In this instance, while the Wall was high and altogether forbidding, it proved in no way unscalable. Water, as always, tended to flow downhill. Streams that began in the highland reaches of the Stairs to Heaven became rushing torrents by the time they reached the foothills both above and below the cliffs. Some rolled east toward Chengwei. Others cast themselves from the precipice in a series of breathtaking waterfalls and cataracts, cascading thunderously off outcrops of primordial rock to crash into the great basin below, there to combine with another stream of far less visual drama but considerably more strength flowing out from the mountains to form the official headwaters of the Cascadel, greatest of the westward flowing rivers.
From the Wall it was a relatively smooth run to the sea and the river’s terminus at the southern end of the Bay of Angwyn, along a course so wide in some points that one shore could not be seen from the other, while at others a good stone’s throw would reach the far side, so deep that for near a thousand miles it could take the largest oceangoing vessel.
Water formed the key to prosperity both for the ranches and farming homesteads that dotted the Cascadel’s shores and for the merchants who plied their trade from one end to the other. Naiads ruled the lesser streams, but their influence waned in direct proportion to the size and strength of the water. The great rivers were the province of the freshwater Wyrrn, as the oceans were of their blue-water brethren. These Wyrrn also acknowledged the special relationship their blue-water cousins shared with the Cascani. Out of that grew a similarly beneficial relationship. Once the requisite treaties had been negotiated, the Cascadel became a highway that opened the way to the heart of the continent. After that, surmounting the cliffs was a minor hurdle.
Approaching from the south and west, as Elora and her companions did, afforded one of the truly spectacular views in the natural world. Heavily forested highlands yielded near the end to a barrier wall of peaks called the Shados because of the shadows they cast. This mandated a climb past meadows of grass onto barren slopes of scrub rock. Around the flank of one mountain, through the shadow of its neighbor, along a turnpike that would have been impossible for wheeled traffic had not a veritable army of workers hammered a path through any and all barriers—and there you were.
There was nothing gentle about the transition, none of the usual sequence of foothills leading to the lower range to the high reaches. There were plains, there were peaks, punching up into the air as dramatically as the plateau itself. That contrast was just as spectacular, only not quite so extreme, a vertical descent measured in thousands of feet. To the west Elora found herself gazing down upon an apparently endless prairie that disappeared over the far distant horizon. The sole defining feature of the landscape was the Cascadel, winding outward from the magnificent lake formed at the base of its waterfall, the foot of Lake Morar forming the first of a succession of cataracts.
To the east stood the Wall.
From her vantage point on the pass that cut through the last rank of Shados, Elora was actually above the level of the plateau, which provided her a view of the upper boroughs of the city of Sandeni. Here at a massive and recently reinforced barbican that straddled this end of the pass as its twin did the other, the road branched. Travelers could either descend to the prairie below along a sequence of wild switchbacks or make their way over a series of equally daunting viaducts to the upland city.
Like the prairie, the plateau stretched off to the distance, well beyond the limits of her vision. To Elora’s dismay, not to mention a modest measure of disbelief, she discovered it reached far beyond Bastian’s as well. It was one thing to hear the stories and read the accounts of this natural marvel, quite another to confront it face-to-face.
The Wall wasn’t entirely straight, she observed, but was marred by promontories and depressions. In some places, a promontory had collapsed, leaving a butte to stand alone like some giant column amidst an otherwise denuded landscape. The plateau’s general construction reminded Elora so much of a coastline that she couldn’t help but wonder if, at some unimaginably ancient moment in the past, these plains had been underwater.
Though the falls were miles away, the shape of the Wall combined with the serried ranks of the Shados themselves to form an effective amplifier that allowed Elora to hear the rolling thunder of the falls the moment they came into view. The Cascadel flowed directly to the plains but she could see at least six other rivers of varying sizes come together on the plateau, where they plunged over the edge in three distinct streams. The largest dropped straight to the lake, the others bounced and showered off jutting outcrops of granite and basalt, creating a perpetual mist that kept the base of the cliff shrouded in romance and mystery.
The lowland boroughs of Sandeni weren’t tucked up close beneath the cliffs. Quite the opposite in fact, the land appeared substantially undeveloped until hard by the cataracts, where she made out what appeared to be quite a substantial community. There was an extensive waterfront of piers and warehouses, far more lake traffic to and from the falls than along the roads that ringed the lakeshore. She saw granaries as well and a clear network of trails ranging off to the north and west across the well-nigh-endless prairie. She saw no bridges across the first cataract, but given the width of that gorge and the force of the water below, could understand why none had been attempted. A single span wouldn’t reach and there was no practical way to anchor pylons in that tremendous flood.
Though the sun was quartering toward the westward horizon, it didn’t take much imagination to comprehend the other reason why there was very little building close by the Wall. On a clear day, the view from the plateau was said to be better than fifty miles. The drawback for those below was that the extraordinary shadow cast by the Wall lasted until close to midday. It must be a strange sensation, she thought, to stand on a balcony atop the Wall in brilliant morning sunlight, and then look the other way to behold land that would remain wrapped in the semblance of evening for hours yet to come. Stranger still, perhaps, to live below, knowing that the day would never reach you with its full force until it was half over.
