Shadow of the Knight Page 2

  A Drinker guide approached Telea. He wore the same mail shirt and fur vest as Bull and carried a heavy javelin in his hands. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “You’re Joda, aren’t you?” she asked, hoping she’d gotten his name right. They had only joined their Drinker guides and porters a few days ago, just before they’d reached the pass.

  “I am,” he said, smiling. He held a broad leather belt out to her. There was a rope with an iron hook attached to it. “You put the hook over the safe rope,” he said in heavily accented Belenese. “It keeps you from falling if trees break.”

  “Thank you,” Telea replied, taking the belt from him and fastening it around her waist. She couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to feel the pines break under her feet. Trusting her life to a rope and an iron hook didn’t seem particularly safe.

  They had passed the Lower Gates the day before and spent the night in the ruins of an ancient waystation. Even in late summer it was freezing cold, and only their winter clothes and the firewood provided by the Drinkers had kept them alive. Even then, Telea felt lightheaded and found the air thin and hard to breathe.

  For much of the morning, they’d followed the cart path carved into the mountainside until they finally crossed the Upper Gate and passed into Salador. More than the breathtaking mountains surrounding them, the path itself had been a wonder. To her left stood a vertical wall of rock rising up into the sky, and just a few paces to her right, without a fence or rail of any kind, a sheer drop of thousands of paces. How many laborers had it taken to carve a road into the side of a mountain? She could hardly imagine it.

  Now, just twenty paces from her, the road simply ended. Five hundred years ago a terrible earthquake had shattered the road in several places, ending contact between the Empire of Belen and the Kingdom of Salador. The sloped mountain face had fallen into the gorge, and the road was gone, leaving a sheer cliff behind. The Drinkers said the road started up again after several hundred paces. All they had to do was make the crossing, and the rest of their journey would be easy.

  To bridge the gap, the Drinkers had hammered iron pitons into the cliff and lashed the trunks of skinny mountain pines to them to make a narrow walkway—a sagging, swaying, precarious walkway hanging above certain death. Their only nod to safety was a rope slung between pitons set just above the walkway.

  A Drinker woman had gone first. She was far enough away that Telea had lost sight of her beyond the curve of the mountain. Behind her had followed the ambassadors of the Belenese Empire and of the Summoned Lands and their guards and servants. The arguments over their crossing order had been long and heated, with Imperial court officials, members of the Imperial Chorus, and Summoner Magisters all demanding places of precedence. Of course, the College of Healers went last.

  Just a few strides from Telea knelt Mekeles Morteles, the famous Earth Singer, who should have by all rights been the first singer on the walkway, but he had discovered some problem with the buckles on his expensive red leather boots and had given his place up to the young Air Singer soloist, Danalon Doryostis.

  Somehow Mekeles was still working at his boots, even after fifteen other people had started across the walkway. Sweat glistened at his brow, but it could hardly have been from the effort of buckling his boots. He was afraid. Maybe he had the right to be. He was a huge man, both tall and somewhat gone to fat. The Drinkers had said that the walkway would support him, but Telea wasn’t so certain, and neither, apparently, was the Earth Singer.

  “Would you like for me to go ahead of you?” Telea asked, keeping her tone light. “I’m ready to go.”

  “No,” he grumbled in his deep bass. “I’ll go.” He stood and took a deep breath before stepping up to the safety rope.

  Joda left Telea’s side and joined Mekeles. “Hook it on,” Joda said. “All will be good. The bridge holds two Drinkers. It can hold one singer.”

  Mekeles took a deep breath and, with one hand on his safety hook and the other clutching the line, he stepped onto the walkway. The pines bowed under his weight but held. Mekeles didn’t so much as lift his feet as he shuffled them forward. The pines sagged further, but then he was past the middle and moving to the first piton.

  “You next,” Joda said to Telea, waving her closer. “You are the only woman good enough for the lowlanders to come on this journey,” he said as she approached. “You must be important.”

