Had he trusted his horse to do the work of guiding itself he’d have closed his eyes and kept them that way until they reached the other side. Instead, he focused on the back of Drask’s animal and looked away from the glowing walls that defied all logic and hurt his sense of balance as they ripped past.
And then the glow of the walls faded, lost behind the brightest glare he’d seen since they’d reached the desolate plains of the Blasted Lands, a warm glow that brought to mind the hearth in winter, a bright, inviting light that seemed impossible after so long in the cold.
Up ahead, the other end of the cavern came into view and revealed that warm, wondrous light. And so much more.
The group rode just as hard through the exit of the tunnel, unwary, perhaps even uncaring if there should be anyone or anything in their path, and as soon as they had passed through the tunnel they veered hard to the right, down a strong slope for another half mile at least, where the walls of rock rose on both sides of them, natural outcroppings that had formed the path they followed. There was no reason to worry about obstacles, as the road was smooth and clear of any debris.
Merros ground his teeth. He was tired and his body ached from the long, hard ride. He was worried about the horses, the supplies, the people, and whether or not his hosts would ever stop moving at a hard run.
He needn’t have worried. The curving path they followed suddenly opened up on a level field and just as it did, the riders brought their animals to a halt, the great beasts all panting, grunting for breath in air that was fresh and sweet, and felt as alien as the sight revealed by the plateau.
They had stopped on a ridge, easily large enough for a fortress, though there was, instead, a small collection of buildings left in the open. The buildings themselves were squat, built from the same black stone as the walls of the mountain, though without the odd glazed areas of nearly transparent rock. A fenced-in pen waited for the mounts, next to stables that Merros suspected would hold their horses. Unlike the other buildings, the stables looked newly built from wood that had only recently been cut and planed. He knew fresh wood when he saw it. He’d spent two years in the forests of Trecharch, and had watched on three separate occasions as the people there felled trees that rose hundreds of feet into the air.
The riders dropped from their beasts, moving with ease that seemed impossible for Merros himself as he half-crawled from the saddle. He almost expected to hear the soldiers laughing at his discomfort, but instead they were silent and began to efficiently strip their animals of saddles and supplies.
All of which meant nothing at all to Merros as he looked out across the valley below, seeing the land that had been hidden by the Seven Forges. Drask removed his great helmet and moved toward the edge of the land where it abruptly dropped down into the valley, and despite his exhaustion, Merros moved to join him.
The sky above was lighter in color than he’d expected, as if the clouds themselves were held at bay by the height of the mountains. The light was not as strong as he’d been familiar with, but after the long time in near darkness it was strong enough to make him squint. And below that brightness, the black stone walls of the mountains cradled what seemed like a dream.
The valley below was lush with vegetation, trees and fields that had obviously been cultivated and carefully tended for a long while. Several streams and rivers fell from the sides of the mountains, merging in lakes that, from this distance, seemed like mirrors reflecting the glare of the sky back in defiance. And spread here and there, too far distant to see clearly, he could see towns, possibly even cities.
“How can this be here?” He spoke to himself, his voice breathless, stunned.
Drask answered him, shrugging his heavy shoulders. “The Daxar Taalor are kind to us.” Daxar Taalor. The words meant the Gods of the Forges as near as Merros could tell. Most words seemed to translate with more ease, but those were different. They sounded wrong in his mind.
Wollis stepped toward them, clearing his throat and pulling down his cowl and his hood. Baring his face to the gentler temperatures they were experiencing. There was sweat on Merros’ neck. He hadn’t felt sweat in what seemed like forever. “We’re stopping for the night. There are rooms and food.” His face split into a grin and he shook his curly dark hair. “They have beds, Captain. Enough for all of us.”
Merros could understand his second’s enthusiasm. The ground was hard, even with blankets and furs to soften the rough land.
Drask nodded. “This is an outpost. Any riders coming through who plan to leave the valley stop here first. Those that come back almost always rest here.”
“That happen a lot? The people not returning?” He looked toward Drask as he spoke, curious about what the man looked like now that he was in his home area. He needn’t have wasted his time as the man’s features were still hidden behind layers of cloth.
Drask regarded him silently for a moment and then lowered his head in a way that spoke of formality. “The Daxar Taalor are kind to us. The land beyond the Forges is not as forgiving.”
Wollis slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sending the men for rest. They’ve earned it.”
Drask finally looked away from the view, away from the home he had not seen in the gods knew how long. Merros envied him that glance. It had been too long since he’d had a decent meal or slept with a woman. If he survived this trip he would be wealthy. That was the part he had to remember. Without glancing in his direction, Drask made a final comment before heading toward the distant buildings. “The structure to the left, the one closest to the pass, is where you and your men will stay the night. There will be baths and food. Then you should rest. We’ll rise early.”
