Although he lived under the wondrous Skyfall, the sight of the shining, black tower-city of Cessair stopped Trypp in his tracks.  He pulled on the reigns of the snorses.  The creatures gave their obligatory grunt of dissatisfaction and the carriage slowed to a halt.  

            He turned to the Ambassador, as if to receive confirmation that the construct before them was real. 

            Akampa Lodd smiled knowingly.  He had seen the tower thrice and still his skin tingled when it came into view.  They had come to the crest of a meadowy hill and there before them was the splendour Trypp had heard about but never fully imagined.  Fields of flowerfall, spread across the land like the golden robe of a monarch.  The fields rippled as the shadows of fast moving clouds raced over the land.  Five leagues away, the black tower of Cessair stood proudly, a great monument to Myrran endeavour.

        ‘The tower has been crafted in a material called shatterstone,’ Akampa informed Trypp.

        ‘Shatterstone?’ Trypp queried, amazed that a construct as impossibly tall as the tower could be made of something sounding so fragile.

        Akampa guessed his mind and laughed gently.  ‘It’s actually a metal and despite its name, it is incredibly strong.  It can not be wrought by traditional techniques.  The Kobolds of Camulos, the people who built this great tower, discovered the means to manipulate shatterstone and have mined it for centuries.  From it they have fashioned blades, arrowheads and hatchets.  They have crafted doors and gates from it.  They have even given the Sessymirians the opportunity to cover the prows of their ships with it, enabling them to slice through the ice floes in the frozen seas to the north.’

        ‘And this tower is built from it?’

        ‘Not quite.  The tower’s outer shell is covered in it.  Shatterstone is rare.  Its origins make for compelling reading.  Some postulate that it is not of this world.’

        ‘Then how did it get here?’

        ‘It is said that it fell from the sky, cut free of its mooring in the firmament.  There are those who claim that the Worldpool was created when the blazing orb fell into Lake Erras.’

        ‘But Akampa, the Worldpool has always been, just like the Skyfall.’

        ‘Trypp, you are about to meet many people of disparate viewpoints.  Some of them believe that the world has not always been as it is.’

        ‘And what do you say, Akampa?’

        ‘What do I say?  I say this, my young Okku.  I say that the world is a big place, and there is plenty of room for all views.’

        ‘With the rumours of this realm under the ground, this Endless, it sounds like the world has just become a lot bigger.’

        ‘The world, perhaps, or maybe it is your mind that grown larger.’

        It was Trypp’s turn to laugh.  ‘My mind, Akampa?  My mind feels the same size as always.  Not much bigger than a nutshell!’

        He flicked the reigns and the snorses broke into a gallop and the carriage was pulled down the slope across the flowerfall. 

 

 

Two shatterstone stairs leading to the Cloud Chamber, the meeting place of the Assembly of Nations, encircled the tower like a braid.  Up and up they went, crisscrossing on alternate sides of the incredible spire, wide enough for ten men to use side-to-side.  A large door giving access into the tower was found at every point where the stairs intersected, and on these landings Myrrans of all races gathered.  The lower landings were filled with outdoor markets selling everything from Nessan sunberries to Helyan weaponry.  Above the markets were public squares, dotted with statues, fountains and potted trees.  Great care had been taken to ensure these landings were peaceful areas of respite from the flurry of activity that took place within the tower, where the business of Myrran bureaucracy took place.  Higher up, a number of landings were devoted to ale houses where beer-stained tables and benches filled the flat areas where the stairs met.  Above the taverns, open air cafes and restaurants could be found.  The views were so breathtaking, some Myrrans travelled hundreds of leagues just to have a meal on the tower landings.  Further up the spire, the landings were private, occupied by those wealthy enough to afford an apartment in the tower.

        At the very top lay the Cloud Chamber, the stunning room created specifically for the Assembly of Nations.  It was said that 30,000 steps lay between the base of the tower and its crown. 

            Some visitors enjoyed the climb up to the Cloud Chamber more than others.

 

 

Pylos Castalia, Pedaeus Rhodes and Bannick Landen attracted a number of looks as they made their way along the avenue before the great tower.  A number of whispered conversations followed in their wake.  It was not surprising; they were among the most famous men in the Myr.  Their names were even known in lands they had never visited.

        Despite the warm summer’s day, Bannick was dressed in the traditional grey furs worn by most men and women from the frozen land of Arnaksak.  In contrast, Pylos wore a light cotton tunic that was held to his muscular body by a plain leather belt from which hung a short sword on his left side and a dagger on his right.

