edge of those hills ran a regular gray shape almost like a frozen river. Ammas pointed to it. "That is Kyrantine's Wall. It dives deeper into the ground than most people realize. You saw its foundations -- saw them and survived things few men have."

Casimir nodded, his eyes huge.

Ammas now spread one hand toward the enormous and geometric swathes of farmland beyond the wall, ultimately ending at a great promontory of stone that jutted into the sea. The promontory bustled with a vast walled city, complete with towering structures, great fortresses and villas and manses, and the unmistakable shapes of various temples. In the waters beyond it were foaming white streaks, the wakes of ships of all sizes as they cut their way to and from the harbors. "Do you know what that is, Casimir?"

Casimir stared, but after a while he shook his head. Ammas supposed a goldfish scooped from its bowl might feel the same: able but unwilling to make the connection necessary to understand the true scope of its world. The boy had looked at maps in the Othillic Libraries, Ammas knew, and of course he had taught him what he could in the last few months about geography and the surrounding regions, but there was a vast difference between seeing your home on a map and seeing it from a vantage such as this.

"That is Munazyr."

Casimir's jaw fell open. "It is not."

"It is. See? That's Brightmoon Bay, and down there is Fathoms Gate. It's a clear day -- look past the waters, across the Straits, and you can see the Wicked Cliffs. You can tell by how black they are. At sunset they gleam like a polished blade. If I had a spyglass, I could show you right where the Old Godsway is. I doubt we could see the Prideful Lioness, but you could probably pick out our temple."

Casimir stared for minutes, utterly mesmerized. "It's so small, Ammas. How can it be so small?"

"It's not, really. It's one of the largest cities in the world. Munazyr is not small. Say instead the world itself is so large." Ammas began pointing to various distant landmarks. "The road north from Peddlers' Gate leads into the edges of Dyroth, the closest of the Anointed Realms, along with the Vilain Reaches. West is Nocturne Gate, which will bring one to the Torchlight Coast, if one follows it long enough. We're bound that way, though we won't be on the road itself for a while yet." Ammas smiled down at his awestruck apprentice. "It's as I told you, Casimir. It's a world with a thousand roads for you to follow, tens of thousands. You have the chance to follow whichever one you want. And I will be your teacher for as long as you want me, no matter which one it is."

Casimir had nothing to say to that, overwhelmed as he was with the notion he could see in a single blink of his eyes the city where he had spent his entire life. Ammas straightened, enjoying the view himself and letting his apprentice soak it in on his own for a while, until he heard a rustle behind him. He turned with one hand on the hilt of his dagger, only to see Vos breaking through the treeline, his expression uncertain.