AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A horn call rang out. Had the Cursed Ones found their trail, or were they giving up?
“It’s clear,” said Shevros, stepping out from a shadowed cleft, a natural chimney forged by unknown forces long ago.
“We must tie rope to the dogs, in case we need to haul them up,” said Agalleos.
Alain looped a harness of rope around their chests, backs, and bellies so they wouldn’t choke. He led them into the cleft; although it was still oppressively warm, the shade gave some relief from the heat. The builders had taken advantage of a natural incline already present in the escarpment when they chiseled out the steps. Climbing was hard work because the stair steps were not even. Whoever had hewn them out of the rock had merely worked with what was already there, so at times he had to take tiny steps, followed by a big lift. He was soon breathing hard. Shevros, in front, seemed scarcely winded, as though he climbed such staggering heights every morning before he broke his fast.
After about one hundred steps they came to the trap, a swaying bridge woven out of branches and rope and, poised above it, a lattice gate that held back a jumble of stones overbalanced into a horizontal cleft. Soldiers triggering the trap would be crushed once they were strung out on the bridge, and once the bridge was broken, it would be impossible to continue up the trail.
Maklos waited as the others negotiated the bridge. The hounds whined, nervous of the shifting ground, so Alain had to lead them across one at a time.
“How will Maklos follow us?”
“There’s a ladder hewn into the rock. There, you can see the beginning of it.”
“He’s going to climb straight up the rock face?”
“There are hand- and footholds. You can’t see them from here.”
Below, Maklos whistled, still grinning.
“Has he a sweetheart? I’ll be sure to describe his daring in great detail to her.”
Agalleos chuckled. “Then you’ll have an audience of ten or twelve.”
They climbed on, resting frequently. Once or twice they had to hoist the hounds up steep sections, but in the end they reached the top. Alain’s legs ached and his injured hand throbbed painfully. Scrub grew thinly here; the jumbled ridgeline was mostly rocks. They backtracked to the edge of the escarpment, a dizzying drop that looked down into Thorn Valley and beyond. A vista of rugged country unfolded before them. To the south and east, a line of sharp ridges and defiles gave out suddenly into a gulf of air and beyond that lay a hazy lowland, yellow with summer and bright with heat and color.
Shevros spat. “That is the country of the Cursed Ones. May they all rot.”
It was the longest speech he had yet made. “Why do you hate them so?” asked Alain.
Shevros gave him a disgusted look and turned away, slipping gracefully back into the cover of the rocks.
“We are driven from our homes by the Cursed Ones,” said Agalleos. “They destroyed our cities. Many of our people have died. Many more who escaped the ruins of our towns walked east to the country of our cousins, the tribes of Ilios, to beg for refuge, to make a new home if they can. Of course we hate them.”
“I was driven from my home.”
“Do you not hate the one who forced you to go?”
He shook his head, thinking of Geoffrey. “He did not understand what he was doing. He thought he was right, that he was only taking back what belonged to him.”
“Well,” said Agalleos, “you are young. Come.”
A cistern lay hidden within the rocks, enough water to drink their fill and even wash the dust off their faces and hands. To Alain’s surprise, he found Maklos there, chatting with his twin and looking pleased with himself.
“They’ve lost our trail,” he said to Agalleos. “They came no farther than the rotting pillars.”
“Good.” Agalleos sluiced water over his head, letting it dribble down his face in streams. “We’ll not lose this route today, then. Tomorrow it may save another one of us.” He measured the sun’s height, now halfway down to the western horizon. “We’ll go on at dusk. I want to cross the Chalk Path at night.”
Alain welcomed a chance to sleep. He woke, smelling smoke and cooking meat. Agalleos had built a fire deep in among rocks, letting dry tinder and many smoke holes disguise its presence. Sorrow and Rage were already eating, cracking bones in their haste to wolf down their meal. Shevros had snared a dozen small rock partridges, quickly devoured by the hungry companions. As the sun’s rim touched the western horizon, they shouldered their gear and walked north and west where the ridge spread into a large massif. There remained light to move quickly along the spine of the ridge. By the time it was too dark to move easily, they’d reached the high plateau which all the ravines and defiles and ridges spilled out of.
“Will the others have reached safety by now?” Alain asked when they stopped to water the hounds at another hidden cistern.
“Long since,” replied Agalleos. “Now we rest until moonrise. After that, we must walk quietly. No speaking.”
Alain was given leave to sleep while the others stood watch. No doubt, they understood better than he did what to watch for; they knew this land, while he did not. The injury to his hand made him woozy as exhaustion hit. He slept, grateful for his companions’ generosity.
They woke him at moonrise. With the heavens so clear the waning moon still gave enough light to negotiate the rocky ground as they hiked onward into pine woods. The night was alive with birds and insects. The ground litter, parched by summer, crackled under his feet. Now and again craggy outcrops, like uneven rock blisters, thrust up out of the earth, devoid of any vegetation except a few tenacious grasses. It was easy to see the stars through the thin foliage. The River of Souls streamed brightly across the sky. Had he already begun to forget the names of the constellations that Deacon Miria had taught him? The Heron struggled upward as it sank into the west; the Eagle, likewise, was beginning to slip west out of the zenith. Yet which was the name Adica had taught him, and which from his old life? Did it even matter anymore? This was his life now. He had given everything else away in exchange for his life; all that mattered was what he had here. Knowing that, at the end of this detour, Adica would be waiting gave him strength. A shadow of fear fluttered up, like a bat out of night. Had she woken from her trance? What if her vision trapped her? What if she never woke? He pushed fear aside. He had sat patiently beside her while she suffered through worse trances than this, last winter; it was the burden of being Hallowed One. As long as he watched over her, she would be safe. The sooner he returned to her, the safer she would be.