        ‘I apologize, Pylos,’ said Bannick loud enough for passers-by to hear.  ‘Your sister does not work in a Tethran whorehouse.  I mistook her for your mother.’   

        Although they had not seen each other for almost a year, Bannick had wasted no time in falling back into old routines.  Making lewd comments about Pylos’ mother was one of Bannick’s favourite pastimes, a pursuit made all the more enjoyable by the fact that Pylos could never come back at him with a remotely funny retort.  Pylos was a brilliant military tactician, but when it came to verbal jousts with Bannick Landen, he was little more than a squire.

            It was such a battle of wits that had given Pylos his most recognizable feature – the long scar running down the left-hand side of his face.  The incident had occurred in a bar on one of the upper levels of the tower five years earlier.  It was the day Bannick and Pylos met.  They had already known of each other long before this meeting and their reputations were such that a friendly rivalry existed between them before they had actually been introduced.  Upon shaking hands at the introduction, Bannick commented that Pylos shook hands like a girl.  This quickly degenerated into a series of humorous but derogatory comments, culminating in Bannick’s lewd claims regarding Helyan men and flocks of shelp.  Pylos, having no comeback to this slur jumped on Bannick and wrestled him to the floor. As they fell about the room, wrestling like two naughty boys, Pylos’ knife fell out of its sheath.  He instinctively reached to put it back and Bannick believed him to be on the attack.  The two grappled with the blade, but Bannick’s greater strength forced the tip of it towards Pylos’ face and…

        And from that moment on – or shortly afterwards, once the misunderstanding had been cleared up – a kinship existed between the two that was closer than most people could understand.  The friendship between two of the greatest warriors of the era, one from the Myr’s coldest land and the other from one of its hottest, was well known; it was rare for the two of them to be seen apart during the annual meeting of nations in Cessair.

        They tried to outdo each other with larger than life tales of their exploits on the battlefield and in the bedroom.  Bannick was clearly the master in the latter, having seduced and corrupted more women than Pylos had even spoken to.  Bannick was a rogue and had an appalling sense of what was appropriate.  In perhaps the greatest breach of protocol in Myrran history, Bannick had held the most intimate of relations with Chamberlain Llyr’s wife.  Pylos respected Bannick’s many feats of bravery but his dalliance with the Tamora Llyr seemed reckless in the extreme.

 

 

‘I really hate this part!’ Sela Noye exclaimed as she stood staring at the innumerable steps weaving their way up the outside of the spire.  ‘Why can’t it be like a normal tower, and have the stairs on the inside?’

        Ambassador Kaniya Sawoya nodded her head in wholehearted agreement, a gesture that sent the feathers lining her ornate mask into the eye of a passing merchant.  The man clutched at his eye and was about to abuse the wearer of the ridiculous mask, but quickly shut his mouth when he saw it was a Tamuan.  It was mid-morning, he had much to do and the last thing he wanted was a drawn-out debate with a member of the Myr’s most fractious and argumentative race.

        ‘The design of this tower is a monument to suicide,’ Sawoya noted to her consul.  ‘I could slip off the edge and fall, you know.’

        ‘Perhaps the first order of business today should be a recommendation from us that a railing be installed on those stairs.’

        ‘Excellent idea Sela.  You propose the idea and I’ll second it.’

        ‘I imagine the Chamberlain will want to talk about the Ghul attacks instead.’

        ‘Then the man’s an idiot, Sela.  First things first.  The stairs must be fixed!’

 

 

Pylos, Pedaeus and Bannick tip-toed behind the Tamuans, not wanting to be brought into their discussion.  They made their way up to the broad square at the very base of the tower.  Here the two intertwining stairways began their climb up the impossibly tall structure, one going left and the other going right.  

        Bannick raised his hands to his face and with a look of mock alarm said, ‘Oh dear Pylos!  It looks like a long way up!  Would you like me to carry you?’

        ‘Bannick, you will struggle under the weight of your purse,’ Pylos scoffed.  ‘What say I lighten it a little?  Shall we say fifty gold coins?’

        ‘Let's make it one hundred!'

        They shook on it.  Bannick turned to Pedaeus who had been waiting for such a challenge to be announced as they approached the tower.  ‘Excuse me, Ambassador Rhodes,’ he said with exaggerated formality.  ‘Your countryman and I have a difference of opinion over a small matter.’

        ‘Hmm?  A small matter, is it sir?’ Pedaeus answered, indulging Bannick.

