“I...goblins....”
“You are safe now, Sister,” Sianna spoke.
“We found you on the plains west of Anther,” Stuart told her. “We have carried you for several days....”
“Days!” she exclaimed.
“You have been delirious,” Stuart continued, “and we could not leave you helpless with two shattered legs and no physician.”
“Therion,” she struggled, “Anther.... Therion must be warned.”
“The Therians are aware of the threat,” Stuart answered. “They are withdrawing to the high fortresses. The goblin armies that struck Anther were but the foremost wave of Morin’s power.”
“You...you know Anther’s fate?”
“There was nothing left of Anther when we reached it. Scorched stone, the unburied dead of either side, slaughtered animals and spoiled booty trampled into the streets.”
The girl lowered her head. “When Marshall J’lendhith saw the city falling...he ordered all animals but the horses and all unneeded goods brought out in the streets and destroyed. Then everyone who could ride or be carried was put on horseback for a last attempt to break through and get word to Therion. It was...it was...horrible.” She could not continue.
“What of Marshall J’lendhith?” asked Haleth—but still she could not answer.
“You have escaped,” Sianna comforted the girl. “Perhaps others likewise have found safety. Perhaps many others.”
“I escaped,” the girl managed. “But my horse was killed. If there were others, I don’t know. I saw the marshall fall. We all saw him fall. Then it was.... We ran. Then...then that monster!”
Only with great pain did they extract the rest from her. She had been walking a full day and most of a night when she encountered the beast. She described it as a winged monster like a seagull (“a gull?” asked Jevan in surprise) with a wingspan quadruple her own height, with glowing eyes and giant claws. Made all of stone. That was the last thing she could describe coherently. She did not think her legs had been broken when she fell. Xaeland surmised that he and Jevan must have appeared not long after that.
“What is your name, child?” Jevan asked her.
“Jenna,” she said.
“Jenna. I am Arran Delossan, called Jevan, and these companions of mine are High Scribe Stuart Channethoth of Ristoria, Masters Xaeland and Caelhuin of Brolethiria, General Rigel of Anthirion, General Sianna of...[Stuart put up a finger of warning] ah, Ristoria, and Master Piachras of the same, my friend Heao Sedhar, and Master Haleth, a fellow countryman of yours.” The others bowed or greeted her in turn.
“Hail, plains-sister,” Haleth said.
“And to you, Master Haleth,” she replied weakly. “Is there nothing we can do for Therion?”
“Just what we’re doing,” Haleth responded.
“We are searching for a young boy,” Xaeland said. “Therion—all the world—depends on him. We found his trail leading west from the place the wing beast attacked you, but there is little left to go by.”
“I didn’t see him, I’m sorry,” she said. “How far’ve we gone?”
“We are a few days from Aerisia,” Stuart said. She could feel herself rotating and she realized she must be on a stretcher of some kind. And there, high in the bright air and large as mountains, floated the magic isles of Aerisia. Her stomach wrenched. She had seen them before but now they touched something frightening inside her. The unnaturalness of the sight...that was it. The monster bird flashed in her mind. As though knowing, Jevan put his hand on hers.
The floating isles of Aerisia hung high in the sky, petrified clouds amidst the perpetual real clouds it engendered. Two large isles loomed over the chain, crowned by the curling columns of smoke of Aerisia’s chimneys and forges. From there dozens of smaller isles spiraled downward toward the earth. A thin line spiring upward through these little dots indicated the Ladder Islands, the link between Aerisia and the earth.
So they set out, Stuart and Sianna leading, Piachras and Haleth carrying Jenna’s stretcher while Jevan, Heao, and Rigel kept her company, and Caelhuin and Xaeland pulling up the rear. The sun fell along its arc into the west. As it dipped through the Aerisian Isles, the clouds there crowned it with a dazzling halo of gold. The isles were blackened in the light as though burned to a crisp. The darkness slipped across all the land, leaving only the golden lights of the houses and cities up there on the islands.
They rested, and in the morning Stuart and Sianna announced that no trace remained of Alik’s faded trail. “That means,” Stuart declared, “we will have to hope for news of him from the Aerisians.”
