Luke sat high on his stallion Trestren. He had wanted to call it Morgrith, slayer of nations, but Hartor had warned him the people of the mountains were too superstitious to allow the use of that particular name. The fabled metal sword that could cleave a man’s head off with one blow. The horse was obedient, familiar with the weight, but Luke felt there was a dominant presence in its heart, a fountain of power waiting to be unleashed. Somehow reminding him of his brother but he pushed those thoughts aside. Black as the pebbles in the mountain gully, shoulders not far off the height of a man. Tamed by Igor’s hand from a foal, Trestren singled Luke out from other commanders. Taking it at a walk along the path from Stonebridge he was intent on reaching the Lodge before dark despite the distance. His eyes surveying the road worn by countless journeys up and down the long river valley that connected to the lower lands below, the scars where trees had recently been uprooted to allow easier passage, the carved stones which indicated the way and gave distance by grooves, with symbols to represent Halfway House and the town of Agor. Simen travelled fifty paces behind, some men from his troop acting as Luke’s bodyguard. They were lightly clad in the summer heat, carrying armour on the back of each horse but there had been no encounters in recent months. Luke’s army had plenty of metal weapons and being under Hartor’s authority would not be attacked. Turning off the road he trampled the high grass down to the stream bed, where he dismounted to water the horse.

“We’ll break half an hour here, Simen, then give the horses a run out. Say two hours for twenty leagues and slow down for the final part. That’ll be well before dark.”

“Sounds strong. I’ll tell the men.”

A number of seats had been built by the stream, carved from a felled tree. An indistinct path led to a ford where the water was ankle deep.

“It’s only the second time I’ve been here this year, despite getting all those seats made. I brought Ruth here in the spring with Samor. The water was higher then.”

Simen rocked as his seat adjusted on an insecure foundation. “It’s a popular place now. For those who have access to a horse, that is. On a rest-day you can often find couples up here. The brother of the innkeeper in Agor, he’s the man who lets people borrow them.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a rest-day for the horses.”

“No, that’s true. I know he gives them a day off in ten but they still work pretty hard. On workdays there’s always demand from labourers and on rest days people want to travel.”

“So do you come down here with Lora?”

“As often as we can. It’s one of the advantages of being able to get a horse for free. It’s a great place for meeting people. We bring Susa up here too. She sits between us. She loves riding. In a couple of years time we thought we’d get her a foal so she can start riding it on her own by the time she’s eight.”

“Yes. Two years is about the right age for an eight year old. D’you think she’ll make a racer?”

Simen laughed. “We haven’t made plans to enter her into the Festival yet, if that’s what you mean. No we’ll let her develop and see how she turns out. We’re going to have another one to worry about in a few months anyway.”

“You too? Ruth will be her in time by autumn.”

“Excellent news. Are you hoping for a girl or a boy?”

“I don’t mind particularly. A boy would help ensure someone to carry on after me. But I’m worried if Samor has a brother I’ll be setting up a fight.”

“Always the worry. It’s a good time though. Have you noticed how children are doing well this year? I was talking to Morian. No wars and fewer bandits, he said. And more food for everyone.”

They sat quietly, champing tree gum to keep their teeth clean. Up the hill they could hear the turbulence of the stream where it carved a deeper trench with rocks buttressing the far side, but here it was shallow and whirlpools played around the jutting stones. Luke felt listless, serene, as if he had entered a place of power. He looked at the sun.

“But we must keep going. Ever onwards, up and up. Until we reach the top. Then we become gods. Sometimes I feel we must be pretty close.”

Simen said nothing, gathering the men and mounting. Luke rode with them, silent in the little crowd. Fording the stream a breath of cool air struck them and they coaxed the horses into a trot then a gallop, shouts punctuating the stillness as they raced to be first to crest the next low hill.

*

Luke found the messenger waiting at the Lodge. It had to have come via Trantrith or the man would have seen them on route. That meant Hartor had received the news first. He listened to the message then sent him away. He could be there mid-morning the next day. An evening trip did not appeal despite the urgency.

He was woken at daybreak by two men he had detailed the night before. The trio encouraged their horses up the slope to Gida, still no one could agree whether to use the Athelean or the Trantrith name Gat for the village. Easing the animals up the difficult final stretch of the ascent. They stopped for food and water in the old centre of the place, now growing into a town that was defining the border between the two countries. Then they raced the descent along the clear path that skirted the contours south of the mountainside to Treaty. Even though the horses were fit it was as much as they could do to reach the new town and the animals gratefully retired to their assigned stables for the rest of the day.

