All things said, Tranton's life was moving in an unexpected direction. In a few short weeks he'd moved from seeking shelter in snowdrifts and ice holes to a warm but flea-filled bed in Lagnin, and now found himself in a bed chamber unlike anything he'd ever seen. The palace's guest bedroom was clearly decorated to impress its visitors, the high ceilings lined with columns and elaborate filigree patterns, while the centrepiece bed was huge and draped with brightly coloured, rippling silk. The room was large enough to also accommodate its own sink and bath, obscured considerately behind a movable screen, while another corner hosted a round table and chairs for entertaining further guests. It was opulent to an extreme and left Tranton feeling decidedly uncomfortable.
He was a trader, admittedly a very successful one, and was not used to operating in such social or political circles. To think that he'd ventured up into the mountains precisely to get away from responsibility and personal ties, only to find himself staying at the heart of government of a foreign, unfamiliar power. It felt as if the plan had gone somewhat awry. He'd always thought it more likely that he'd find the valley deserted of humans, occupied instead by animals and beasts, allowing him to live out the remainder of his days on his own terms. Instead, he'd found a confined cluster of people with as messy a setup as he could imagine. Even in his basic understanding of Lagonian society, he could sense a fragility to its institutions, revealed through the nervous questioning from Roldan Stryke.
The night had passed uneventfully, with Tranton escorted swiftly into the palace via a small side entrance. Keeping his part of the bargain was the easy part; he'd cooperate and have the 'conversation' with Fenris Silt, as it would be a way to get the measure of the place through Silt's reactions to his answers. He held little optimism of Silt keeping his end of the deal and allowing Tranton to leave - but one thing at a time. Tranton was aware that he needed to know more about the valley and its people before he went gallivanting about the place. Exploring a capital city was not the same as negotiating a snowy mountaintop.
Silt's office was below ground, lower even than the kitchens, nestled between food stores and rows of empty jail cells. The painted walls with their hanging tapestries made way for bare brick and stone and there was a slick, weathered dampness to the floor. The man's office was lined with bookshelves and cabinets, on top of which were piled folders and stacks of papers. There was an organised chaos at work, with everything positioned precisely while being evidently too much information for one mind to properly comprehend. It reminded Tranton of his trading office just before he'd sold the Red Sails and the business.
A guard, silent but friendly enough, led him down the bare corridors to Silt's office and showed him inside.
"Please, take a seat," Silt said, gesturing.
Tranton walked slowly around the room, taking in its detail and eccentricities. A map, more functional than the illustrated one in the Lagnin inn, adorned one wall, nestled between cabinets. It, too, had no detail beyond the mountain ring but it at least had the restraint to not include depictions of triple-headed monsters in the lands beyond. A metal and glass tube, about the circumference of a clenched fist and with an access hatch set into its top, ran along one wall at waist height, before angling upwards and disappearing into the ceiling. A framed portrait of a man, presumably the king, hung from one wall, while an image of a young girl sat atop the large desk which occupied the centre of the room. Sketches of plants and animals were pinned to the side of one bookshelf, while a glass cabinet contained a selection of stuffed animals, most of which were entirely unfamiliar to his eyes.
"Thank you for staying the night," Silt continued, "and for coming to see me today."
"I didn't feel like testing your magnanimity," Tranton murmured. He pointed at the portrait of the girl. "Granddaughter?"
Silt laughed, inducing a short, sharp, involuntary cough. "That is Princess Kirya Tellador," he said. "My ward and student, and the future queen of Lagonia."
Tranton nodded. "Ain't that something," he said, then pointed at the framed picture on the wall. "That's the man in charge right now?"
Stiffening slightly, Silt smiled thinly and almost bowed towards the painting. "King Guijus Tellador. My master and employer."
"We don't really do kings anymore," Tranton said, sliding into the seat nearest the door. "You'll have to remind me how they work."
"They rule," Silt said, "absolutely and with complete clarity."
"Hereditary, correct?"