“We will encounter their patrols by evening,” Xaeland said. “Once we do, I am no longer Xaeland, and my companion is no longer Caelhuin. I will be...Landrial. He will be Colmin.”
“And I shall be called Windhunter,” Stuart declared. “The rest of you will be all right.”
Jevan spoke up. “Sir, they will know me.” Stuart gave him a curious look, and he explained. “The Aerisians’ diamond trade enriches their nobles. They were of a time wont to vacation on our isle.”
Stuart asked, “They would recognize you?”
Jevan looked at himself. “Without my glasses and with this scrub of beard, they might not; but they would remember my formal name, Arran Delossan. I might stay to the back and go simply as Jevan.”
“Very well,” said Stuart. “Jevan, Landrial, Colmin, Windhunter.” Then, after they had eaten the last of their rations and checked on Jenna’s injuries, they set out once more.
It was a cold day. The wind came at them from the front with a steady, icy gale that did not relent. The sky slowly darkened. As the morning wore on the wind was flecked with bits of sleet just large enough to sting.
An hour before noon Stuart halted the group. He and Xaeland—“Landrial”—walked ahead a bit while the others gladly accepted the unexpected halt, however brief it might be. “Of all the places we should go,” muttered Rigel, setting himself down beside Jevan and Haleth, “Aerisia: the most ignoble.”
“Barring Labrion,” Haleth emended. Rigel grunted in response.
“Master Delossan,” Heao piped in.
“’Jevan’ now,” Jevan corrected.
“Master Jevan,” Heao asked, “what is wrong with the Aerisians?”
“There is nothing ‘wrong’ with them,” Jevan replied—to which Rigel responded with another, louder, grunt. “They just have a more faulty government,” Jevan finished.
Stuart and Xaeland returned at that moment. Stuart cleared his throat to explain, “Friends, we have reached the Aerisian patrol line earlier than expected. It will still be some time before we are seen—if the more talkative of us can keep their voices down—but we should proceed with some haste. Everyone up, then!”
“Blast,” remarked Rigel, standing. But he could not help but add, aside to Jevan, “You’ll find, Sir, that no people can remain independent of their government. If it is noble, as Anthirion’s, they will be noble-minded. If it is founded on money, as is Aerisia’s, they will be depraved and mercenary. Stars, they even take the label ‘mercenary’ as a compliment!”
“Nevertheless, mercenary is a profession,” Jevan replied. “One can perform it honorably or dishonorably.”
“How on earth...!”
Stuart eyed Rigel. He continued on in a much lower tone, “How on earth can a man honorably sell his name as brute for another’s honor?”
“It is no dishonor to buy and sell,” Jevan said, “nor is it to fight for any honorable cause, provided one fights honorably and sells honorably.”
“War is not like other professions,” Rigel argued.
Jevan countered, “If so, it is because you question war, not mercenaries.”
After this Heao lost the train of the conversation. A wing of gliders soared through the cloudy isles above. The isles—he had heard of them before, but so close! How.... He turned to Haleth, but the great blacksmith didn’t know the answer. He noticed that the strange Therian gir
l on the litter Haleth and Piachras were carrying had fallen asleep. He saw that her hair was light brownish and scattered about her shoulders. He saw that her skin was tan, like Haleth’s but smoother, younger, softer, except where it still bore the scrapes and bruises of her recent encounters. Her ragged cloak, dried and thoroughly beaten out of all its crusted mud, was piled over her body, her arms were folded over her breast, and her head lolled gently toward him as though in a moment of bliss after quiet meditation on a lover.
He heard or saw nothing else until Stuart’s sharp warning and the voices of Aerisian archers nearby. He saw Xaeland—“Landrial”—lean over to Stuart and point toward something. Stuart nodded and he heard the elf leader say, “Hold up, friends,” then, louder, “peace be with you!”
“Draw up!” commanded a mellow female voice.
“It came from over the rise, Lieutenant Thenele,” came a second voice, a baritone.
