At nightfall, however, he was still out upon the level plains. The surrounding countryside remained deserted, although there was ample evidence that, once upon a time, long ago, a substantial number of people had dwelled here. Brenyn could find no evidence explaining why they had vanished from this landscape, or why no one dwelled here now.
There was no indication of war; the structures that dotted the plains and clustered in the towns demonstrated nothing more than the decay inflicted by the heavy hand of age.
He and Noris camped that night in the tenuous shelter of a ruined barn. When the eastern sky brightened behind the jagged horizon of the high mountains, they were back upon the road.
For several days, Brenyn and Noris followed the road as it wound up through the foothills. Banks of snow yet lingered on the north sides of the hollows but there was grass that sprouted on the south-facing slopes and water was plentiful. Spring came out of the south now with determination; the days continued to warm even as they gained altitude.
Another week, and he was deep in the region of mountains, winding up along the sides of a steep canyon above a rushing river that roared westward below and to his right. Enormous conifers grew upon these slopes. Above those giants, the gray heights of the mountains soared far overhead. In places, dead trees had fallen across the roadway – some had died long ago – and it was apparent from the lack of tracks in the decaying remains of the rotting wood that this road had seen no traffic in a very long time.
Once more, as the evidence mounted that this region of the world had not experienced activity of any kind – human or darking – for many years, perhaps even decades or centuries, doubts came crowding back to plague Brenyn’s thoughts.
Had he somehow missed the “mountain of power”?
Had the darkings that had taken Emi not come this way?
Or had he simply been duped?
He had chosen to take this road because it was the one that had appeared in his vision. Had that been a ruse as well? – or was the vison itself suspect, and he had believed in it only because of the image of his beloved Emi?
Where the ancient road passed over an arching stone bridge that was in surprisingly good repair despite its obviously immense age, and a secondary stream churned out from a deep canyon on his left to add its strength to the river that flowed below him on the right, Brenyn reined in Noris and hesitated. While he watched the spuming water running fast down in the chasm below the bridge, Brenyn struggled with his doubts. If the darkings that had taken Emi had not utilized this route into the east, how had they gone?
Was Emi truly still alive and imprisoned by their “queen” in some fortress in the far east of the world? – or was it all a lie?
He suffered from the dark thought that the “vison” had been manufactured just to lure him away from protecting the princes of the lands that he had wrestled from the darkings’ control. Perhaps, unable to resist Brenyn’s powers, they had employed deceit.
As he sat motionless upon Noris, paralyzed with doubt, the sun passed through the apex of the sky. At last, Brenyn decided that he would continue through the mountains, but, if he found no reason to journey on toward the east when he reached whatever lay upon the other side of these great heights, he would turn on the first road that ran southward beyond them.
Satisfied with this resolution, he stirred himself and looked around. Up the roadway, a short way beyond the bridge, the road wound to the right and then swung back toward the left beyond an extrusion in the mountainside and went from view.
Between the bridge over the tributary stream and the place where the road bent out of sight and the sheer rock of the mountain extruded, the intervening ridge was fairly level and, though heavily forested, was gently sloped. Grass grew in patches along the edge of the roadway where runoff from the melting snow also flowed – and Noris was due sustenance. Speaking to the horse, they moved up the pavement toward where the grass verged the road.
Then, just as they passed a large pine that towered upon the left side of the road, Brenyn was startled to feel a sharp tremor in his blood, flesh, and bones.
The tingling was sudden, strong, insistent, and sharp.
Something magical – perhaps a creature of magic - was very nearby. And, whatever it was, it was powerful.
Very powerful.
The surge of magic that thrummed along the pathways of Brenyn’s nerves was acute and undeniable, sharper than any magic he had ever encountered.
Shocked, Brenyn reined in Noris, unlimbered his bow, and nocked an arrow, while gazing around at the limited landscape.
Nothing was in sight anywhere, upon the roadway in either direction, or among the towering trees that grew along the narrow strip of ridge to his left. Though he could see nothing, the presence of powerful magic was utterly inescapable.
Wanting to protect Noris, Brenyn dismounted and moved in front of the horse, watching the road in both directions and gazing back into the strip of shadowed woodland on his left, but nothing came into view. Even so, the presence of magic very nearby did not fade, but neither did it grow stronger as it would if the creature from whom it exuded was on the move and drew nearer.
Confused by what he was feeling, Brenyn led Noris to the edge of the narrow strip of woodland on the left and secured the horse where it could graze upon the bits of grass and drink from the snowmelt. Then he looked around him once more, trying to determine the direction from which the magic emanated.
Easing over to the right side of the ancient roadway, Brenyn peered down into the deep canyon, studying the rocky slopes, and searching along the banks of the rushing river frothing westward far below. Nothing appeared anywhere upon the stony sides of the canyon or down there by the river that he could identify as causing the tingling in his bones and blood.
Glancing once more along the road in both directions and spying nothing, he then went the other way, to the left of the road, and into the strip of woodland.
