The Axe and the Throne (20 page)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So filled with exhilarant warmth, Titon had been unable to feel the sting of the cold, salty spray off the Frozen Sea. In all of Titon's fifteen years, he could not remember a time in which he'd felt more accomplished, and he was not alone in that feeling—at least for the duration of their coastal travel. The spirits of the men had all lifted upon reaching the fabled shores, realizing they were not to be clobbered to death by boulder-hurling giants.

Galatai believed they had no reason to come west due to the lack of greenery along this coast and the unfishable nature of the violent, icy waters. It was thought, as previous journeys had demonstrated, that nothing lived here that would make the voyage worthwhile, and it seemed as though that thinking may have been correct. As they walked south across these massive mountains, the tops of which were made flat by some unexplained force, there were no signs of life. No crabs scurried into the cracks of the rocks, no gnats pestered their eyes, no gulls called from the sky…not even snow survived on the boulders, darkened with wetness and bereft of powder.

The men got their first taste of battle, however, in the most unexpected fashion. They'd come upon an enormously rotund creature that resembled an old mustached man with widespread eyes, flippers for limbs and two huge teeth, each near half a man in length. The beast was no match for their bows and axes and came to a quick, albeit gruesome, death. The men were elated to find the fat and meat they butchered was quite edible, and the few who protested at first, claiming that it might be cannibalistic to eat such a creature, came around soon after they smelled the fat sizzling over the fires.

With full bellies and enough meat left to last well over a week, they turned east. Titon led them inland after he'd determined they'd followed the sea for long enough. He'd calculated the distance based on the hours spent traveling and their paces per hour, but with a stick shoved into a crack in the stony ground and some thoughtful looks, Titon pretended to glean cryptic knowledge from the Dawnstar based on the shadow cast.
Let them think me a mage. What could be the harm?
Having read about magecraft, Titon was convinced it was nonsense, but he thought the men in their party were like to be the type who might believe in such foolishness.

“How much farther do you think?” Decker asked him. The two were at their usual place at the front of the pack.

“I cannot say for sure.” Titon did not meet his brother's gaze, instead looking forward. “As I have mentioned, there is no way of knowing how far the flat rock spans between the Frozen Sea and the canyon that is home to the Dogmen. We are the first to travel this way.”

“Yes, but you must have some idea. We have been walking east for several days now. We are not lost are we?”

“Of course not,” said Titon tersely.
Of course we are lost. I just told you, no one has ever traveled these plateaus.

Titon had given up using the term “plateau” as it only seemed to incite mockery. It was becoming increasingly vexing to Titon that the knowledge he had gained from his study of Dogmen books, the ingenuity he had used to devise a method for them to descend the cliffs—the very essence of that which made this raid possible—was the object of constant ridicule. Now that they headed inland and were faced with another journey of indeterminate length, the thrill of having found the Frozen Sea was sapped from him by the childish impatience of those around him.
I expected as much from the others, but not from you, Decker.

“We are only a few days' travel from the canyons,” Titon said, hoping it would be true. “I am quite sure of it.”

A day later they reached the promised canyon edge and peered over the cliff they were to descend. It was a sight that no doubt would have been awing had they been able to see anything but a bottomless river of fast-moving mist. The scent of rain that hung in the damp air, normally welcomed by Titon, seemed to forebode them somehow drowning in the thick, swirling vapors.

All ridicule ended, for the moment, as Titon instructed the men on how to use the rope system he had invented. It would allow them, in theory, to be safely lowered, one at a time, to the canyon floor. Many men had died attempting similar descents in the gorges of their homeland, but that was due mainly to the inability of the man being lowered to communicate with those lowering him. The screaming winds, loose rocks, and unknown depth of the descent were also much to blame. Titon's three-rope system, one harnessed to the man to be lowered by those above, one static that the man could climb down under his own power, and the third thin line for communication, made the very difficult task quite possible in his estimate.

“I will go first,” said Decker, securing the harness rope to himself. “Titon, you will need to stay at the top as long as possible to make sure these fools understand your complex system.”

There is nothing complex about it
, Titon thought in annoyance, but he knew Decker to be right. The boys they called peers had a glazed-over look in their eyes when Titon had first explained it, and their only hope of learning was by example and repetition.

“I suppose if it supports your weight it will support anyone,” Titon admitted. “Remember, if you run out of rope or simply cannot descend farther, it is five quick tugs, and we will hoist you back up. If you give five tugs and the rope is slack, we will assume you have made it to the bottom.”

“Yes, I remember. Make sure those that will remain know the system well enough by the time you must descend so that they do not cost us our only working mind.” Decker glared at the four. “You hear that Griss, Galinn, Hallon, and Dicun? I know your names, and if you drop my brother you'd best jump after him. It will be a better death than the one you will suffer at my hands.” Decker looked as if he meant it, and even Titon felt the chill induced by his brother's words.

Those Decker had addressed nodded their understanding, Griss doing so with a smirk.

“Good,” said Decker. “I'll see you four in a week or so. As for the rest of you… I'll see you at the bottom.”

Decker disappeared over the edge with mirth on his face, and his descent continued as planned without complication. It seemed the only communication Titon felt through the thin line was one tug, urging them to keep lowering him. Knowing Decker, he was probably pushing himself with his legs, recklessly swinging as far from the cliff face as possible, growing bored with the methodical rate at which they lowered him. Titon had no plans of allowing the men to increase that rate, however. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably less than a quarter, Titon felt two quick tugs.

