Amon had been traveling through the deep mountain forests for three days now, and at every rest along the way he practiced the air elemental divine arts as the Old Madman had instructed. With the experience of the water elemental divine arts behind him and that staff to help, he mastered the low-tier air arts quickly. Then, when practicing, he stopped taking the shortcut of the staff and worked with nothing but his own divine power—far more difficult, of course.
Schrödinger never walked on its own. While Amon traveled, it slept soundly in the leather satchel, eating only one meal a day at dusk—but that meal had to be made specially for it by Amon. Amon had gotten the cat's temper down pat, so he simply let it eat first and ate afterward himself, and Schrödinger seemed quite satisfied with the arrangement.
The deeper into the mountains he went, the more humid the air became. Though the change along the way was very slight, Amon—versed in every low-tier water elemental divine art and currently practicing the air arts—noticed it keenly enough.
Some description of the terrain around Duke Town is in order. To its north lies the Assyrian Plateau, vast and forbidding and utterly desolate; to the east are more steep mountains, but thickly wooded. The southwest is comparatively low, flat plain. Wind blowing in off the ocean from the southwest crosses those plains directly and carries little rain, which is why the dry Xuya Desert has formed south of the town. To the northeast, the sea wind meets the mountains, is blocked, and forms convection—plenty of rain, and the Yudi River is born from it.
The mountains are too rough for people to settle in, and neither the Black Fire Thicket nor the Xuya Desert is fit for founding towns. Duke Town sits right on the edge of that transition, at the foot of the mountains to the southeast: a ravine stream supplies drinking water so it isn't too dry, but the soil is fairly barren.
Amon headed east, the land rising steadily, straight into the belt where the sea wind is stopped halfway up the mountains and turns to convection. Amon, who had seen so little rain in all his years, met with one rain after another. Sometimes the rain came down like flying threads, so dense and fine that the wind drove them into a man's collar. Sometimes it poured so hard that he couldn't make out anything in any direction, and the ground underfoot was frighteningly slick.
Walking through country like that in the rain was dangerous. There was no path, and one careless step could send a man down a cliff with not even a bone left to find. By rights Amon should have stopped and waited for the rain to pass, but the rain kept starting and stopping, so he had no choice but to push on through it. Schrödinger sneezed every time it rained—not like a cold, just a look of deep displeasure.
Amon wasn't about to gamble with his life, but he had another way. Whenever the first threads of rain began to drift down, he used the staff. A light rain swirled away spinning on the wind; a heavy one congealed into a curtain of water that spilled down around him; Amon's body stayed dry and he could still see the path underfoot. If any other divine artist had seen Amon casting water and air elemental divine arts at the same time just to walk through the rain, he probably would have coughed up blood.
Should a noble divine artist really be putting himself through such misery to walk in the rain? Even if one absolutely had to go out in a downpour, one could sit in a comfortable covered carriage; where carriages couldn't go, one could put on a waterproof cloak and boots and have sturdy slaves follow with a big umbrella. Divine power runs out and has to be restored by rest, just as an ordinary man's strength gives out, and it's far more exhausting than ordinary physical labor. Noble divine artists do not torment themselves this way.
If they knew what kind of staff Amon was holding, they might do more than cough up blood—they might faint outright. That staff was what let Amon travel the deep mountains in the rain while casting two divine arts at once. At first he hadn't thought of it as practice at all; it was only to keep the rain off, since the Old Madman had told him not to rely on special godstones for ordinary practice.
The water and the wind weren't summoned by him; they were the natural forces of heaven and earth at work. Amon happened to recall the words the Old Madman had left him before their parting: "While you cultivate these two elemental divine arts, don't go chasing high tiers first. Pay attention instead to how, standing before nature, you oppose it, make use of it, and protect yourself. If you can control a single drop of water, then learn how to keep that drop from being scattered apart in a river."
It was as though Amon had discovered another way of practicing divine arts on his own: not calling up wind and rain, but facing the power of wind and rain, using divine arts to go along with it, and traveling through it without getting soaked. And it was only thanks to that staff that he could practice this way at all.
Leaning on the heavy refined-iron staff and carrying a lazy fat cat on his back, Amon walked alone for three days and three nights through mountains whose skies shifted without warning, and when the rain came he cast two kinds of magic at once to fend off wind and weather. For his stamina, his energy, and his mana, it was an enormous trial and drain—likely more brutal than any march on the continent.
Though his body stayed dry, in those wet, muddy mountains he sometimes had to climb rock faces and sometimes had to clear a path with his blade, which demanded a high degree of coordination among strength, agility and endurance. In fact it was the finest sort of combat-arts training—just not the fighting technique of the battlefield. He met fierce beasts several times along the way, and Amon discovered that the one who needed to be afraid wasn't him. A few light swings of the iron branch and those fearsome-looking beasts all fled.
Amon didn't hunt, or chase game either. He kept the Old Madman's words in mind. After walking east three days straight he came to a high slope, looked out in every direction, then frowned, hesitating. The Old Madman wanted him, three days on, to climb the highest peak in sight. Here there were plainly two mountains, one to the left and one to the right, which he'd spotted the day before; he guessed that in two more days, when he could see farther around, the highest points would still be those two.
