The Seekers of Shar-Nuhn. Ardath Mayhar

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      COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

      Copyright © 1980, 2009 by Ardath Mayhar

      All rights reserved.

      Published by Wildside Press LLC.

      www.wildsidepress.com

      Foreword

      This book began as a series of stories in which I attempted to recreate the magical mood of the work of Lord Dunsany. As I went forward, the characters took up residence in my imagination, and the world of Kal-Noh and Si-Lun became a part of my interior landscape. Before I was finished with that world, I had written four novels set in different parts of it, Lords of the Triple Moons being a sort of prehistory, and Warlock’s Gift an entirely independent book, set on a distant continent.

      Seekers, however, was the first, and almost every chapter of it began with an intensely clear visual image of a vital scene. This enchanting experience hooked me firmly into writing fantasy, and it was one that I will always treasure. How the Gods Wove in Kyrannon followed immediately, and it is thinly linked with this story, though set in a distant part of this world.

      Now, over thirty years later, I can still enter that world, and I find it an amazing place to visit.

      —Ardath Mayhar

      Chireno, Texas

      October 2007

      Chapter One

      Three Secrets

      This is Shar-Nuhn on the Purple Waters. Strong are the walls of Shar-Nuhn and deep her treasuries, for her fleets ply all the seas and gather riches for the canny Shar­-Neen.

      This is a city of secrets—small secrets, whispered in shadows; great secrets, hidden in temples. Secrets of wealth, secrets of crimes, secrets of conspirators, but in the city of Shar-Nuhn there are three secrets of para­mount importance. The first of the Three Great Secrets teaches the seafarers of Shar-Nuhn to quiet the waters, in time of storm, wherefore no laden ship, no humble sailor of Shar-Nuhn, is ever lost at sea.

      The Second Secret is terrible truly, for it enables the Shar-Neen to trouble the lands to their foundations, as their enemies learned to their cost, in ages agone. Covetous eyes long envied Shar-Nuhn her riches, and an army marched forth for conquest. When the earth quaked and cracked before them, and their cities crumbled to rubble behind them, they turned up their eyes in despair and re­moved their place of abode, and sought no longer to trouble Shar-Nuhn.

      But the Third Secret is a secret indeed, and none knows of it save the oldest of the Initiates in the Temple of Truth. Rumor says that it is the secret of illimitable wealth, or that it gives unending life and vigor, but there is only one who knows, and his life is dedicated to the preservation of the Third Secret of Shar-Nuhn.

      Now there are those to whom the existence of a secret is a challenge—even a pain. It is an itch unscratched, a hunger unsatisfied. Such was the nature of Kla-Noh, the Seeker. Secrets had been his livelihood, for he purveyed his wares among the members of the Guild of Thieves, among the great merchants, among the wives and hus­bands of the rich. No secret was too poor and threadbare to arouse his interest. All were small itches, and he scratched them profitably. Naturally, the greater and more valuable the secret, the greater was the itch of Kla-Noh. And the Third Secret of Shar-Nuhn was the agony and the terrible unscratched itch of his life.

      Though he knew well many of the Initiates, never would he ask of them. It would be worth much, in terms of wealth, to the Seeker who dared seek it in the Temple of Truth, but that was not the thing that tortured Kla-Noh. The thought of the secret itself tantalized him. To be the co-possessor of the Third Secret of Shar-Nuhn, having wrested it, unaided, from the Tower—surely there could be no higher aspiration for a Seeker After Secrets. To be able to fondle it in the private recesses of his mind, knowing that only one other on the planet could do the same, would be the finest sort of wealth for one like Kla-Noh. It would be a fitting climax and finale to his career, setting his seal upon his craft, as its one and unapproach­able master. Then, and only then, could he retire to his modest villa and vineyard and spend his declining years sitting in the sun, considering the meanings of existence, probing into the questions that fill the universe, while the Purple Waters lapped the shore below his terrace.

      On an evening in the dark of the moon, Kla-Noh de­scended his terrace to his small landing, got into his light sailing craft, and wafted gently across the curve of the bay to the harbor, where the great wharves lifted black bulks against the stars. Leaving his tethered craft danc­ing lightly upon the lipping wavelets, he made his way to a drinking place, where gathered the sailors and the har­bor people. Kla-Noh sought a helper, for the Tower that was the Temple of Truth had been raised, by remarkable arts, from the floor of the sea and stood alone outside the protecting arm of the bay. One needed the aid of a man skilled in the arts of the sea, for the Purple Waters flung themselves strongly about the Tower of Truth, and any save the skilled found themselves swamped and sunk and drawn away into the mysteries of the sea.

      There was a fair company at the Sign of the Dolphins, and Kla-Noh found a place in a shadowed corner and set himself to examine his companions. Most were bluff, wind-burned seamen with pale eyes, which seemed al­ways to be looking into deep skies and boundless oceans. There were a handful of shopkeepers and clerks from the warehouses. At the long table beneath the window sat a grim-faced and red-haired young man, who wrapped his hands about his glass and gazed into it as if seeking the ends of all being therein. He was huddled in a ragged cloak, and his shoes were mere collections of holes. This man interested Kla-Noh, if for no other reason than that he had the look of one with secrets of his own, and any secret at all drew Kla-Noh like a magnet.

      The Seeker bought a bottle of fair wine, then made his way to the long table and sat beside the man in the rag­ged cloak. After a lengthy moment, the ragged man’s green eyes reluctantly left his glass and sought his unexpected companion. Something in the face of the Seeker seemed to amuse him, for he chuckled low in his chest.

      “May I share your joke, my friend?” asked Kla-Noh. “And I shall gladly share with you my wine.”

      “Sit. Sit and be welcome, old man. You have the look of a Seeker. I, Si-Lun, have sought somewhat myself, and have a feeling for the craft!” He moved down the stained bench, making room, and Kla-Noh poured generously from his bottle.

      “You seem a stranger here,” said Kla-Noh. “Shar-Nuhn can be more lonely than a star to a stranger without friends or family.”

      “All places are lonely to me, Seeker,” answered the rag­ged man. “All lonely, alike, and all empty. The sea is my family and friend, my road and home.”

      The heart of Kla-Noh was touched, for he was a kindly man. And he thought, too, that one so ragged and rootless would be eager to help in his enterprise. His shrewd and withered features wrinkled in a smile, and he said to the ragged man, “If it will please you, I shall provide you with that which may substitute for family and friend, which will provide the home and make easier the road. And in return....”

      “And in return...,” echoed the man, and his eyes glowed greenly with strange laughter, and his lips twisted bitterly.

      “I ask only your skill as a sailor, that is all. For one little hour—perhaps two. And if your old calling as a Seeker should urge you to aid me more, then I should welcome and reward such help.”

      Si-Lun looked deeply into his eyes, lifted his glass, and said, “I shall give you aid. Tell me your plan, that I may know what it is that I promise.”

      And Kla-Noh took him across the curve of the bay, to the landing where the waters lipped and lapped against the shore at the foot of his terrace. Deep into the night they sat beneath the wheeling stars, speaking softly in darkness, and now and again they would look far out, be­yond the arm of the bay, where the Tower of Truth was only a speck of white light against the sea and the sky.

      * * * *

      In a month, when again the moon rode below the hori­zon, they had completed their plan. A strongly ribbed dory bore them out of the bay and into the full surge of the Purple Waters. Si-Lun strove mightily with the oars,