The ride resumed with Tol trotting on the chief’s left, and Early on the right. After a league, when both thought they would expire from the effort of keeping up the pace, the chief reined up.
“You men without talismans continue the patrol.” Half the band turned and rode away. The chief tugged the leash connected to Tol’s bound wrists. “Come ’ere!”
Tol shuffled forward. A loop of string was placed around his neck. Dangling from it was a square of parchment; on the square were drawn arcane symbols in an elaborate design. Tol asked its purpose.
“Gets you through the mist,” was the brusque reply. The chief and the five remaining riders wore identical talismans, as did their horses. Talismans were placed around the necks of Tol’s war-horse and Early’s pony.
Tol didn’t need the talisman, since he had the nullstone, but the mercenaries didn’t know that. When the time was right, he would act.
Ahead, the grade steepened as the trees thinned out. The stony slope was divided down the center by a well-worn path. This was the foot of the Axas Pass. The mountain itself loomed above, walled off by bulwarks of white fog. The mist rose to a great height, at least a thousand paces. Although made of vapor, it was an impressive barrier, pearlescent by starlight.
They headed up the trail in single file. The chief, leading Tol and Early, was second in line. Barbarian though he was, the man was not a fool. As they neared the mist wall, he ordered the men following to level their spears at the captives’ backs.
“Don’t try to bolt in the fog,” he said. “Make trouble, and you’ll be spitted like partridges.”
“Doesn’t your master want us alive?”
The chief sniffed. “If I bring you in lifeless, Ergoth, I’ll lose a large part of the bounty, but you’ll be dead!”
They rounded a bend and the trail steepened dramatically. The mercenaries’ stocky horses picked their way carefully along a path never meant for four-legged beasts. The going was awkward for Tol and Early, too, not only because their hands were tied, but because dampness from the fog had frozen on the slate floor of the high pass. Captives and horses alike slipped and stumbled on the frosty stones.
The line of mercenaries halted as the lead rider reached the sharply delineated wall of mist and reined up. The stuff looked impenetrable. He checked his talisman, and his horse’s, then drew a deep breath and thumped heels against his horse’s flanks. He entered the white void and vanished.
“Move,” said the chief, jerking at their ropes.
Early caught Tol’s eye, brows rising: Now?
Tol’s head shake was barely perceptible.
They moved slowly into the mist. Tol closed his eyes, expecting a chill or dampness like fog. Instead, he felt a caress of warmth. He opened his eyes.
Inside the barrier, the air was clear. More, it was warm and bright, like daylight. No sun was visible (it was night after all), yet neither were there stars. The vault above was white, illuminated by a soft glow with no obvious origin. Strange magic indeed!
The mercenary chief laughed at their reactions. “Never fails!” he said, looking up at the oddly colored sky.
Tol seized the moment. There was some slack in his leash. He grasped the loose rope in both hands. Early did likewise. They planted their feet and hauled back on the ropes with all their strength. The loosed girth cinch did the rest.
The chief was sliding backward over his horse’s rump, saddle and all, before he could react. He hit the ground hard. In a flash his captives were on him, wrapping the rope around his thick neck.
The next rider came through the mist wall and saw his leader’s predicament. He lowered his spear to charge, but Tol tightened the rope around his hostage’s throat.
“Keep off!” he shouted. “Make a move and I’ll wring his neck!”
All the mercenaries hesitated. Blades for hire knew little of loyalty, but Tol counted on them caring about their commander.
“Early, get their talismans.”
Grinning, the kender tore the parchment wards first from the horses’ necks. The beasts were instantly blinded by the unnatural fog. They stood stock still, afraid to move, and Early quickly deprived their riders’ of the protection as well. As the remaining nomads entered, he collected more talismans.
The formerly fierce mercenaries were so thrown off balance, they could do nothing but grip their animals’ manes tightly. Their terror rendered them as immobile as their mounts.
Tol dropped the chief to the ground, yanked off his talisman, and planted a boot on his back.
“You men, listen!” he shouted. “You’ve seen this pass. Go too far and you’ll fall to your deaths!”