  She shook her head. “Not so important,” she replied. “I’m last in line. I’m only a healer.”

  “But you are here. And this journey must succeed.”

  “I’m only here because my master, Ianwe Illanth, insisted upon it.”

  Joda nodded. “He is a great man. The Drinkers know him. The summoners, though… they should not be here.”

  Telea glanced out over sheer cliff face. The summoner acolyte was far ahead of Mekeles now. “There’s peace now,” she said. “It’s work together or die together.”

  “It is true that the demons will come?” There was no fear in his question. The Drinkers were incapable of it.

  “If we fail, the demons will come,” Telea said. “There’s no place that will be safe. Even the highest reaches of the Drinker holdfasts.”

  “Then you must succeed.”

  “Are you coming with us?” Telea asked. The Drinkers, all except Bull, had only been hired to take the embassy over the mountains.

  Joda shrugged. “We haven’t decided. I will, I think. No Drinkers in Salador for five hundred years. Come, it is your turn. They leave you behind. Do not be too quick, though. The fat brown cloak ahead of you is slow. Too big for the mountains. Never share a walkway with him. Too much weight….” He waved his hand as if to say goodbye and dramatically peered over the cliff’s edge.

  “I’ll remember,” Telea said.

  “You are not afraid?”

  Telea glanced across the mountain peaks and down the valley that would lead them to the South Teren. “Not truly. Not much, at least. My father was a Drinker. I like the mountains.”

  His eyes widened and he glanced at her face and hair. She knew her dark skin and black braids took him by surprise. Before he could say anything she said, “My mother is Ethean.”

  “Ahh.”

  Telea took the hook that hung at her waist and attached it to the safety rope. There was a crack in the mountain face here, as if some giant’s blade had sliced into the rock itself, splitting it from the rest of the mountain. She stepped to the broken road edge and gasped as she glanced down.

  “We Drinkers have a saying—” Joda started.

  “Don’t look down,” Telea finished. Joda laughed behind her.

  “Your father… did he die in war?” Joda asked.

  “Yes,” Telea said as she stepped out onto the walkway.

  “He died fighting summoners and their demons?”

  “He died saving my master and me.”

  There was a pause and then Joda said, “Don’t you hate them?”

  “Healers don’t hate.”

  Joda said nothing more behind her, and she didn’t turn to look at him. The saplings sagged under her, but they held. She was taller than most women but still probably weighed only half as much as Mekeles.

  The Drinkers who had built the walkway had trimmed the many branches from the trunks, but there were still a lot of stubs. After only a few steps, Telea’s boot caught on one and she stumbled. As she lurched forward, she desperately clutched the safety line, barely avoiding falling to her knees.

  As she stood there with her heart in her throat, Joda said, “You nearly make this a very short trip.” He laughed. “Or make that a very looong trip.”

  Telea leaned against the mountain face. “Drinkers aren’t supposed to have a sense of humor.”

  “Ha. I’m a funny Drinker. I drink more beer than blood.”

  “That explains it, then,” Telea said. More careful than before, she started forward. She reached the first piton and glanced back just as Joda stepped onto the walkway behind
her. Further back came the porters with the baggage. Telea felt a moment’s trepidation as she removed her safety hook from the line and moved it past the first piton.

  She wasn’t afraid. Not truly afraid. Her heart pounded, and the chasm beneath her was truly jaw dropping, but she felt exhilarated more than anything. The sky was clear, the wind was cold and crisp, but she was warm in her layers of silk and cotton, and her leather gloves had a sure grip on the safety line.

  She had known terror. The darkest terrors imaginable. And this wasn’t the same. This was adventure. An adventure in a land of legend with a prize of peace at the end.

  The next pitons passed with no trouble at all. Some of the pines sagged more than others, but the Drinkers had built a sturdy path for them. It wouldn’t be long until they reached the security of the unbroken road again.

  Just as Joda had warned, it didn’t take long for her to catch up to Mekeles. He huffed and puffed as if they had run a mile. He glared at her. “Don’t get too close.”

