“What is it?” she asked him, clutching his arm and bending double.
“It’s later than I thought,” he murmured. “We have to find the tree, even if it’s dark. Even by the light of fire.” He sighed, shifting his grip on her arm. “We don’t have much time left.”
“These are the last words I may write. The barricades are breached. I’ve concealed the most important records, the copies of the works of the Paracelsus order, within a hidden chamber known only to the Arch-Rike. These secret works may be all that will survive the carnage. Learn from us. Be wiser than we have been. I bid you, dear reader, farewell.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXX
Any sign of the rider?” Baylen asked as Paedrin floated down from the uppermost branches. From the vantage point, Paedrin had searched long and hard for a sign of the dark horseman, but he was not to be seen. A sick, gnawing feeling had entered Paedrin’s bones. He felt danger lurking in every shadow and wondered what sort of guardians had been stationed to protect the cleft of rock in the center of the Scourgelands.
Crouching next to Baylen, Paedrin rubbed his chin, chafing the stubble and staring at the bulwark of stone and the ramp carved into rock to provide the single pathway up the side. He did not need to use the ramp, being a Vaettir, but his instincts warned him that it would be the most useful decision to walk up it himself, since a Tay al-Ard could only transport him back to a place where he had physically been. Seeing the ramp would not be enough.
From the base of the promontory, he could see the skeletal remains of an ancient keep, black with lichen and dark moss—crumbling to dust.
“No. I can’t even hear the sound of the hooves. There is a storm closing in from the north. It may rain before nightfall.”
Baylen stared hard at the stone ramp leading up to the deserted fortress. “The Arch-Rike wouldn’t have left it unguarded.”
“Obviously. With that single approach, it won’t be difficult to defend.”
“How far to the ramp? It’s open ground, so I don’t like it.”
“Not far. But with the trees pulled down, there isn’t any cover.” Paedrin sighed. “We’re heading into the jaws of a trap. I hate this.”
“Spring the trap then? See what happens?”
“What if it’s a bear trap?”
“We came this far, Paedrin. I feel . . . foreboding. No man has walked this land in centuries.”
Paedrin heard the crunch of twigs in the woods coming from behind them. He gave a curt gesture to Baylen to silence him and shut his eyes, sensing the presence of three riders approaching them from a flanking position. The jangle of harness and tack followed, and Paedrin could feel dark eyes flash malevolently. He was acutely aware that if he had looked on them with his natural eyes, he’d be dead.
“Run,” Paedrin said, rising and holding out the Sword of Winds. “I’ll hold them here and join you on the ramp. Go!”
The giant Cruithne tore free from the brush and bounded into the torn earth, rushing across the small clearing toward the stone ramp.
Paedrin’s heart was in his throat as the three horsemen charged through the brush. Two of them closed on the Bhikhu and one circumvented, heading after Baylen. Paedrin heard the clink of chains and sensed dark weapons coiling to strike . . . great spiked flails whipping around as the horsemen charged him.
Paedrin took to flight and arced away from the horsemen, swooping away from the riders. His heart hammered with fear, as wave after wave of unease and terror flooded his mind. He could sense the magic from the beings, and he only had his courage to draw on. He knew he had to open his eyes or risk smashing into the tree branches, so he opened them into slits and changed course to strike the horse of the rider charging after Baylen. His blade slashed at its withers and it screamed in pain. The spiked ball came at his face and he thought for an instant it would smash his nose, but Paedrin managed to twist sideways and felt the sharp tips just breeze past his mouth. He took a long loop inside the clearing to build up speed and came at the next horseman. With that one, he came head-on, sword aiming for the horse’s nose, and the beast shied from him, exposing its neck. Paedrin knew a crushing blow would be waiting for him, so he did not follow through with a lunge but banked in the other direction. The horses gained speed, bearing down on Baylen as he chuffed toward the ramp.
Paedrin went skyward next, feeling the first traces of mist on his face. He opened his eyes and found the clouds bearing down hard. Distant pops of thunder came from far away. He tucked and then re-directed the Sword back down at his foes, aiming for the back of one of the riders. He heard a hissing sound and an arrow suddenly lanced by him, missing. One of the riders held a blackwood bow and reached his crooked arm to string another.