        ‘Well, actually, it’s a tall matter,’ he grinned, revealing a perfect set of beguiling white teeth.  It was the same smile that Bannick used to woo women, the same smile he would give to an enemy seconds before dispatching him.  Bannick exuded total confidence.  Those who envied him considered him arrogant in the extreme, but most who fell sway to his boyish charms, just regarded him as being slightly cocky.  ‘If you would be so kind to hold the winnings. I’ll collect them from you at the top.’

        ‘Always happy to help,’ Pedaeus replied, taking the money from both men and placing it in a small bag hanging from his waist.

        Bannick waved his hand out before Pylos in an elegant gesture and said, ‘You may choose your stairs.’

        Pylos’ brow scrunched up slightly.  ‘But they’re the same!’

        ‘I know. I was just being a gentleman.’

        ‘Oh.  I’ll take the left.’

        Bannick turned to Pedaeus and bowed.  ‘My lady, I will win this in your name,’ he said in his most chivalrous voice.

        Pedaeus just rolled his eyes and said, ‘Bannick, you are insane.’

        The two men jostled each other as they stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for the start.  Pedaeus, standing with his back to the tower, held up a red scarf he had acquired from a bemused local citizen. With a flourish, he dropped the scarf and the two competitors broke into a sprint.  Pylos was first to move, exploding from a standing start, but he didn’t get far.  Bannick had been the smarter contestant, sticking out his leg as the red scarf fell.  Pylos tripped and tumbled, smacking his head on a shatterstone flagstone.  By the time he had gathered his senses, Bannick was halfway up the first of many flights.

        ‘You’re nothing but a cheat, Bannick!’ he called out to the figure disappearing around the curving steps to the right of the tower.  A mocking laugh floated back.  Pylos grinned and within a few seconds had also disappeared out of view as he bounded up the shiny steps of the citadel.

        Pedaeus was smiling, clearly entertained by the exchange. 

        ‘You know you shouldn’t encourage them!  They behave like unruly children.  They’re meant to be consuls, Ambassador.’

        Pedaeus spun around to see a pair of colourful Tamuan masks staring at him.  ‘Consul Noye, Ambassador Sawoya, with the utmost respect, I must disagree,’ he said, quickly donning his diplomatic guise.  ‘I believe, you could search for 1,000 years and not find two people who would represent their respective countries more admirably.  They are competitive I grant you, and occasionally robust in their demonstration of that quality, but –’

        ‘Oh nonsense, Ambassador Rhodes,’ Sela interjected.  ‘They’re a pair of silly boys, nothing more!’

        Kaniya Sawoya pushed past Pedaeus, accidentally jabbing him in the leg with one of her spines.  ‘Come on Sela,’ she huffed.  ‘Let us leave Ambassador Rhodes and his red scarf.  We have 30,000 steps to climb.’

 

 

Lara Brand was dreadfully out of breath.  Her lifelong friend Arinna Brine was also panting.  The two Pryderi had scaled half the tower, and Lara was on the point of collapse.  Her arms were shaking uncontrollably.  If she had knees, they would have buckled.  It was not easy slithering up so many steps.

        She looked up at the spire above.  ‘I… I can’t do it.  It’s too high.’

        ‘It’s a shame you don’t still have the flying lobbsle we magicked up for you,’ Arinna said, trying to sound as light-hearted as her breath would allow.

        ‘Puddy,’ Lara responded somberly.  ‘His name was Puddy.’

        Arinna twisted around on the step and took Lara by the hand.  Her brown eyes were so full of kindness and understanding that Lara momentarily forgot her discomfort.  ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Little One,’ Arinna said softly.  ‘I am very proud of you.’  

        Lara blushed.  Arinna had always known the right thing to say.  They cast their eyes up at the tower one last time, and then one step at a time, continued their trek up the stairs to the Cloud Chamber.

 

 

Trypp and Akampa sat on the edge of the steps about two thirds of the way up the tower.  They faced the west where snow-clad mountains could be seen wrapped around the distant edges of a crimson lake.  Though nowhere near as large as Lake Erras, it stretched out to the west, north and south so that its crimson waters surrounded them.

        ‘Akampa, the lake – why is it such a strange colour?’

        The old Sapphyrran was pleased with his companion’s questions.  Trypp’s curiousity in the wider world was hardly surprising.  It was curiousity that had compelled Trypp to explore the precipices of the Skyfall.  It was his interest and respect for the natural world that had made him the fine Okku he was.  Akampa was pleased he had agreed to accompany him to the Assembly.  

        Looking down on the body of water that had captured Trypp’s attention, Akampa said, ‘The waters are full of ancient algae.  At night it glows and the lake looks like it is on fire.  It is something to see.’

        ‘It’s beautiful,’ Trypp observed.