  “I won’t,” she said, struggling to keep her impatience at bay. She looked out over the mountains as she waited for him to move on. There were clouds in the distance, towards Salador, but they seemed far away. They would have no problem reaching safety before any storm arrived. Unless Mekeles stopped moving entirely.

  Ever so slowly they progressed along the mountain face. She wondered how far they had to go and asked Joda. All he would say was, “close.”

  Ahead of her, Mekeles had reached a sharp turn in the walkway. From Telea’s perspective, it seemed as if the pines they were walking on simply ended in thin air. Ever so slowly, Mekeles approached the corner.

  How far ahead is the rest of the party? There must be a huge gap between us. Telea paused, half way across one of the walkway sections. Mekeles stood on the piton ahead of her, blocking her progress.

  Mekeles stood perfectly still in front of her, both hands locked on the guide rope, his safety hook between them. “Just get around the corner,” Telea said, her voice as gentle as she could make it.

  The wood creaked under her feet, and she glanced behind her. Joda was already standing on that piton, trapping her half way across. With his shaggy beard and furry vest, Joda looked more bear than man. He smiled at her and raised both hands in a calming motion. He didn’t hold the guide rope, nor did he have a safety belt and hook. “Tell big man to keep moving,” the Drinker said.

  Telea turned to Mekeles. “Please, you have to move on.”

  “I can’t,” he said. He pressed himself against the rock face.

  “Just move your hook forward, and we’ll be fine,” Telea said.

  Mekeles swallowed and shifted his hand to the right. “Don’t get too close,” he said, his voice pitched much higher than usual. “I’m too big for these little poles and you make it worse.”

  Telea held back a sharp response. He was afraid and too proud to show it. It would do no good to point it out to him. There was a way she could help him though.

  Telea took two deep, calming breaths and then hummed to clear her throat. She gathered her song around her, the light blues of water magic glowing and swirling, and started—

  I sing a song of hope

  I sing of dark dispelled

  I sing of life—

  “Stop it,” Mekeles hissed at her. “I don’t need your help! I don’t need your song.”

  “I just want—”

  A scream echoed in the distance. A shriek that faded with each heartbeat.

  “What was that?” Telea asked. “Did someone fall?”

  “I don’t know,” Mekeles said. More shouts echoed from beyond the turn.

  “Go and look!” Telea said, letting her exasperation show. “They might need help.”

  Clutching at the safety line, Mekeles shuffled forward and peered around the bend. Telea moved closer to him. “What is it? What do you see?”

  “The summoners betrayed us!” he said as he turned back to face her. “They’ve killed Danalon—they’ve called a demon.” He twisted to look beyond the turn. Shouts and screams echoed up the valley. “Go back!” Mekeles said as he pulled away from the corner. “Everyone back!” he shouted to the porters behind them.

  “What of my master? What of the others?” Telea asked.

  “They’re gone. The summoners called fire imps. The walkway is burning. Get back!”

  Telea heard the demon cries, the piercing wails that sent waves of terror before them, but she also heard men shouting and the sounds of fighting. “Let me pass,” Telea said. With Danalon slain, only she could drive off the demons. Without the Song of Light everyone would perish.

  “It’s too late! They’re gone!” He stepped closer.

  There was no warning. The pines snapped under their combined weight, and they dropped down the cliff face. There was a moment of sheer terror, and then the safety line caught them.

  Telea and Mekeles dangled together, saved only by the belt hooks they wore. The rope holding them creaked with the strain. They hung there, at the base of a “V”, with each end of the rope still attached to a piton above.

  Mekeles scrabbled at the mountain face, desperately seeking a handhold. Telea gripped the safety line with both hands.

  “Hold there!” Joda called to them. “I throw more rope and pull you up. I must go get it.” He turned and strode towards the porters behind him.

  “You fool!” Mekeles said to her. The rope jerked as he clawed at the rock. “You should have gone back when I said.”