“It’s later than I thought,” he murmured. “We have to find the tree, even if it’s dark. Even by the light of fire.” He sighed, shifting his grip on her arm. “We don’t have much time left.”
“These are the last words I may write. The barricades are breached. I’ve concealed the most important records, the copies of the works of the Paracelsus order, within a hidden chamber known only to the Arch-Rike. These secret works may be all that will survive the carnage. Learn from us. Be wiser than we have been. I bid you, dear reader, farewell.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXX
Any sign of the rider?” Baylen asked as Paedrin floated down from the uppermost branches. From the vantage point, Paedrin had searched long and hard for a sign of the dark horseman, but he was not to be seen. A sick, gnawing feeling had entered Paedrin’s bones. He felt danger lurking in every shadow and wondered what sort of guardians had been stationed to protect the cleft of rock in the center of the Scourgelands.
Crouching next to Baylen, Paedrin rubbed his chin, chafing the stubble and staring at the bulwark of stone and the ramp carved into rock to provide the single pathway up the side. He did not need to use the ramp, being a Vaettir, but his instincts warned him that it would be the most useful decision to walk up it himself, since a Tay al-Ard could only transport him back to a place where he had physically been. Seeing the ramp would not be enough.
From the base of the promontory, he could see the skeletal remains of an ancient keep, black with lichen and dark moss—crumbling to dust.
“No. I can’t even hear the sound of the hooves. There is a storm closing in from the north. It may rain before nightfall.”
Baylen stared hard at the stone ramp leading up to the deserted fortress. “The Arch-Rike wouldn’t have left it unguarded.”
“Obviously. With that single approach, it won’t be difficult to defend.”
“How far to the ramp? It’s open ground, so I don’t like it.”
“Not far. But with the trees pulled down, there isn’t any cover.” Paedrin sighed. “We’re heading into the jaws of a trap. I hate this.”
“Spring the trap then? See what happens?”
“What if it’s a bear trap?”
“We came this far, Paedrin. I feel . . . foreboding. No man has walked this land in centuries.”
Paedrin heard the crunch of twigs in the woods coming from behind them. He gave a curt gesture to Baylen to silence him and shut his eyes, sensing the presence of three riders approaching them from a flanking position. The jangle of harness and tack followed, and Paedrin could feel dark eyes flash malevolently. He was acutely aware that if he had looked on them with his natural eyes, he’d be dead.
“Run,” Paedrin said, rising and holding out the Sword of Winds. “I’ll hold them here and join you on the ramp. Go!”
The giant Cruithne tore free from the brush and bounded into the torn earth, rushing across the small clearing toward the stone ramp.
Paedrin’s heart was in his throat as the three horsemen charged through the brush. Two of them closed on the Bhikhu and one circumvented, heading after Baylen. Paedrin heard the clink of chains and sensed dark weapons coiling to strike . . . great spiked flails whipping around as the horsemen charged him.
Paedrin took to flight and arced away from the horsemen, swooping away from the riders. His heart hammered with fear, as wave after wave of unease and terror flooded his mind. He could sense the magic from the beings, and he only had his courage to draw on. He knew he had to open his eyes or risk smashing into the tree branches, so he opened them into slits and changed course to strike the horse of the rider charging after Baylen. His blade slashed at its withers and it screamed in pain. The spiked ball came at his face and he thought for an instant it would smash his nose, but Paedrin managed to twist sideways and felt the sharp tips just breeze past his mouth. He took a long loop inside the clearing to build up speed and came at the next horseman. With that one, he came head-on, sword aiming for the horse’s nose, and the beast shied from him, exposing its neck. Paedrin knew a crushing blow would be waiting for him, so he did not follow through with a lunge but banked in the other direction. The horses gained speed, bearing down on Baylen as he chuffed toward the ramp.
Paedrin went skyward next, feeling the first traces of mist on his face. He opened his eyes and found the clouds bearing down hard. Distant pops of thunder came from far away. He tucked and then re-directed the Sword back down at his foes, aiming for the back of one of the riders. He heard a hissing sound and an arrow suddenly lanced by him, missing. One of the riders held a blackwood bow and reached his crooked arm to string another.
