Beyond the High Road c-2 Read online

  “…led you to worship the Mother?” Tanalasta was asking. “Chauntea is hardly a popular goddess among the nobility.”

  “Until Gaspar dishonored us, we Cormaerils were less a family of polities than of land,” Rowen explained. “Chauntea saw fit to bless our farms with her bounty, and we venerated her in return.”

  “I see,” said Tanalasta. “You still worship her, though you have lost your lands?”

  “I do.” Rowen looked away, then added, “After I have redeemed my name in Princess Alusair’s service, it is my hope that the king will someday grant me a small holding.”

  Tanalasta reached across to grasp the ranger’s hand. “Have faith, Rowen. Chauntea rewards those who serve her.”

  “Aye, those who serve the Mother flourish in her bounty.” The exchange sent a shudder down Vangerdahast’s spine. He urged his horse forward between theirs, forcing the princess to withdraw her hand.

  “What is it?” the wizard asked, feigning a yawn. He saw now that Rowen would be more dangerous as a lover than as a husband. “Is something wrong?”

  Tanalasta scowled. “Nothing a little consideration couldn’t cure.”

  Vangerdahast blinked groggily. “Am I interrupting something?” There was just enough of an edge in his voice to hint that it had better not be so, and he looked from the princess to Rowen. “Have you been sizing up the crown jewels again?”

  “Vangerdahast!” Tanalasta raised her hand as though she might slap the wizard, then shook her head in frustration. “You are the only one here who has been behaving poorly-and I’m quite sure you know it!”

  Vangerdahast continued to glare at Rowen. “Well?”

  The ranger’s face darkened. “It would be a crime for me to respond as you deserve, Lord Magician, but you must know you are assailing my honor. I have only pure thoughts for the princess.”

  “Good.” Vangerdahast glanced at Tanalasta just long enough to wince at the fury in her eyes, then looked back to Rowen. “Because you know how unfortunate it would be if she were to become, ah, attached to you.”

  Rowen looked confused. “Attached? To me?”

  “Pay him no mind,” said Tanalasta. “Vangerdahast has a notoriously tawdry mind.”

  Rowen’s posture grew tense. “I see. Well, there is no danger of that. Roosters do not pursue swans.”

  “No, they don’t,” agreed Vangerdahast. “They keep their distance, lest people start mistaking the swan for a hen.”

  “I am not a poultry bird.” Tanalasta raised her chin and slapped the reins against her weary horse’s neck, goading it into a trot. “I will thank you both to-“

  Her sentence was cut short by the pained shriek of a horse.

  Fearing Tanalasta’s mount had broken a leg, Vangerdahast sank his heels into Cadimus’s flanks and shot after the princess. As he approached, she wheeled around and sprang past in the opposite direction, leaning out of her saddle to grab for something on the ground. A cacophony of snarling and snorting arose from the rim of the plain, and it finally dawned on the wizard that the horse’s cry had been caused by something more serious than a broken leg.

  Vangerdahast spun Cadimus toward the sound and saw a wall of orc silhouettes clambering over the rim of the plain. The swiners were no more than a hundred paces distant, with thick snouts and pointy ears outlined in black against the purple horizon. Closer by, a dozen hunch-shouldered shapes were rising from a line of shallow camouflage pits not far behind Rowen, who lay struggling to drag himself free of his thrashing horse. The poor beast had four crooked spears lodged in its rib cage, and every time it tried to roll to its knees, its breath would wheeze out around the shafts.

  Tanalasta brought her mount to a stop beside the fallen horse and stretched down toward Rowen. He reached up to grasp her hand, then his horse screeched again as its abdomen was pierced by a rough-hewn spear. Another shaft hissed through the air above the princess’s back, and two more clattered into the stones around the hooves of her horse. The ranger looked back toward the camouflage pits, then quickly pulled his arm away-the first twelve orcs were only ten paces away.

  “There’s no time, Princess. Go!”

  “And leave you here? What kind of lady would that make me?” Tanalasta swung out of the saddle and glanced back at Vangerdahast. “Do something!”

