There is treachery somewhere ahead, rumbled Sarinian, and Darius willed the sword to silence. He concentrated instead on the woman’s warm and subtle words, the special looks they had shared, the magical night by the waterfall. Such feelings were as real as the horses on which they rode. It couldn’t have all been just an elaborate game. Could it?
No, his heart assured him. But his mind still wondered.
To keep his face from betraying him, he quickly turned his attention back to the terrain around them. The road had narrowed to a naked rim circling the mountain with a bare cliff on one side and a sheer drop on the other. They already seemed to have climbed quite a ways, the drop to their right frightening to behold, and he was beginning to suspect the floor of the narrow pass between the peaks must actually be falling away.
Adella’s eyes suddenly shot up to the peaks above them.
“This will do nicely,” she announced, reining in her horse.
Darius frowned and looked around as Adella dismounted. Following her glance, he could see far above a narrow strand passing from their mountain to the next.
“What is that?”
“The High Bridge,” she answered as she pulled the foul-smelling bundle off of Andros and began to empty it. “From this point on, the road is littered with the bones of thieves who challenged Malcolm’s magic. But don’t worry. I know a safer way.”
The Yonga Fruit that she took from the satchel were the size of a small melon and bright green in color, and each one was dripping with an even brighter green syrup that looked disgusting. The stench was nearly overpowering.
“Get the horses out of here, but keep the saddles,” she said as she concentrated on the messy fruit. “They’re in much greater danger than we are.”
Darius did as he was bid, taking the gear and the saddles from the horses, and pointing them back down the path from whence they had come. Andros neighed and shook his head, but Darius soothed him with soft words and a reassuring pat on his neck. Reluctantly, the stallion headed back down the road, the mare following, but Darius knew they would only go a few miles to where the grass still grew, awaiting his summons.
“Keep a wary eye above,” Adella said without glancing at him. “I need a few moments yet.”
She had produced a small flask and was pouring the contents over the pile of fruit, being careful to evenly distribute the contents over each melon. She then drew some kind of jewelry or amulet from an inner pocket which she was careful to keep Darius from seeing clearly, but he caught sight of it once: a wrought platinum design set with one large blood ruby. As he watched, Adella held the amulet in one hand and placed her other over the pile.
“Yath nal Kregas mar,” she intoned, and her closed hand began to glow with a dark, blood red.
“Reve Al Faruth!” she cried softly, and a small burst of light leapt from her open palm and struck the first of the Yonga Fruit, though there was no apparent change. She repeated the process with the second melon, then a third, moving methodically over the pile.
Darius stood quietly, watching, morbidly fascinated at seeing magic being weaved before his very eyes, maintaining a respectful silence, but curiosity finally got the better of him.
“What is it that you’re doing there?”
“A man named Bollas had a fine idea a few years back,” she said as she moved to the last of the fruit. “He fired a crossbow bolt with a rope attached into that cliff over there, then swung across and began to climb the rocks. It was a clever way to pass the High Bridge, but he never made it to the top.”
“What happened to him?” asked Darius.
“He made a hole in the valley floor,” Adella replied, glancing up at him for a moment.
“He fell?” Darius asked, glancing inadvertently at that dreadful drop beside them.
“Yath nal Kregas mar. Reve Al Faruth!” she said, finishing the last of the melons.
“A man like Bollas doesn’t just fall,” she continued grimly, as she led Darius back down the road, away from the fruit. “There are defenses here of which we know nothing.”
“The eyes in the clouds!” he said, inspired, remembering the bandit’s words.
Adella shot him another, approving glance. “Clever. Yes, the eyes in the clouds. But Malcolm does not spend his days looking down at a bare cliff. Those eyes are mindless and see only the unusual.”
Darius nodded, understanding. A defense that guarded itself was often easy to fool. He studied the sheer mountain faces, the single strand of the High Bridge far above, and he began to get a sense of Llan Praetor. The road, the bridge, all the approaches to the citadel were an elaborate trap, designed to lure the unwary to follow a familiar path, while the real route to Llan Praetor was carefully hidden, probably beyond the ability of any mortal to find. Except, perhaps, this Malcolm.