But he couldn't tell which was higher. Because of the angle, looking up he saw only drifting cloud wrapping both summits. On the right stood a steep peak, jagged with strange rock and sheer-walled with cliffs, which seemed a touch higher—but Amon would have a hard time climbing it. The mountain on the right was grander in form, with folds rising range upon range up high; it wasn't one peak but a whole ridged plateau.
So which way? As Amon hesitated, Schrödinger suddenly stretched, jumped out of the leather pouch, and trotted off downhill on little quick steps to the right. This lazy cat was actually walking on its own! Amon hurried after it, nearly slipping—the slope was covered in damp moss and there was almost nowhere to plant a foot—and shouted as he chased: "Schrödinger, where are you going?"
The cat didn't go far. It stopped in a little valley, lifted a forepaw to point upward, and gave a soft meow. Amon, catching up, looked where the paw pointed, and there—a narrow goat path winding up between the trees. Schrödinger clearly meant to show him the way, but that there truly was a path in these mountains surprised him.
Amon spotted footprints. Someone had come through only days ago, broad flat feet, no shoes—cave-dwelling wild folk, surely. It probably led to a fairly large tribe of them. All along this journey Amon had done his best to avoid running into cave-dwelling wild folk, and now Schrödinger wanted him to head straight that way.
There was no reasoning with the cat, of course. He studied the tracks nearby a while longer, and found to his surprise that there were two sets of shod footprints! One set was made by shoes woven from mountain hemp grass, their slightly coarse patterns woven tightly and fine; the other person wore boots with leather soles and treads.
Boots like that keep out water and don't slip—very well suited to mountain trails—but generally only people of some standing could afford them. Judging by the prints, the treads had worn nearly smooth: an old pair of boots. This line of prints looked like the newest of the lot; the man had come through less than a day ago, most like. Could there be anyone out here besides cave-dwelling wild folk? This was deep mountain country, far from any town or human habitation!
"Schrödinger, are we really taking this path? There seem to be cave-dwelling wild folk on this mountain, and there are fresh footprints left by someone else, which is very strange. If we run into them, who knows what trouble we'll be in?" Amon said to the cat, in a tone that invited discussion.
Schrödinger twisted its neck, glanced back at Amon in a way that seemed to scorn a useless coward, then squatted there watching the mountain path. Amon understood that Schrödinger wanted him to climb this mountain, so he picked the cat up, put it back in the leather pouch, and set off with his staff toward the high mountain ahead on the right.
As he picked Schrödinger up, Amon had a strange feeling: this lazy, greedy fat cat, after three days of being fed and watered well by him, had actually gotten a little thinner, and its fur had grown cleaner too, not the grubby thing it had been. And when it had jumped out of the pouch just now, its shape had carried a hint of the lithe, nimble grace a cat ought to have.
Just as Amon was climbing the trail to higher ground, a party of noble lords arrived at Duke Town. Distinguished personages from far away rarely came to Duke Town, this hardscrabble mining district with its harsh conditions and brutal surroundings, yet the place had been lively of late. Rod-Dick had been gone less than three months when the chief administrator of the city-state of Xuya, Provincial Lord Faymiyang-Xiaomo, arrived as well.
The post road through the Black Fire Thicket was only wide enough for single-shaft carriages to pass each other. When Xiaomo's splendid double-shaft carriage came through, every other person and cart had to duck into the roadside brush to give way. Riding a carriage like this on an official post road was an outright symbol of rank and standing; ordinary folk, however rich, would never be passed at the checkpoints.
But this time Xiaomo's carriage was only the lead carriage, clearing the way, and in it rode Duke Town's priest Xiaogu and Xiaomo's assistant Mister-Morton. In the second carriage sat Mise Landir, an envoy sent from the Hatti royal capital, an official of the Hatti Kingdom's Ministry of Law and a fifth-rank divine artist besides—no great figure in the royal capital, naturally, but coming to the city-state of Xuya as a special envoy he seemed very exalted indeed, and every local official along the route had to wait on him with care.
The last carriage was broad and comfortable, built of the finest snow-cedar, without much ornate decoration: a plain canopy, and on its roof only the emblem of the Temple of Enlil. That was Gelie's carriage, with High Priest Cosman sitting inside beside him. Cavalry escorted the procession front and rear; never had such a grand train been seen on the post road through the Black Fire Thicket.
Landir was delighted with himself, even a little giddy, filled with the satisfaction of a river dragon released into the sea. As the imperial envoy from the royal capital, his standing really was out of the ordinary: he had come merely to punish a miner in Duke Town, and here even the grand divine artist Gelie had followed along—who else could boast such an attendant? And with Gelie came Xuya's Provincial Lord Xiaomo, so that everyone seemed to be at his service alone.
Eerie and desolate as the Black Fire Thicket was, Landir's heart was in full bloom.