“Halt!” Titon had given the command in a panic, having momentarily forgotten what the signal actually meant.

“The harness rope is slack,” said Dicun, one of the men lowering Decker. Titon had intended for those who were to remain at top be both the first and last to handle the ropes, therefore giving them plenty of practice while also allowing them time to rest before it was Titon's turn. “Should we take in the remainder?”

“No,” Titon said with more harshness than he intended. “He gave two tugs meaning to wait and only that.”

They waited for a moment, then Titon thought he felt three tugs. As Decker had descended, the tugs became far less precise. They felt like long stretches that blended into each other.

“More slack…I think. It was three tugs.”

“You want us to give more slack or not?” growled Griss.

“Yes, give him about a man's length of slack,” said Titon, and the three on the harness line complied.

“He has tugged thrice again. More slack, another man in length. He must be on a tricky ledge.” Titon now hoped the bottom would not be so much farther that multiple quick tugs became indiscernible—that, and they were running short on rope.

Several minutes passed with no communication from Decker and no motion on any of the ropes.

“Did he fall?” asked Griss.

“Of course not,” Titon snapped. “The rope would have gone taut.”
Ignorant fool.
Even so Titon, found himself picturing a short drop to a lower ledge incapacitating his brother or separating him from the communication line.

As Titon was about to ask the men to bring tension on the harness rope in hopes of eliciting some response from Decker, he felt an unmistakable five tugs on the line.

“Five tugs. He has either made it or needs to come back up. Slowly take in the slack until you feel tension.”

Dicun, Griss, and Galinn took their time retrieving the rope, but since no tension was felt for some time, they sped to haul the empty harness. It was too soon to celebrate, however, not knowing for sure that Decker had made the bottom.

“Arron and everyone else who goes after him, remember to hold tension on the communication and the static…er…the
climbing
rope after you descend so that the harness rope does not upset their placement,” Titon instructed, realizing now that that may become an issue. Arron was next in turn to go down, decided unanimously. “And do slow tugs, not rapid ones. They tend to blend in to each other at a distance.”

Arron and the others nodded.

“The feck is that?” Galinn was the man lowest of the three pulling the harness rope back up, and the first to spot the blood red color.

Attached to the harness was a bundle of flowers.

“That bastard wanted the slack so he could give us a gift from the bottom,” Titon cried with relief.

The men cheered, but Titon knew it was for Decker and not for the victory of his rope system. Decker simply had a way with these men that befuddled him, but even he had to admit the bouquet was a welcome surprise that would put the men at ease, or at least embarrass them to the point of feigning it when it came time for their descents.

They repeated the procedure with Arron, without issue—other than the updraft wafting his aroma to their nostrils. Several bags of weapons and supplies were then lowered, followed by the remaining men. Some required time to rest halfway down, signaled by two tugs, and the rest made it to the bottom just as Decker had. Then Titon was alone with the four that would remain.

“Time for His Royalness to go,” snickered Griss, Galinn and Hallon joining him with smirks of their own. “Don't slip on any loose rocks now.”

Titon was suddenly grateful for Decker's previous threat. He thought of reminding them of it, but decided against it as it would make him look a weakling.

“Just remember all the signals,” Titon said, “and we will all return home with the glory of victory. Pray I make it safely as well, as I may be the only one who knows the route home.”

“The Mountain's strength and the River's deftness be with you on your raids,” said Dicun. “We will wait for you up canyon and help you to carry the plunder, brother.”

“Aye.” Titon was happy to at least have one man atop who did not want to see him dead. He tried to ignore the knots in his stomach while he lowered himself over the edge.

The hardest part of passing the edge of the cliff to begin his descent was done, but no longer spurred by the faces of his peers, Titon found himself gripped with an uncertainty that bordered on terror. He gave two hurried tugs on the thin line, justifying the cowardly action to himself as merely a test of the response time of those above. His progress halted, and he could hear their laughter above.

The wind and the cold had only increased as each man had been lowered, and it grew dark as well. Gusts of air whipped up the mists from below, moistening his skin and freezing him to the point of sharp pain. He was already concerned about retaining full and proper use of his hands and knew he was better off descending with quickness. One tug later and he was once more being lowered, into the throat of the mist eager to swallow him, making it impossible to see even the rock wall just beneath his feet.

Titon panicked again as he realized there was no longer any tension on his harness line. He cursed the men above in his mind, too scared to make any actual sound, and attempted to concentrate on a way to survive. All his weight was now supported by his hands and legs wrapped around the static line. If they had released the harness line he would need to slide down the static line the remainder of the way, and he had barely gone any distance at all. He would run out of strength and die unless he slid painfully fast. He refused to slide down, however, fearing the rope burns, and started to lower himself carefully under the power of his arms. He was then stricken with the realization that if they wanted him dead—and they must if they had released the harness line—they would now be cutting the static line. Titon pictured what must be unfolding above: Dicun subdued by Galinn as Griss sawed strand by strand with a knife through the thick rope, Hallon merely looking on in horror. Titon loosened his grip, determined to slide down as fast as possible.