Sandun, his heart pounding and sweat running down his face, pushed his way through an overhang of snow and found that he was looking out over the other side of the ridge.
He gave a great shout and then was dragged back by Basil, who assumed Sandun was in grave danger.
“We are through! Let me go! Let me see the other side.”
“Sandun! We are underneath a cornice of overhanging snow! If it breaks off, it will bury us alive. Quiet!”
“You and Kagne stay back then. I must see.”
His hands wrapped in now-frozen socks, Sandun carefully tunneled his way. He ignored the snow shelf overhead and looked out into a new valley with hints of green no more than a couple of miles away.
To his surprise, the slope on the other side of the ridge was completely different from their side of the mountain. It was a northeast-facing slope, and while there was some snow on it, boulders and smaller rocks poked their way through. From where Sandun was lying, it looked like a very gentle slope heading downhill—nothing like what they had spent the last two days laboriously climbing up. Perhaps three miles away, there was green grass beside a small pond, and a copse of pines stood to one side.
Looking farther, he could see for many miles, but in each direction, distant mountains covered in white rose into the sky like clouds.
Sandun went back to his friends; each in turn went up gingerly to the hole in the snow and looked out. Without saying much, they went back down to the camp to talk things over.
While they warmed up by the fire, Sandun described the view from the top of the ridge.
Sir Ako pointed at the ridge. “We cannot take the horses up.” They all nodded. Perhaps if the snow melted, the ridge could be ridden over, but how long would that take? And there was much farther to go. They had nearly two thousand miles to travel and five months—at best—before winter. “If we do not eat the horses, then we must either set them loose or send them back with some men.”
None of them wanted to kill the horses. There was no discussion of that.
“We can nay set the horses loose. Poor beasties would starve or be food for wolves,” said Olef.
“I agree. And one man alone cannot handle all the horses. So it must be two who will return to Sirosfeld,” Sir Ako said “Who wants to go back?”
None of the scouts said anything.
“Since you leave this up to me, I am sending Jon and Kinot back with the horses. The rest of us will continue so long as we are able.”
In the evening, as the setting sun turned the high peaks the color of roses, Sandun lay beside the fire. His mind felt untethered to the ground, and his arms and hands trembled when he didn’t force them to stay quiet. Sir Ako sat beside him, and they had a whispered conversation.
“Sir Ako, you do not have to go over the snow ridge with us.”
“You are right; we don’t have to. Yet I must go, and I’m sure my soldiers feel the same. I cannot leave you and Basil and Kagne in the trackless wastes of the Tirala Mountains and retain even a shred of honor. We are brothers now. Honor forbids me from abandoning you, and so my men and I will follow, till our strength gives out. We are the Archives Expedition.”
Sandun was absurdly grateful but found no words to say. Overcome with emotion, he covered his face with his hands and wiped away tears. Sir Ako clumsily patted him on the shoulder and then walked back to the fire.
In the morning, the scouts redistributed food and supplies between the horses and the pack mules. Sandun and Basil both felt dizzy and had no appetite. Kagne examined them and said that they were suffering from mountain sickness. Several of the scouts, including both Kinto and Jon, now admitted they felt poorly as well. Sir Ako had perhaps guessed that they were suffering ill effects from the mountains and had chosen them for that reason.
“It’s like a curse. The only way to make it go away is to leave the high hills,” said Kagne. Sandun didn’t feel like laughing, but they were not going to be leaving the high hills for months to come.
Kagne took care of Basil and Sandun, the others spent the day working on the path, stamping it down and making it more suitable for the mules. By the afternoon, thanks to a combination of rest and the herb tea Kagne fed them all morning, Sandun felt somewhat recovered, and so he put his new notes and sketch maps together for delivery to Sirosfeld. Basil made hasty copies of the route onto a second map—“In case we get lost on the way back,” he explained.
That night, the mood around the campfire was somber. The following day, if the mules could make it up the snowy path, the group would split and perhaps never see each other again. This was different from the departure of the two scouts and Maklin after the battle, because then there had been no real choice. Jon and Kinot could continue, yet they were turning back. Since Sir Ako had given the order, there was no shame in doing what they were told, and all agreed that they could not simply abandon the horses. And yet, it felt like leaving comrades in the face of terrible danger.
They sang the song of farewell. It was a sea song, but it fit the occasion.
In the high summer, after the fling,
I sailed abroad to serve my king.
And my dearest dear, I left behind
So oft she swore her heart was mine.
And all the time I sailed the seas,
I could not find an hour’s ease.
Thinking on my sweetling girl,
Though never a word of her I did hear.
At last I sailed into Seopolis town.
I searched the streets up and down,
Inquiring for my sweetling girl.
Nary a word of her could I hear.
To Stenston and her father’s hall
I went at last, and I did call.
My daughter is married now, she’s a rich man’s wife.
She’s wed to another far better for life.”
Oh curse your gold and your silver too,
And curse the girl that won’t prove true.
When all her former vows did break,
Went with another for riches’ sake.
Since the girl is married that I adore,
I’m sure I’ll stay on land no more.
I’ll sail the seas till the day I die.