Peter met the group on foot once they had everything in order. His detachment took them straight to Commander South.

“Thank you, Peter. I want just Luke and myself for fifteen minutes. Can you set up a secure state please?”

Peter left the pair of them, escorting Luke’s men along with his own. He set up four guards, one for each corner of the hut, twenty paces distant. Luke was familiar with the arrangement.

“I see why you do it now. Exactly the same formalities for any visitor, including myself, no matter what their business. This time you really do have something important to tell me but no one need suspect anything unusual.”

“Except for one thing. Many people saw the prisoner being brought in. They won’t know who he is but they can easily guess where he comes from. And it’s not every day you pass by either. It won’t take much intelligence to figure out that something important’s happening. Which may unfortunately bring us into conflict with Rah.”

“Well if everyone else knows you may as well enlighten me.”

“We had a visitor yesterday. On horseback. A stolen horse, it turned out. Brown, with white markings.”

“One of Rah’s.”

“The man identified himself as Pol, a metal forger from Kingston City.”

“I know him.”

“He asked for protection. He says he wants to give allegiance to Hartor. Apparently he’s wanted by the Castle Guard.”

“So are a lot of people, if it’s anything like it used to be.”

“It’s everything like it used to be. Worse. I’ve been here for all the months since the battle. If what he tells us is true another big clampdown is starting. But there’s another possibility which worries me.”

“I can see. He may have been sent by Rah with a story. He could be in search of Hartor’s secrets. Not that any of us even start to know them. It would make sense. Either way it gives us a problem.”

“It’s more of a problem for me. My allegiance is directly to Rah. If I fail to send him back I’ll be liable for recall myself.”

“Then send him back,” said Luke.

“But if he’s genuine? We’ll be sending him into trouble and the Eleneans won’t like their people coming out here.”

“That will happen anyway. Certainly. But we don’t want to give the wrong signals. Just send him back. Make sure everyone sees you do it. Maybe he’ll never reach Elenea.”

Luke sent a messenger on the long journey back to the Lodge. Finding fresh horses he took two of his men along the same trail, veering east once out of sight of Treaty. They camped in the same woods where Luke had been attacked by Hartor’s men on his way through the Borderlands. Simen brought out eight fighters to join them.

It was no contest. When the four guards from Treaty arrived on foot with their unwilling captive the horses charged in and scattered them. The escort were Castle Guard and though he was not particularly keen he did not allow himself guilt about despatching them. One of his soldiers grabbed the frightened prisoner and the detachment carried him back to the Lodge. Spies would confirm to Rah or whoever they served that Commander South had sent the prisoner back to Elenea as ordered, so Luke did not return to Treaty but instead made his way into the hills of Trantrith and made orders for his own horse to be sent up a couple of days later.

*

When he finally managed to meet the prisoner at the Lodge a couple of days later the news from Elenea was not good. Luke was aware of a spate of arrests after his defeat of Wolf, but things had soon quietened down. There had been a constant flow of traders and officials between the two countries, encouraged by the rapid development of horse travel. Peter had been travelling up and down the country almost every week, bringing news and visitors. But when he thought about it Luke realised the visitors had all been from outlying districts rather than from the city itself. And Peter rarely volunteered information on sensitive matters, he just talked about his progress in building his town. So the reports from the defector gave Luke fresh insight into Rah’s kingdom.

“Do they seem to have been concentrating on anyone in particular?”

“There’s a lot of talk about Athelea in official circles, so I’m told. Anyone who’s had any trade dealings here has been keeping pretty low recently.”

“And you say it’s been going on for nearly two months?”

“It started with an attack on the Castle. One man was sneaked in and killed a guard. He was killed himself almost immediately, so no one knew whether he was acting on his own or part of a plot to assassinate Rah. Then Mitoh was killed ...”

Luke started.

“I’m sorry, sir. Of course you wouldn’t have known. It was about ten days ago. No one really knows how it happened and he was immediately replaced by his brother, so to outsiders nothing has changed. But it has been used as an excuse to persuade Rah that new security measures are necessary. There are rumours now that prisoners are disappearing into the mountains and no one ever sees them again.”

“Oh my goodness. There’ll be war within the country.”