Adella took shelter in a narrow crevice of the mountain wall almost out of sight of the pile of Yonga Fruit, and Darius followed her lead.
He looked from Adella back to the pile of fruit just visible up the road and frowned. “But what good is all that to us?”
“It’s our ticket of passage. The eyes might spot a man swinging across on a rope, but they’ll be blind to birds.”
“Birds? What birds?”
“There!” she answered, pointing up into the sky.
Darius looked upwards, and he saw three large hawks or eagles circling above them, riding on the mountain airs. They were a beautiful sight, magnificent creatures soaring gracefully on the winds, delighting in their ability to fly, and as always, Darius wondered what it would be like to have wings and climb into the heavens. As he watched, one, two, and then all three of the birds began to descend in tight spirals, zeroing in on something they had spotted far below, and Adella put a hand against his chest to push him a little further under cover.
Down, down, down they came, plunging at an alarming speed, and as they came closer, Darius began to realize just how huge the birds were, giants of their species with wing spans a dozen yards across and bodies the size of a large horse. To his surprise, all three of the birds were coming right towards them, and only at the last moment did he realize they were making for the pile of green Yonga Fruit. The first landed directly beside the pile, and it cast only a single glance around before picking one of the melons from the pile and swallowing it whole. A moment later and the second and third birds landed as well, greedily pecking at the pile, the three of them pushing each other for better access to the fruit.
On the ground, the birds appeared less beautiful than they had in the air, with sharp beaks, long skinny necks, and almost reptilian eyes that were quite different from any avian features Darius had seen before, and they shrieked at each other as they gobbled down fruit, a horrible screech that made the hairs stand on the back of his neck.
“What are they?” he whispered.
“Praetor hawks,” Adella whispered back, her voice tight with excitement. “They love Yonga Fruit only a little more than horse flesh. Look at them! They rule the skies of Llan Praetor, though they are only seen at dawn and at dusk. Three! I’m glad now I dragged along as much fruit as I did.”
Darius looked back at the birds as they made short work of the Yonga Fruit, each barely pausing to swallow one whole before reaching for another. Then as he watched, he was startled to see first one, then a second, and finally the third come to a sudden stop as if frozen in place, the last of the Yonga Fruit lying unnoticed on the ground.
“Got ‘em!” Adella shouted, the sound a sharp contrast to her previous whispers. “Come on!”
Without waiting for a response, she rushed back towards the three silent birds, Darius following a little more cautiously behind. She ran to where the horse saddles lay, and she picked one up and threw it over the neck of the first of the Praetor hawks.
“Hurry!” she called. “We haven’t much time. The spell will last only a few minutes.”
“You can’t be serious,” Darius said, coming forward slowly. “You can’t mean to ride these mon
sters.”
“I do and I will,” she answered. “Now saddle that second one! I’ll explain, but we can’t delay.”
Suppressing his doubts, Darius threw the saddle over the second bird’s shoulders, and watching Adella’s technique, he began to buckle the saddle down.
“Not too tightly with the straps,” she warned. “We won’t be on them for long, and it may take weeks to free themselves from this gear once we’re done.”
“Done with what?”
“When the holding spell wears off, they’ll be shaken, and they’ll take to the heavens for safety. A straight line to Llan Praetor. We won’t have much need to guide them left or right, but we’ll need the reins to force their heads down and make them land. Then we jump off, and they go free.”
“Jump?” repeated Darius in some alarm. Trying to dismount from a wild bird on top of a mountain seemed much more difficult than Adella was suggesting.
“Hitch the stirrups higher,” she said as she completed her own adjustments. “You’ll need to swing your legs over quickly when the time comes.”
