Adept tegw-1

by Michael Arnquist

  “It all sounds reasonable, if a bit too carefully crafted,” Amric said. “And it does not explain why you could not share a word of your plan with Halthak before you left, or how you were able to descend undetected into our midst just now. I have been lying awake for more than an hour, listening to the healer’s intermittent snoring, and I was only aware of your presence moments before Halthak discovered you.”

  Halthak’s face burned at Amric’s words. He had not realized the man was awake, had never seen him move nor heard his breathing change. Bellimar opened his mouth, but Amric held up a hand to forestall the reply.

  “Nay,” he said. “I do not doubt that you can supply a ready explanation. Keep your secrets, old man. I already know there is more to you than meets the eye. I respect and even like you, Bellimar, and your aid has been invaluable thus far, but I want you to understand two things.”

  The swordsman stepped close, pinning Bellimar with a stare. “First, if I judge for a moment that you have goals running contrary to our own, I will not hesitate to take necessary measures. Is that understood?”

  The old man tilted his head, searching the warrior’s expression for a long moment before giving a grave nod. “Understood. And the second?”

  “In the future,” the warrior said, his words ringing like cold iron, “if you feel the need to depart in the midst of a crisis without a word to anyone, stay gone.”

  Bellimar inclined his head again. “Understood on that point as well.”

  “And you, healer,” Amric said, rounding with a scowl on Halthak, who flinched back from him. “You misled me, and broke our agreement by lulling me to sleep.”

  The Half-Ork, emboldened by Amric’s words being more scolding than angry, folded his arms across his chest and thrust out his lower jaw as he faced the other man.

  “You needed the rest to recuperate from your injuries,” he said in what he hoped was a tone that brooked no argument. “I said I would only do as much as I thought you required, and I did just that. It is the physician’s prerogative to ignore the demands of a delirious patient.”

  Amric glowered at him for a few more moments, before the hint of a grin cracked through. “So it is, healer, so it is. And we would be in dire straits indeed without your expert ministrations.” His voice regained its stern edge. “Still, you put us all at risk, and such dishonesty does not fit you well. If we are so unfortunate as to repeat those circumstances, sway me with words rather than deception. Promise me that?”

  Halthak exhaled in relief, and nodded. “I would have woken you both had anything threatened.”

  “Or we you,” Amric said with a snort that sounded suspiciously like a mock snore, but a private wink took the sting from his words. Valkarr gave a soft, sibilant laugh and turned away, striding to the entrance of the cleft. He stood silhouetted there, surveying the hillside.

  Still seated upon his rock, Bellimar said, “There is something else I must mention.”

  The old man’s half-smile returned as they all turned to face him, expectant.

  “In my exploration of the heights above us last night,” he said. “I discovered something you should see for yourself.”

  By the time he reached the safety of the broad stone ledge, Halthak was fighting for breath. Strong hands pulled him over the edge and to his feet, and he peered down into the yawning darkness of the cleft below. He battled a moment of vertigo as he stood with his heels on the precipice; it had not looked so high when he stood at the bottom, staring up the rock face with skepticism as he sought the handholds the others assured him were plentiful. Amric and Valkarr had scampered up before him with infuriating speed and ease, and it was some combination of curiosity, stubbornness, and unease at being left behind with Bellimar that had driven him to follow.

  Bellimar stood far below, a distant bit of shadow wrapped in his cloak. He had chosen to remain on the ground, expressing doubt as to whether there was strength enough left in his aging limbs to ascend again by the route he had so recently descended. He claimed to have reached this spot by a less strenuous albeit more circuitous route during the night. Contemplating the return descent now, Halthak felt his chest tighten. He berated himself for following the warriors up here merely to witness Bellimar’s reported discovery, but then he raised his face to the sunrise and changed his mind.