“I don’t think so. In my job I make weapons for Rah’s army. There’s been a lot of experimenting with different designs. Rumour goes around that border conflicts are about to break out. Obviously that will require strict security measures in the city. People are inclined to go along with it. They desire peace more than anything else.”

Luke did not relish his side’s chances in a straight fight with Elenea. Athelea was light in metal in comparison with its powerful neighbour. Only the commanders’ personal troops carried metal weapons. And Luke his own knife. Beyond that they would be slaughtered. Or more likely their horses would be felled. If Elenea was disunited that was one thing, but if they all fell behind their ruler a full invasion could be a popular move. Time to ask Hartor’s advice.

*

“Your understanding of the situation is quite so. You would be defenceless against Rah. Commander South is bound to side with Elenea. That would cause disarray in the Borderlands, giving Rah time to concentrate on you. With inferiority in metal, and maybe fifty horses if you are lucky, you’d be crushed. But if you tried to pre-empt him with a raid on Rakir you’d simply never get there. And don’t do that, anyway.” Hartor turned to face the lake, wiping his beard. “I hear there were a couple more came yesterday.”

“Yes. One had weapons, which is useful. And the other brought a horse. Apparently the Elenean soldiers are less fierce for the moment in the countryside and don’t bother to chase down so hard. Maybe there is less sympathy for the City in the south of the country where life is tougher.”

“What’s Commander South like?”

“Everyone believes he’s loyal to Rah.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. You presumably think otherwise.”

“You can never tell with a commander. When you handle power you have to decide your loyalties for yourself. And you can never afford to tell anyone what you’re thinking.”

“And Peter?”

“He should be a commander himself. Except he’s too young. But he’s back and forth all the time. He must know more about the world than almost anyone. I’m a bit worried about this Commander Tivoli that he deals with. I don’t like such a close connection to the Castle Guard. It could give us useful information but it could just as easily trap him into the Elenean side.”

“We can’t afford to let him away can we? Bring him to me. Don’t order him from Elenea, wait until he next arrives in Treaty.”

Hartor gave Peter control of some men and sent him to the Hinderith for training with Marcos. Marcos had achieved a reputation for taming the mountain valleys. Hartor summoned Luke and assured him that they would both be kept out of the way until the autumn rains set in.

“I’ve kept a lot back from you and Marcos. He probably knows much of it already. He would have learnt it from my brother.” He paused to observe Luke’s reaction. “But he won’t know the most important parts. Let me take you in and show you what we’re fighting for.”

He took Luke to a cave entrance behind the trees. Luke knew about the caves. He had been in them both by invitation and out of curiosity. Horses were stabled there and there was other evidence of human activity. He was convinced the caves led somewhere but had never been able to find a passage through.

“How many times have you been here, Luke? Apart from the times we have invited you ourselves.”

“Oh, er, well, a couple I guess. Just to have a look at the horses.”

“Come, come. You can’t just look at horses can you?” Luke guiltily said nothing.

“I imagine you’ve given all the caves a thorough going over. But you haven’t found what you were looking for have you?”

“There’s something different. Where’s that draught coming from?” He moved to the source of the air. “This is new isn’t it?”

“We keep it blocked at night and whenever there might be visitors snooping around.” He chuckled at Luke. “Why don't you step inside?”

“It’s a chimney, though. Is there something up there?”

Hartor stepped past Luke and grunted as he heaved himself up into the opening. Luke placed one foot on the sheer wall and worked his way up to join him.

As he became accustomed to the absence of sunlight Luke began to notice the shapes around him. First the faint light source from below, then Hartor’s bulk standing next to him. Gradually a diffuse light from above entered his consciousness. All the time his hair was stroked by the unvarying breeze, carrying with it the signs of human occupation.

“Shall we start up?” asked Hartor.

He stepped onto stone boulders, each above the last, each carefully shaped. Luke realised for the first time that steps could be built inside a structure, he had always imagined the Old Ones had built their steps first and assembled the houses around them. These were huge. Each as high as Luke’s knee and, as far as he could tell, each chipped to the same height and length. After fifteen steps Hartor stopped. Light shone dimly from a passage to the right and the steps continued to the left.

After the next fifteen a dark passage stretched off to the left, the steps continuing to the right. This passage was undoubtedly lived in, bearing odours both food and human, though lacking the unrefined stench of the bandits’ cave. They continued up.