Break through waves rolling mountain high.
The next day, the horses were left tethered together, and everyone helped in getting the mules up the snowy bowl. The two men who were going back pushed themselves harder than the rest, but no one commented on this. The mules proved their worth despite much braying, and they followed the trail and crossed over the ridgeline and stood in a small group amid the half-buried rocks on the northeast slope.
For several minutes, the group stood around and stared into the distance. Finally, Sir Ako said it was time to go, and he waved to the two men who were heading home. They turned and, without a backward glance, walked up the hill and disappeared over the snowy ridge.
The remaining party, now down to ten, clambered down the slope, drawn irresistibly to the pond and the green grass, though the pond was covered over with ice, and the grass was just a half inch of new growth. As they looked around, more inviting campsites beckoned farther down the slope. So they continued till they reached an unfrozen lake with a large stand of pines. Here they camped and dried out.
“Seems so quiet without Kinot telling one of his ribald stories,” Farrel said. “Even if he did cheat at cards.”
“And Jon, always with a cheery word,” Padan said to Olef, who nodded her head.
“He always did fancy you,” Wiyat said, as he was building up the fire.
“That’s not so! He’s a good friend, naught else.” Olef said this with her eyes wide.
“By the Spear, he told me himself not six months past.”
“Wiyat!” Sir Ako exclaimed, giving the young man a stern look.
That was the e
nd of that conversation.
Sandun and Basil were ill with splitting headaches, so after the meal, Kagne and Sir Ako scrambled up a rocky outcropping to the east to survey the land. As near as they could make out, the valley they were in was a long oval, tending north by northeast. After their report back at the camp, Sandun stared at the map in frustration; it was unclear if they were following the path or not. They should be heading east, so north was wrong, but crossing over the newly revealed east ridge, which looked like exposed fangs for ten miles or more, was unthinkable.
The next day, beside a lower lake, they discovered another trail marker. No other marker could be seen in any direction and at this point, it did not matter whether they had taken the correct route or not. They kept descending, and everyone’s hearts lifted as they walked on damp soil from which snow had recently retreated. Little pink ice flowers poked their way up through the layers of pine needles that covered the ground. Spring had come to this high valley, and birds were calling while squirrels chattered at the travelers below them.
No sign of human habitation could be seen, and Basil found deer easy to bring down in the evening. At night, they heard wolves howling, calling out to the moon or warning the humans away. Once, Kagne spotted a line of at least seven wolves traveling through a grassy meadow a mile or two south, heading up the valley. They made sure the fire burned strong all night and kept the mules close at hand.
Whenever they came to a clearing, incredibly tall mountains could be seen in all directions. Gradually the valley leveled out as it bent eastward, and on the fourth day a large mass of reeds with a lake beyond them came into view. It was certain that the land was a marsh all around the lake, so the expedition stayed high on the south slope. The lake was large—not as big as Lake Tricon, but they spent two days wending their way past its muddy shores. Great flocks of white birds could be seen near the middle of the water, nesting on tiny islands and feeding on whatever small creatures lived in the waters.
At the eastern end, the lake turned into a vast expanse of shimmering mud, and tall, long-legged fishing birds stalked about the flats, poking their sharp bills down every minute or so and then tilting their heads up to the sky, at whiles calling out to each other with a three-note trill. They passed several large nests in old ruined trees, and Wiyat dexterously climbed up to one nest and then lowered down a clutch of large eggs, which the expedition ate with gusto in the evening.
Now they could see the mountains that blocked the east end of the valley, and one great hill stood out. It was a beautifully symmetrical cone-shaped peak, very like Mount Shioni in the far north of Kelten, completely covered in snow and ice all the way to its summit. It towered over the other peaks on its flanks, and while it looked like a gentle slope to the top, Sandun did not doubt that this was a dangerous illusion. Few men could boast of having climbed Mount Shioni, and that only in midsummer when the snows were least.
Here the map had a curious spiral-shaped mark. Sandun and Master Eulogo had studied it with their most powerful magnifying glass back at the Archives, but the mark’s meaning remained a mystery. Now, as they approached the wall of rocks and cliffs that barred their way, Sandun was again dismayed at the apparent lack of a route leading out of the valley.
Near the mountainous wall, freezing air seemed to pour down onto them from above, like an invisible wave of cold water. The trees were few and stunted, and high above them great eagles wheeled and gave voice, their harsh cries echoing off the rocky slopes. The next day, one more trail marker was discovered, but looking up into the hills, the expedition could see no path.
The week spent in what they now called “Bent Blade Valley” had refreshed them.
“There is a way through,” Farrel said to the group. “One thing I learned from delivering the king’s messages: there is always a way through. We just need to find it.”
The most notable feature in the land east of the marker was a jagged opening into the rock about one half mile up the slope. At first, all of them had scouted past the opening, as caves had an evil reputation in Kelten, being rare and often occupied by bears or mountain lions or perhaps even monsters. But as no path was found after two days of searching, Sandun and Basil ventured into the opening. Using ropes tied around rocks at the mouth, they climbed down and found utter darkness.
