Lorit took his hand and shook it. “First thing in the morning then. We’ll meet you by the stables.”
Lorit joined Chihon in the room, where she had shared her meal with Mu’umba. “I’m worried,” he said as he sat at the table, looking over at Mu’umba.
“Why?” she asked, joining him at the table. Mu’umba had curled up near the foot of the bed and looked to be fast asleep.
“Something about him bothers me. The reaction from everyone is so strong,” he explained in a whisper. “There must be something to all of it, don’t you think?”
“He seems harmless,” she said.
“I’m not sure how much he understands,” Lorit said.
“Du’ala was very insistent that we had to take him along and that he was going to be of some help,” Chihon said. “She must have something in mind.”
“I know,” Lorit said. “I’m just not sure what help he can give, or even if we want his help.”
“Have you discussed it with Zhimosom?” she asked. “He sure came in a hurry when Du’ala summoned him.”
“I know,” Lorit said. “That’s part of what worries me.”
Lorit waited until nightfall, after Chihon and Mu’umba were asleep, before attempting to contact Zhimosom. He sat quietly in his chair, focusing on the candle flame.
The familiar wizard’s study materialized out of the fog surrounding Lorit. He found himself seated in a chair by the wizard’s table. Next to Zhimosom sat Rotiaqua, looking much the same as Lorit had seen her last.
Zhimosom looked up at Lorit and said, “You are here, good.” He opened the large book before him and smoothed the pages, then absently looked up and around the table.
“Are we not expecting another to join us?” he asked.
Lorit looked around, wondering who the wizard was referring to. Before he could say anything, Rotiaqua held up her hand, closed her eyes, and relaxed for a few moments. Lorit waited patiently to see who would appear in response to her summons.
Slowly, a mist appeared above the vacant seat and then started to coalesce. As the form solidified, Lorit recognized Chihon. She sat quietly there, blinking sleep out of her eyes.
“So, we are all here,” Zhimosom said as she appeared. “Shall we get started then?”
Rotiaqua nodded to Zhimosom, who continued, “You have questions about the Arda’um, that is clear. These questions cause you concern, do they not?”
“Yes. Why does everyone hate them? Why does our magic not affect them?” Lorit blurted out. “How can they survive in the Plains of Grass?”
“The Arda’um are an ancient race,” Zhimosom explained. “They are feared because they are different in appearance and infrequently seen outside of their own country.
“Why they are immune to our magic and how they survive, is an area of study you can undertake once you reach Amedon. I will not go into that now.
“You have one of them with you as your companion, is that correct?” Zhimosom asked.
“Yes, Du’ala insisted that Mu’umba accompany us. She said he would be of some help during the coming conflict,” Lorit explained.
“Do not count on direct assistance from him,” Rotiaqua interjected. “He was sent along more to observe and witness than to assist you. He will bear his impressions back to Du’ala, but you cannot count on any direct assistance from him.”
“Then why is he accompanying us?” Lorit asked.
“Du’ala thinks he will be of some help. We have also divined that he has some part to play in your adventure but nothing direct,” the wizard explained. “Your success is enhanced by his presence at this point, but what part he plays in the future is still a mystery.”
“So, you agree that we should take him with us,” Lorit remarked.
“That is what the divination says,” Zhimosom replied. The wizard fidgeted with the book before him. “Can we continue to discuss your plans?”
“Please, continue,” Lorit said as he settled back in his chair. If the wizard wasn’t going to explain about the tribesman, he wasn’t going to push it any further.
“We’ve done quite a bit of divination and retained the assistance of certain individuals. We have been able to gather critical information that will aid your quest.
“There is a strong connection between Sulrad in Quineshua and Vorathorm in Veldwaite,” he explained, looking up at Lorit. “This means that once you start your attack on Veldwaite, Sulrad is sure to know immediately. What his response may be is still hidden from us.” Zhimosom flipped the pages in his book as if seeking answers. “You must be careful.”
“What can we do against Sulrad if he intervenes?” Lorit asked. “For that matter, what can we do against Vorathorm?”
“This, you will come to understand,” Zhimosom said, “I cannot advise you in this. I will relay the information that we have gathered so you can take full advantage of it.”
“You can’t tell us how to defeat him, but you’re sure that this is what we must do?” Lorit asked.
“Of this, I am certain,” Zhimosom said. He looked confidently at Lorit.
Lorit was skeptical about the wizard’s words. He had a growing feeling that Zhimosom didn’t always tell him the whole truth.
“Does your divination say anything about our chances?” Chihon asked. She leaned over the table, peering at Zhimosom’s book.
“Your success is not specified, only that you will be challenged and that it will be a difficult test.”
“So, we have no choice?” Chihon pressed him.
Zhimosom laughed and stroked his long white beard. Rotiaqua smiled at the girl. She reached out and touched her hand. The ancient and spotted hand of the sorceress contrasted with that of the young girl. She spoke reassuringly. “You always have choices, dear. Your choices may be limited to which path you may take, and at times it may look as if all paths lead to the same destination, but you always have a choice.”
“This is all we can say at this time,” Zhimosom said. “Get some rest. Tomorrow your quest truly begins. You are well prepared, but you will be tested. Do not fail us.”