“How much further?” asked Luke as they took a rest. He slipped off his pack. Hartor had had good reason to tell him to bring food and water.

“We’re about quarter of the way so far.”

“So there are how many sets altogether?”

“You’re not much good at counting are you? We have been up nine sets of fifteen. Four lots of nine are thirty-six. The actual total is thirty-eight.”

“And who are the people who live here? More to the point, where do they get their food from? And how do they keep clean in such a closed environment?”

“Keep counting. Stop me when we get to fourteen.”

They carried on up. Most of the levels were unoccupied. Luke stopped. Fourteen was a dark passage.

“So do we go along here?”

“Go in a straight line. There are no turnings.”

The breeze was still on Luke’s face, though not so strong. It was not a mountain smell, more like farmland. Damp. Earth and animals. As they progressed a tiny point of light came into view. Slowly it broadened into a blue patch of sky.

“This tunnel was built in such a direction that the sun would never shine straight down it and blind people as they walk along.”

“You built it?” Luke immediately realised the stupidity of the question. The place was more ancient than the gods.

“I’ll show you the part I built. It’s higher up.”

The passage ended in an open cave-mouth. Hartor warned Luke to stop. Below them cliffs fell twenty span or more. Luke gaped with astonishment.

A complete land spread itself out below their feet. At the base of the cliff it was laid as a plain with houses and fields, a village looking like a miniature country of its own. Grassy meadows, darker areas of vegetation and cultivated trees. A few farmers and hands busily on the soil digging, herding, cutting. Huts and houses near and distant. Not many in any particular area but the flat land near the mountain cliff merged into more farms up and down hill all the way to the sea maybe twenty leagues away. Two posts above the front entrance of a large open building on the top of one of the near hills indicated a shrine. Many areas beyond not visible as they were covered by a vast range of hills and trees.

He looked at Hartor. Standing in the cave mouth, a king surveying his lands. His gaze returned to the open expanse. To the right the blue sea reached up to the heavens. Ahead and to the left, looking into the sun, mountains. Only by climbing to the peak of one of the nearer summits could anyone suspect.

“So this is where civilisation hides out in times of war. Perfect.”

“And in times of peace. This is one of the places where our ancestors survived the fall of the Old Ones and gradually built their way up to civilisation again.”

“This is what you’re telling me. You must have stories about it.”

“We don’t know as much as you would like. I know how curious you are. But come inside.”

They walked back into the disorienting blackness of the long corridor. Luke first, the breeze on their backs, his eyes taking a long time to adjust.

“I keep thinking I’m going to fall down a trap. It’s spinning in here.”

“There are no traps within the mountain. What would be the point? Luke,” Hartor hesitated a second, “Do you have any idea how old the land outside is?”

“Well I would assume it had always been there.”

“No. It was built. The houses of the Old Ones were completey abandoned. Like in your country they were forbidden for all generations. Only when people were greedy for building stone did anyone go near even the most isolated buildings and then they wouldn’t touch anything inside, just burnt it all. Until they discovered the use for metal and realised it could be found in the remains of the houses.”

“Well it must date back to before the Mountain Wars. From what you’ve said there must have been previous wars so it would go back before the Flood caused its devastation in Rakir. Am I getting close?”

“No. You know the legends of the Bear and the Tiger?”

“Of course. But that’s ancient.”

“So is this. The area was once a marsh. When men came in desperation to the mountain they could at first only live in caves and the tunnels of the Old Ones. They had to build doors to keep wild animals out and vents for air. Only the gods know what they did for food, they must have had to forage and hunt all over the land. As they constructed paths and tunnels the rubble was thrown over the cliff into the land below. Gradually it created a pile and and started to grass over. Hartor, known for ever after as Great Hartor, found a way to drain the marsh and levelled the area and he introduced edible plants. Maybe his idea was just to let forest grow wild for plants and animals like your Forest but suddenly it developed into the kind of farming we are familiar with nowadays. Hartor quickly saw it as a means of civilising the scattered families of the region who were constantly warring. So he passed the skill onto any who were willing and they soon settled patches of land. Gradually a nation built up. Great Hartor was lucky, it became that this nation was so much stronger than the original tribes. So a later Hartor, every bit as great but known to legend as Little Hartor, built the lake on the other side of the mountain and planted trees to make a screen. At the same time he demolished all routes to the plain other than from the coast or through the mountain. The last and best thing he did was to maintain total secrecy about the land. Gradually knowledge died out and in the other parts of our world the various tribes were allowed to think they were masters. But they never entered the mountains to find out what was there because of all the legends we created to frighten them away. And because people entering Trantrith rarely came out again.”