        With a mischievous twinkle in his big eyes, Akampa Lodd observed, ‘Our lake is bigger,’

 

 

But if he was enamoured by the stunning view of the unique lake, Trypp was totally unprepared for the sight and situation awaiting him in the Cloud Chamber.  Sitting at the very top of the tower, the Cloud Chamber should have been no larger than thirty feet across, but the round room before Trypp was massive, at least 200 feet from side to side.  It defied his comprehension and like so many others, he struggled to find the words to voice the first thought everyone had when they first laid eyes on the room: ‘It’s bigger on the inside!’

        The Cloud Chamber stretched out before him like a field.  Overhead, a gigantic glass dome was held in place by four ornately carved, curved wooden beams.  From the apex of these beams a single lantern hung.  As was the custom, the lantern was lit to mark the occasion, but instead of the oily light that shone from the lantern in the past, a small cloud of shatterbugs had been placed in the glass globe and their light shone like a small sun above the world.

        Much of the floor of the chamber was covered by a map of the Myr, but a map unlike any Trypp had ever seen before.  It was a three-dimensional, semi-solid disk.  It stretched across the floor for well over 100 feet.  The world had been recreated in exquisitely fine detail and it lay there at his feet.  At the edges of the raised map the waters of the Myr’s oceans cascaded to the floor where they dissipated in a fine mist.  

        On the far side of the map, Trypp could see the waters of the Skyfall streaming down from the tall mountains behind his home town.  The waters flowed into the sparkling blue pool of Lake Erras, now only twenty feet across.  From where he stood, he could see hundreds of small green mounds that were the manifestation of the countless islands of the lake.  In the centre of this amazing puddle of blue, a dark spot was evident.  A churning vortex of dark water and ice that was only a few inches in diameter.  The Worldpool.  To the north of the lake, a dense patch of grey mist hovered above the floor – the swamps of Mag Mel were as obscured here as they were in the world outside.  To the south of the lake, he could spy two cities he knew to be El Khadir and El Silat.  The closer of these two metropolises, El Khadir, was bordered to the south by steep dunes that rose like mountains.  There were so many parts to the map he wanted to explore, places he had heard of but never seen.  He knew there were people in the Cloud Chamber, other delegates he should meet, but he was so captivated by the fantastical map, that he simply couldn’t lift his eyes from it.

        Trypp knelt down and placed a finger in the ocean at his feet and ripples spread out across it.  He could see miniscule waves lapping onto beaches he had never seen before.  To his right were some islands, off the coast of Acoran.  He could touch them, feel the sensation of their presence but his hand also went through them.  ‘It is like touching colour,’ he thought.  ‘If light could take on a solid form, it would be like this.’

        The more Trypp peered into the map the more astounded he became.  Cirrus clouds drifted across the skies of Helyas in the centre of the room whilst a dark storm rolled in from the Sea of Hodur on the map’s northern fringe.

        ‘Do you like our map?’ said a clear, gentle voice behind Trypp.  The Sapphyrran managed to pull himself away from the simulated world before him.  The man who asked the question gazed at him with penetrating blue eyes.          ‘It’s very impressive, isn’t it?’ he said cordially.

        ‘Yes, yes it is, sir,’ Trypp replied, somewhat overwhelmed by the occasion.

        ‘Hello.  You must be Trypp Elan,’ said the man. ‘I am Chamberlain Tiberius Llyr, but most people around here call me Your Grace.’

        Trypp bowed deeply.  ‘It is an honour, Your Grace.’

        ‘The honour is mine, Trypp,’ the Chamberlain said kindly as he placed a hand upon Trypp’s shell.  ‘Come now, you can walk out into the map.’

        Llyr led Trypp out into the centre of the room.  The world rushed by, sending a tingling sensation running up Trypp’s shins.  The map around his legs swirled and settled within seconds of his passing, like thick, coloured smoke.  They strolled out across the tiny fields of flowerfall that surrounded Cessair.  Then they walked through the fens surrounding Tindalo.  Crossing the Nessan Sea, they both stepped over tiny ships ploughing their way across the rolling waves to Garlot.  A few more steps took them past Nessa’s famous blue cliffs.  Trypp thought he could smell the succulent scent of gorseberries rising up out of the farms surrounding Gobnet.  They waded past the steep Amaranthine Mountains that divided the verdant pastures of Nessa from the arid wastes of Khepera.  A tiny sandstorm whirled up to Trypp’s right and he was captivated by the way it carved out new shapes among the dunes.  Infinitesimal grains of sand swirled around as the storm slowly drifted southwards.  The sands faded into harsh, red rock as the pair made their way past the Marid where tiny shoots of water burst out sporadically from the oppressive slab of heated rock that covered this lifeless part of the Myr.