  The command was hardly necessary. Vangerdahast was already holding one of his favorite wands. As soon as Tanalasta stooped down to shove Rowen’s fallen horse off him, he shouted his command word and whipped the tip at the closest orc. The brute cried out in shock and went tumbling across the ground backward, limbs flailing and head cracking against the rocky ground. The wizard repeated the gesture three more times before the princess rocked the horse high enough for Rowen to pull out of his stirrup. The ranger dragged himself free and stood, blocking Vangerdahast’s angle to the remaining orcs.

  “By the Purple Dragon!” Vangerdahast moved forward to get a better angle, then sent another ore flying. The rest of the horde was fast coming in from the side, and they would soon be within spear-throwing range. “Tanalasta, get that fool out of the way!”

  “Watch your manners, Vangerdahast.” Tanalasta swung back into her saddle, then reached for her throat clasp. “See to your horse Rowen, then it’s time for us to leave.”

  Vangerdahast stopped on the other side of Rowen’s horse and cleared the area with three quick shakes of his wand, then jammed it back into its sleeve and reached into his cloak. It seemed to take forever to find the component he needed, perhaps because his eyes were already scanning the brightening sky for the ghazneth’s dark wings.

  Rowen brought his sword down across the back of his horse’s neck, then grabbed the princess’s outstretched hand and swung into the saddle behind her. He slashed at something on the other side of Tanalasta’s horse, and an orc squealed in pain. Tanalasta slapped her bracer and blasted another with four golden bolts of magic. Then, finally, she wheeled her mount around and shoved her hand into the weathercloak’s escape pocket. There was a nearly inaudible pop, and Vangerdahast found himself staring across Rowen’s dead horse at three stunned orcs.

  The wizard dropped his reins and gestured with his free hand, blasting two of them apart with magic bolts, then finally found a small bar of iron. He pointed this at the third trembling orc and rattled off a quick spell, then commanded, “Move nothing.”

  The orc’s arms dropped to its sides, and Vangerdahast spun in his saddle to find the largest part of the horde only thirty paces away. He fished a small vial from his cloak pocket and quickly unstoppered it, then pointed his hand at a spot about fifteen paces away. The wizard started a long incantation and began to pour a stream of white grains from the small flask. As the granules fell, they flashed into smoke, and a tiny flame flickered to life where he was pointing.

  By the time he finished, the orcs had begun to hurl their spears in his direction. The range was still too great for the crooked weapons to have any accuracy, but Vangerdahast did not feel like taking chances. He circled around Rowen’s dead horse and waited for the leading swiners to reach the line of tiny flames he had created on the ground, then spoke the command word.

  A searing curtain of flame sprang to life, rising more than twenty feet into the air and stretching three hundred paces in each direction. The air filled instantly with the wail of dying orcs, and the stench of charred flesh grew overwhelming. Scarecrows of flame separated from the fiery wall and stumbled around blindly for a few minutes, then collapsed to the ground to burn themselves out.

  Vangerdahast watched long enough to be certain none of his foes made it through the flame wall in one piece, then turned to the orc he had ordered to stand still. The swiner was standing in the same place, staring at his feet with wide, red-tinged eyes. The wizard rode up beside the trembling warrior, kicked the fellow’s spear out of his grasp, and scanned the heavens one last time. The sun had already crested the horizon, and now a brilliant golden light was spreading westward across the sky. The winds were, as
Rowen had promised last night, remarkably still, and there was no stonemurk to obscure visibility in any direction.

  Vangerdahast studied the heavens until he felt certain the ghazneth had not yet come, then dismounted and rubbed a small square of silk over his prisoner’s grimy armor. The orc snorted in its guttural language, begging his tormentor to stop toying with it and be done with it. The wizard only smiled and whispered a soft incantation. He stuffed the ruined silk into the creature’s mouth and mounted his horse again, then rode a short distance off and called, “Flee!”

  The orc stumbled a single step forward and caught itself. After a brief glance in Vangerdahast’s direction, it turned and scuttled away without even taking the time to pick up its spear. The wizard turned south toward the Storm Horns and saw his companions waving to him from the crest of a small ridge nearly a mile distant. Behind them, the rocky barrens and scattered brush of Gnoll Flats gave way to a torturous labyrinth of dun-colored spires and twisting canyons that slowly rose toward the barren slopes of two high, slender peaks that could only be the Mule Ears.