“So where does Rah fit into all this?”

“Rah is a newcomer. One of our ancestors helped him to become king and taught him the principles of dynastic succession. It worked, gradually and not all that well. There are still wars and not all Rahs are fit for the position. But they survived the Flood, which is a sign that our efforts have not been wasted.”

Luke had begun to think that the world was permanently dark by the time the corridor opened into the grey light of the staircase. He looked at Hartor, hoping to go down, but suspecting that the day was not yet over. They started up the steps again.

Four flights later Hartor stopped, panting. He pointed to the wall on the left.

Luke looked. The light from the corridor opposite showed up the symbol carved into the stone. “Sure. It’s the same Hartor emblem that’s at the top of each set.”

“Look carefully. See the two horizontal marks. The steps you have just walked up were built by Hartor the Great.”

“What, all of them? That’s a huge labour.”

“No, the last flight. Fifteen steps.”

“Doesn’t sound so bold when you say that. I’d have thought he’d have done two or three.”

“Each Hartor builds one level. That is how it has always been. The steps go first left then right so water can be made to flow along each level rather than rushing straight down. You’ll be familiar with breaking rock by fire and chipping away with flints. There are one or two passages of the Old Ones too, which save a lot of labour as long as we take care to drain them well. When we get to the top I’ll show you the set that I have built.”

“So the level before this was built by Hartor the Great’s father. And before that ... huh? Hartor, there are eighteen levels below us.”

“Correct. And there are twenty above. I did tell you thirty-eight. Now you understand how old this place is. Let’s carry on.”

Luke checked carefully at each turning of the staircase. Hartor’s symbol was there every time. After four more flights he saw the symbol but this time with a single horizontal line attached.

“This one must be Hartor the Little’s set. Isn’t it?”

“Yes. How many years since the Fall, Luke?”

“Hey. How can I ...? Well, what is it, twenty-five years between father and son. That means twenty-five lots of twenty-two. No, twenty-two lots of twenty-five. But I’d have to go to Kingston City to find anyone who could work that out. And that assumes twenty-five years has always been true.”

“Or you could ask me. I’ve already told you that all civilisation comes from the mountains. Look. See these extra marks on the wall.”

“Yes. They tell you what level we’re on. They’re the same marks as they use in Elenea to record buying and selling instead of barter.”

“We gave the system to Elenea generations back. All their arithmetic was practised here all those generations ago.”

“So what’s the answer then?”

“Five hundred and fifty years to this level. And we still have a long way to go. But yes, we are making an assumption. Early Hartors may only have ruled for a few years. We know the lineage started straight after the fall of the Old Ones, I will show you. So from then to now could be five hundred years or ten hundred, we have no way of knowing. And it is not actually father to son like in Elenea, it is more complicated.”

Four levels higher Luke found another symbol that appeared next to Hartor’s.

“This comes from when the Elenean kingdom had become fully established. Their ancestors had lived in the north land that stretches out into the sea. When Hartor found Rah had also dominated the lowlands where Rakir is now established he gave his support. Without giving any secrets away of course. None of their rulers has ever been here but we put their symbols up.”

More exhausting levels and Luke finally found something he had been half expecting. He sat down, for the first time noticing the increasing cold. Opposite him Hartor’s symbol had been engraved as usual and adjacent to his and Rah’s symbol the deer of the Lodge.

“There can’t be many more to go now. I can feel the top approaching. What happens when the path gets to the summit.”

“There is a saying.” Hartor took the steps more slowly, heaving himself up each one. “‘Six hundred steps line the path to the gods.’ The legend is that when forty levels have been built the world will be at peace under a single ruler and men will have become gods.”

“And thirty-eight have been built so far.”

“Come on. Let’s get to the top.”

Luke was tiring as they continued and had to admire the older man’s stamina. “Well this is thirty-eight. I think we’re on the last one now.”

“Correct. Please admire my handiwork.”

“It looks exactly the same as all the others.”

“Exactly. That’s the aim. Stability in a world of change. And you will notice if you have been observant that the step height is the same all the way up. The original Hartor must have known the height that was one six hundredth part of the mountain. It does not get to the exact top, there is a building of the Old Ones above which is a walk most people do not take.”