  The sun’s golden light caressed and warmed his face, and he shielded his eyes against its glare to look out upon a living sea of jade. Between the altitude gained from the large hill upon which the crag rested, and the further height of the ledge above the crest of that hill, they were looking out at a level with the tops of the trees. The thick, green canopy spread away from the crag on three sides past the limits of his vision, its surface rippling before the will of the wind. The healer found the ancient forest as beautiful from above as it was treacherous beneath. Here at least there was life, as flocks of birds wheeled and circled high overhead. Halthak felt a sudden, fierce longing to be as free of the evils below as were those birds. He wondered at how magnificent the view must be at the peak of the crag rather than merely partway up, but he could see no way to ascend further from their ledge.

  The ledge wrapped around the face of the bluff, and Amric and Valkarr stood at its southernmost edge. They were conversing and pointing at something in the distance, and as Halthak moved toward them he saw the focus of their attention.

  On the southern side of the crag, separated from them by a slender swath of trees, the rocky ground gave way to foothills and then rose into a sheer cliff that meandered east like a great stone curtain. Etched into its side was a shelf that ran ribbon-like for many miles above the forest. On its western end, it coiled back upon itself several times before it disappeared into the woodlands behind the crag. Halthak strained to trace its progress to the east, though he lost it eventually to distance and the glare of the rising sun. It seemed to end at or behind a solitary mountain, thrust away from its siblings huddled in the range behind it to reign alone and majestic above the forest. As he continued to stare, however, it dawned upon him that the mountain had too many sharp, angular edges to be the careless artistry of nature, and the myriad shadows upon its face were too uniform as well. Awe crept over him as he realized he was looking upon a mighty fortress, carved from the very top of the mountain. Halthak tried and failed to grasp the enormity of effort required to construct a single structure so massive. It could only be Stronghold, home of the reclusive Wyrgens, and their destination.

  Halthak hastened forward to hear the discussion.

  “It is not marked on Morland’s maps,” Amric was saying. “But the maps focus on trade and mining supply routes, and that ridge path looks unsuitable for wagons or large parties, so that could be why. I would wager that four riders on horseback can navigate it in a single column, however, with caution.”

  “Do you see the bridge Bellimar mentioned?” Valkarr asked.

  Halthak peered into the fading distance, and saw no such thing.

  “I think so,” Amric said, after a moment. “It is difficult to tell for certain at this distance, but I believe I see something connecting the path and the fortress. Damn, but the old man has eyesight a hawk would envy to have seen that far in the poor light.”

  The swordsman’s flat tone seemed at odds with his admiring words, and Halthak puzzled over it before Amric’s meaning sank in. Bellimar had startled them on the ground before the morning sun had crested the horizon. What the keen eyes of the warriors could barely discern now in dawn’s first light, Bellimar had somehow seen last night in near darkness. Halthak felt a growing chill as he considered the implications.

  ”If we are mistaken about reaching the fortress from the path, we could lose a day or more to backtracking,” Valkarr said.

  Amric grunted. “Worth the risk. I find I am open to alternatives to the forest road just now.”

  “We will be exposed to view,” Valkarr noted. “But we will see far as well, and attackers can only come at us one or two at a time on the narrow
trail. A better route, if it connects.”

  “Then let us hope this newfound path is as quiet as it appears,” Amric said. “And that Bellimar has indeed found us a way to bypass the last stretch of this infernal forest.”

  It was late afternoon when the riders reached the end of the high pathway along the cliff wall. At its terminus, the path twisted away from the sheer face and gave way to a broad, tree-studded clearing atop a bluff that jutted over the valley. From its edge, a slender bridge leapt across the intervening chasm in a shallow, graceful arc to the foot of the mountain fortress, Stronghold.

  Amric guided his bay gelding onto the plateau, and he felt some of the tension leave the horse’s knotted muscles in a brief, shuddering sigh. The swordsman gave the animal’s neck a sympathetic pat. After spending all day navigating the narrow, wind-clawed trail over a precipitous drop, this flat and spacious projection of stone seemed secure indeed. He waited as the others drew rein beside him, relief evident on their faces as well, and together they surveyed the bridge.