        And then he was home.  Trypp reached out to touch the Skyfall.  He could feel it rushing through his long, blue fingers.  It was cool on his skin.  He ran his hand over Lake Erras, his fingertips dancing across little islands.  He could feel the gentle tug of the Worldpool around his legs.  To his right he could see the lands of Tuatha and Tuirren.  Dark rain clouds floated above them and miniature flashes of lightning pealed above the moors to the north.  Trypp walked through these clouds and the thunder could be heard softly booming around his waist.  Beyond these lands, to the north-east, a sea enveloped in mist stretched out ominously.

        Trypp continued walking around the map as the Cloud Chamber slowly started populating with representatives from all over the Myr.  He was vaguely aware of the Chamberlain’s hand occasionally lifting off his shell as the old man greeted the delegates streaming into the extraordinary room.

        As he walked along the coastline of Arnaksak Trypp noticed that could feel the arctic breezes swirl around his legs.  He continued across to the vast ice wastes of Sessymir and was overwhelmed by the size of the country.  It was as large as Lake Erras.  He could see lights sprinkled over the port cities of Oshalla and Gylfi where a bank of thick, grey clouds laden with snow kept the land bathed in a gloomy, blue light.  The grey waters of the Gulf of Sessymir purled in monochromatic currents below his knees.  Trypp knelt down and the map swallowed his legs.  He could see trading ships carving through the choppy water.  He cupped his hands and lifted thirty leagues of ocean.  Three golden specks - Acoran merchant ships - swirled about in his hands before he carefully put them back down off the coast of Grisandole.

        ‘Make’s you feel like a god doesn’t it?’ smiled Llyr, his eyes assuming a paternal aspect.

        ‘I’m not sure what a god would feel like,’ said Trypp uncomfortably.  ‘Who made this map?’

        ‘Many, many years ago, the Morgai walked among us.  A powerful race they were.  This unique representation of our world was their gift to us.  The map is a symbol, not only of the world but of the unity of its peoples.’

        ‘I noticed ships sailing through the oceans.  Are those ships really at sea, or was that just an embellishment on the map?’ Trypp asked.

        The Chamberlain nodded indicating his approval of the question.  ‘Master Trypp, what you see here is a mirror of what is out there.  The map reflects what is going on in the world.’

        ‘But not under it, Lord Chamberlain,’ said a clear voice from behind the pair.

        The Chamberlain pirouetted around to be met by a woman as beautiful as any that could be found in the Myr.  Long, dark hair hung from her pretty head.  Her ears and eyes had the slightly pointed aspect common to the Acora.  Her lips were full and sat in a slight pout on her proud face.  There was nothing demure or dainty about her, other than a slightly upturned nose which gave her countenance a youthful air.

        Clad in the tan coloured leathers and arm-mounted weaponry that comprised the uniform of the Acoran military, Jehenna Canna cut a figure that made most men look twice, irrespective of their race.  She bowed politely before the Chamberlain but he ignored such ceremony and took her in his arms and held her close. ‘Ah, the beautiful Consul of Acoran!’ he exclaimed.  ‘Now you are a sight for an old man’s sore eyes.  You look as breathtaking as always.’

        ‘I will endeavour to take your comments as they are intended, Your Grace,’ she replied somewhat ambiguously, politely removing his hand from her waist.

        The Chamberlain’s smiling face twisted into expression of concern as he remembered the news he had been given that morning concerning Jehenna’s homeland.  ‘Dear child, I have forgotten myself!  I was informed this morning of your losses.  You have my sincere condolences.’  Everything about his demeanour suggested he was truly sorry for his oversight.  His usually fierce blue eyes softened as he brought to mind the catastrophe that had been unravelling outside the city of Lucien in Acoran.

        ‘We were made aware of the breach to the north of Lucien two weeks ago.  How long it has been there, we do not know.  We have been hit hard.  In the past ten days, we have lost over a thousand troops.’  Jehenna’s eyes narrowed a little as she recounted the situation to the Chamberlain.  She spoke with the precision one would expect of the Acoran military.  Acoran forces were renowned for their discipline and focus.  Whilst lacking the brute power of the Sessymirians, the finesse of the Kompirans, or the strategic brilliance of the Helyans, the Acora were warriors held in high regard, renowned for their sense of duty and clarity of purpose.  Jehenna was the living embodiment of this tradition, and despite obvious feminine qualities that so many found alluring, the Acoran consul was a person to be feared and respected.

        ‘Over a thousand Acora now dead,’ the Chamberlain echoed sadly.