Luke sat on a plinth by the top step, looking out the opening to his right. He shivered slightly. Where the staircase should have continued it was solid rock. Outside, a vast panorama spread below them to the north. The lake seemed tiny, two men walking by its side looking like dots in the distance. Diverging from its far end was the path he had travelled with Marcos from Athelea. Further still his home country shrouded itself in haze behind the mountains. The Hinderith was invisible. To his left the view was a rounded sweep of headland, angling in to a huge sweeping bay half lost in mist. A wide path of the Old Ones curved down the mountains all the way to the coast, Luke could see it had been cleared like the route he had helped to build in Elenea.

“I had hoped it would be a clear day. Seems I shall have to tell you myself about the view to the north.”

“North? That would be Athelea and the Hinderith and then the sea and the Outland beyond.” Luke suddenly forgot his tiredness. Is there an island there? Or just Outland?”

“More than just Outland,” said Hartor.

“What do you mean? Something magical?”

“Not magic. Just land.”

“But you just said it wasn’t an island.”

“It’s not. It stretches all across the sea. What you see from the coast is just the tips of mountains. It is a vast land, the world we know could fit into it may times over.”

“So now you are starting to talk about Asrith?”

Hartor looked at Luke understandingly.

“So it really exists? Can you see them? Can you watch them crossing to our world?”

“I hate to disappoint you. I used to look all the time when I was a boy. On clear days I’d spend hours up here. There’s a way outside to the very peak, if you’re agile and avoid the large building of the Old Ones. But I have never managed to see a god. Maybe, though, by the time the legend is fulfilled we may have the power to travel there ourselves.”

“How on earth would we get there? It must be so many leagues.”

“Fifty or maybe even a hundred. Ruth is better, she is adept with numbers. Ask her. She thinks something else too.”

“More conjecture or old stories?”

“No. She has deduced this. She noticed that we can see more of the Outland mountains here than we can from the northern coast. I have taken her there many times, we have sneaked in and out with no one noticing. She says the world is build on a giant dome with us in the centre. She says there is land in every direction only we cannot see it, it is too far away, But we do know that birds fly up from the south, that is where the flamingos come from every year.”

“But we cannot fly and nothing can get us there.”

“Nothing yet. But the Old Ones had ways. Like their carts, which you call shells but what you see are just the rotten remains of things that could move without being pulled by men or horses. We will have to think and think.”

Luke pondered. “And how can you work out how far Asrith might be?”

“You expect me to know everything?”

“Tell me. I know you know.”

“Right. Let me tell you. I worked it out as a boy, roughly. When I was older I discovered it had been known for years, perhaps hundreds. You can do it for yourself if you like.

“If I hold fingers up at arm’s length against the tallest mountain on the northern land, the one you would call Asrith, it stretches from the top of my thumb to the top of my finger which is three finger widths. If you walk towards Athelea and look back at this mountain you are standing on, you will have to travel four leagues before it appears the same size.”

“So it’s just four leagues away.”

“Hold on just a minute. I realised very quickly that I was wrong to think that. The mountain on the Outland is not necessarily the same height as this one. In fact it is much higher. There is snow on the top, even in summer. So I waited for winter, when there was snow here as well, and measured up to the snow lines. That was only three fingers. Again I made the distance only four leagues. So I thought I had got it right in the first place and perhaps the mountains were the same height after all, though it didn’t seem quite right.”

“The snow line changes according to the time of year. But it should be the same height in both places. Presumably. But of course, you were measuring from near the lake. That’s already high up.”

“Correct. I should have measured from the sea. But if you go down to the shore there are only a couple of places you can get a view of here, and they are too close.

“One day I thought, well why use this mountain at all. I only used it because it is my home. Other mountains get snow lines in the winter season and sometimes even the lower hills. They are all going to be at the same height. So I walked along the shore looking at mountains. Eventually I found one that almost fitted my fingers. But it didn’t have a snow line at all.

“So I tried using more fingers. A little experimentation satisfied me that if a hill covered four fingers at a certain distance, it would cover two fingers at twice the distance. One mountain covered four fingers at exactly the snow line.