  Vangerdahast clasped his weathercloak and thrust his hand into his escape pocket. A black door hissed into existence before him, and he quickly urged Cadimus forward. He would not be able to use the pocket for the rest of the day, but he had plenty of other ways to leave an area quickly. Besides, Tanalasta had already used hers, and he had no intention of going anywhere without her-especially not with Rowen riding the same horse.

  An instant later, Vangerdahast found himself sitting beside his companions, struggling to acclimate to his new location. No matter how many times he teleported, even over such a short distance, he still suffered from that first moment of bewilderment. Tanalasta’s hand grasped his shoulder and quickly undid his weathercloak’s throat clasp.

  “Are you all right, Vangey?” she asked, still holding his arm. “You’re a royal pain in the arse, but I’d hate to lose you to an orc.”

  “I’m fine.” Vangerdahast blinked the last of his confusion away. They were much closer to the labyrinth than he had realized, with the mouth of a large, baked-mud canyon just a few hundred paces ahead. “Let’s hurry. I slapped an orc with some decoy magic, but with this light, it won’t take the ghazneth long to discover its mistake.”

  When Vangerdahast started forward, Rowen leaned over to grab his reins. “This is the way to the Mule Ears.” He pointed toward a much smaller canyon a half mile to the east. “Nothing lies that way but trouble and dead ends.”

  “Then stop wasting our time telling me about it,” the wizard grumbled. “And why don’t you ride with me. Cadimus is…”

  Vangerdahast did not bother to finish, for Tanalasta had already turned and started toward the distant canyon at a stiff canter. He spurred his stallion after her, idly wondering if there was not some way to convince them that Chauntea would frown on burdening a poor mare with two riders.

  10

  By the time they ducked into the small canyon, the sun had risen a full span above the horizon. The terrain in the gorge was even more barren than that of the stony plain, consisting of little more than eroded dirt walls and a lonely scrub bush every ten or twelve paces. They stopped about thirty paces in to let their weary mounts drink from a muddy spring, and Vangerdahast crept back to the canyon mouth to watch for the ghazneth. It was not long before he saw a dark pair of wings swoop in from the west, then circle through smoke rising from his wall of flame and fly off in the direction his decoy had fled.

  Vangerdahast waited until he was certain the thing was gone, then rushed up the canyon at his best waddle. “Time to go. We have about five minutes before our dank friend discovers my trick.”

  Rowen passed Cadimus’s reins to the wizard and turned back toward Tanalasta’s mount.

  “Ahem-as much as I’m sure you enjoy sharing a saddle with the princess, young man, Cadimus is twice the mount she’s riding.” Vangerdahast mounted and offered the ranger his hand. “We’ll all be faster if you ride with me.”

  “A good point.”

  Rowen turned and reached for the wizard’s hand, but Tanalasta was already swinging out of her own saddle.

  “It will be even faster if we switch horses.” The princess reached up and patted Vangerdahast’s ample belly. “Rowen and I together can’t be much more than you alone. You take my mane, and let poor Cadimus carry us.”

  “A fine idea,” the wizard replied, “but you know how temperamental-“

  “Cadimus is more of a coward, actually,” said Tanalasta. “I had no trouble controlling him back at the Stonebolt Trail-or have you forgotten who returned him to you?”

  “Very well,” Vangerdahast grumbled. “I can’t have you arguing the matter until the ghazneth finds us.”

  They switched horses and started up the canyon again. Vangerdahast tried at first to keep a careful watch on the northern sky, but quickly realized the futility of that as they twisted and turned through the labyrinth. He could not imagine how Rowen could know where they were going. The ranger kept turning down narrow side canyons, which would double back in the direction from which they had just come, then double back again and angle off in some new direction that was impossible to guess. For a while, Vangerdahast thought the ranger was following his own tracks or a system of cairns, but when he dared to take his eyes off the sky, he saw no sign of either.

  After nearly two hours of riding, the canyon opened up into a broad, flat-bottomed basin ringed by more than a dozen cramped gorges. The trio paused without dismounting and allowed their horses to drink from another pool of muddy water. Vangerdahast found the sun in the sky and was finally able to determine his bearings, for all the good it would do him.

