Free SG1-15 The Power Behind the Throne by Steven Savile

presents itself quite differently. Do you see him now?” Teal’c pointed. Sam tried to follow the direction of his gaze. It wasn’t until she came back to stand beside him that she could make out the curious rock formation he had seen. Through a trick of perspective it did indeed look like a crook-backed old man carved into the rock-face. He was huge, but like a geo-glyph could only be seen from certain vantage points, otherwise it looked just like any other pile of rocks.
    “That’s it,” Sam said, squinting up at the shadowy face. She couldn’t see any hollows that might have been eyes. “It’s got to be.”
    “How far up do you think the old guy is?” Jack asked.
    “It’s hard to tell from here,” Sam said. She tried to use the landscape to give her a sense of perspective but without any landmarks it was almost impossible. “A couple of hundred feet, maybe.”
    “And you say that like it’s a good thing.”

Chapter Ten
     
In The Kingdom of the Blind
     
    A rough stone stair had been hewn into the mountain — and it was a mountain, Jack thought to himself, not a hill. Each stair was uncomfortably high, as though made for a man almost twice his height. It made the climb difficult but not impossible. The suit made him clumsy. He found himself clutching at the flaking rock, his gloves sliding across the surface as he struggled to get any kind of purchase.
    “Remind me why we’re doing this?” Jack grunted.
    “We must pass through the eyes of the old man if we hope to find the home of the creature we seek,” Teal’c’s voice echoed in his ears. “We do not wish it to fall into the hands of the Goa’uld.”
    “You’ve got a nice way with the understatement, my compadre.”
    “If that is your way of saying thank you, O’Neill, you are most welcome.”
    Jack leaned out, craning his neck to peer upwards. The higher they climbed the more the center of the giant’s steps had been worn smooth by the elements, making them progressively more treacherous. The wind whipped around him, blustering in his ears. The helmet amplified the noise, which only served to make it all the more disorientating. His foot slid out from beneath him. Grit grated and fell, spilling down into the faces of the others beneath him. Hand over hand, Jack hauled himself up. His world was reduced to finding the next handhold.
    He didn’t look down.
    “You’d think whoever carved this staircase into the side of the mountain could have made it a little bit easier to climb,” Jack muttered to himself.
    The wind worsened the higher he climbed, until it was almost fierce enough to pry his fingers off the rock-face. He clung on for dear life. Each new riser was one closer to the old man’s face. He could make out the dark hollows of the eyes beneath the heavy overhanging brow. They were maybe twenty steps above him. The problem was that more than half of those steps had crumbled away and left a scar of raw stone across the old man’s cheek.
    “Houston, we have a problem.”
    “What is it, Jack?” Daniel sounded breathless.
    “We’ve run out of ladder.”
    “How far are we from the top?”
    “Far enough.”
    “Great.”
    “Can’t say I am too thrilled about it myself.” He couldn’t see an alternative route — at least not an easy one. That meant at least fifty feet of free climbing with several hundred feet of free falling beneath them. “Still, onwards and upwards.”
    He gritted his teeth and reached up, trying to force his fingers into the stone. The last thing he wanted was for the suit to tear but, given the circumstances, he didn’t have a lot of choice. “Up we go.”
    Jack managed four feet more before he ran out of hand holds altogether. Hanging there by the bloated fingertips of his gloves, he angled his body around so that he could draw the gun from the holster at his waist. He aimed up at the sheer rock and squeezed off a dozen shots in quick succession. Flakes of stone powdered as layers of rock broke