And here the feeling grew stronger – only slightly, but it was unquestionably more potent on the north side of the road. Brenyn eased into the shadowed strip of trees, examining the woodland in all directions, but saw nothing.
Several paces from the road, the ridge fell off to the north and sloped down toward the tributary stream on his left. Brenyn could see the water sparkling through the trees perhaps a hundred feet below. Snow still clung to the slopes here, beneath the trees and away from the ascending sun of spring, but it was not overly deep and the slope was gentler than the walls of the canyon that sloped down to the larger river south of the road.
There was no doubt but that whatever it was that caused the emanations of magic that thrummed in Brenyn’s bloodstream lay to the north of the road, somewhere up along the tangent of the tributary stream that flowed from the north.
Brenyn hesitated and then went back and removed the rope from his pack and picketed Noris so that the horse could range for several yard along the road in either direction, grazing on the strip of grass, and could drink from the stream of meltwater.
Then, leaving his shield tied to the saddle but slinging the sword and scabbard over his shoulder, along with his quiver of arrows, he took his bow and went back into the trees. Scanning the narrow strip of woodland carefully, he could spy nothing nearby, anywhere among the shadows, that he could identify as being the source of the powerful emanations.
Besides, every nerve in his body told him the emanation of magic came from the north, from somewhere along the tangent of the tributary stream.
Abandoning the strip of woodland next to the road, Brenyn descended the precariously steep slope, slowly and cautiously, slipping from tree trunk to tree trunk, watching the woodland to his front and on all sides. He saw nothing, though the feeling grew incrementally stronger as he angled northward across the forested slope and descended toward the water.
After several minutes, finding nothing, seeing nothing, but feeling the emanations of magic grow ever stronger, he reached the banks of the stream. He glan
ced to his left, toward the south and then up at the bridge above, but his senses told him that whatever he sought was the other way, to the north, upstream.
He turned that way. The shores of the stream were rocky and tangled with brush. Here and there, banks of snow extended into the water, where the current gradually ate away at them.
The river was fairly wide here, but shallow. Brenyn could easily see the rocky bottom all the way to the far side, beneath the sparkling waters. Finding the tangled banks difficult to negotiate, after hesitating, he stepped into the current. It was bitterly cold, arising as it did from distant snowfields high up in the mountains, but the gravelly bottom made for easier walking.
Brenyn began to wade upstream, staying close to the bank and watching the wooded slopes on either side of the river. Ahead, the river curved to the right and went from view while the slopes upon the west side steepened and became canyon walls. Upon the east, though, the hillsides above Brenyn remained, if not gentle, at least gentler, and the trees upon it grew thick and tall. As he waded slowly upriver, he constantly studied those slopes even though his senses told him that whatever he sought lay ahead, upstream.
He reached the bend in the river. Easing around the corner, he looked upstream. There, perhaps a hundred yards ahead, the river bent back north, the wooded slopes on either side failed, and the river flowed out from a steep-walled canyon.
But it was not the gorge that caught Brenyn’s attention. It was something else, upstream, in the water next to the bank.
An enormous bear was standing in the river, staring at him.
56.
There was no doubt.
He had found the source of the magic.
Waves of power emanated from the giant bear.
Whether it was a real bear or no, it was a creature of magic.
Brenyn and the bear watched one another for several long moments. For a time, the only things breaking the silence were the sounds of the stream and the susurration of a slight breeze moving through the limbs of the conifers that bordered the water and grew upon the slopes. Then the bear emitted a small huffing noise and stood up on its back legs, like a man.
And in that moment, Brenyn realized his mistake.
The giant bear was not the primary source of the magic. The emanations of magic came from somewhere beyond the bear. The beast itself was also a creature of magic, but it was only a fragment, and not a source, rather like one bright spark shining in the midst of a conflagration.
The atmosphere upstream, beyond the bear, was saturated with power.
The beast, then, was a sort of sentinel.
But what did it guard?
Brenyn studied the stream bed between him and the bear and found it shallow enough to wade.
He slipped his bow over his head and drew his sword.
After gazing into the bear’s eyes for another long moment, he began to wade upstream, moving his feet carefully along the stony stream bed, making certain of his purchase.
Immediately, the bear lowered itself onto all fours and ran toward him for several paces, charging, huffing low in its throat. Brenyn halted and, after a moment, the bear halted as well.
The beast raised up once more, still emitting low sounds of warning, but came no closer. Whatever it guarded; it was clear that it wanted Brenyn to retreat without making contact.
Brenyn watched the beast again for a time and then, once more, moved forward, sword in hand and at the ready. The bear waited, standing upright, and watched him come.
Then, once more, it dropped and charged, halting only when Brenyn also halted and readied his stance to meet the assault.
Again, a stalemate ensued.
It was obvious to Brenyn that the beast did not want him to continue up the stream but also that it did not intend an outright assault unless Brenyn did not retreat.