  “Rowen, how do you know which way to go?” he asked. “I can’t even keep track of my directions.”

  “You mean there’s one trick the Royal Magician doesn’t know?” Tanalasta joked. “I’m not so sure we should tell.”

  “There are a lot of tricks I don’t know,” said Vangerdahast, “and you are teaching me more all the time.”

  “This one is not so difficult.” Rowen passed Vangerdahast a small flat stick with notches carved at various angles along both edges and explained, “It’s a map stick. You keep track of your turns-“

  “By the notches on each side,” Vangerdahast said, examining the stick. “And the angle confirms that you’re on count.”

  “Very good,” laughed Tanalasta. “We’ll make a forest-keeper out of you yet.”

  Vangerdahast eyed her sourly, then passed the stick back to Rowen. “When you have magic, you don’t need sticks.”

  “Except when you can’t use magic,” Tanalasta replied.

  The princess pointed toward the western side of the basin, where a tiny speck of darkness could be seen arcing above the rim. Vangerdahast glanced back along their trail, noting the deep round depressions where their mounts’ hooves had broken through the crust of dried mud.

  “Tanalasta,” the royal magician said, “I know I promised not to bring this up again-“

  “Then don’t,” the princess interrupted sternly. “I’m not returning to Arabel until I have spoken with Alusair.”

  “Hear me out. This thing is dangerous. Let’s gather a few more wizards and dragoneers, then come back.”

  “And when the king hears what is happening here and orders you to leave me in Arabel, you will deny him and bring me back?”

  “I suppose not, but it was an idea.” The wizard motioned toward the broken ground behind them. “After the ghazneth finds our trail, it won’t take the thing long to find us.”

  “Longer than you think,” said Rowen. “These badlands stretch for a hundred miles along the base of the mountains, and the canyons are deep. It isn’t easy to see into them even from the rims-much less high in the sky.”

  “I hope you’re right, Rowen,” said Tanalasta, “but Edwin Narlok theorizes in his treatise Falcon Fun that the eyesight of birds of prey is far more acute than our own.”

  Rowen looked
slightly embarrassed. “I haven’t read that book, but the idea makes sense. Otherwise, it would be pretty difficult to hunt from on high.”

  “Of course, the ghazneth is not a bird of prey-“

  “But it’s wiser not to take chances.” Vangerdahast took a linen glove from his pocket and folded it into his palm, where he could reach it instantly. “Remind me not to wager with you anymore, Princess.”

  Tanalasta narrowed her eyes. “If you even think of-“

  “A bet is a bet,” said Vangerdahast. “This is for the ghazneth. When it finds us, blast the thing with everything you have. You need to buy me a little time.”

  Tanalasta continued to eye the glove, but nodded. “As you wish.”

  She consulted Rowen’s map stick, then led the way around the basin into a cool, shadow-filled canyon suffused with the smell of damp earth. The gorge was as deep as a well and so narrow that Vangerdahast sometimes found his knees brushing both sides at once. Even at its broadest, two horses could not have stood side by side, and it twisted and turned like a snake. The wizard could not recall a worse place to be ambushed, and he kept a constant watch on the crooked slot of sky above.

  He saw the ghazneth twice over the next four hours. The first was when he glimpsed a tiny V streaking across the narrow strip of sky ahead of them. It was no larger than his fingernail, and visible for such a short time it could have been a large vulture instead. The second time, the wizard had no such doubts. It appeared over the canyon behind them, large enough now that its wings and body formed a distinct cross, slowly circling and peering down into the labyrinth.

  Convinced the phantom had finally found their trail, Vangerdahast suggested again that it might be wise to teleport back to Arabel. Tanalasta’s only reply was to ask him to leave the extra horse, and so they pressed on in silence for the rest of the afternoon. With the sun hidden most of the time behind one canyon rim or the other, it was difficult to mark the passing time, but Vangerdahast was convinced it had to be near evening when the gorge suddenly felt less murky. The walls did not seem to rise quite so high above their heads, and the musty air grew warmer and more arid.