Darius complied, but even as he did so, the bird began to stir to life again. Rather than a slow movement, the bird jerked slightly once, then twice, warning him he had barely seconds to mount. Adella was already in the saddle, her own bird rapidly freeing itself from the hold, and he hurried to put foot in the stirrup and swing himself up.
“Show your steel, Glory Man,” she said with a wide grin. “Come and ride the winds of chance!”
With that, she dug heels into the hawk’s sides, and the alarmed bird spread its huge winds and took to the air. To Darius’ horror, however, rather than rising to the peaks, the bird and rider plummeted towards the valley floor!
He leaned out of the saddle despite his own bird’s stirrings, trying to see over the brink. Down they plunged, bodies rigid, the hawk’s great wings outstretched, reaching for the wind, and Darius could only watch with gaping mouth, certain he was witnessing a suicide. Then, in an instant, the hawk seemed to level out, its wings and body parallel to the ground, and a moment later, bird and rider were rushing upwards again with incredible speed as if they were an arrow shot from some monstrous bow.
She was even with him for just an instant, and he saw the exultation on her face and the joyous laughter which the sound of the winds masked, a young bird on her first flight, glorying in her true element. Upward she went, riding the draft, heading for the strand of bridge far above, and she arched her body like a jockey, her steed tilting its wings slightly to zoom towards the far cliff.
He had to look away as his own hawk came back fully to life, staggering slightly at the edge of the cliff.
A thief’s trick, snarled Sarinian suddenly from its back scabbard. Some black spell from that accursed sword to lure you to your death. Dismount! You know well the woman is plotting some treachery. Turn away!
“Perhaps,” Darius answered softly, as he felt the fear welling in the hawk, the panicky need to take flight. “But what more glorious way to die?”
A moment later, the hawk launched itself from the cliff, and taken unawares by the unexpected weight on its back, it too plunged towards the ground.
Down he fell, down, plunging with a terrifying speed, his heart thundering with fear, his mind frozen and helpless, desperately holding the reins and clutching the bird with his legs, his throat too choked to breath or scream. A hundred feet, two hundred, three hundred, five, down past the point where Adella had risen, the ground rushing up to meet them, the jagged rocks reaching as he fell into the open mouth of death. His eyes closed, his teeth grinding against each other, a last, hopeless prayer to Mirna fleeting across his lips.
And suddenly, Mirna took mercy and reached down a mighty hand to lift him from his grave.
Up, up, up they soared, climbing through the air as only the eagles could, the updraft as thrilling as the fall had been terrifying. The bird rushed upwards past the rim where the remains of the Yonga Fruit lay, and Darius felt certain he could fly forever, feeling like a cripple who suddenly finds that he can run. Shooting upwards, the distant bridge now but a blink away, he pulled the reins hard, forcing the creature’s head to the right, and just as Adella had promised, the hawk banked accordingly, bringing him to the brink of Llan Praetor.
He was still rising, and he saw directly above him that Adella had already achieved the brink and was driving the head of her hawk down, forcing it to the ground. A moment later, and she had slipped nimbly from the saddle and landed perfectly on her feet, the newly released creature screaming as it soared towards the darkening heavens.
Now it was his time. The creature was at the brink, still seeking the heights, its wings climbing through the air at a frantic pace, seeking to escape the threatening ground. Darius dragged the reins downward as hard as he could, pulling the hawk’s head downward, and reluctantly, the creature began to descend, nearing the edge of the cliff. But Darius had not Adella’s dexterity, and as he tried to slip from the saddle, he let up on the downward pressure on the reins. The hawk reared its head, driving upwards again, and Darius faltered once, grabbed hopelessly at the saddle, and then with a strangled cry, he fell.
He struck the edge of the cliff , his fingers barely brushing against the rock, holding only air, and then he began the plunge to valley floor far below.
Adella instantly leaped from the cliff, her own gear discarded, coming to share his death. With one hand, she caught one of the small gnarled trees clinging to the face of the cliff, and with the other, she grabbed for Darius, her fingers scratching down his neck to catch on his armored breastplate. The tree shuttered beneath their combined weight, shaking loose a small fall of dirt, but its deep roots held.
