“I have never seen such a thing,” Annon whispered in amazement. “This is the seat of the Cruithne? This is Alkire? It is more massive than the island city.”
Paedrin stopped short, hands on his hips, and whistled softly. “It makes the temples of Seithrall seem like a child’s plaything. I never imagined such a place.”
Erasmus, still wheezing, came up next to him. “The air…is thinner…up here. Harder to catch…your breath. Those fortresses have been built over centuries. Stonehollow built them.”
“Why so high?” Annon asked, staring at the distant peaks and towers. “They are above the line of trees where it is too cold and rocky to grow. Where do they get wood for their fires?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Erasmus said. “They do not use wood to burn for flame. They harvest blackrock. It burns hotter and longer. These mountains are thick with veins of it. They also harvest the waterfalls as well. They dam up the mountain lakes and use giant waterwheels to power their forges. See over there? See the dam?”
Annon did. Between two of the mountain peaks was an enormous wall, so massive it looked like the face of a cliff itself. Contained behind it was a mountain lake, so deep, blue, and rippling that it seemed a reflection of the sky. What life teemed in those waters? How cold it would be to learn the Druidecht lore of the high mountains.
Erasmus pointed to a squat mountain—one of the shortest. “Deep in the caverns, they find gems and precious stones, then shape and carve them. They sell these treasures to Kenatos. The rivers carry the goods downstream to Havenrook, and then they are boxed and loaded in barges or caravans.”
Hettie shook her head. “But Kenatos is to the west of here. Why ship them south and then back up again? It doesn’t make sense.”
Erasmus turned and gave her a mocking smile. “Because the mountains to the west, between us and Kenatos, are cursed with beings of evil. No Cruithne will travel there. Or should I say, very few will travel there.”
Paedrin frowned. “Which means that is where we are going.”
Erasmus smiled. “Correct, sheep-brains. For once.”
Annon remembered camping in the woods before reaching Havenrook and the warning he had received from the spirits. He shuddered, keeping his thoughts to himself. “How far is it?”
“We will make it there before sunset. But we need to rest a bit. We go down from here. My knees are not as young as they used to be.” He stopped and stared at the vast range of mountains, at the fortresses and haze and waterfalls. He counted them softly, muttering as he went. “Hmmm. There are fewer waterfalls than last time. Interesting.”
“What does that mean?” Hettie asked.
He smiled wisely. “Opportunity.”
After resting, they started the treacherous descent into the canyon separating them from another vast mountain. The woods engulfed them again, full of trees and startled deer, foxes, and gray wolves. The air grew colder, and the daylight was dappled by a permanent haze hanging over the mountains.
Erasmus led the way, for each path and fork needed to be studied. Without his assistance, they would have been hopelessly lost. Annon kept close to him, listening for the warnings of spirits, uneasy because of the fearful aura surrounding them. The spirits were timid here. Some barely acknowledged his presence, and that concerned him even more.
“Drosta was a Cruithne, wasn’t he?” Annon asked.
Erasmus muttered his response. “He was.”
“And he lived so distant from the others of his race?”
“Obviously he valued his privacy. He was a Paracelsus. I’m sure you knew that.”
Annon nodded. “Did the Plague take him?”
“No. I’ve heard said he was killed by a bear. Or something worse. A Finder discovered his bones searching for him. There were claw marks.”
Annon swallowed, gazing into the gloom of the trail before them.
The afternoon began to wane, but it was difficult to judge how much daylight would be left. The canyon was steep and the footing rocky and loose at times. Sometimes the trailhead was so narrow that they could only pass one at a time. Brush scraped and scratched at them. The air was fragrant with the aromas of the woods, but there was a sourness in the smell, of things decayed and dying.
As they approached the bottom of the canyon, they were alerted to the sound of a waterfall, hidden in the trees ahead. The sound made Annon thirsty, and he suggested they refill their water there.
Erasmus stood and shrugged. “It cannot be that far.”
“I will go,” Annon offered. “Give me your water skins.” He collected them all and started into the thin copse of woods, angling his way toward the sound. The ground was rocky and rose slightly. He huffed a bit, trying to quicken his step to get there and back. The woods ahead were full of haze from the waterfall. It did not sound like one of the mammoth ones they had seen, but it was sizable enough to be heard. As he drew nearer, an ominous feeling nagged at his stomach.