  “What do you make of it?” Amric asked at last.

  “It should not stand,” Valkarr replied at once.

  Amric was forced to agree. He had been eyeing the structure since it hove into clear view around the curve of the cliff wall. Though the Sil’ath were wondrous crafters on a smaller scale, they seldom built large, elaborate structures. Perhaps it was evidence that their nomadic impulse yet remained. It was just as rare for them to employ siege tactics such as sapping or demolition, but their military training still encompassed something of basic engineering and materials. Furthermore, Amric had taken it upon himself to study at the university in Lyden and bring the additional knowledge back to his people to augment their skills.

  And everything he had learned, in direct contradiction to what he was seeing, insisted that the bridge before them simply could not be.

  He dismounted and let the reins drop, then approached the edge of the precipice where the bridge began. The structure was wide enough for two horses abreast and composed entirely of some strange alloy, but he could find no seams or bolts demarcating the component pieces. Instead, it appeared to be forged of one unimaginably long, continuous piece of metal. Where the span met the stone at his feet, the two disparate materials merged, and the one flowed into the other without interruption. Ribs of metal looped in high arcs over the walking surface, but there were none of the heavy supports above or below that he expected of a bridge spanning many hundreds of yards. Amric peered down into the gorge, at the dark green treetops far below shot through with bleached veins of rock. If this contraption gave way beneath them, their quest would come to an abrupt and ignominious end down there.

  “The Wyrgens are reputed to be unparalleled craftsmen, producers of countless marvels,” Bellimar reminded him. “If any could produce a bridge that defies gravity, it is they.”

  Amric gave a noncommittal grunt. It was also said that the masters of Stronghold guarded their privacy with ferocious zeal, and were known to make examples of unwelcome visitors. This precarious path through the air could collapse by fault of construction or by design to repel invaders, and either way the outcome for Amric and his companions would be the same. Still, the bridge led to an opening in the chiseled wall on the other side, and he did not relish the thought of turning back now to find another approach.

  There was no visible activity on the far side, but this was somewhat expected since nothing had been heard from the Wyrgens for many months.

  Bellimar had done much on the journey from Keldrin’s Landing to fill the gaps left in common knowledge regarding the reclusive Wyrgens of Stronghold. Like their base relatives, the savage Wyrgs of the lowlands, the Wyrgens were powerful and towering in stature, bestial in appearance and capable of rending a man limb from limb. Unlike their more primitive cousins, however, they were extremely intelligent, preferring science and clever manipulation of magical essences to warlike endeavors. Their inventions were highly sought after among the other nations, and with sufficient motivation the Wyrgens sometimes put aside their xenophobic tendencies to enter in trade arrangements with other races. Their feral cunning led to unease in their trade partners, but that discomfort was overlooked to garner the advantage that came with the Wyrgens’ technology, particularly in matters of war. As he heard all this, Amric could not help but ponder how selling machines of destruction to other races so they could destroy each other seemed like an arrangement in which the Wyrgens profited in two ways.

  Establishing the military fort that would later become Keldrin’s Landing may have represented the first foothold of the civilized nations in the region, but as they expanded, men found the Wyrgens and Stronghold already here. No one could say whether the Wyrgens had built Stronghold themselves, or if they had merely appropriated it for their own. For their part, the Wyrgens were tight-lipped on the subject.

  Keldrin’s Landing had established a trade relationship with Stronghold, and thus enjoyed more efficient mining and research equipment, with a dramatic effect on profits. With the spreading disruption, the city had been pressing for the Wyrgens to produce advanced defensive measures by which the town could protect itself and the surrounding countryside. Then contact with the Wyrgens was lost.

  Subsequent envoys to Stronghold had not returned. Morland admitted to having formed his own surreptitious side arrangement with the Wyrgens, for purposes he refused to divulge; Amric was certain it was for some dark purpose, given the merchant’s soulless avarice, but even Morland’s considerable resources had not enabled him to reach his private contacts.