By now, Brenyn had no intention of retreating. Whatever lay upstream, upon the far side of the canyon beyond the bear, he meant to discover the truth of it.
After considering for another long moment, he sheathed his sword, unlimbered his bow, and nocked an arrow. Then, with his bow at the ready, he advanced once more.
And, once again, the bear charged, huffing low.
Brenyn did not halt this time but kept straight on.
The bear also came on, charging, its massive paws churning up the waters of the river.
When it came to within thirty paces, Brenyn halted, aimed, and released. At once, when the missile had flown, he reached back and drew forth another arrow and prepared to fire again.
He was chagrined to see his first arrow strike the bear upon the flat bone of its forehead, where it would likely deflect away and do little, if any, damage.
But the arrow was not deflected away.
Instead, it passed straight through the beast and fell into the river beyond.
In the moment that the missile passed through it, the bear vanished, and its body dissolved in a rainbow display of light, like sunlight playing upon mist. The multi-colored light flared and then vanished as well, fading away over the water.
Brenyn, his second arrow still nocked and ready, stared in shock. And then he understood.
The beast had not been real; it was a conjuration.
But whose?
Who was it that possessed the power to conjure a bear and dwelled up this dim and remote canyon high in the mountains?
The darking queen?
Had he found her?
Brenyn doubted that thought.
He had journeyed far, true, many leagues. Even so, he had not traveled the immense distance intimated by the darking lord in his night vision.
Besides, if this were indeed the way to the darking queen’s fortress in her “mountain of power”, he would expect some sort of access, a road, perhaps – or at the least a path. No horse, not even the spellbound mounts employed by the darkings, could negotiate the steep slopes behind him.
Another thought occurred to him then. Was the source of the power that lay to his front properly accessed by another way? – from somewhere further up the mountain road, perhaps?
Was he coming in at the side door, or back door, as it were?
Had he indeed found the mountain of power?
After the conjured bear dissolved and disappeared, Brenyn slipped his bow over his head once more, drew his sword, and went upstream to where the river bent back northward, into the canyon. Facing this steep-walled gorge, he looked toward the far end. The sensation of power came from there, from some unknown point of origin that existed beyond the canyon to his front.
He entered the canyon, sword in hand.
Immediately, the sound of the waters of the river increased from a gentle rushing sound to a loud roaring.
Brenyn halted, staring upstream, through the canyon, from whence the noise erupted.
A wall of water, a sudden flood, appeared at the far end of the chasm, its dark mass rising high above his head and sweeping toward him, rushing between the sheer walls of rock.
Brenyn’s first impulse on seeing the wall of water roaring upon him was to leap from the stream, dash up the slope to his right and try to get above the level of the onrushing flood.
But even as he turned toward the bank, his eye and his inner senses caught the glimmer of something else in the water, a shining that lacked substance, even the tenuous substance of water, roiling within the onrushing flood.
Magic.
He turned back, leaned forward, and held his ground.
The roaring wall of water rushed down upon him, broke… and vanished.
Yet another mirage, the flood had been conjured to prevent any wanderer from discovering what lay beyond.
Breathing deep, Brenyn moved forward again.
The sheer canyon walls closed in on either side, narrowing the stream and causing its waters to run deeper and quicker. The water rose to his knees and the current grew stronger. A few more steps and the icy water rose above his waist. By the time he could see the further limits of t
he canyon, where the walls angled away to either side, and a broad space opened up, the water, created by melting snow, bitterly cold, had risen to his chest, causing his heart to constrict and his breath to come fast.
But then he was through. The stream broadened out once more and its waters flowed shallow and calm.
Brenyn gazed about him.
He had come out into a wide and gentle glade, flooded with sunshine, cradled within the gray heights of the mountain.
The stream turned away and flowed along the sheer stone walls upon the left side of the glade. Perhaps a mile on, it appeared to erupt from the base of the mountain itself, as if that mass of rock was its matrix.
To Brenyn’s right, the grassy meadow angled gently upward toward yet more sheer walls of gray stone a mile or more distant. The northern expanse of the rounded glade was comprised of a gentle and grass-covered slope. Back to Brenyn’s right and behind him, a small forest of thick-growing conifers filled the remainder of the vale that was cradled within the gray walls of the mountain.
The whole of the area was rife with magic.
It pervaded everything.
Brenyn’s nerves jangled with the intensity of the power that filled this small haven in the mountains.
Stepping free of the river and crossing a narrow gravel bar, Brenyn climbed onto the grassy slope. Still keeping his sword at the ready, he turned and looked back down the canyon. And there, standing once more in the waters of the stream, was the bear. It was watching toward the south, downstream, standing sentinel.
Brenyn pivoted and looked carefully around him.
What did it guard?
What – or who – dwelled in this place?
Unable to discern any indication of any living thing, Brenyn closed his eyes and concentrated, feeling about him into the magic-laden atmosphere.
The magic, he soon realized, was of a sinister nature, like that exuded by the darkings, for the sensation was the same.
Only stronger.
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 50