Two soldiers came into view over the crest of a rocky fold in the land. Stuart waved his hand. The others remained motionless except that Piachras and Haleth set down Jenna’s stretcher. Presently the whole patrol, nine soldiers including the thin, mousy lieutenant, advanced into view. They were lightly armed with bows and short-halberds. Their uniforms were sky blue with pale, bleached vests belted about the waist. Their skin was darkly tanned, with the palest of them, the lieutenant, darker than Haleth or Jenna. Besides their arms they each bore a thick coil of rope, a small packet of climbing gear, a silver arrow pin beneath their collars, and heavy Therian leather gloves. The leader also bore a clarion. She began, “In the name of the Aerisian king, identify yourselves and your purpose in Aerisia.” Her tone, however, was more jaded than threatening.
“We mean no harm to Aerisia or her king,” Stuart declared. “We are searching for a lost boy, a friend of ours. I am called Windhunter; my companions are Sianna and Piachras; Haleth of Therion and Jenna, refugees from the trouble in Therion; Rigel of Anthirion; Jevan and Heao; Landrial and Colmin. Our friend Jenna is in need of medical attention.”
“She may have it,” Thenele, replied. “What of the lost boy you mentioned?”
“He is thin, small, about nine years of age; scruffy brown hair, strange eyes, a somewhat elvish look; dressed Ristorian-style, but simply; and speaking a strange language. He answers to the name Alik.”
Lieutenant Thenele exchanged a quick glance with her second. Heao asked, “Have you seen him?!”
“You will need to see Lady Reiaena Anaerias at once,” Thenele said, ignoring Heao. “No point in delaying; we’ll leave at once.”
“Good Lieutenant, have you seen the boy?” Stuart asked.
Thenele sighed. “The evening before last...about an hour in from here.... It was our patrol that discovered him—though at that time he was more of the appearance of mud than elf. Come; I will tell you on the climb.”
“Is he above?” pressed Stuart. “If he is not, I pray you, do not delay us, for our business is urgent.”
Lieutenant Thenele glanced at him sidelong. “I will not delay you. Come.”
From there they were three hours to what was known outside Aerisia as the Aerisian Ladder and more simply inside Aerisia as the Climb. “We came across him on our regular patrol the evening before last evening,” Lieutenant Thenele narrated. “Of course we did not know who he was then. No, we didn’t imagine what he would mean, else we would have slain him there and then. But do not judge us. In any event, the past cannot be undone. We brought him to the house of Anaerias as an act of mercy. Now Lord Anaerias is dead, Aerisia is in disunion under the thrall of the North, and the boy—if boy he is—has disappeared as thoroughly as fog in sunlight. There is an incredible bounty on his head.”
“Which you were looking to collect?” Rigel questioned.
“That’s outrageous; Lieutenant,” the second-in-command petitioned.
Thenele held up a hand to silence the man and turned to Rigel. “Sir,” she said, barely an edge of impatience in her voice, “we have paid dearly already because of this child of yours. Our homeland is in turmoil, our master and protector slain, our families and friends imperiled, and we ourselves in practical exile. If we are seeking the boy, it is not for any gain less valuable than these things that we have already lost, but only in the hope that we might help to set things back to right.”
Jevan answered, “No one has given up anything for the cause of the right that they will not gain back a hundred-fold when these short trials have ended.”
Stuart added, “Our friend did not mean to offend you; we wish only for the same peaceful resolution as you do. Then Rigel also apologized, and Thenele accepted.
The sun floated through the sky, drifting behind the isles now high above them, setting the islands and their clouds to glittering, then marching down the stairs of the Aerisian Ladder toward the red mountains in the east. Jevan whispered to Heao, “You are in for a special treat: the sunset from the Ladder Islands is said to be spectacular.”
It was not long before the first step of the ladder came within sight. A great slab of rock known as the Foot lay before them like many smaller formations they had seen laying over the rocky hills. Coming over a rise in the ground, they were suddenly near enough not only to make out this isle, but to discern the outlines of buildings rising on it, their lights just beginning to come up, and even the faint blur of tiny patrols silhouetted in the lights.
“Stay here,” Lieutenant Thenele told her soldiers. “Sergeant Rethek, you take command.”
“Lieutenant....”
“I’ll be all right.” She beckoned the travelers.