Sandun took out four of the glowing orbs that the king had given to him as his gift to the ruler of Serica. He gave two to Basil and kept two, sometimes holding both in one hand. As their eyes adjusted to the faint green light, Sandun and Basil discovered the cave was not at all like the caves in the Kelten Alps; instead, this cave was more like a tunnel, and after a short flat section, the tunnel began heading steeply uphill.
Basil examined the rock of the cave wall and shook his head in wonder. “I have never seen anything like this before. No man made this, yet the rock is hard and smooth.”
“It looks like the wine cellars of the Arkoamplo estate in Nemiada. See how it curves overhead? But it is so damp, and the air is nearly freezing.” Sandun shivered and jumped up and down to try and keep warm.
“Do you think it goes anywhere? Could this be the route?”
“We will need warmer clothing and the fur cloaks to keep the water off. Then we can find out.”
The two men returned to the camp. The other scouts argued against further exploration of the cave. Some said it was unnatural; others said it was worse than unnatural—it was the creation of the Black Terror. In a bid to calm their fears, Sandun brought out some of the glowing orbs and passed them around. In the daylight they were not impressive, but they clearly were glowing, and this magic seemed like it might offer some protection from any ghosts or terrors that lurked in the cave.
Basil and Sandun returned to the cave after lunch and made their way into and up the mysterious tunnel. The floor was very slippery at places, and in several dips there were shallow pools of ice-cold water that they could pass only with agile climbing around the edge of the tunnel. But up and up the cave went. In a few places, thin spires of rock were broken and lying on the cave floor. With only the faint green light of the orbs to see by, neither man could say for certain if the stone spikes had been broken deliberately.
Sandun felt a rising excitement the farther they went. They had gone at least a mile and climbed hundreds of feet upward. What could it be other than the path? Although at times the roof came close to the floor, it never closed off completely. Still, the cave was narrowing and now, three or four hours in, his hands were numb from the cold, and he had slipped and fallen and bruised his knees and elbows many times. Twice he was on the verge of telling Basil it was time to go back, but something drove him on.
Basil said, “The air smells different.”
Hiding the glowing orbs in his sleeves, Sandun looked up into the darkness. He saw nothing, but he felt the air move. Up until now, the air had been frozen and stagnant. Going forward, they came to a pile of massive rocks that filled the tunnel up to the ceiling. And there was light!
Unmistakable light came down from a broken hole in the tunnel’s roof. Scrambling around cracked boulders that dripped with slushy snow, Sandun managed to climb out of the broken tube and stood blinking in the evening air as the last sunlight faded from snowy fields around him. He turned about, shaking his head like a dog just out of a lake, and suddenly the thunderbolt of vision was granted him. He was looking east at a path to a high saddle between the great conical mountain (which they had named Mount Pandion at Sir Ako’s suggestion) and a lesser hill to its north. There was a path to the east!
Basil joined him and then put his hands to his mouth and yelled out a great hoot. He grinned at Sandun and then started to laugh.
“All this time, I didn’t believe it. All this time. But it’s true. Jon of Stenston really made the trip to Serica and back. And we are following in his footsteps, traveling a route that no man has taken for nearly three hundred years. I didn’t believ
e it.” Shaking his head in amazement, Basil picked his way closer to the edge of the cliff that overlooked Bent Blade Valley below. Sandun followed him. From the top of the cliff, they could see the pinprick of firelight from the camp several miles away.
“Halloo!” Basil shouted. If there was any response, it could not be heard. The chill air was rolling down the mountains at their backs, driving all sound before it. Taking out his farseer glass, Sandun saw one figure at the camp waving a piece of burning wood overhead. Basil shouted again and a couple of eagles, disturbed by the noise, flew out into the great space and circled in the empty air, adding their calls to his. Basil laughed and shouted like a lunatic for several minutes.
Happy but worried about the cliff edge, Sandun drew his friend back to a safer spot beside a great rock, protected from the wind blowing down on them. They ate the little food they had brought and took pleasure in sitting in the fresh air, watching as the long lake’s still waters reflected the orange evening light, set down on the land like a fiery ruby lying between a maiden’s breasts.
Rested, they came back to the tunnel entrance and lowered themselves down to the wet stone floor below. Hours of painful and toilsome effort waited for them, but they were both filled with excitement.
Bone weary and chilled by icy water and frozen air, they returned to the cave mouth around midnight. Sir Ako and Olef and most of the other scouts were waiting for them with food beside a small fire. Filled with excitement, Basil described the tunnel and the path at the top to his rapt audience. Sandun passed around the glowing orbs again: in the night, the orbs glowed brightly, as though lit by a green fire.
Together, they walked slowly back to camp. Sandun sat down beside the main camp fire; wrapped in his blanket, he contemplated the discovery. He was happy, but a part of him felt disconnected from any emotion. He was on a mission, and the mission would continue. He thought of Jon of Stenston, the mapmaker. Had he discovered the tunnel? Perhaps he had followed some earlier explorer? And how did the tunnel come to be? Questions filled his mind and then faded away as he crawled in the tent and fell asleep.
The Burning Tower Page 11