Darius knew he had only moments to live. Adella could barely hold herself, and there was no chance she could pull him up. He felt the woman’s grip slipping, and he looked up to see a hopeless fear in her eyes. He grabbed behind and pulled Sarinian free of its scabbard even as his weight broke Adella’s hold. He thrust the sword forward with all his might, and the gleaming blade buried itself deep in the rock of the cliff. Darius held with one hand, grabbed with the second, and pressed himself as close to the cliff as he could.
Adella quickly scrambled back to the crest, finding tiny hand holds with amazing ease, and moments later, a rope was tossed over the edge for him. Darius grabbed it, looped it several times around his one arm, then pulled Sarinian free from the cliff and placed it back in its scabbard. Moments later, he had pulled himself up to the crest of the cliff and lay at last on solid ground.
Adella dropped down beside him.
“It seems this still isn’t your time to die, Paladin,” she breathed.
“It would seem not,” he agreed, still gasping for breath.
He looked over to where the High Bridge swayed and sighed in the updrafts, a narrow structure of frayed rope and rotting wood, spanning the frightening gap between the heights. The sight of that weather-battered bridge rocking in the wind helped him understand Adella’s willingness to trust herself to the hawks and the mountain airs.
He sat up and looked back over the cliff to the impossible distances they had come. He shook his head, the memory of the incredible sense of freedom in that short flight quite overwhelming the near-tragedy at the end. He shook his head and murmured softly, “Now I know why the angels always smile.”
He glanced over at her, as she, too, relived the last few minutes, and his eyes softened. Whatever treachery she might be planning, money alone could not account for what he had seen in her eyes at that instant when he had slipped from her grasp.
“Thank you,” he said, offering her a pale smile. “You risked your life to buy me only a chance to survive.”
She shrugged the words off.
“You’ve shown real grit, my friend, more than I’ve ever seen before,” she said. Then a wry smile came to her face. “Besides, Bloodseeker would have been enraged if I had let the rocks have you.”
“No doubt,” he replied, s
miling in turn. “I think that quite settles our score.”
“Settles it?” she snorted. “You may think nothing of facing two dozen hungry bandits, but I count it as two lives to one. You’re in my debt, Lord Darius.”
He shrugged lightly. “It’s not yet time to tally that account.”
“Perhaps not,” she agreed, secret thoughts hiding behind her eyes. She jumped back to her feet.
“Come, we’ve no time for idleness,” she said to him. “The light is fleeing, and we’ve still a ways to climb before we reach the gates on Llan Praetor.”
Darius nodded and got slowly up to his feet.
CHAPTER 19
Llan Praetor
Shannon and Jhan crouched down in the darkness of the wooded thicket beside Raulea’s considerable bulk and stared out at the moon-lit pond which the woman assured them was a favorite haunt of the pegasus. The dark water was luminous with starlight and moonlight, giving a reflected silvery beauty to the surrounding woods. It must look particularly lovely from the air, Shannon realized.
From somewhere off to the left came the sweet sound of pan-pipes fluting gently in the night, the sound in perfect harmony with the sylvan surroundings. Raulea had brought two of her assistants with her to play the pipes, and no sooner had one fallen silent than another set from across the lake could be heard taking up the call. With the crescent moon rising on one side of them and the lights of the Fey still visible on the other, it was a setting to ease even the most troubled heart.
“Will this actually bring a pegasus?” Jhan asked dubiously.
Raulea smiled in the darkness. “Of that, you may be certain. I’ve heard of many methods of calling a pegasus, but none are quite as good as this. They dearly love the silver lake in the moonlight, so one or more are bound to visit on a night like this. And while they are winged, they are still tied to the earth, and the pan-pipes are the surest way of pulling them down out of the sky.” She paused. “Of course, dealing with them on the ground can be another matter.”
A Rage in the Heavens (The Paladin Trilogy Book 1) Page 29