Free Angus Wells - The God Wars 03 by Wild Magic (v1.1)

voice, or only the
pessimistic musing of his own mind.
                I
must hope, he told himself. Hope, now, is all I have. Hope, and faith in the
Younger Gods.
                In silence, he voiced a prayer to
Dera, to the goddess and all her kin, asking that this capture be part of some
design, or that he and hisjiomrades— Cennaire he counted now among that
number—be allowed escape. He hoped it was not selfishness to ask they escape
entire, whole in all parts: the notion that it might go otherwise was ugly.
                He could do no more, not now, only
sit his horse and watch the road unfold in day's clean light, the breeze no
longer insidious with doubt but merry, a cheerful zephyr redolent of warm earth
and grass.
                That fact did not, at first, strike
him, for the gloom of his nocturnal reverie still dulled him somewhat. But then
his nose registered the change, that the hard, dry scent of timeless stone was
replaced with hint of growth, and he looked up, past the horseman who led him,
and saw the rim of the Kess Imbrun.
                The great rift's edge was both
welcome and ominous, the one for its marking of a step along the way ended, the
other for its announcement of impending fate, of resolution of his fears. He
steeled himself, seeing the Daggan Vhe traverse a shelf, wind back, steep and
wide, then run out between walls similar to the gully that had begun this
journey into captivity. The gelding quickened its pace, urged on by the warrior
ahead, willing enough, as though it, like its rider, saw the finish of heights
and depths, and welcomed the prospect of flat land once more with equine
innocence.
                They crossed the shelf and climbed
the steepened way, then rode a spell through the twilight imparted by the
cleft. It was a broad road there, smooth and gently angled, the walls sheer,
the sky a wide blue band above, the sun as yet only hinting along the eastern
edge. At the farthest extent of the gully the way rose again, clear sky
visible, bright blue and shadowed red meeting on a line.
                Calandryll heard Temchen, at the
column's head, call out, heard a shouted response. Then the Jesseryte topped
the ridge line and was gone from sight. His men seemed to take reassurance from
the brief exchange, urging their horses on at a canter. The hooves rang loud on
stone, filling the gully with their clatter, and the cavalcade emerged onto the
Jesseryn Plain.
                Calandryll looked about, eyes
widening in amazement. To either side stood man-made walls, great blocks of
sandy-yellow stone set unmortered one upon the other, high as five men, how
thick he could only guess. They ran parallel a way, a funnel down which any
seeking ingress to the Kess Imbrun must pass, a killing ground for any climbing
the Blood Road. They ended at a barbican, a great squat block of dull yellow
that rose above the walls, featureless save for the narrow embrasures cut
across its face and the massive gates of metal- studded wood standing open
below. Beyond those gates there was only darkness: Temchen waited there,
dwarfed by the massy structure.
                He raised an arm, beckoning them on.
As they came closer, Calandryll experienced a strange chill, for it seemed an
atmosphere, an indefinable aura, hung about the place, something beyond its
naturally forbidding prospect, greater and more ominous, as if ghosts lingered
there, or the smell of recently shed blood. His horse shied, the enthusiasm it
had earlier shown gone, and from behind he heard Bracht's stallion whinny a
protest. He turned, and saw the black horse plunging against the leading rein,
ears flattened, eyes rolling white. The mood communicated and he saw Katya's
grey curvet even as his own animal began to dance nervously. Indeed, the Jesserytes'
small beasts were no less agitated, their riders grunting irritably and holding
them tight-reined, too