About ten miles along the Wall and as many out into the prairie, which placed them almost directly ahead of her, stood three lean pillars of stone. They’d been christened the Three Maidens, because they seemed to have no geologic connection with the plateau. Their substance was a variant of sandstone, a dun-colored base coat shot through with reefs of umber and scarlet.
To the distant west, she recalled from her reading, beyond the final cataract, the shore along the Cascadel was a dark, rich bottomland that provided some of the best farming between Sandeni and the sea. The prairie itself was mainly grassland, home to migrating herds of buffalo and deer, but also to sprawling cattle stations. The country surrounding Sandeni was pretty much as it had always been. Few Daikini made a mark on those plains, and it didn’t last. Those changes were reserved for the city and its environs.
And what a city!
Elora had never seen anything like it. Even from this remove, Sandeni dwarfed the only municipality she had to compare it with, that of Angwyn, and she couldn’t begin to imagine the number of people who resided within its confines. Of all the cities of the world, what made this unique was that in Sandeni there was hardly any magic. It was located at one of those rare points where the influence of the eldritch ley lines was at an absolute minimum. It was the balance to those places where magic came as second nature, and words had to be chosen wisely lest an untimely, ill-thought-out curse might actually come to pass. In Sandeni, since there was no convenient reservoir of energy to draw from, the easiest spells took more effort to cast than they were worth, while their greater counterparts took more than any sorcerer could afford.
On the face of it, Sandeni seemed an odd location for Thorn to go to ground, considering that many of his abilities as a mage would be crippled. Then again, since their foe was likewise a sorcerer, perhaps this was the ideal place to make a stand.
> They’d ridden hard since leaving the tor, to get Ryn as quickly as possible to where Thorn could help him. The hours of daylight passed either on horseback or leading their mounts on foot as they made their way through the mountains to the carriage route. From there, at least for Ryn, once he was loaded onto a coach, the journey was easier. Khory’s assumption was that Elora would accompany them to a reunion with her guardian and protector.
That had been ten days ago, better than two hundred miles up the line, when they broke their journey at one of the taverns that lined the turnpike at intervals from Sandeni to the distant frontier. It hadn’t begun as a pleasant conversation.
“I’m going my own way,” Elora said.
“The hell you are,” was the taller woman’s response. She spoke matter-of-factly as they put their animals to bed, Khory more concerned with them at the moment than she was with Elora.
“It’s not safe, child,” she said a moment later, looking across the back of her own mount to where Elora was busy tending to Windfleet.
“I’m not a child, Khory.” Elora turned to face her. “True, in Sandeni, I’m below the age of legal majority, but among the Nelwyns I’d be an apprentice.”
“Barely.”
“In Chengwei, married and probably with child!”
“And that’s your ambition?”
“I know my own mind, enough to try to chart my own destiny.”
“It’s not safe.”
“The world hasn’t been safe for me since I was born!”
“This is an argument better left for Drumheller. I’ll have none of it.”
“By then it’ll be too late.”
Khory made a face, dismissing that contention out of hand.
“Listen to me, will you,” Elora cried, confronting her across the back of Khory’s horse, who wasn’t at all pleased to be caught in the middle and made that opinion plain by shifting its feet nervously.
“I’m not a baby anymore,” she went on in a great rush. “I can, I need to, I must take part in my own defense.”
“Fine. What’s wrong with doing so from a place where you can be defended?”
“Thorn’s achieved a position of some responsibility among the Sandeni, yes?”
A nod from Khory.
“If I were the Deceiver, I’d have spies watching Sandeni and especially watching him.”
No reaction at all from the demon warrior, but she was listening intently.
“Because the Deceiver wants me, seemingly more than anything. And Thorn’s my guardian. Sooner or later the Deceiver’s got to figure I’ll go to him or he to me. Wait long enough, watch hard enough, he’ll have me. My best hope is to stay away.”
Again, no reaction. Elora took that for a positive sign and pressed ahead.
“Think about it. He knows my name, but I share it now with how many girls? A lot, judging from Angwyn and the places we’ve visited since. And a lot who are now about my age. He knows my face, but he hasn’t seen it since Angwyn. I’m not the girl I was then.”
“With one slight exception,” Khory interjected mildly, and Elora realized this wasn’t an objection so much as a test to see if she’d considered this element as well. Khory was taking this discussion very seriously.
“True enough, the Sacred Princess has skin of silver, and hair to match. How about Elora the apprentice bard?”
“You think that paint will hide you, girl?”
“I’m not trying to hide, don’t you see? Hiding, the way you mean it, will draw the Deceiver’s agents right to me! When they look my way, I want them to see exactly what they expect.”
“That’s no small gamble.”