Merros tried to listen. He ate food: fresh meat and fresh vegetables – a delight after the last few weeks – and then he took a long, luxurious bath in warm clean water and scrubbed his flesh until it was pink. He had not bathed in so long he feared the color of the gray grit would never leave his skin.
And after that, he tried to sleep, but rest was elusive. He had seen the strangers, yes, but he had not met their people, nor had he met Tarag Paedori, their so called King in Iron. How long had it been since anyone from the Empire had met a new people? One mistake, one stupid blunder, and he could cause not only his own death, but the death of every person in his command. One foolish misstep and he could very well cause the start of a war between his people and the people he was just meeting for the first time.
Frankly, if they were all as good as Drask, that was a terrifying notion.
Sleep did not come easily.
Desh Krohan settled himself at the marble table with ease. He had been here before, many times, and while the world was about to change, he felt no reason to suddenly be uncomfortable in the company of kings, or emperors for that matter.
Pathra Krous, the Emperor of Fellein, sat across from him in the small dining chamber. The man’s hair fell in well-oiled ringlets, a fashion that Desh refused to follow himself. The Emperor didn’t much seem to care what his hair looked like as long as the girl who was taking care of his appearance was the one handling the matter. To that end he currently had long oiled locks and a mustache that ran down to his chin. At least his face was long enough and narrow enough to carry it off. Several men trying for the same look had come across as little more than comical in Desh’s eyes. Desh kept his graying hair short, because there was less effort in maintaining it every day. He had little enough spare time on the average.
There was no gathering for this meal, there were no followers on, or family members to get in the way. That was what Pathra wanted, and what he wanted, he usually got.
“Have you news of your little expedition?” The Emperor started almost every conversation with the same question. It wasn’t a matter of manners, so much as the powerful desire the man held in his heart to be on the trip himself. Since he was a child, almost five decades earlier, the man had suffered from a nearly insatiable wanderlust. Sadly the duties of his crown had kept him from traveling t
he world. He was, unlike so many of his family, a man who took his station very seriously.
Desh nodded his head and smiled, reaching for a particularly juicy looking piece of pabba fruit. Most would have waited for permission to eat in the presence of the Emperor. Desh asked permission of no one. To his credit, Pathra couldn’t have cared less about etiquette when it came to the sorcerer. The sweet essence of the stuff perfumed the air as he peeled it and he offered half to the head of the nation before he took a bite. The man took the fruit gratefully. He knew he needn’t worry about any sort of dangers with the mage in his presence. “They have reached the Seven Forges.”
The Emperor smiled. “Have they indeed? And have they found anything interesting?”
“Not that they’ve shared with me, not yet at least, but perhaps we’ll know more tomorrow.”
Pathra looked out the window down into the courtyard far below, his eyes once again taking on the wistful look that Desh knew so very well. “I envy them.”
“Don’t envy them yet, highness. If they should find Korwa there’s no way to know what might be waiting for them.”
The rumors and innuendo did not come from mortal sources, but from the spirits themselves. Desh knew better than most that spirits tended to lie and even the ones that were telling the truth often had no idea what they were describing. Everything he’d tried pointed to Korwa waiting in the Blasted Lands, and that was not a pleasant notion.
“I don’t see how the wreckage of the First Empire could be of any concern, Desh.” Pathra shook his head and scratched idly at his chin. “A thousand years ago there was a war. What could possibly be left now that would matter?”
The wizard chewed on a wedge of the sweet citrus and then licked his lips before he answered. “Where is your capital located?”
The man looked at him as if he’d just possibly grown a second nose. “Where it has always been. Right here.”
“And where was Korwa located?”
“Is this really the time for a geography lesson, old man?” Pathra scowled and looked out the window. Most would have thought the Emperor had suddenly grown addled. The wizard looked to be the same age. Then again, the man had not aged in the five decades that the Emperor had known him.
Desh ignored the slight barb. Only he knew exactly how old he was, and he chose not to share that information. “There is always time for lessons, Pathra. Don’t ever forget that.” Pathra Krous was the Emperor, born and bred into a family that had ruled for centuries. Some had ruled wisely, some had not, but one thing had not changed much in that time. The Emperors accepted the word of their advisor and they accepted his calling them by their first names. Desh ate another piece of fruit and wiped the excess juice across his wrist. “Korwa was a very large city. It was the seat of power just as Tyrne is the seat of your Empire. No one has seen any sign of Korwa in the Blasted Lands. No one has looked. Still, the spirits are telling me that Korwa is near the Seven Forges. They won’t tell me what’s left of it, or where exactly it is, and as I have said before, the spirits often lie, but they seldom do so without a reason. If they say Korwa still exists, then I believe them.”
This time it was the Emperor who chewed at his fruit before answering. “Even if it does, what is the possible threat of a city without people, Desh?”
“The Blasted Lands, Pathra. What have we seen come out of the Blasted Lands in the last thousand years?”
“Plague Winds, the Pra-Moresh and an astonishing amount of dust.”