Paedrin stopped short, hands on his hips, and whistled softly. “It makes the temples of Seithrall seem like a child’s plaything. I never imagined such a place.”
Erasmus, still wheezing, came up next to him. “The air…is thinner…up here. Harder to catch…your breath. Those fortresses have been built over centuries. Stonehollow built them.”
“Why so high?” Annon asked, staring at the distant peaks and towers. “They are above the line of trees where it is too cold and rocky to grow. Where do they get wood for their fires?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Erasmus said. “They do not use wood to burn for flame. They harvest blackrock. It burns hotter and longer. These mountains are thick with veins of it. They also harvest the waterfalls as well. They dam up the mountain lakes and use giant waterwheels to power their forges. See over there? See the dam?”
Annon did. Between two of the mountain peaks was an enormous wall, so massive it looked like the face of a cliff itself. Contained behind it was a mountain lake, so deep, blue, and rippling that it seemed a reflection of the sky. What life teemed in those waters? How cold it would be to learn the Druidecht lore of the high mountains.
Erasmus pointed to a squat mountain—one of the shortest. “Deep in the caverns, they find gems and precious stones, then shape and carve them. They sell these treasures to Kenatos. The rivers carry the goods downstream to Havenrook, and then they are boxed and loaded in barges or caravans.”
Hettie shook her head. “But Kenatos is to the west of here. Why ship them south and then back up again? It doesn’t make sense.”
Erasmus turned and gave her a mocking smile. “Because the mountains to the west, between us and Kenatos, are cursed with beings of evil. No Cruithne will travel there. Or should I say, very few will travel there.”
Paedrin frowned. “Which means that is where we are going.”
Erasmus smiled. “Correct, sheep-brains. For once.”
Annon remembered camping in the woods before reaching Havenrook and the warning he had received from the spirits. He shuddered, keeping his thoughts to himself. “How far is it?”
“We will make it there before sunset. But we need to rest a bit. We go down from here. My knees are not as young as they used to be.” He stopped and stared at the vast range of mountains, at the fortresses and haze and waterfalls. He counted them softly, muttering as he went. “Hmmm. There are fewer waterfalls than last time. Interesting.”
“What does that mean?” Hettie asked.
He smiled wisely. “Opportunity.”
After resting, they started the treacherous descent into the canyon separating them from another vast mountain. The woods engulfed them again, full of trees and startled deer, foxes, and gray wolves. The air grew colder, and the daylight was dappled by a permanent haze hanging over the mountains.
Erasmus led the way, for each path and fork needed to be studied. Without his assistance, they would have been hopelessly lost. Annon kept close to him, listening for the warnings of spirits, uneasy because of the fearful aura surrounding them. The spirits were timid here. Some barely acknowledged his presence, and that concerned him even more.
“Drosta was a Cruithne, wasn’t he?” Annon asked.
Erasmus muttered his response. “He was.”
“And he lived so distant from the others of his race?”
“Obviously he valued his privacy. He was a Paracelsus. I’m sure you knew that.”
Annon nodded. “Did the Plague take him?”
“No. I’ve heard said he was killed by a bear. Or something worse. A Finder discovered his bones searching for him. There were claw marks.”
Annon swallowed, gazing into the gloom of the trail before them.
The afternoon began to wane, but it was difficult to judge how much daylight would be left. The canyon was steep and the footing rocky and loose at times. Sometimes the trailhead was so narrow that they could only pass one at a time. Brush scraped and scratched at them. The air was fragrant with the aromas of the woods, but there was a sourness in the smell, of things decayed and dying.
As they approached the bottom of the canyon, they were alerted to the sound of a waterfall, hidden in the trees ahead. The sound made Annon thirsty, and he suggested they refill their water there.
Erasmus stood and shrugged. “It cannot be that far.”
“I will go,” Annon offered. “Give me your water skins.” He collected them all and started into the thin copse of woods, angling his way toward the sound. The ground was rocky and rose slightly. He huffed a bit, trying to quicken his step to get there and back. The woods ahead were full of haze from the waterfall. It did not sound like one of the mammoth ones they had seen, but it was sizable enough to be heard. As he drew nearer, an ominous feeling nagged at his stomach.