With a wave of his hand, Zhimosom and Rotiaqua disappeared.
Alone in his study, Zhimosom turned to Rotiaqua. “Are they truly ready for this?” he asked.
“Is anyone truly ready?” she asked. “Were we?”
She rose from the chair to sit on the table, rustling her robes around her as she did. “I see you decided not to tell then anything about Mistwind.”
“Some things are better left for them to discover on their own.” He straightened up and made a show of organizing his desk, closing the book he had been researching and placing it neatly atop the stack growing next to him.
“It’s all set,” the priest told Sulrad as he stood before him. Word had gotten around that often messengers sent to Quineshua failed to return.
“Please explain in more detail,” Sulrad said. He wanted to know exactly what the priest had done, so he could decide if he was going to send the man home or elsewhere.
“We contacted the guide Lorit hired to take them over the mountain. He was easily subverted. He has a family, a daughter in Veldwaite that he cares for. He will do as we ask, I assure you.”
“I should hope so. Did you explain that it must look like an accident? I don’t want the wizard getting suspicious.”
“Yes, Father. He understands. He knows the mountains well. He can arrange something.”
“You’ve done well,” Sulrad said. “You may return home to your duties.”
The priest bowed his head deeply. He straightened up and looked around the study as if searching for something.
“What are you waiting for?” Sulrad demanded. Did the fool think he was going to expend power to return him to his home? “The door.” He pointed to the door that led to his assistant.
“Father?” the priest asked.
“Yes,” Sulrad had little patience left. He considered asking the man just to avoid the inevitable conversation.
�
�How am I to return home?”
“I suggest you get walking. It’s a long way.” Sulrad looked down at the papers on his desk, hoping that the priest was gone so he could get on with his work.
Chapter 17
Despite wanting to get an early start, it was mid-morning before Lorit finally pulled the pack mules out of the city gates and headed for the mountain pass. Ostai led them along the road that wound through low, rolling foothills. By early afternoon, the foothills had turned to sharp peaks that cut into the sky as they navigated along the narrow valleys formed between the jagged rock outcroppings.
Sharp rocks and stones littered their way, making it difficult to navigate with the mules. Occasionally one of the switchbacks would open into a wide valley, where Lorit could see how far they’d already ascended and what a long fall they would have should they be so unfortunate as to slip.
The crisp spring air seemed to grow colder as the day progressed. Lorit didn’t know if they’d already climbed that high or if the sunlight was unable to reach into the deep crevices.
Early in the evening, Ostai called the procession to a halt. “This is as far as we go today. There are no reasonable campsites for about a day’s journey. Least, none that you would want to spend the night in.”
Chihon stood at the edge of the outcropping where they had halted. Lorit stood next to her, looking down into the valley filled with jagged rocks, cut through by a rushing stream. The sound of the stream reached them even at their height.
“You can’t see the sunset,” Chihon said. She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself and shivered.
“Just the rocks,” Lorit agreed. “The sun must be setting about now.” He pointed to the clouds that were slowly turning a deep umber.
“It sure is cold,” Chihon said. “We must be getting high up.”
“Ostai said we’re only getting started. It will get much colder as we get closer to Mistwind,” Lorit said. He rubbed his hands together to keep them warm.
“I think the fire is ready,” Chihon said.
Chihon and Lorit crowded close to the fire to take advantage of its warmth. Mu’umba remained stooped behind one of the mules, out of the wind.
“He looks cold,” Chihon said, nodding toward the tribesman.
“Mu’umba, come sit by the fire,” Lorit called.
Mu’umba remained where he was, huddled next to the mules, until Lorit led him to the fire, sitting him down on a broken log. He seemed to relax a little as the fire warmed his scaly, rough hands.
By the time they had set up camp and finished dinner, it was full dark. The wind howled through the canyon walls with a wailing sound that reminded Lorit of wolves in the distance, howling at the moon. The cold winds occasionally brought a shower of ice crystals swept up from some distant peak and carried to higher altitudes.
The next day they rounded a switchback that took them to the edge of a deep chasm filled with snow. Lorit looked down onto the white blanket covering the floor of the canyon where occasionally a barren treetop protruded.
“Careful over there,” Ostai said. “That’s deep powder. It may look like a nice soft cushion of clouds, but if you fell into that, you’d drop straight to the canyon floor and dash yourself on the rocks below. It has no substance at all.”
“It looks so beautiful,” Chihon said standing next to Lorit, looking over the sparkling blanket of white.
“Beautiful, but dangerous,” Ostai said. “Keep close to the rock wall along the path up ahead. It’s tight and the mules will just be able to make it through,” he added, pulling at the lead mule.
They started off along the narrow ledge that wound around the sheer granite walls forming their path. It was steep and strewn with rocks and gravel that had been pried from the cliff face by freezing water in winter and the scorching sun in the summer.
The path was slippery with the occasional root sticking out from a crevice in the rocks. When the path was steepest, they grasped on to these roots to help them along their way.