“The Plague Winds are long past, thank the gods. The Pra-Moresh are different. They’ve come from the Blasted Lands for centuries. Not often, but when they do they always bring destruction and death in their wake.”
Pathra waved an impatient hand. “Make your point.”
“How many expeditions have we… no, have I sent into the Blasted Lands? Dozens? Hundreds? Even I lose count.” Desh shrugged. “In all that time we’ve never had anyone come back from the Seven Forges, or even make it all the way to the mountains before now. They’ve never run across anything before, or if they did whatever they ran across killed them. The Pra-Moresh come and go, they don’t interfere with us too often. But they’re out there and they have to feed on something more than dust and snow. I’ve studied their bodies at the behest of your family in the past and I can tell you, they need to eat a great deal of food to stay alive. That means they’ve been feeding on something out in the Blasted Lands.”
“And?” Again the Emperor made his gesture, waving his fingers for Desh to get to his point.
“Whatever they’ve been feeding on might come from somewhere beyond the Seven Forges. Or it might come from the forges themselves. Or it might come from Korwa.” And here Desh leaned toward the Emperor and stared hard at him. “Or they might have been sent from Korwa to test what might be found on the other side of the Blasted Lands.”
Pathra Krous leaned back in his seat and scowled in thought. “Is that what your spirits tell you?”
“No. The spirits refuse to tell me much beyond the fact that Korwa still exists. But, Pathra, how can we know for sure that Korwa and the people of the First Empire haven’t been waiting on the other side of the Seven Forges for centuries, sending occasional expeditions out to see if anything still remains of the upstarts who tried to take the Empire from them so long ago?”
Pathra Krous tossed aside the portion of his fruit that he had not yet consumed, his appetite destroyed.
Desh Krohan reached to the roast in the center of the small table and cut off a slab of rare meat that was perfectly seasoned. “You have ruled Fellein very well, Pathra. You have been wise and you have ended almost every conflict with minimal losses. Like your father before you, you are a good and decent man.” Desh’s voice was kind. “But the fact remains that we have no idea what lies beyond the Blasted Lands, and the fact remains that, though the process is slow, the Blasted Lands have been receding. Perhaps the damage from the Great Annihilation is mending itself. For all we know, the very world is growing smaller. Whatever the case, within a hundred years it’s possible that the Seven Forges will be only a few days away through lands that are almost recovered from the damage done.”
Krous shook his head, uncomfortable with the talk of the table though they’d certainly had the conversation before. “What’s out there, Desh?”
“I’m working on finding out. Whatever the case, you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that we could well be facing enemies who are not only unknown to us, but who control creatures like the Pra-Moresh and who knows what else.”
He took a look at the Emperor’s worried expression and sighed.
“I don’t think you have to worry at just this moment, Pathra. I simply want to make sure you’re contemplating the need to strengthen and train your armies. I can’t imagine that things will change too quickly, but just the same, I’ll let you know what the expedition has to say.”
Far below where the likes of emperors and sorcerers had conversations, Tyrne swarmed with business and life. Shopkeepers dealt with patrons, the City Guard dealt with squabbles and thieves, and Andover Lashk prayed to the gods he didn’t believe in for a miracle.
Andover was sixteen, legally an adult in the eyes of the land. His parents would have disagreed completely had they not already cast him out into the world to fend for himself. You steal enough from your parents, and even they can turn their backs on you. Andover was learning that lesson, but he was learning it very slowly.
“There has been a misunderstanding! I don’t know what you think I did, but I assure you, it wasn’t me!” Lies, all of it. He was caught good and proper, and he knew it, but circumstance was forcing him to lie if he wanted to keep his hands, and he desperately wanted to keep them. He had not stolen from a shop. That would have been a few lashes in the square – he still had the scars to remind him that three pabba fruit up a billowing sleeve was not worth the cost of recovering from a good whipping, thank you just the same. So, no, it wasn’t trying to be a thief that had hi
m in trouble this time around.
It was the other thing that normally got him in trouble. It was a girl. Actually, to be precise, it was her fiancé. Tega of the blonde hair and green eyes, with freckles aplenty dusted across her nose and cheeks, and a smile that tended to lead him to distraction, was not a problem at all, except for the distraction part. And how the City Guard who fancied her decided he didn’t much like Andover looking at the girl.
Currently, that meant that half of the City Guardsmen who should have been stopping crime were instead standing around Andover while one of them held his arms over his head and two more held his legs. He had an excellent view of the towering giants as he was currently pinned to the ground, his hair half-submerged in a puddle he didn’t want to consider too carefully. They were near the abattoir, after all. A beating he could have accepted. He’d had his share, to be sure. It wasn’t their fists they were planning to use today.
The one with the nasty smile, complete with a broken tooth to match his often broken nose, was the one who claimed Tega as his own. He couldn’t for the life of him – just possibly in a literal sense – remember the man’s name. Still, that didn’t mean the man wasn’t willing to talk to him.
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