Chapter 9

  Ag had no doubts the path they took was secret, they very nearly lost their way a few times themselves. It was a winding gutter for most of the trek, a path carved by water and animals through canyons of black cliffs. Trees bowed their heads above them, as if watching the strangers pass below. Small bits of debris would fall as what might have been squirrels or something a bit more hefty clambered through their branches.

  The company rode in a single file line, when they could ride, and were silent for much of it. Some areas the path traversed were steep slopes down the side of the mountain others were hemmed in by tall pines that guarded the recesses of the mountains even in the day. Things watched them, Ag was sure of it. Whether it was animals or men he didn’t know but the eyes were on him.

  The cheery Therudi rode behind him, he’d learned his name was Tatsum, which seemed strange enough to fit. “Can you play?”

  Ag twisted in his saddle to look back at Tatsum. He gestured to the lute and the Therudi nodded. “It’s been a good while since I’ve heard a good tune.”

  “What about giving ourselves away?” Ag asked, his eyes going to the tree line that pressed in close.

  “No point in caring about that.” Tatsum replied with a wave of his hand. “If anything in those trees had a problem with us they would have let us know already, which means no stone skins. We’re a day away from the spire still so no fear of that.”

  Ag considered, unsure whether it was wise. “Might as well.” Esker called back. “I say if one is to go out let it be with a song or prayer.”

  “Easy for you to say holy man.” Ag shot back with a smile. “You’ve got a god waiting for you on the other end.”

  Even so, he pulled his lute from its protective leather wrap. After a minute of tuning he plucked the strings and found it to his liking. “What kind of song are we in the mood for?”

  “Something cheery, but not a song to dance to, otherwise I’ll leap from my saddle and dance beside you until I collapse from exhaustion.” Tatsum laughed.

  Ag spared him a confused look but began to play a cheery tune. He’d played it when he was young, around the fire. When the eating and dancing was done and all were content to sing along together.

  His mind wandered back to those days as he played. Life was never wonderful in the hills of the east. It was cold and wet and miserable but folk were nice enough if you were nice in return and he’d had a home and a family. He pictured his father singing along, his wild mop of black hair highlighted by the fire, his face still cleanly shaven as if he was still in the empire. His mother was beside him, her red hair glowing in the light, her face radiant with a smile that you couldn’t help but smile back at.

  He sang the song, a silly tune about a man on a quest to find the greatest horde of treasure anyone had ever seen and all the strange and fanciful creatures and things he did. No one sang along, whether it was because they didn’t know the words or because they too were far off in their minds. Ag found he had begun to cry silent tears by the end. Happy though the song was, he wept for all he’d lost and the boy he’d once been. The song came to an end and the troop was silent for a good while.

  “I guess you aren’t so bad after all.” Marus called from behind. Ag smiled and raised a hand in thanks, not trusting his voice.

  They stopped hours later on a high ridge, cold wind whipping at them. Below was darkness but strange calls drifted up, stone skins talking, if they could. They didn’t light a fire for fear of being spotted so they were left to find whatever shelter they could from the wind and huddle in their cloaks and sleeping rolls.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Genine had jammed herself into a gap in the rocks near Ag but even that wasn’t enough to keep her from shivering every so often. Her eyes were locked on the now clear sky above and Ag looked on with her.

  “You’re magic, right?” He asked. “They saying anything?”

  “I'm not that kind of magic.” She replied. Her tone was cold, not hostile but not friendly.

  “Then what kind are you?”

  She didn’t say anything for a while, just kept her eyes locked on the sky. “I dream and my dreams show me places and people that I need to see.”

  He nodded, more to himself because she couldn’t see him. “What did you dream about that other night? You seemed rather shaken.”

  “I saw someone that mattered.”

  “A Therudi?”

  She shot him a glance. “Yes.”

  He nodded again. “Makes sense. Torvund said you’d been there before him. I assumed there’d be one you cared about a lot more than anyone else. Why else would you come on this mission?”

  She snorted. “Why’d you even come? It seems like there isn’t a high chance we will survive and all you care about is staying alive a few days longer.”

  “I needed the supplies.” He replied. “Besides, the scale of this, I reckon I can get some pretty good bits out of the old lord.”

  “A fat lot of good it’ll do for just you.”

  “It won’t just be for me.” He huddled farther into his cloak, a fresh guts pilling at his hair. “Anyway.” He sighed. “Maybe you should dream again. See what’s coming.” With that he put his back to the rock huddled in on himself, catching as much warmth as he could.

  __________

  Balasar woke with a start, his whole body stiff from sleeping in a cramped wooden chair. He groaned as he stood, casting his eyes around the unchanged vault below the spire. The pit lay before him and his table to the right. Chains moved slightly, high above, in an unseen breeze. He stood and stretched, his aging body creaking and groaning.

  He was getting too old to be sleeping in small chairs in damp vaults. He shook himself and strode for the stairs, casting a sidelong glance at his experiment. It had grown, far more than he would have thought possible. It was nearly too large for the table and its strange growths jutted far beyond the confines of its bed. Its body was a twisted mass of muscle and sinew, its head barely had eyes from all the new growths but its mouth was very much still free.

  When it was finished the dosage could be calculated and given to as many as he could, his new breed of children ready to slaughter the living. “My children.” The voice was a sibilant hiss, a brief moment of individuality from the cacophony in his head.

  “Your children.” He agreed but in his heart he hated the thing or things. It was his work, his creation. The impotent chorus did nothing but push him to further research, its advice was so strange and often contradictory he could make no sense of it.

  It had shown him how to control the stone skin, a rather ironic gift from something that had no control itself, but that was all. He climbed the vast height of the spire two steps at a time, a nagging feeling of eyes on him the whole way. As he climbed he caught glimpses of the fortress below. Though it was huddled between a mountain side and a cliff it was quite large. On the side next to the mountain the builders had carved large residences into the rock and the side on the cliff had a now decrepit series of pulleys and elevators to the valley below which had once been lush farmland.

  He cared little for the size, it was what he had found below that was all that interested him. He reached the pinnacle and covered the ground to the balcony in seconds with his long stride. He looked out towards the gate. He felt his servant approach, close every moment. Gomon was a loyal dog and had even been smart enough to learn a rudimentary control of the stone skins. He saw him riding towards the gate, his black armor and black steed a smudge on the gray landscape. Dawn was fast approaching, its light seeping into the dead land around.

  Balasar’s gaze whipped to the right, towards the mountains. Those eyes on his back now felt as if they came from there as well as behind him. He whipped around and saw the faintest hint of wispy smoke in the shape of a woman. It was gone a moment later. Someone was watching him, or he was going mad. He threw open a chest and pulled out a sword and a vial of the most purified of the black substance from the pit. If anyone was watching, or was fool enough to challenge him, they would find he was not ill prepared.

  He strapped the sword around his waist and pocketed the vial. He was close, so close there would be no stopping him. He made for the door, he had rested enough. His experiment was ready to be completed.