        ‘All slain by the Ghul,’ Jehenna added.  ‘If what we hear from other countries is right, it is only a matter of time before even more terrible creatures come crawling out of the breach.’

        ‘Well content yourself with the knowledge that we will act upon this threat and act swiftly.’  He said it like a statesman and only the most cynical audience would have doubted his conviction.  Llyr turned to introduce Trypp to the lithe Acoran, but he had wandered off to join Akampa at the far side of the map.

        A tall, dark shadow of a man passed behind Jehenna and took her by the hand.  ‘I see the Chamberlain wasted no time in putting his wrinkly, old arms around you,’ he whispered in her ears.

        ‘Maeldune, don’t be absurd,’ she said lifting her head to look at her husband’s blank face.  ‘He hugs everyone.’         Maeldune Canna just stared inscrutably back at his wife until she dropped her gaze and looked at the swirling sea at her feet.

 

 

Over the next hour, the Cloud Chamber gradually filled up with delegates from almost every nation in the Myr.  Those who had arrived early were well looked after by Koopoo attendants that ran in and out of the chamber carrying delicacies and drinks of all descriptions.  The Chamberlain was well known for his hospitality.  In the kitchens below the chamber, Nessan chefs laboured away making gourmet treats that were usually reserved for the finest restaurants in Garlot.

        The Tamuan koopoos who brought around the trays laden with food and alcohol were something of a delicacy themselves, but had been spared the butcher’s knife only because most people were of the opinion that koopoos were better serving plates than being served on them.  This was not to say that they tasted bad, but rather they served particularly well.  The koopoos were little more than a thick ball of fluff on two long legs.  Four similarly long arms protruded from their downy torsos and on these the strange animals could balance three or four plates with little chance of dropping one.  The koopoos’ sense of balance was unrivalled by any other known creature; in Cessair, this skill was harnessed for domestic duties such as serving food.  This practice was held in contempt by the gourmands of Tethra who saw no use for the creature other than on a plate beside a serve of milkrice.

 

 

‘Pylos, you look like you’re about to vomit,’ said Bannick Landen in a cocky voice as he watched his friend struggle up the last few steps outside the Cloud Chamber.

        ‘I would have got here a lot sooner if someone hadn’t overturned a cart of fruit on one of the landings back there,’ Pylos panted as he glared at Bannick.

        ‘That was an accident, I can assure you!’ protested Bannick, struggling to stifle his delight as he said it.

        ‘You almost killed me!’ Pylos growled.  ‘I slipped on a pokpok and almost went flying over the edge of the stairs.  If it weren’t for some Tuathan I slammed into, I would now be a stain at the bottom of the tower.’

        Bannick winced dramatically, acting out a look of horror that did nothing to placate Pylos.  ‘What a way to go!’ the brash Arnakki mused.  ‘Death by fruit.’

        ‘You're not as amusing as you think you are, Bannick’ said Pylos, wiping his brow with his tunic before entering the domed chamber.

        Bannick clapped his hands rapturously as he watched Pylos preen himself.  ‘You know Pylos, if you really must wipe your forehead with your tunic like that, you should invest in some form of undergarments!  The walls are made of glass after all.’

        Pylos looked up, mortified by the knowledge that he had just aired himself to anyone in the Cloud Chamber who happened to be looking his way.  The shocked look that had been stamped on the faces of various delegates inside made him want to go back down the tower and return home to Helyas.  He turned his back on the Cloud Chamber and grimaced in shame.

        Bannick slapped a hand on the Helyan’s back so firmly it made him jolt forward a step.  ‘Ah relax, Pylos.  I don’t think she saw your sword!’ he said nodding back towards the chamber where on the far side of the room Jehenna Canna sat with her husband.

        For a brief second Pylos contemplated throwing his friend off the landing but Bannick was blessed with a disarming smile that excused him from all but the most unforgivable indiscretions.   ‘Come on!’ he said encouragingly.  ‘You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.  Let’s hope this thing doesn’t drag on too long.  I met a Nessan lass down below who –’

        ‘Bannick, you’re incorrigible!  You really haven’t changed a bit!’ Pylos scolded.  The reluctant grin attached to this comment meant Bannick could only take the observation as being complimentary.

        ‘Well you know there are only two things certain in life – death by poison and a girl from Nessa.’

        ‘Well I hope you find one and not the other!’

        ‘Pylos, I’m not sure how to take that!  Which one do you want me to find?’

        They laughed and Bannick drew the Helyan to him in an affectionate wrestle.  ‘It is good to see you again Pylos.  As soon as this Assembly finishes, you and I are going drinking.’

