Angus Wells - The God Wars 03 (3 page)

           
"And you three quest against
him," she murmured, impressed despite herself, "and the Younger Gods
themselves come to your aid."

           
"In Kandahar, Burash saved us
from the Chaipaku"—Calandryll nodded—"and brought us swift across the
Narrow Sea to Lysse. There, Dera appeared to us; she blessed my blade that it
might stand against fell magic. In Cuan na'For, Ahrd saved Bracht from
crucifixion, and sped us through the Cuan na'Dru."

           
"Not quite swift enough,"
Bracht remarked wryly-

           
"But closer than we've been ere
now." Calandryll smiled at Cennaire. "And with one who knows his
face. Perhaps you were put here by the gods to aid us."

           
She answered his gallantry with a
smile of her own, that freezing on her fresh-washed face as a new thought
filtered into her mind. Suspicions and fragments of knowledge, both those imparted
by Anomius and those picked up on her own quest, came together, and she saw the
true enormity of what Rhythamun intended. It alarmed her, for she realized that
the sorcerer was bent on the destruction of the world, and that did he succeed
in his aim, she, too, was likely doomed. With such power as Tharn would grant
him, Rhythamun must surely stand supreme among sorcerers, a madman with
ultimate power. Anomius was no less insane, and no less likely to confront
Rhythamun—and lose, she thought, for with Tharn's aid, Rhythamun must be
omnipotent. What should her fate then be? As Anomius's creation, as his agent,
she must surely be condemned with him: did Rhythamun succeed in raising Tharn,
then likely she was doomed as certainly as these three.

           
Her agile mmd assessed the dilemma,
reaching only one conclusion: that for her own sake she must lend the questers
what support she could, for the defeat of Rhythamun was as much in her own
interest as theirs, or the world's. After that. . . after that, she must decide
again. To take the Arcanum and bring it to Anomius? What then? Should her
usefulness not then be ended and she discarded as Anomius took up the same mad
game? Perhaps better to give wholehearted aid, and throw herself on the mercy
of the Younger Gods when—if!—the quest was won. Were she to share in that
victory, surely the Younger Gods would forgive her many past transgressions.
She did not, could not, know: only that for now she was bound to these three,
their quest become hers in a manner she dare not reveal to them.

           
Calandryll misinterpreted her
silence. "The gods move mysteriously/' He smiled. "Perhaps they did
put you here, but whether or not, it's of no matter—we found you and now we
ride together."

           
She found cause for hope in that and
smiled afresh, saying, "I think mischance put me here, but still I'll do
all I can to aid you."

           
"Well said," applauded
Calandryll.

           
Across the fire, Katya smiled and
Bracht nodded, taciturn, and suggested they sleep, mounting a watch against the
possibility that Cennaire's fictional raiders remained in the vicinity.

           
Katya took the first shift, waking
Calandryll to a night bright with stars, undisturbed by anything save the
distant howling of the wild dogs that hunted the grasslands. It was warm, the
summer by now well advanced, and he rose, taking up his bow and walking a
little way off from the fire to hunker down where flame-glow should not hinder
his night vision. In his mind he saw, clear, Cennaire's face.

           
DAWN
came early, heralded by the myriad small birds that inhabited the
grasslands, their chorus begun while the sun still lay below the eastern
horizon. The sky there brightened, lightening to pale blue as great radiant
shafts drove upward from beneath the world's rim. Random billows of cumulus
drifted on the breeze, ethereal islands in the vastness of the sky. The loud
chorusing of the birds dispersed into individual songs as the avians completed
their daily welcome and went about their individual business. Calandryll rose,
shaking dew from his blanket, and scooped handfuls from the grass to bathe his
face before rummaging through his saddlebags in search of comb and mirror.
Bracht was crouched by the fire, their breakfast cooking, grinning as he
watched Calandryll perform his careful toilet,

           
"Handsome as a prince—she'll
surely be impressed," he murmured, just loud enough his friend should
hear, the comment eliciting an embarrassed grin in response. It had been a
while since he took such care of his appearance.

           
Katya and Cennaire woke, rising and
walking a distance off to perform their own ablutions, the one limber, the
other feigning a degree of stiffness. Calandryll watched her, his mind no less
troubled by her presence for what little sleep he had managed.

           
She seemed cheerful enough as she
came back to the fire, which he put down to her relief at finding herself no
longer alone, and he wondered if she truly comprehended the enormity of the
journey she was about to start. He pushed the thought aside: without
alternatives there was no point to worrying.

           
For her part, Cennaire pretended a
healthy appetite, consuming the portion of the stew Bracht handed her with
gusto, returning Calandryll's greeting with a demure smile, nodding obediently
as the Kern advised her she should ride with him.

           
"My black's the strongest
horse," he explained, "and likely the surest-footed. The Daggan Vhe
runs steep at times, and often narrow. Hold tight to me, and if you fear the
heights, close your eyes."

           
"I shall," she promised.

           
Calandryll experienced some small
prickling of resentment that Bracht so casually assumed to command the
raven-haired woman, then silently cursed himself for such foolishness. What
Bracht said was right, and only sensible,- there was no more in it than concern
for safety and speed. He quelled his momentary jealousy, though he could not
help regretting it would be Bracht's waist her arms encircled rather than his.

           
They finished eating and stamped the
fire dead, then saddled the animals and mounted. Gallantly, Calandryll helped
Cennaire astride the black horse, excited despite himself by the contact. Her
skin was soft and smooth, and when she murmured thanks he bowed as if he were
back in the court at Secca. Then blushed as he saw Katya studying him
speculatively, amusement in her eyes, and hurried to his own mount.

