They reached a series of cages resting on the ground. Each could comfortably accommodate forty people. Surrounding each cage were four slender metal columns that extended upward toward the looming cliffs. Just now, an attendant slammed shut the door of a crowded cage, throwing a locking bar across it. Those within continued their chatter unperturbed. The attendant stepped back. The cage emitted a gentle whir as it rose swiftly up the shaft.
Gerrard watched openmouthed as the folk soared out of sight into the jutting slope of the mountain. He turned to
Takara, hoping for an explanation. The red-haired woman made inquiries of the captain.
"He says they are 'lifts.' They will take us to the main city."
Two more cages became available, and the soldiers herded their captives within. Twenty chained crew and twenty soldiers occupied each. The doors clanged closed. There was a violent jerk. Gerrard felt his stomach plunge. He saw the ground suddenly drop away beneath him.
Hanna was nearby. She examined the device as best she could in the cramped space. "Wires," she said. "There may be wires in the supports that control the cage. Though how they're powered…" She shook her head. "It takes a lot of force to lift this many people. Pretty clever, though. This is obviously how they control access to the city. Unless you have an airship, it makes the top of the mountain practically impossible to invade."
Gerrard spotted the second cage ascending at roughly the same speed. He looked around at his companions. Some of the sailors were pale and nervous.
Hanna watched them too. "Well," she said to Gerrard and Takara, "it can't take very long at this speed."
It was taking long enough to suit everyone, thought Gerrard. Tahngarth appeared to be frozen in fear, as if this close confinement brought back memories of his imprisonment in the Stronghold. Gerrard looked for Squee, but the little goblin was nowhere in sight.
Even as they ascended, Gerrard found himself staring at the panorama unfolding before him. Farmland spread out on the east side of the mountain, intersected by stone walls that marked complex patterns on the land. To the west, clouds of dust rolled across the land. Far away, Gerrard could see the black stain of the Rushwood and a long black line that marked the dry course of the riverbed. To the south, the land was broken by a series of jagged canyons, punctuated by red and gold spires of rock. Those must be the Deep Lands Tavoot referred to, he decided. To the north, the dusty plain stretched to a far horizon obscured by yellow haze that merged land and sky.
Above them the sky glowed in brilliant orange and red. Thick clouds raced across it. Gerrard passed his hand over his eyes. How long was it since he had slept? It seemed a lifetime. Images rose unbidden before him: his battle with Volrath in the Dream Halls of the Stronghold, his flight to the Gardens. But overwhelming all the other memories was the recollection of Mirri the cat warrior in her final battle with Crovax, whose mad eyes turned red as he tore out her throat.
Those unwanted dreams were banished, though, when he glimpsed nearby an unexpected face-impish beneath black tousled hair. Gerrard smiled slowly at the lad.
"What are we going to do now?" Takara asked.
Gerrard leaned close to her. "I'm thinking about making an escape."
She smiled conspiratorially. "An escape? Why have you waited so long?"
"The chance only just presented itself," Gerrard replied. "We have a friend in the crowd. A young man who tailed us on his own Jhovall, through storm and garbage and market, all."
Takara looked about the cage and smiled a sharp-toothed smile. "Atalla."
Chapter 4
The long, dark ride in the lift ended in a narrow stone chamber, brightly lit from some undetectable source. Ahead was a set of arched double doors. These the guard swung open.
Gerrard passed through and found himself in a wide corridor filled with similar doors, from which flowed a steady stream of humanity. A moment later, Gerrard caught sight of the second contingent of Weatherlight crew. The soldiers reassembled the prison caravan. Chains chattered on stone as the crew marched up the wide passage. Even here in the nooks and crannies of the wall, there were merchants calling out to the crowd to come and sample their wares.
Hanna pushed up beside Gerrard and touched his shoulder. "Have you seen the looks we're getting?"
He nodded. "We cut a pretty ragged picture compared to these people." Indeed the people around them were far better dressed than the Weatherlight crew. They were clad in flowing silk robes that were brightly dyed, elaborately folded, and piled high despite the heat and grit. Gerrard whispered to Hanna, "We'll have to find a laundry line once we escape-help us blend in…"
"Escape?" Hanna whispered back.
"Atalla's tailing us-brave lad. He's the outside man. And the lifts have reduced our soldier escort from two hundred to twoscore. The time is right. Pass the word for the others to watch me and follow my lead."
Hanna nodded and fell back among the crew. The corridor widened farther and ascended a short flight of broad steps. The group emerged into bright daylight in the midst of Mercadia.
Gerrard's first impression was of incredible noise. At the foot of the mountain, the cries of the merchants had been nothing compared to the roar up here. It was omnipresent and almost deafening in its intensity.
"Hale nuts! Selling hale nuts! Brown roasted hale nuts!"
"Buying simsass for coldseason. Anyone have simsass for coldseason?"
"I have four bottles of raga wine. I'm looking for hale nuts. Any hale nuts for raga wine?"
On either side of the street were long stalls bursting with goods. In the center of the broad avenue was raised a circular set of stairs ending in a platform. On this platform sellers crowded, each waving a paper and yelling out the virtues of goods offered or wanted for purchase. Along the street at regular intervals were other such platforms, and beyond- more streets and platforms and noise.
Around the platforms the crowd ebbed and flowed, looking over the items in the booths, picking them up, putting them down, touching, tasting, squeezing, stroking, asking the price, arguing over the price, paying the price- all in that unpleasant accent!
The stalls themselves were little more than temporary creations of wood and canvas, stretching out from the fronts of buildings. Behind the stalls stood dun-colored buildings with square windows and arched doorways. Structures crowded against each other, shouldering for space and forming rankling canyons that mazed away through the city. The dizzy chaos of mud walls was accentuated by the tiles and elaborate mosaics that covered them. No street was straight, no block was level. The roads climbed and shambled, dipped and drifted. The sense of vertigo that Gerrard had felt at the base of the impossible mountain now redoubled.
Heedless, the guard pushed through the crowd, conducting the Weatherlight crew through. Squee, his short green form unmistakable among the tall Weatherlight sailors, was several files back from the Benalian. Gerrard noticed that any time a Mercadian caught a glimpse of the goblin, he bowed low and touched his forehead. The little creature was both puzzled and impressed by this behavior, and he began to strut a bit.
Tahngarth wrinkled his nose and frowned. "They smell," he growled, gesturing at the Mercadians. "The whole place smells."
Sisay nodded her agreement. "There's a lot of incense burning around here." She stopped a moment, breathing hard, and wiped sweat from her forehead. "I don't know about the rest of you, but this place is giving me a splitting headache."
Gerrard rubbed his eyes. The street seemed to oscillate. He glanced at his companions and saw they were having similarly dazed sensations. Some of the crew were staggering. Hanna looked ready to pass out.