The captured chief would say nothing about the defenses that lay ahead. There was no time to question him properly, so Tol and Early retrieved their weapons and mounted their own horses, which were still protected by talismans. They left behind a bizarre tableau: unhorsed soldiers, mounted men, and their animals frozen in place. The horses were shaking, the men cursing, all too frightened to move.
The peculiar half-light cast no shadows, as if the air itself was the source of the illumination. Riding cautiously up the steep slope, they still could not see their destination. The escarpment frowned above them, but the fortress itself was set back so far it wasn’t yet visible.
“That wasn’t so hard,” said the kender cheerfully. “Getting away from the soldiers and through the wall of fog. Not so hard at all.”
Tol stared at him in disbelief. Blotchy purple bruises covered Early’s face. He had only one good eye and had lost two front teeth. Tol knew he himself must look at least as bad.
“Not hard at all,” he agreed, grinning back.
The path abruptly leveled out. Brown granite, deeply fluted by years of wind and rain, rose like a wall in front of them. Flanking the path were two huge statues. Each was more than twice the height of a man. They appeared to be lions, sitting on their haunches, but their features were so eroded it was hard to know for certain. Something about the statues nagged at Tol; they seemed oddly familiar.
As he came abreast of the two figures, he felt a sharp sensation of warmth. The nullstone was hot against his belly. He reined up, realizing why the statues looked familiar. They were carved from the same bluestone as the ruins he’d explored at the confluence of the Caer River, the ruins where he’d found the nullstone. These statues must be Irda-made as well. Why else would the nullstone react this way?
Early doubled back, asking why Tol had stopped.
“This place is very old,” Tol murmured, staring up at the colossal lions. The nullstone was pulsing now, first hot, then cooler, then hot again. It had never behaved this way before.
“Trust in the gods and your sword of steel.”
Tol gave Early a sharp look. The kender’s voice sounded deeper than usual. Beneath the bruises, his usual carefree expression was gone. He seemed calm, composed-and not himself.
“Felryn?”
“You’re not alone,” was the reply, “nor is the kinder, but do not speak any names. The stones have ears.”
A surge of confidence filled Tol. With the gallant healer at his side, even in spirit form, he felt he could handle anything Mandes threw at him. They rode on. Once they’d left the lions behind, the millstone’s pulsations ended.
The trail became more and more narrow until they were forced to proceed single file. Walls of stone closed in on either side. The clop of the horses’ iron shoes echoed loudly against the stark stone surroundings.
The path ended at stairs cut into the living rock. Wide, shallow steps ascended, curving to the left and disappearing into a cleft in the escarpment.
There was nothing on which to tether their horses, and Tol wondered how they could be certain the animals would remain, in case they needed to make a fast departure.
Possessed by Felryn’s soul or no, Early shrugged in typical kender fashion and plucked the paper talismans from both animals’ necks. Immediately stricken by the blinding mist, Tetchy and Longhoun
d stood rooted to the spot. Unless led away, they would be there when Tol and Early returned.
Tol drew his saber. The hiss of steel against the scabbard’s brass throat seemed terribly loud in the silence. Early didn’t draw his weapon but started, unconcerned, up the steps. Was it Felryn’s courage or kender impetuosity that was guiding him?
Mist flowed down the steps, curling around their ankles. They ignored it until Tol noticed the kender was flagging. A few steps more, and Early sat down hard on a stair.
“Sleepy,” he muttered. “Need sleep-”
This new mist must be some of Mandes’s sleeping fog. Tol grabbed the front of Early’s vest and dragged him to his feet, trying to rouse him with the nullstone’s influence. The kender began to snore.
Tol cursed silently. Sighing, he boosted the limp Early over his shoulder. It was an absurd way to enter a hostile fortress, but he wouldn’t abandon a comrade. He started up the steps again.
The staircase seemed endless. There seemed to be thousands of steps. Valaran could probably tell him the exact number. As a girl she’d calculated the number of stone blocks in the Inner City wall. Her computations had filled a scroll five paces long.