Xiaogu, sitting in the first carriage, was in full bloom too. His Reverence the priest's "illness" was entirely cured, and he looked more spirited than usual, quite glowing with health. This trip to the city-state had paid off handsomely: he had actually found a chance to cultivate Lord Landir of the royal capital. Arrogant as Landir was in his speech, he had still chatted with him a good deal about the local produce, and had shown a particular interest in godstones—and even a hint of appreciation for him.
Best of all, he had learned what Lord Landir had come for: he was here to punish Amon, to have the boy beheaded in public! Ever since Ma Qi went missing, Xiaogu had been unable to eat or sleep peacefully. Amon had become a thorn in his side and a nail in his flesh, yet he dared not provoke him again. Well, now everything was settled, and he wouldn't even have to lift a finger.
Lord Landir did show him a measure of appreciation, especially when Xiaogu told him that Amon had a Deep Blue Water Heart. Landir's eyes lit up, and he asked: "Xiaogu, how do you think Amon's belongings ought to be handled?"
The royal capital's order was only to behead Amon in public; it said nothing about confiscating his property. What property would a small-town miner have worth confiscating? The kingdom's Ministry of Law would never think of such a thing. And here Xiaogu had brought him such a piece of good news.
Amon's "estate" should by rights go to his father. But Xiaogu blinked and said: "The taxes owed on those godstones Amon obtained were advanced out of my own pocket. That batch of godstones ought to be confiscated by this town's temple. And the Deep Blue Water Heart, of course, must be presented to you, my lord—such is the will of the gods! It is you, after all, whom they have brought here to punish his crimes."
Landir nodded in satisfaction. "Xiaogu, it's a waste of your talents to be nothing but a priest and scribe in a little town!" — That one sentence had kept Xiaogu awake all night yesterday with excitement.
Word came by fast horse, and when Town Chief Dasti received the news he rang the bell of the Muyun Temple at first light, gathered the townsfolk, and had them line both sides of the post road east of town to welcome the party, sprinkling water and flower petals on the surface of the road. Around Duke Town there was no way to pick that many fresh flowers in a hurry, so plenty of fresh green leaves were scattered about as decoration too, which looked rather nice.
When Xiaogu rode into Duke Town on the provincial lord's carriage, he too felt rather giddy, and for a moment he even fancied that the townsfolk and Town Chief Dasti were welcoming him. Once the lords had taken their seats to rest in the temple's council hall and the maids had brought fine wine and pastries and they had listened to a long round of flattery and compliments, Landir finally asked, with great haughtiness: "Where is that miner of yours called Amon? Bring him to the temple gate this instant, gather all the townsfolk—I will punish him in public!"
Good spirits or not, Landir found Duke Town's smoky, grimy, stifling air hard to endure. He had none of Rod-Dick's patience; he wanted to leave the moment he arrived. All he wanted was to finish the errand, collect his benefits, and get back to the city-state of Xuya to enjoy the fine wine, fine food and fine women Provincial Lord Xiaomo had prepared for him. He wasn't willing to spend even a single night in Duke Town.
At that, Dasti froze for a moment before answering: "Amon? He left Duke Town three days ago. In accordance with the kingdom's decree, I sent him off, in public."
"What? That miner ran away! Xiaogu told me about the laws here—miners in Duke Town can't leave without permission. What is the meaning of this! Are you deliberately making trouble for this lord? I came bearing an order from the royal capital!" Landir's voice shot up an octave; he sounded quite beside himself.
Xiaogu's face darkened as well, and in his alarm he actually barked at Dasti: "What's the matter with you, letting Amon get away?"
Dasti thought to himself, Has my scribe taken the wrong medicine? He shot him a glare. "Xiaogu, did you hear wrong just now? I sent Amon away from Duke Town in accordance with the kingdom's decree—he did not run off by himself." Then, in an alarmed tone, he said to Landir: "My lord, I am truly sorry! I had no idea you were coming because of Amon. The thing is ..."
Dasti recounted what had happened three days before, and concluded: "Every person in town can bear witness—everyone except Xiaogu, who was away from his post sick. It was simply the unluckiest coincidence."
Landir demanded, "A decree? What decree? How is it that I have never heard of such a decree?"
Dasti produced a parchment scroll and handed it to him with great respect: "This is the kingdom's decree. Please examine it, my lord."
Thirty years ago Landir hadn't even been born, so of course he had never heard of this decree. He stared at it for a long while, then asked blankly: "Who is Bel?"
"Er—the evil grand mage Bel?" Gelie suddenly reached out and took the parchment scroll. He nodded. "Mm ... this is indeed that decree. I brought it here myself thirty years ago. Back then I was only a priest of the Xuya Temple, and Dasti's father was the town chief here."
Provincial Lord Xiaomo asked curiously: "Honored grand divine artist, might I have a look at this decree?"
Gelie tossed the scroll to him carelessly. "Don't you trust my word? Go back and have your scribe look through the archives—there's an identical copy there."
Xiaomo studied it for a long while too, and at last asked the crucial question: "Dasti, can you tell me why a decree that no one has paid the slightest attention to for thirty years would suddenly be enforced?"