        Pylos smiled.  ‘What happened to the girl from Nessa?’

        ‘Ah, she wasn’t particularly attractive anyway!’

 

 

Tagtug the Mabbit was led into the Cloud Chamber by Mulupo the Spriggan.  Ignoring the fact that Tagtug was no closer to understanding his voluble speech than he was when they first met, Mulupo proceeded to comment upon everything that came to mind as they strolled across the map.  It was only when a passing koopoo failed to notice that Mulupo did not have a drink in his hand that the Spriggan stopped talking, leaving Tagtug stranded in the Camulos Sea while he sought out a drink for himself.  The Mabbit tentatively walked to the shore and gasped as he recognised his homeland.  He extended a furry hand to touch the Briar Patch and hopped with delight when he felt a prickly tingle upon his fingers.

 

 

Remiel Grayson and the Archbishop of Garlot entered the room.  Remiel had his hood pulled over his head and scarf drawn across his face.  By contrast, the Archbishop, who was not required to wear the thick cloth veil not only had his face displayed, but was beaming a toothy smile at anyone vaguely looking his way.

        ‘So this is the Cloud Chamber,’ Remiel Grayson gasped as he quickly scanned the room, pausing occasionally to take note of the individuals contained therein.

        ‘Yes, it is!’ chortled the Archbishop.  ‘Father Gideon, I am so pleased you asked me to accompany you on this expedition.  I can’t remember doing anything so exciting before.’

        ‘I am happy to have your guidance, Your Excellency,’ Remiel said humbly.  ‘I am a novice in the ways of the world.  I’m still not sure I should have come here.’

        The Archbishop momentarily stopped nodding at the people around him and looked earnestly into his companion’s eyes and said, ‘I am sure, Father Gideon, that you will find a role to play in the proceedings to come.’   

 

 

The Chamberlain continued to breeze around the room, engaging in small talk here and there and making sure his guests were being looked after.  Every now and then, he would look over at the entrance to the chamber to check for new arrivals.  He clapped his hands when he saw two long and colourful masks appear in the arched entrance.  ‘Our friends from Tamu have now arrived!’ he exclaimed as he gently pushed his way through the gathering crowd to welcome Kaniya Sawoya and Sela Noye.

        ‘It’s a funny way to treat friends,’ said Sela ungraciously.  ‘Making them climb thousands of steps!’

        ‘Consul Noye,’ he tittered.  ‘I see you haven’t lost any of your acerbic wit since last we met.’

        ‘One day Chamberlain, I’m going to find out what acerbic means, and I think you’re going to be in a lot of trouble!’

        ‘Then I must hide all the world’s dictionaries so that I can deny you your revenge,’ he said with a chuckle.

        Sela just huffed and walked away.  ‘Hide all the world’s dictionaries!  Those damned Caquikki have already saved him the trouble!’ she muttered to Kaniya as she thrust a look of contempt at the pair of Lokota Fall and his son Tawhawki standing in the middle of the room.

 

 

The Chamberlain leaned over and whispered into Porenutious Windle’s ear.  ‘We’re almost ready to start.  Only the Ambassador from Tuirren to come and –’

        He stopped mid-sentence, all attention stolen away from him by the sound of grunting and panting coming from just outside the Cloud Chamber.

        ‘I’m going to die – quick get me a drink!’

        Will Stoops puffed as he stumbled into the chamber and collapsed on a bench that ran round the outside of the map, sending the bottoms of all those currently seated on the bench a few inches into the air. Stoops was larger than life.  He had the dark skin of many Tuirrenians but took their stocky frame and built on it extensively.  Everything about Stoops was given in large proportions.  If Bannick Landen had the admiration of most Myrrans and Pylos Castalia the respect, Will Stoops had their affection.  His sense of humour was infectious, his presence immediate.  Around Stoops, life was worth living.  He had been a member of the Assembly of Nations for fifteen years and in many ways was the heart of the gathering.

        He wiped a prodigious amount of sweat from his bald head.  ‘I propose that all future assemblies be held at the base of the tower instead of the top.’  He also had the uncanny knack for stating what others were thinking but lacked the confidence to say.

        ‘I second that motion!’ responded Sela Noye who had overhead the comment.  Sela had a gift for overhearing comments.

        Will Stoops’ huge frame belied his formidable stature as a protector of the Royal Family of Tuirren – there were few more dangerous than he and none so deadly with a bow.  As he often remarked in defence of his lack of athletic prowess, ‘I don’t have to walk or run to shoot you.’  He was not a warrior but he was not someone to be dismissed either.  In his younger days, Stoops had made a great deal of money travelling the Myr performing in demonstrations and competitions.  He could shoot further, faster and more accurately than anyone else alive, a skill he accepted modestly despite all his showmanship when watched by others.