Thoughts of Valaran ignited a shameful notion in his mind: with the emperor stricken, perhaps dying, would Val be free to marry him? Could they at last live honorably as husband and wife?
The selfish dream helped him ignore the fatigue in his burning limbs. For all his small size, Early was surprisingly heavy.
Unexpectedly, it grew brighter as he climbed. Warmer, too. By the time he reached a broad landing, Tol was sweating inside his furs. Above him, the ancient castle appeared clearly for the first time.
Made of the same brown granite as the mountain, the fortress looked as though it had been carved from the living rock. It was terraced in three levels, one above the other, the sides merging into the face of Mount Axas. The style was unfamiliar to Tol, and judging by the weathering, the castle was very old. No curtain wall encircled it, but the citadel was studded with towers and turrets. Recent work by Mandes was evident-new battens on the tower windows, a freshly painted gate.
Tol lowered Early to the ground and removed his own furs and the kender’s. Sweat was beaded on the slumbering kender’s face.
The landing was fifty paces square, paved with alternating slabs of obsidian and white granite. Many were cracked with age, and tufts of stiff, brown grass sprouted through the gaps. A path had been worn across the landing; it led from where Tol stood to another set of ascending stairs. Another pair of eroded statues flanked the path. Winged creatures of indistinct form, they reminded Tol of the griffins Mandes had used to flee Daltigoth. The bluestone colossi were of an age with the lions he’d seen earlier. It was clear the ancient Irda had walked this way.
Hoisting Early to his shoulder again, he followed the well-worn path across the landing. He’d made it only halfway before a rapid flicker of heat on his face warned him that magic was at work. Fearing an ambush, he spun in half-circle, searching for the source.
A blur at the edge of his vision caught his eye. Tremors echoed through the ancient stone pavement. Something was moving around him-something big.
Unceremoniously, he dropped Early, and drew Number Six. There were two blurs, moving fast on his extreme left and right. Rather than attempt to follow their preternaturally quick movements, Tol stood still, both hands on his sword, facing forward. What horrors had Mandes conjured for him now?
— and then he saw it, huge and powerful, on his left. An ogre! Moving so quickly, it was invisible until just before attacking. Tol brought his sword up and received a crushing blow from the creature’s stone mace. He staggered backward.
The blur on his right resolved into a second ogre, armed with a saw-toothed sword as long as Tol was tall. Tol ducked the wicked blade and swung low. His saber caught the creature at the elbow. A man would have lost his arm, but the ogre wore slabs of nephrite sewn onto a crude leather jerkin. The pale green stone turned aside the dwarf-forged steel. Alarmed, Tol leaped back, dodging another blow from the first ogre’s mace. His massive opponents blurred into motion and disappeared.
No ogre was so fast! Mandes must have cast a spell on them.
Tol swept the air with his blade, backing rapidly away from the center of the open square. He was too slow. The sword-wielding ogre flashed into sight just behind him. His saw-toothed weapon raked down Tol’s back, tearing open his tunic. The mail shirt he wore underneath saved his life, but his right shoulder was badly cut. He staggered and fell.
The second ogre’s mace passed through the space Tol’s head had just occupied. Tol felt the wind of its passing tug at his hair.
He rolled, thrusting awkwardly at the mace-bearer. The saber found a gap in the ogre’s stone armor, below his waist, and plunged in deep. The ogre bellowed and swatted at his tormentor.
Blood running down his shoulder, Tol recovered and got to his feet in one motion. He held his sword, stained with blood, straight out in front of him.
The mace-wielder howled in fury and launched himself at his smaller foe. The wound in his gut scarcely slowed him as he blurred to a gray shadow. Tol moved to meet him. They collided, and Tol found his face buried in stinking ogre hide. He gasped with the impact. The hulk grunted as well, in astonishment. Number Six had penetrated his torso front to back, piercing his heart along the way. The ogre teetered, then collapsed, taking Tol down with it.
He levered the enormous corpse off even as the second monster attacked. Tol rolled left and right as the saw-toothed sword came down again and again, gouging chips from the paving with every blow. Tol slashed hard at the creature’s blunt, hideous face, destroying an eye and laying open the flesh to the bone.