"Yes. King Guijus is the third Tellador to hold the valley's throne." The older man sat opposite and picked up an ink pen from its holder on the desk.
"And you're, what, his vizier? The chief adviser?" Tranton observed the other man closely and carefully. Silt had brought him here for information, he knew, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to be the one getting the answers.
"No," Silt said, shaking his head, "I am the head of security. It is my responsibility to ensure the king's safety and, by derivation, the safety of the kingdom."
"Sounds important."
"It is very important," Silt said, "though I am a simple servant."
"This kingdom of yours," Tranton said, catching Silt's eye, "of the king's, I mean - what lands does it encompass?"
"Any map will show you," Silt said, indicating with one arm towards the wall. "The kingdom extends out from Treydolain, the capital, south-westerly to the Marsh Approach, then clockwise to the Bilderbury Forest, up to the north-eastern mining towns on the Tillen Steppes, and round to the Gilghalen Expanse."
Tranton drew a little circle in the air with his finger. "All of those places, they're all inside of the valley, right? What's the diameter of the valley at its widest point? Three hundred miles?"
"Somewhat more than that," Silt said.
Crossing his arms and sitting back on the seat, Tranton turned down the corners of his mouth and shrugged approvingly. "It's not the smallest kingdom I've been to." He smiled across the desk at Silt.
Refusing to take the bait, Silt made no particular response, instead turning his attention to an open folder on the desk. "This is your file, Mr Seldon," he said. "As you can see, it is very empty."
"Well, I only just got here. Don't be too hard on yourself."
"I understand that you have no obligations to me or anybody else here," Silt said, "other than perhaps your rescuers in the village of Lagnin. But also understand that we are not your enemy. I merely wish to understand you, and from where you have come."
The man seemed genuine enough. "Here's my point of view, Fenris," Tranton said. "I walked for a long time and a long way. When I finally get here, I'm kept under house arrest, told I can't leave, then I'm brought here under cover of darkness, hidden from everyone in case my mere existence causes a moral panic, and now I've been marched past your jail cells in order to sit in this chair and have your friendly conversation. You've treated me with suspicion since I arrived."
"The jail cells are a legacy of the palace," Silt replied. "They're used for storage." He shifted in his seat, and replaced the pen onto its stand. "Thank you for sharing your perspective. Here is mine. We have not had any contact with the outside world for several centuries. The exact time is difficult to pinpoint, but for at least two hundred years we have been cut off both from the Headland to the south and Aviar to the north. Our best minds and bodies have attempted to resolve this problem to no avail, which is why your sudden appearance has caused such a stir in the court.
"The last point of contact we had with the outside world was at the point of spear and sword. The war between Lagonia and the Headland left its scars, literal and otherwise. Your armies retreated, the mountain passes were closed to us, and we had to find our own way."
Tranton snorted. "Not my armies, Fenris. I grew up in a peaceful Headland. That war you mention put us off the whole thing, as far as the history books tell. The Outside took us to war, we got our arses kicked back across the Barrier Mountains, and we turned to trade instead."
"We turned to belief, for a time," Silt said, eyes focused on something invisible and distant. "It took us to some strange places."
"Nothing wrong with belief," Tranton said. "You just got to make sure you believe in the right thing."
"On that I agree wholeheartedly, Mr Seldon. And what is it you believe?"
Tranton held up his wounded hand, now only lightly bandaged around the missing finger. "I believe in this," he said. He patted his chest with the free fingers. "I believe in this." He held his forefinger to the side of his head. "And I believe in this. There's no need for anything else."
Smiling, Silt picked up the pen again. "When you get to be as old as I am, Mr Seldon, there's sometimes a need to believe in more than oneself."
"Try climbing the Barrier Mountains by yourself. Once you've done that, you realise you don't need anything else." Tranton was thinking it through in his head while he was saying it out loud. He'd never shied away from speaking his mind but he now found himself with an unprecedented feeling of unshackled freedom.
This kingdom could do whatever it wanted, but he was Tranton Seldon, master of the Barrier Mountains. There was nothing they could do to contain him.