  “Hold the rope,” she said. “Stop bouncing us. Joda will save us.” The mountain face was smooth here—there was no way to climb up. She tried to pull herself up the safety line, but with the steep angle, and Mekeles jostling her, she couldn’t make any headway.

  A flash of light and the stink of sulfur caught her attention. Above her, a fire imp turned the corner of the walkway. Flames shrouded the small, black-limbed, skeletal figure. It leered down at her as it grasped the taut safety line.

  “Joda! Help!” Telea shouted as the rope burst into flames.

  The Drinker turned and hurled his javelin at the imp. The demon screamed out as the weapon passed through it. For a moment the imp’s flames grew brighter, and then it disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  “Hold on!” Telea shouted as the rope snapped. With one end of the safely line no longer secured she and Mekeles swung, skidding along the mountain face. They came to a stop under the one piton still supporting them.

  “I can’t hold myself,” Mekeles said, his voice desperate. Telea spotted a vertical crack on the rock face and pushed her arm into it, grasping a handhold there. She wedged a boot in the crack as well.

  “Here,” she said. “Hold here.”

  Mekeles’s face was bright red, and he grimaced with the effort of holding the rope. He reached for the crevasse and nearly fell from the rope. “I can’t,” he gasped.

  “You have to.” She took a deep breath. He would have to accept her song or die. She gathered the song and started—

  I sing a song of hope

  I sing of dark dispelled

  I sing of life awakened

  I sing of danger quelled

  The song wasn’t strong—its aura was dim and shaky. She knew it wouldn’t be strong, clinging to a mountain face thousands of paces above certain death. It was all she could do for him though.

  She found the melody and put herself into it. The blue aura grew, surrounding both of them. Mekeles didn’t fight it. His face grew calmer and his breath easier.

  In one swift motion he reached out and pulled himself to the crack. Like her, he pushed his arm deep in the crevasse and then his boot as well.

  Still singing, she looked up at the walkway. She saw Joda’s face looking down at her, and then he vanished. He’d get help. The Drinkers were expert climbers. They’d find a way.

  But what of the others? She glanced to the sharp turn of the mountain. If the summoners were calling imps, it meant they had a source of blood. Who had they slain? Her th
oughts went to her master, and her song fell from her lips.

  A piercing scream echoed off the mountain face. Hate and anger filled the cry—a demon’s scream. The creature flashed into view—a winged terror. Its form was human—demonically human with huge bat wings. It wore the torn rags of a summoner’s red robes.

  The acolyte let himself be possessed. No—not possessed. He’s been sacrificed.

  The demon banked sharply and dove at them. Mekeles suddenly raised his voice in song. The Song of Stone struck the demon and threw it back, whirling out of control.

  The terror beat its wings and righted itself, but instead of coming for them, it flew at the walkway. There were warning shouts as the creature struck. A javelin ripped through the demon’s wing as it landed, but it still managed to hurl a porter into the abyss.

  Joda roared a battle cry and charged down the walkway at the beast. The Drinker and the demon fought, but Telea could hardly make out the battle from her vantage below the walkway.

  She wanted to help. She wanted to surround herself with song and project it to the Drinker, but he was too far away. As it was, clinging to the rock, her voice could barely protect herself and Mekeles from the demon fear.

  The pines snapped under the combatants. Some swung out towards Telea and she turned her face away as they threatened to knock her from her hold. Pain flared in her shoulder, but she managed to keep her grip on the rock.

  She looked back, fearing that the Drinker would be gone and the demon free to come after her. Instead she saw the terror spinning downward into the gorge. Joda clung to the demon, stabbing it with his dagger as they spiraled downward. They fell faster and faster, until the demon screamed one last cry and they disappeared from view.

  Telea looked down to see if Mekeles had been knocked from the cliff below her. He stared up at her, his face red and drenched with sweat. He opened his mouth to speak when another demon roar echoed up the valley. Another demon. The summoner Magister. Telea expected the demon to appear around the bend at any moment, but none did.