The ogre screamed with pain and fury. He thrust his weapon at Tol. It had a blunt tip, but backed by the muscle of the enraged ogre, made a powerful bludgeon. The thrust caught Tol square in the chest. The impact was terrific. He flew backward several paces, landed flat on his back, and slid across the pavers.
Tol tried to rise but couldn’t. Nor could he breathe; the blow had driven all the breath from his body. Gasping frantically, he heard the heavy tread of the ogre’s approach.
Get up, get up! Do you want to die?
In his mind Tol heard the disgusted voice of Egrin exhorting him, back when he was a raw recruit. He managed to roll onto his side, but that was all he could do. The dark bulk of the ogre blotted out the weird white light of the cloud-veiled sky-Instead of delivering the killing blow, the creature let out a surprisingly high-pitched shriek and reeled away, clawing at its back. It spun wildly in a circle, howling like a demon.
Clinging to the ogre’s back was Early Stumpwater, who had awoken with a vengeance. The kender gripped the ogre’s stiff gray hair with one hand; with the other, he drove his short saber repeatedly into the monster’s neck.
Tol recovered his sword and charged, roaring defiance. He had to parry several ferocious swipes of the saw-toothed sword, but succeeded in getting on the ogre’s blind side, and thrust home. His point took the monster under the arm. The ogre shuddered violently and collapsed face down on the ancient pavement.
Panting in the thin mountain air, chest deeply bruised from the blow he’d taken, Tol pulled Early off the ogre’s carcass. Only then did he see the awful wound across the kender’s back made by a desperate swipe of the ogre’s sword.
“Early!” he said frantically. “Can you speak?”
“ Whatcha want to talk about?” Early’s voice was weak and blood flecked his lips.
“Hold on! I’ll bind your wound-”
“Don’t bother. He cannot survive.”
The voice came from Early’s mouth but it was Felryn’s deep, rich tones. Tol regarded the kender with anguish.
“I’m sorry!” he said. “I meant to protect you-both of you!”
“Don’t be foolish,” his old friend replied. “You can’t protect the entire world.” The kender’s back arched in a flash of sudden agony, a
nd Felryn added, “I must go. He hasn’t long… you’ll be on your own soon, my friend. Farewell!”
“Wait, don’t go! I need you!”
Early’s eyes closed. When they opened again, Tol knew Felryn’s spirit had departed and Early was himself again.
“Ain’t that a pain?” Early muttered. “All messed up, and I don’t remember how I got this way.”
“You saved my life.”
“I did?” The kender uttered a cheerful obscenity. “What a story that’ll make. Tell everyone…”
His voice trailed away.
“I will,” Tol vowed and closed Early’s lifeless eyes.
The wound on his shoulder was burning and his ribs ached, but Tol got stiffly to his feet. Sword firmly in hand, he started up the last set of steps. Mist flowed around his ankles. A profound stillness covered the plateau. All he could hear was his own labored breathing and the hollow echo of his booted feet striking stone. This set of steps seemed as long as the first, but they ended at last on a landing smaller than the one before. The fortress loomed just across the landing.
The main gate stood open.
Bright steel flashed to and fro as Tol swept his blade ahead of him in search of unseen enemies. He found only empty air.
Beyond the darkened doorway was a narrow courtyard.
Tall, rounded doorways were cut from the native stone on both sides of the passage. Along the walls were sconces, empty of torches. The sconces seemed of a piece with the walls. The entire fortress had that look, and Tol recalled legends that said the Irda were able to soften stone, mold it to any shape, then harden it again.
A low, indistinct sound from behind one of the doors on his right drew his attention. He kicked open the door. A quartet of shabbily dressed humans, servants by the look of them, were cowering on the floor of the small room. The sight of the bloodstained swordsman set them all to screaming and wailing.
Tol asked them about Mandes but couldn’t make himself heard over their distress. He grabbed the nearest fellow, a man about his own age, shook him hard and repeated his demand for information.
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