“Next day I came back with some friends and plenty of food. We paced out the distance to the mountain, incredible though it seems to me now. It was just under ten leagues. And then as Ruth discovered many years later, at some times of year we cannot see below the snow line on the distant mountain. Which is why she thinks the world is on a dome.”

Luke was impressed. “Sixty leagues to Asrith. Will we ever get there?”

“That’s not all. We measured the height of the Asrith mountain as well. We found a hill here that had snow just on its very summit. I discovered from my people here, who have plenty of secret knowledge, that all mountains in Trantrith have been measured since the time of Hartor the Great - though I still don’t quite know how. I was young then and didn’t realise I could find out just by asking the right people. Anyway it turns out my hill, this mountain we are on, is eleven hundred spans. The Asrith mountain is twice as high. So it would hold four of our staircases easily, as we only start climbing from the lake.”

“Hold on. You’ve lost me there. Eleven hundred, twenty-two hundred, the staircase is thirty-eight lots of fifteen.”

Hartor smiled. “Luke. You will become a prisoner of all this knowledge. Be content to be the world’s leader on horses, an accomplished metal-worker and an important military man. If we teach you counting as well there will be nothing left for the rest of us to do.”

“All right. But tell me this.” He could hardly suppress a giggle at the thought. “If you had sixty fingers you could have chosen a mountain just one mile away and saved yourself a walk.”

Hartor looked disappointed. “Luke. How could you? All my life I’ve been so proud of myself. And you just come up and tell me something so obvious. Of course. I could have made a piece of wood sixty fingers wide by measuring against my fingers bit by bit and then held it at arm’s length. Or I could cut a piece of wood to fit the mountain when I held in front of me and then seen how many fingers fitted onto the wood. I wonder if that’s how Hartor the Great did it.”

Hartor stood. “It’s getting late. I still have something to show you while the sun is up.”

Luke went to start down, his legs weary from the rest. He found it difficult to negotiate the huge steps.

“Don’t climb down the steps. You’ll hurt your knees by the time you reach the bottom and there is the risk of a fall too. We’ll use the paths on the outside where we can. It’s always a little more difficult going down than up.”

After an hour of descent Luke had lost count of the levels. Hartor stopped. They were below the cloud and he thought they must be down to the level of the lake but way around the side of the mountain.

“Have a drink and a little food if you want. I’m going to take you inside. We’ll leave our packs out here.”

Luke felt vulnerable leaving his possessions in the corridor but having seen no one on the journey he simply tucked it behind Hartor’s. The breeze became noticeably weaker as they passed into the interior.

They entered a long chamber. A shaft of light illuminated the wall close to the doorway, from an aperture about twenty paces to the right, near the ceiling. Luke’s ears, attuned to the mountain, recognised the infinitesimal tumults of the outside world. Gradually his eyes stopped hurting and he stared at the drawings on the polished walls.

“Are you all right, Luke? Sit down if you’re feeling dizzy.”

Luke just stood gawping as the rays inched across the lifesize image. It was a man, proud and tall. Wise beyond centuries.

“How can you do that? Red, blue, even green. Our greens don’t last a year. This must be centuries old. Hartor, who is he?”

“This is the first one. You can see he is dressed in the style of the Old Ones. Only their leaders dressed like this, green and brown with boots and belts and hat. The stick is one of their weapons, we still have them here but no idea how they were used. They even contain metal but too hard to fashion. As the sun moves round each Hartor in turn is illuminated. You can see how their clothes become rougher over the early generations and gradually improve till they get more like our own standards of dress. And the paint is very good from the early times then becomes rough, that is why many of the pictures have deteriorated. Nowadays we have better materials and well trained artists so the more recent ones are much better.”

“They’re all here?”

“Yes, all of them. ”

“And this was built by the first Hartor?”

“No. It must have been built by the Old Ones for some other purpose. According to the legends they came to the mountain for refuge and over time others came to join them from their own survival places and that was why the caves started to be built on the various levels.”

“The sun lights up each in turn?”

“Correct. The sun will pass this Hartor in about four minutes. It will speed up towards the end of the chamber.”

They watched as one ruler after another made his brief display to the world. As the penultimate figure came into view Luke gave a little shriek.

“You didn’t know, did you? Marcos worked it out a long time ago. Luke, you’re so clever but you don’t even know who your own grandfather was.”

The sun moved on to show Hartor himself, lifelike, majestic, awesome, brief. Then empty spaces. The ray turned the corner of the cavern and the light became extinguished.