by AC Cobble
“Arcanist Ralcrist served my father well and my grandfather before him. He’s a wise man,” assured Cinda. “He’s been in Falvar as long as I’ve been alive. Maybe as long as my father has been alive. Ralcrist could have been in Falvar during the last war against the Dark Kind, now that I think of it. He has the experience you seek.”
“If he doesn’t have the answers, then no one does,” agreed Raif.
Rew smiled a tight-lipped grin. The nobles meant that to be reassuring, but it wasn’t. Would the arcanist be able to shed light on what was occurring? Maybe. Maybe not. Rew couldn’t decide which was better, to leave the answers unknown and return to Eastwatch or to find out who this spellcaster was traipsing through the wilderness and why the narjags were on his heels. Either way, Rew was becoming concerned it would be nearly impossible to untangle himself from the mess, whatever it was. The Investiture was coming, and staying away was always going to be difficult. In Falvar, in the heart of a conspiracy… He sighed and turned to his bedroll, stretching it across a flat bit of rock, grimacing at the sharp pebbles he felt underneath of it. It was going to be a long night.
The next morning, they woke early. As expected, no one had slept well the night before on the windy, rocky side of the mountain. They stretched out sore muscles, rubbed at bruises they’d acquired from lying atop the hard ground, and made a quick breakfast before pressing on. The slope steepened as they rose in elevation, and in places, they were climbing on hands and feet, leaning into the rock face, fingers numb from contact with the cold stone. They tried to ignore the long fall below them.
After two hours of strenuous hiking and climbing, they came across another scene of a fight. It was at the end of a gully, just two hundred paces below the start of the pass. Rew was leading them up when he began to get whiffs of an awful smell.
“Weapons ready,” he called back.
But it was unnecessary. Ahead of them, they found a dozen broken and ruined bodies of narjags and blue-skinned ayres. The end of the gully looked to be the site of small avalanche, shattered rock blocking the way forward and covering several of the Dark Kind.
“They’re still chasing him,” muttered Jon, shaking his head at the scene. “What is driving them?”
Rew rubbed his beard, long and tangled after so much time in the wilderness and shook his head. “More than fresh meat, I’m certain of that. Narjags are lazy. They’d only come up here if they were motivated, if they were on the hunt.”
“They’re not hunting very effectively,” said Raif with a grin, gesturing at the dead bodies. “Whoever they’re after, we haven’t seen a sign of them. No blood, nothing.”
Rew nodded. “Had they gathered together before they attacked, maybe they’d have a chance, but it’s clear this spellcaster is capable of handling a small group with little difficulty.”
“Rew,” said Jon. He pointed to a bit of wood sticking out from the tumbled rock at the end of the gully. “Look familiar?”
Rew squatted down next to the shaft of wood and tried to tug it free, but it was trapped under dozens of heavy stones. He didn’t need to see it, though, to guess what it was. “A staff like the one we found near Eastwatch.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Jon. “A shaman?”
“Not a very good one,” muttered Rew, glancing around and seeing no signs of narjag spellcasting, unless the shaman had accidentally brought the pile of rock down onto itself. “What if instead of shamans, these staffs and attire are signs of a pack leader?”
“Could be,” agreed Jon. “We’ve never seen that sort of, ah, fashion amongst narjags before, have we?”
“Back during the war, the Dark Kind raised standards much like a human army would,” said Rew. “It was assumed that was the valaan’s doing, and they did it for the same reasons we do, to try and maintain order during an engagement. It could be the narjags have their own totems to signify tribe or leadership. To be honest, no one has spent much time studying them.”
“Why would you?” muttered Raif, staring down at the legs of a narjag which poked out from under the rock pile.
Rew, beginning to pace back and forth across the gully, frowned. “Back in the wilderness, we saw the tracks of what could be hundreds of Dark Kind. We’ve seen several dozen that have been killed. Where are the rest of them?”
None of the companions had an answer.
Rew looked back out the gully, past the mountain to the forest days below them. He scratched his beard. “There are no signs of the spellcaster, but there are tracks for more narjags than we’ve discovered. It’s clear that a lot of them are on the move, but from the campsites, they are not moving together. It’s almost as if individual groups are getting periodically slaughtered.”
“They are a fractious race, are they not?” asked Raif. “Maybe when the different groups stumble across each other, they fight. Well, I suppose they didn’t pull these rocks down to kill each other, and I can’t imagine they are the ones using those sonic lashes either.”
“If they had those capabilities, they would have used them on us,” agreed Rew. He stood at the end of the gully, staring at the bare stone around them, looking for tracks, but knowing he would find none. “I’ve spent years in the wilderness, and Jon and I are both trained to notice anything outside of the usual. If that spellcaster traveled through the forest, even with spells assisting his stealth, I think I would have seen some sign. They had to sleep, right? If the spellcaster traveled the wilderness, they must have camped, eaten, made waste…”
“You’re thinking the spellcaster is periodically checking in on the narjags by portal?” wondered Anne.
“It could be,” said Rew.
“But why?” she asked.
He held up his hands helplessly and didn’t respond.