           
"Who leads?" he wondered,
thinking that Rhythamun might well have left some occult creation behind to
ward his back. "What if the way is guarded?"

           
"In Kandahar, Anomius was
weakened by much use of magic," Bracht returned. "Think you Rhythamun
is different?"

           
"Anomius still found the power
to create the golem, and Rhythamun is a greater mage." Calandryll walked
his horse level with the Kern's, touching the hilt of his sword. "I've
this—best I take the van."

           
Bracht shrugged and said, "So
be it," though his expression suggested he thought perhaps Calandryll
looked to impress Cennaire with his courage. "But carefully."

           
Calandryll nodded and turned the
chestnut horse into the gully, down through shadow to the sunlit ledge beyond.

           
From the rimrock the Kess Imbrun had
been impressive enough, but now it seemed he stood at the world's edge,
infinity yawning below him. To his right, the cliff fell down immense,
precipitous w
^r
alls and massive spines transforming the landscape
into a ragged labyrinth of mazed canyons that tumbled chaotically downward,
obscuring the river at the chasm's base. The farther cliffs were hidden behind
a curtain of bluish mist and birds hung on the air currents, so that it w'as as
though he looked down on the sky itself. His horse fretted, sensing its rider's
awed uneasiness, and he urged it leftward, closer to the reassuring inner
rockface. Behind him, he heard the clatter of hooves on the stone floor of the
gully, and Bracht's shout.

           
"What is it?"

           
He swallowed: it seemed the sheer
vastness of the descent clogged his throat. "Naught," he called back.
"No danger, only this place."

           
He walked his horse onward, leaving
the others room, and heard Cennaire cry out, Katya's gasp.

           
"This is the wider part."
Bracht's voice was casual; Calandryll wondered if such nonchalance was assumed.
"The trail will narrow lower down."

           
Calandryll went on, across the roof
of the buttress that formed the shelf, and found the road turned back past the
edge, traversing a sheer, smooth rockface. It was unnervingly narrow there, and
he concentrated on the way, not wanting to look leftward, to where the trail
dropped off, unaware that he rode wdth gritted teeth until the muscles of his
jaw began to ache. He saw an eagle soar past, on a level, unblinking yellow
eyes fixing him for a moment before the great bird dipped a wing and drifted
clear. The sun rose higher, filling the chasm with light, the cliffs shining
myriad shades of red and brown and yellow, the light growing steadily to
finally reveal the thread of blue, distant below, where the river ran. It
seemed impossible they should ever reach that goal: Calandryll chose not to
think that after that they must climb the farther side.

           
Down and down they went, along a
zigzagging switchback, across ledges scarcely wider than the horses' girth,
where they dismounted and led the animals, across more slabby buttresses,
through clefts, where the rock walls offered comfort; along shelves that
widened a little while before the trail turned again. None spoke: it was as though
the enormity of the Kess Imbrun leeched their breath, leaving only
concentration and the desire to reach the foot of the rift.

           
The light faded, shadow pooling
below, the air ahead translucent as the sun closed on the western horizon, and
from behind, Bracht called, "Best we halt at the next wide place. I'd not
attempt this in darkness."

           
Calandryll nodded without speaking,
peering into the rapidly blueing air for sign of some suitable place.

           
He saw it as they rounded a spur,
the way narrow there, but spreading beyond into a ledge of a size large enough
to accommodate them all, with room for the horses. "Here?" he
suggested, sighing his relief when Bracht voiced agreement.

           
The platform was reassuringly broad,
marked at its farther perimeter by a tall jut of stone around which the Daggan
Vhe continued its descent, the edge sharp, but the slope there angled and less
sheer than the wall behind. It was a cheerless place, bereft of timber or
water, but as good a stopping place as any other they might find; and dusk came
fast here, the sun already dropping below the western cliffs.

           
"We make cold camp this
night," Bracht remarked, fetching a hobble from his saddlebags. "Cold
food and no fire."

           
Calandryll nodded in reply, hobbling
his own mount, and asked, "Shall the horses be safe?"

           
"All being well," came the
answer, and then the Kern walked to the farther side of the shelf, peering into
the shadows that now masked the descending trail.

           
Calandryll joined him, but there was
little to see, only rock that darkened to the color of dried blood, blank night
falling beyond. They went back, finding Katya busying herself with the
spreading of blankets and cloaks, setting them between the horses and the
rimrock.

           
"Is Vanu much like this?"
Bracht asked as he joined her.

           
"A little." Katya brushed
hair that in the gathering night was the color of old silver from her face.
"There are some trails like this, but the mountains are higher and the
ways mostly wider."

           
"Ahrd, but I've seen enough of
mountains to last me a lifetime," Bracht muttered, his grin belying his
morose tone.

           
"You'll likely see more."
The warrior woman smiled at him across the blanket they spread, tossing her
head in the direction of the chasm's far side.

           
"Still, on the Jesseryn Plain
we'll ride flat land again." Bracht answered her smile with his own.
"Ahrd be praised."

           
Cennaire went to where Calandryll
was bringing food from their packs and asked, "What may I do?"

           
He passed her dried meat. "Take
this, if you will," he said, thrilling as her hands touched his, adding,
to conceal his excitement, his embarrassment, "It's poor enough fare, but
all we'll manage here."