“I’m not just being willful. Look at the people, Khory. Did you see them inside the tavern when we arrived? It was the same back at the fort. They’re terrified. Their world’s coming apart at the seams, leaving them with nothing to hold on to, no anchors against the storms to come. They’re losing hope.”
“And you’ll give it back to them?”
“I can remind them of the time in their lives when they had faith, and what that faith was, and why it’s important to take tight hold of it.” She made a gesture with her hands, of acceptance as much as frustration. “Right now, that’s what I’m good for.”
“I saw you on the tor, remember? Don’t sell yourself short.”
“Khory, you’re a warrior. Tell me the truth, can Thorn defeat the Deceiver? Can I?” She was answered with silence, as she knew she would be.
“If my contribution to the struggle is to behave exactly as everyone expects, how will that ever change?”
“This is war.”
“I know.”
There were ghosts in Khory’s soul as she said, “You don’t.”
“And who’s kept me from learning?”
“This isn’t a thing you hurry to embrace, or wish on anyone else.”
Khory reached out to Elora, lightly stroking the young woman’s jawline in a gesture of surprising tenderness. “You are so young,” she said softly, and the pain in her voice slashed like a razor.
“It won’t stop, Khory, until we yield or we win. You know that. You know I have a role to play.”
“Better I should lock you in your room.”
“I’ll pick the locks.”
“Brownie locks.”
“I’ll do them faster!”
Khory gave her the shallowest of nods. “He won’t be happy,” she said, meaning Thorn. “But that’s his lookout. Bastian I’ll keep with me. Eagles are rare enough to be noticeable, and golden ones, especially. Rool stays by you.”
“He’s pretty recognizable himself.”
“If he’s seen, which I don’t expect to happen. Ever,” she finished pointedly, with a glance up and over her shoulder that was followed by a discreet cough from the shadows of the barn’s hayloft.
“Damn,” the brownie muttered as he lowered a rope and rappelled down to Elora’s shoulder. “And I thought I was doing so well, eh?”
“Consider that your one mistake,” Khory told him, with a curious flatness to her tone that served as plain warning of the consequences of any future oversights.
“Spying on us, you wretched little bug boy?” Elora chastised the brownie in a shocked tone as she returned to the care and feeding of Windfleet.
“Haven’t called me that in an age,” Rool grumped. He rose to his feet, hands on hips as he glared up and back at Elora.
“Haven’t deserved it. But you can make it up to me.”
“Is that a threat?”
“A challenge, O font of all the world’s wisdom.”
“I do not like the sound of that.”
“I want to know about myself, Rool.”
“Look in a mirror, there’s the place to start your education.”
“Been there, done that, don’t get snarky. I’m serious, Rool,” she told the brownie.
“As am I, Elora. You are what you are, anointed before my eyes by Cherlindrea herself.”
“Why me?”
“Born at the moment foretold by prophecy, bearing the equally foretold birthmark.”
“Why me, Rool,” she repeated. “Why me?”
“Blessed if I know.”
“You’re a brownie, you claim to know the way the world works. Aren’t I part of the world?”
She expected at the very least a smart remark.
“I don’t know,” he said at long last, in distress.
“What?” Her confusion was genuine.
“Whether or not you’re part of the world. I don’t know. You speak to demons, child. You’re a part of the tapestry of legend of every race I know, whether Daikini or Veil Folk, on levels I’m not sure even they understand.”
“What do your legends say?”
“A child shall come, apparently of Daikini st
ock, but bound to all the Great Realms. Her birth shall presage a time of great change. Of boundless possibilities both for good and ill.”
“That’s all?”
“The essentials.”
“What, you weren’t paying attention during catechism class?”
“We glean our knowledge the way we do our prizes”—he sniffed dismissively—“from around the edges of events.”
“Find out more.”
“Those doors are closed to us, Elora, I told you.”
“Guess what, Rool? I don’t care. You’re so great a thief, lemme see some proof. If it’s written, find me the book, or at least directions to the library where it’s housed. If part of an oral tradition, I’ll take the song or the storyteller. Whatever their origins, Rool, I want them all.”
“As you command, my princess.”
She started to smile, and protest that she was “asking” not telling, but realized in the same thought that that wasn’t true. She’d given an order, expecting as a matter of right to be obeyed, and Rool had responded accordingly.
“I ask but one boon in return,” he told her. “Leave Faralorn. Ride on alone.”
“I can’t.”
“What’s this, then?” Khory wondered.
“The bard,” snapped Rool, making the title an obscenity.
“Why don’t you like Duguay, Rool?” When he didn’t answer right away, Elora asked, “Are you jealous?”
“As good a reason as any”—he huffed back at her—“for those too damn dim to know better.”
“Liar.”
“Why do you like him?”
She shrugged. “He makes me laugh. He’s shown me parts of myself I never knew were there. I like to hear him sing.”
“But you can’t meet his eyes.”
She blinked rapidly and looked from place to place to place, as though Duguay himself had suddenly materialized before her. She thought of a thousand quips to dance free of Rool’s challenge but in the end confined her reply to a single word.
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