“Lieutenant, we do not wish to lead you into danger,” Jevan spoke up.
“We must all do our duty,” Thenele shrugged. “Besides, I think I have an understanding with the captain of the Climb.”
They set out. The rest of the patrol waited a moment, then hurried in the other direction. Thenele stayed out ahead of the others, moodily silent. Twice they were challenged by patrols; the first, unconvinced by whatever Thenele had said, posted themselves to the group, though without making any attempt to disarm them. The second patrol was satisfied with the presence of the first. Finally, they reached the Foot.
Close at hand, they could see that the isle known as the Foot was really a peninsula broken nearly in two, the further half hovering above the ground, resting on nothing. A long, spindly ladder spired upward over the hanging end of the Foot, waving slightly in the wind with the tenuousness of a cobweb. Sianna, Heao, and Piachras all gazed up toward the end of the ladder. Dark isles of stone like petrified clouds hung up there in the growing gloom, reflecting the deepening hues of the sun in its downward arc.
“Heavens; what are we getting into?” Sianna murmured.
Stuart put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. They climbed up the steps to the Foot. Aerisian soldiers closed in around them casually. Past barracks, past warehouses, past houses of petty trade officials, up the slope of the isle to the very foot of the Aerisian Ladder they went. Thenele led them right up to the Ladder-House, to the very door, where their way was at last barred by two high guards with ornamental battle-staves. Above, the base of the great ladder rose out of a platform in the roof.
The high guards were uniformed similarly to Thenele’s troops, but with long, bleached-leather overcoats trimmed in silky blue, with only the barest hint of much-stylized climbing gear. The badges on their collars were also not arrows, but crescents. Jevan recognized the badge: he had seen it before. It was the ancestral badge of the high house of the Daeaeans, one of the richest factions of Aerisia.
Four armed guards apprehended Thenele and several dozen others surrounded the rest of the group along with the soldiers who had followed them up the Foot. The door opened to emit an immensely overweight captain, comfortably appareled in a plush scarf. He was also bearing the Daeaeans’ crescent badge. “Dragging more rats into Aerisia, Lieutenant Thenele of Anaerias?” he mouthed. “You know very well you and your rebel friends have been outlawed.”
To the soldiers he said, “Take their weapons.”
Lieutenant Thenele let herself be disarmed, but Sianna and Rigel bared their swords threateningly and Xaeland gave the guards nearest him such a scowl that all the guards drew back. “We do not come here in war,” Stuart placated, “nor do we know aught of your internal strifes. We come only for aid and for information.”
The captain snorted under his breath. “What have we here? Elves, rogues, a grey-bearded Anthirian knight, and some rider-folk—giving orders?”
“We mean you no injury,” Stuart replied.
“Yet if you thieve our arms you shall surely have the feel of them,” Xaeland warned.
“Enough!” the captain barked, retreating into his door. “Execute the Anaerian rebel and seize the rest!”
The guards holding Thenele raised their halberds. At once Piachras’ ax, Stuart’s sword, Sianna’s second sword, and Haleth’s saber all bristled out and Xaeland’s hand went to his hilt.
Thenele knelt, placing her hands on her head and closing her eyes. “Put away your weapons!” she shouted, “I claim the treasure-finder’s right!”
This magic incantation froze the Aerisians in place. The captain re-emerged in consternation, sniffing at the lieutenant, “What treasure do you have?” The guards held back: the captain’s question was an admission.
“These others here are my treasure,” Thenele declared. “They have information concerning the shard-bearer. They must be let to pass.”
The captain seemed divided by this statement. “The shard-bearer? Where is he, then?” he demanded of Stuart.
“Do you deny me my right?” Thenele demanded. “Would you dare put it before the king?”
“The king?!” the captain laughed nervously. “It makes no difference to me where you are executed. The king will not be taken in long by your fool claim.” But by saying so he as much as admitted them before the king. He turned to his officers. “Send birds to the commander of the Climb and to the palace. Let them know I am sending these prisoners up to them.” He turned back to the others. “You may carry your weapons for now, but they may not enter the king’s presence, you know.” He threw his hands open as though to say, “Don’t blame me,” and they were ushered into the house.
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