        It was also rumoured he could eat an entire adult shelp in one sitting.

        Disregarding protocol, Stoops had entered before the Ambassador from Tuirren, Lady Valeria Essar of Tir Thuinn.  She was in every way a contrast to her consul.  She was fair of skin and slight, a waif of a figure encased in layers upon layers of deep green and grey foulard.  Whereas Stoops revelled in the theatre of his arrival, it was clear that Lady Essar was most uncomfortable with the way the eyes of all in attendance scanned whoever entered the chamber.  She was shy to the point of being rude.

        Behind Lady Essar sauntered Kip, Stoops’ eldest son, a hulking tower of a man with long, matted hair.  His body was a statement of sorts – pierced, tattooed and muscular.  He had none of his father’s girth but all of his zest for life.  His eyes were as large as moons as he surveyed the Cloud Chamber for the first time.

        ‘Hello Tiberius,’ Stoops hollered across the chamber with a familiarity bordering on treason.  ‘Are you serving food at this shindig?  A climb up a tower like this is an inducement to hunger.’

        Chamberlain Llyr cut his way across the floor of the chamber.  ‘Hello Will, it’s good to see you fit and healthy,’ he mocked, patting Stoops’ stomach, an inappropriate action for one in his office, but indicative of the close relationships Stoops crafted so easily.

        ‘Fit?  All I'm fit for is an early grave,’ Stoops laughed.

        A cough from Porenutious Windle reminded the Chamberlain that Stoops was present as a consul and not in an ambassadorial capacity.  ‘Lady Essar, I do forget myself.  Welcome.  I trust your journey here was a pleasant one?’

        ‘My Lord, it seems these days just surviving a journey makes it enjoyable.’

        The Chamberlain was unsure how to respond to such a gravid statement, and so he just put a hand to his chin and nodded.  ‘Yes, yes.  True enough.’

        Sensing their mutual discomfort, Stoops stepped in and introduced his son.  ‘Tiberius, my son, Kip.  As discussed Tiberius, this will be my last assembly; my son is ready to take the reins.’

       ‘This is your son?’ the Chamberlain remarked incredulously, craning back to take in the whole man.  ‘Why the last time I saw you, you were only…’  He indicated a height only a few inches above the mountains of Camulos at his feet.

        ‘It is an honour to see you again, Your Grace.’  He bowed deferentially.

        ‘Ah Will, he is a gentleman!’  And then whispered playfully in Stoops’ ear: ‘Are you sure you sired him?’

        The Tuirrenian shrugged his shoulders.  ‘Who knows, Tiberius?  I can only go on what his mother tells me!’

        The Chamberlain slapped Stoops on the shoulder in a manner characteristic of old friends.  He moved off through the crowd nodding and smiling, welcoming all into his domain.  

 

 

Gerriod Blake was one of the last to arrive.  It was only when he was standing up to his knees in the room’s wondrous map that he looked up to take in his surroundings.  He was immediately overwhelmed, by the people, the room, the map and his own part in the events they were about to discuss.

        He was immediately swept up in the cordial arms of the Chamberlain and introduced to ambassadors, prime ministers and consuls of all races.  Whenever they asked him what he did, he felt a sense of shame rise up in him as he informed them he was a mariner.  He regretted these feelings of shame almost as quickly as they appeared.  He thought of his father and the quiet dignity he had projected from the helm of The Melody.  There was nothing shameful about being a mariner.

        Windle looked over at Gerriod and blanched.  The mariner.  Caliban had told him to avoid him at all costs.      When Llyr had moved away from Gerriod, Windle rushed to the Chamberlain and said, ‘Your Grace, I must ask your leave.  I have just remembered something that cannot wait.’

        The Chamberlain looked at his advisor curiously then waved him off.  As Chamberlain he had too much on his mind this day to worry about Windle’s erratic behaviour.  He did not need his advisor to welcome delegates nor did he need him to start proceedings.  ‘Very well Porenutious.  Off you go.  Do whatever it is you have to do.’

        Windle waddled away, pausing only to speak to Maeldune Canna before departing.

        The Chamberlain took his position at the northern end of the map.  It was the place of honour reserved for him and there was none who begrudged him his place.  With his hands held high above his head, and the world literally at his feet, Tiberius Llyr called the Assembly to order.  

        ‘Good people of the Myr, welcome to Cessair.  We have much to discuss!’