Lorit stumbled over an unseen crack in the narrow path. He grabbed for a root that stuck from the cliff wall. Just when he felt he had a firm grip on it, it tore free of the rocks and sent him slipping and sliding, grasping for a new handhold.
He dropped to his knees landing solidly on the path, his left knee striking the rock that had tripped him up. He grasped for a handhold until his hand fell on another tree root at the edge of the path. This one was strong enough to support him as he clung to it breathing heavily, relieved that he’d come to a halt safely.
“Are you all right?” Chihon asked. She turned back to help Lorit back to his feet.
“I slipped on a rock,” Lorit said. He limped, favoring his left leg. “I almost went over the side.”
“Let me help you,” Chihon said. She retrieved Lorit’s staff and handed it back to him. She pulled his arm around her and helped him as he limped along.
Mu’umba trod closely behind them, guiding the trailing mule. He was bundled up in his furs with the cap pulled tightly down over his ears. On top of his fur coat, he had wrapped two layers of blankets so that his usual stocky frame had expanded to become a round ball of fur. He struggled along as if oblivious to the danger that had befallen Lorit. The tribesman shivered and pulled his blankets tighter around him.
They continued to climb the mountain, twisting and turning around the paths. At times, they had to flatten themselves against the rock wall and guide the steps of the mules as the path grew narrow.
The valleys below were consistently full of snow, only occasionally opening up to reveal a running stream that cut through the drifts. Occasionally, they could hear the running water as it cut beneath the crust of snow, but of the water, nothing showed.
As they rounded a sharp turn, they heard the sound of falling rocks followed immediately by the voice of their guide calling out, “Watch out up ahead. There’s a landslide that has cut away part of the ledge.”
Just as they reached the narrow part, the lead mule bolted and backed into the trailing one. Startled, the second mule took a step to the side and slipped near the edge of the path.
Mu’umba reached out and grabbed the bridle to try to steady her, but she bucked once more and slipped toward the edge. The tribesman flailed his arm, striking but not grasping any of the protruding roots. The mule bucked again, pulling the tribesman further away from the rock wall. With a loud bray, the mule lost her footing and disappeared over the rocky ledge.
Mu’umba was jerked along behind the mule. He extended his feet trying to catch the edge, but the momentum of the mule was too great. He was pulled over the edge.
Chihon screamed.
Lorit rushed to the cliff face.
He could see the hole in the snow where they fell, but of the mule and the tribesman, there was no trace.
Lorit reached out with his senses. He could feel where the tribesman and the mule had landed. The animal was crippled and broken on the rocks below. Mu’umba landed on top of the mule and bounced off to strike a tree buried beneath the snow. He was sitting with his back to it, but he wasn’t moving.
“I can sense him down there,” Lorit said. “I think the mule is lost, but Mu’umba is still alive.”
“We have to get him up,” Chihon said. “He’s hurt. I can feel it.” She grabbed Lorit’s hand and reached out to the tribesman. Lorit could feel the cold clamminess of her skin and the power that flowed out of him and through her, as she did.
Lorit felt her trying to raise Mu’umba from the ground below, but nothing happened. It was if the tribesman wasn’t there at all. Their magic had no effect on the Arda’um. They couldn’t rescue him using magic.
“It’s not working,” Chihon said. Lorit could feel her desperation as she fought to reach their companion and failed.
“We’ll have to climb down and get him,” Lorit said. He recalled that Mu’umba had told them at their first meeting that their magic would not work on him. Lorit wondered what it was that made them immune.
Ostai worked his way around the lead mule and back to where Lorit and Chihon stood looking down on the snow. “I have some rope that we can use. We can lower it down and pull your friend back up. That is if he can grasp the rope. I don’t think we can get down there if he’s unable to help himself up.”
“He won’t be able to hold on,” Lorit said. “He’s still alive, but he’s hurt pretty badly.”
“You can lower me down on the rope. I can tie it to him,” Chihon said. “Once you pull him back up, you can throw the rope back down for me.”
Ostai pulled the coil of rope from his pack and handed it to Lorit. He looked around for a suitable point until he located a smooth rock outcropping that could be used to guide the rope. He tied a loop in one end of the line and handed it to Chihon. Lorit took the other end of the rope and looped it several times around the rock. He pulled it tight and nodded to Ostai to grab on and help.
“Go ahead,” Lorit said.
Chihon inched toward the edge carefully, looking over. She turned to face Lorit. “Don’t let me fall,” she begged as she stepped over the edge.
Lorit could feel the slack go out of the rope as she descended the sheer cliff. He and Ostai slowly played out the rope in fits and starts until finally it paused. Lorit looked over the edge but could see nothing but white.
In his head, he heard the faint voice of Chihon saying, “Give me some slack. I can’t see anything, but I’m getting a sense of where he is.”
Lorit let out more rope, waiting for some indication from Chihon.
“I can feel him,” Chihon’s voice came through. “He’s hurt very badly.”
They waited anxiously until there was a tug on the rope, followed by Chihon’s ethereal voice saying, “Slowly. I’ll walk with him to the cliff wall. From there, you’ll need to pull him up.”
They pulled slowly until the load increased dramatically. “I think he’s at the wall,” Lorit said. “Ready to lift?”
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