“I’m glad the narjags are dead, and if there is some spellcaster killing them, they have my blessing, but what are we supposed to be doing here?” asked Cinda. “There’s no path.”
Rew nodded and pointed at the fallen rock which blocked the end of the gully. “The path used to be right through there.”
Cinda crossed her arms over her chest.
Rew kicked a fallen rock with his boot. It would take them half an hour to move back out of the gully. Then, he’d have to leave the party or drag them along while he scouted for another route. Assuming they could even find one, that might take hours or days. They were worn out, and up past the tree line, there weren’t a lot of options for fresh water. With so many narjags in the area, he didn’t want to risk running low in case they ran into trouble and didn’t have time to search for more. For comfort and basic needs, they needed to move quickly.
“We climb,” he said.
Raif shifted nervously, eyeing the steep sides of the gully and the fifty paces they would have to ascend to get to the top of it.
“You shouldn’t have brought all of that armor,” mentioned Rew. He moved to the wall. “I’ll go and check things out up top. Then, I’ll come back for the rest of you. While I’m gone, strap your gear on tight and make sure you’ve got a full range of motion. In a few minutes, up we go.”
Behind him, the party began to do what they could to prepare, putting weapons on their backs, pushing aside their cloaks, taking off their gloves, and cinching their packs tight so they didn’t jostle around as they climbed.
Rew put his fingers on the wall, feeling the chill of the stone immediately seep into his skin. He hauled himself up, finding toeholds with his soft boots and scaling the side of the gully like a spider. He traversed it toward the corner where the rocks had fallen, seeing they’d been shattered free by an incredible force. The climbing would have been easier there, except pieces of rock were loose. Inexperienced climbers might not see the risk, and if they lost their grip when the rock fell away under their hands, they would go tumbling down.
He skirted back out toward where the rock was stable and plotted the easiest route up. It wasn’t difficult for him, and he imagined Jon and Zaine would have little tro
uble, but the nobles were not used to such activity, and Anne hadn’t climbed anything steeper than a stairwell since she’d come to Eastwatch.
At the top, he saw the way was clear yet again, and he could see the opening into the pass. The mountain had split there due to some geological event ages earlier. It must have been torn apart, but it looked as if a giant had cleaved the peaks with an axe. It left a narrow passage through, the bottom filled with rubble and scree from above. It was just a dozen paces wide, and in some spots, it narrowed even further. An easy hike, as long as you weren’t bothered by tight, confined spaces with a long way to go in either direction to escape.
Rew shuddered, thinking of the last time he’d passed through. The center of the narrows was a particularly tight squeeze. Shoulders brushing against both sides of the pass, he’d wanted to run the two hundred paces through it. He would rather face an army of narjags than spend more time than necessary in such a constricted area, but they had to do it. The only other places they could pass over the Spine would add over a week to their journey to Falvar.
Rew looked down at the party below and grinned. They looked as nervous about the climb as he felt about walking through the narrows. Misery loves company.
He drew a deep breath, glad to be free of the stench of the gully where the dead narjags lay, and frowned. He sniffed again and detected old smoke. He moved away from the gully, and fifty paces east of the pass, he found the remains of a giant fire. Scattered around it was the refuse of a feast. Skin, bones, hair… He swallowed uncomfortably, realizing he was standing in the middle of a campsite for a huge party of narjags. They must have spent the night there before entering the pass. Circling slowly, he walked out from the fire, spotting waste the foul creatures had left and the marks on the stone where they’d disturbed them. He saw several bodies, but they looked like they could have been killed by their companions. Common enough, amongst a group of narjags. There was no soil so high up on the mountain and no growth that could give away more details, but he was confident a very large party had rested there. A hundred of them, at least.
Walking back to the fire, Rew toed through it with his boot. There were the stubs of logs that must have been extinguished by the wind before they could be entirely consumed in the fire. There were bits of animal that had been thrown in as well. Few scraps or other signs outside of the fire, but narjags traveled light. He scratched his beard. Narjags traveled light and never with the foresight to bring firewood with them for when they passed the tree line. And where had they gotten the animals? Any animal wily enough to survive in the heights of the Spine wouldn’t be easy to catch for such a large group of narjags.
He couldn’t figure what it meant, that a large party had camped at the top of the gully while a dozen more had been trapped and killed below. After seeing the rock up close, he was certain spellcasting had caused the small avalanche, and he didn’t think the narjags were capable of such. Were the creatures working with the spellcaster or chasing him?
Rew picked up a charred piece of wood and sniffed it. Two days old, he guessed. The narjags that had camped beside the fire could already be through the pass now. They would have no clue his party was coming behind them, so he felt it safe enough to continue, but where were the Dark Kind going? What were they up to?
Heavy thoughts pressing on his mind, he scaled down to the others, taking more time than the climb up. He told them what he’d found and assured the younglings there was no cause of immediate concern. Then, he began describing how they should ascend, where the finger- and toeholds were, and giving the party what pointers he could.