  All of this left Amric facing the bridge and pondering the unknowable. It was possible the Wyrgens were hidden to view inside, unaware or uncaring of their approach, or that no other envoy had made it here or survived the return trip. It was possible, but the alternatives were of more immediate concern. Whether the Wyrgens had fled Stronghold, or remained there but shunned the outside world, the bridge could be a trap to ward off intruders. More sinister yet, if something strong enough to eradicate or drive away the Wyrgens had taken up residence in Stronghold, the riders faced an even more uncertain reception.

  Amric gave a mental shrug. There was nothing for it but to try. He would not back down before mere speculation. He strode to his horse and stepped into the saddle. He looked to the others, finding all eyes upon him. Without comment, he turned and guided the bay forward and onto the bridge.

  He rode several yards out, and the structure held firm. He paused and glanced back to see his companions gathered at the foot of the bridge, and he resumed crossing. Out over the yawning chasm he rode, steady and unhurried. His horse’s hooves rang eerily against the metal frame. Midway across the span, he looked over his shoulder to see the others crossing as well, each spaced a score of yards from the next to distribute the weight. Amric was now confident they need not have bothered, as the bridge made no protest, no creaking or cracking under the weight of horse and rider. In fact, the only indication that he was not on solid ground came in the form of an almost indiscernible swaying with the cross wind.

  What seemed an eternity later, he reached the wide stone balcony before the outer wall of the fortress. A huge, square entrance gaped before him, with raised portcullis leading into a sunlit inner courtyard. Amric rode forward to ensure no one lurked within, and then waited for his companions to join him. The level top of the bluff that had seemed so expansive at the other end looked miniscule from this vantage, its thick copse of trees no more than a smudge of green now against a veritable sea of stone.

  One by one the riders gained the balcony, and together they passed under the gate and into Stronghold’s grounds.

  Amric scanned the empty courtyard. It was a large, enclosed grassy area on a slight incline from the thick outer wall to the foot of the fortress. A number of smaller buildings were scattered about, each sizeable in its own right but dwarfed to insignificance by the vastness of the brooding edifice looming above. The swordsman gazed up the disorienting expanse th
at stretched away above them, perhaps even as far as the mountain’s peak itself. Its face was dimpled by many small, shadowed openings starting high above the ground, and when he widened his perspective to take in a larger part of the architecture, he noted strata of epic proportions punctuated by huge, blocky buttresses and other jutting projections. There was no other visible ornamentation, and he saw no seams anywhere to suggest tight-fit ashlar blocks. It appeared as if the entire colossal structure was carved by the same sculptor as the mysterious bridge, and somehow shaped whole from the flesh of the mountain.

  At the base of the fortress, he spied a sweeping set of stairs ascending to a recess in the wall, which looked to be the only available path from the courtyard into the fortress.

  “This building is a stable,” Valkarr said, pointing to one of the smaller buildings.

  “And this other looks to be living quarters,” Amric put in. “I think we are looking upon support structures for visitors the Wyrgens prefer to keep outside the fortress proper.”

  Bellimar nodded, his eyes roving over the face of the fortress. “That would be in keeping with the attitude of the Wyrgens. Few are the members of other races who have been within Stronghold itself. I would expect to find concentric layers of increasing restriction inside, with everything truly precious to the Wyrgens found deep within, toward the core.”

  They allowed the horses to graze on the unkempt grass of the courtyard, and Amric set Halthak and Bellimar to watching the fortress for any sign of life while he and Valkarr searched the out-buildings. They found no evidence of passage by their friends, and Amric was disappointed but not surprised. This seemed a little known entrance to Stronghold and had not been indicated on Morland’s maps, which presumably were identical to those given to the Sil’ath party. If not for Bellimar’s excursion after the encounter with the bloodbeasts, Amric’s party would not have discovered this alternate route either. He wondered how many more obscured entrances could be found around the perimeter of the place, in addition to the heavily fortified main entry to which the forest road led.