Jon was the first to climb up, demonstrating the route for the others, and then Zaine went behind him. Both of them, limber and strong, made decent time with little problem. The thief confidently followed in the ranger’s shadow, and Rew briefly wondered just how much experience she had. She had the body of a climber, and her movements had the confidence of someone who’d done their share of scaling under stressful circumstances. Too young to be a full member of the thieves’ guild, but…
His thoughts were cut short as Cinda began the climb. The noblewoman wasn’t used to such hard labor, but she was light and determined. Slow compared to the other two, she crept up the rock face, taking her time and testing each finger- and toehold before she trusted it with her weight.
Rew nodded for Anne to go next, and she frowned but then looked at Raif. The big fighter was watching his sister, trepidation evident on his face. His arms and legs were the strongest of any in the party except for Rew, but he weighed twice as much as Anne and the girls. If he fell, he would take out anyone who was ascending behind him.
As Anne began after Cinda, Rew asked Raif, “Care if I haul your armor and sword up?”
The boy shook his head, unwilling to bend his pride. “I’ve got it.”
Rew sighed then stated, “I’m going to carry your armor and sword up.”
Raif drew himself upright.
Rew met the boy’s gaze without blinking. “It’s a difficult climb, lad. We’re going to need you if we encounter another band of narjags up there. Your sister and father are going to need you when we reach Falvar. Don’t risk yourself on something so foolish as carrying armor up a sheer rock wall. A leader knows when to delegate, and traversing this wilderness is what I do. Let me do it.”
With a grunt, Raif unslung his pack and untied his armor. He insisted, “I’m taking the sword myself.”
Rew shrugged and picked up the heavy leather armor. It was better than nothing. “After you, then.”
The pass, with its sheer rock walls, narrow passage, and bitter cold wind blasting into their faces like water off the edge of a waterfall, was every bit as unpleasant as Rew recalled. They huddled together, leaning into the wind as they forced their way forward. Tears leaked from their eyes, and they had to shout to keep their words from being blown away by the gusts. It made the walking exhausting, constantly leaning into a wall of wind that tried to force them back, but it was manageable, and compared to hiking up the side of the bare mountain, it wasn’t much more strenuous.
But at night, there was no respite. Instead of laying down on fist-sized rocks, they had to contend with the screaming wind blowing over them in a constant howling rush. In the morning after they’d spent the night in the narrows, they were all awake before dawn and agreed to start moving, eating a cold breakfast as they hiked. Their skin was chapped. Their ears rang from the unceasing wail of the wind, and none of them had gotten more than a few hours of fitful rest.
Rew led the way, his body getting battered by the wind, but he broke it for the rest of the party, and they followed behind, tightly clustered in his wake. The others offered to take turns in the lead, but he shook his head and pressed on. He could deal with exhaustion. He could deal with wind, and he could survive the cold, but the awful feeling of being trapped between the towering rock walls made his skin crawl. He would rather face the wind and have the passage open in front of him than be buried within the party, people in front and behind. He knew his discomfort wouldn’t pass until they cleared the narrows and he could stand in the open, so grimly, he trudged on.
Shivering, he glanced up, seeing sparse clouds streaking across the blue sky. They were visible in a thin band a thousand paces above, where the tops of the Spine’s peaks reached. He paused, thinking how the narrow pass looked just like a giant version of the gully and how the end of that gully had been sealed by a landslide. There would be no climbing a thousand paces up the smooth rock walls to escape the pass. His heart racing, Rew started walking again, his breath coming in tight, nervous bursts.
It was near nightfall when they finally reached the end of the narrows and he saw shards of the sunset leaking into the gap of the pass. The white stone at the end of the passage was splashed with shades of red, pink, and gold like a banner welcoming them out of the horrid stone tunnel. The wind roared as hard as it had since they’d entered the pass, and he knew the sun would set soon, casting a deep chill o
ver the land, but Rew’s spirit felt like it was free, racing toward that opening.
“Come on. We’re almost there,” he called back to the others, and not a one of them complained as he increased the pace to nearly a jog.
That evening, they flopped down to rest, still in the upper reaches of the mountain, still laying on hard rock, still battling the numbing cold at the high elevation, but they’d found a hollow to lay down in and avoid the scouring wind.
“Ah, that’s nice,” murmured Jon, speaking in a voice lower than a shout for the first time in two days, touching his bright-red cheeks, worn raw by the force of the wind. “Happy to be done with that bit of the journey, and it should be smoother travel from here on out, no?”
“Well, there’s the barrows…” mentioned Rew.
Jon blinked at him.
“You know what a barrow is, right?” asked the senior ranger.
“I-I thought they called it that because it’s rolling hills?” stammered the younger ranger. “Surely not all of those are—They aren’t, are they?”
“The legend is that three hundred years ago, even before the arrival of the Dark Kind and Vaisius Morden uniting the kingdom, there was a titanic battle in the barrowlands,” said Rew. “The people who lived here, and who eventually joined the kingdom as we know it, battled some enemy that has been forgotten through time. We must have won, since it’s people like us who rule these lands, but the stories say the losses were catastrophic. They say the dead lay like a carpet for one hundred leagues. An exaggeration, I’m sure, because where would you even find so many people to kill, but there probably were an awfully lot of bodies. Too many to return home for proper burial, so they buried them out there, in the steppes, in barrows. It’s only the wraiths that live out there now.”