On they rode, the land continuing to rise, and in the distance to the fore a range of snowcapped peaks came into view.
“Ah,” said Roel, “the mountains the crofter mentioned. Are they on the map?” Celeste unfolded the chart, saying, “I don’t remember any thereon.” She glanced at the vellum. “Non. They are not on the map, but it is rather incomplete, or so Florien said. It gives mostly directions in which to fare and landmarks to find at the twilight crossings. Little else does it convey, other than the obscure letters at each bound.
I’m not even certain that the chart is to scale, for no scale was given.”
“But didn’t you say the marge was three days away?”
“I was merely relying on the crofter’s words,” replied Celeste.
“Ah.”
That night they camped in the foothills at the base of the range, and cool mountain air flowed down from above.
In the dawn, Roel and Celeste fed and watered the horses, and then took a meal of their own. As the sun broached the horizon, they saddled their mounts and laded the pack animals and got under way. As they rode to the crest of a hill, “There,” said Roel, pointing ahead,
“that must be the pass.”
To the fore a rocky slot carved its way up and through the range, heading for a col high above.
“Oui. It lies directly along the course we bear,” said Celeste.
“Mayhap a good place for an ambuscade,” said Roel, peering ahead while lifting his shield from its saddle hook. “I suggest you prepare your bow, cherie.” Celeste smiled unto herself, for even as he said it she was stringing the weapon.
Roel pulled his spear from the sling and couched it in the cup on his right stirrup. Then he looked at Celeste.
“Ready?”
“Oui. Ready. .”
. . And toward the pass they rode, Roel in the lead, trailing a packhorse, Celeste coming next, her own pack animal in tow.
Inward they went and upward, and sheer stone walls rose on both sides, and the slot twisted this way and that. The pass narrowed and deepened, and soon but a distant slash of sky jagged above, the depths below enshadowed and dim. And now and then stone arched out overhead, and here the way grew ebon. In these places the chill air turned frigid, and to left and right lay unmelted snow and ice, the sun unable to reach into the depths. But still the way continued to rise, as up toward an unseen crest the pair rode. Echoing hoofbeats clattered upslope and down, and Roel wondered if he shouldn’t have enwrapped the animals’ feet to muffle their sound. Black pools of darkness clustered in splits and crevices and slots along the walls, and little did the light from above penetrate these stygian coverts. The air smelled of granite and water and snow and ice, and whatever breeze might have been had vanished altogether.
In places the way grew even steeper, and Roel and Celeste dismounted and led the animals. Often they paused, allowing the steeds to rest, but ever they pushed onward, unwilling to spend any more time than absolutely necessary in this cold and shadowy place, with its stone walls rearing up hundreds of feet overhead and seeming to press ever closer, for at times it was no more than two arm spans wide, and mayhap as much as a thousand feet high.
They came into snow lying in the pass, for the most part quite shallow, though in places deep drifts stood across the way, and there it was Roel broke trail for the steeds, his breath coming harsh with the effort.
They reached the crest nigh midday, where a cascade of melt ran down from above, and there they stopped to rest and feed and water the horses and to eat some hardtack and jerky. But shortly they were on their way downward, Roel saying, “I’d rather not stay at these heights in the night, where the cold will plunge beyond withstanding.” Down they went and down, now on the sunwise side of the pass, and water ran freely along the way, dashing down the slopes, and at times they splashed across shallows or waded through the swift-running flow. And still the way wrenched this way and that, and the walls yet soared upward on each side, and at one point they had to unlade the packhorses and hand carry the goods through, the cleft too narrow for the animals to traverse with the supplies upon their backs, and the chill water was deep, hindered by the slot as it was.
At last the walls began to recede, and late in the day they came out from the pass and into wide rolling plains.
Roel glanced back at the twisting slot. “If that were a main thoroughfare, then someone long ago would have placed a high, gated wall somewhere within and charged heavy tolls to pass through.”
“At least there was no ambush waiting,” said Celeste, now unstringing her bow.
“Non, cherie, there wasn’t. It is a splendid place to defend, the way narrow such that a small force could hold off a much greater one. But as a place for an assault, I think it lacks the means for the assailants to spring an ambush upon the unwary traveller; after all, the way is strait and the walls very high, hence giving little chance for waylayers to lunge out from concealment in a surprise onslaught. And, just as a few could hold off many, so, too, could travellers hold off an attack.”
“I take it you have been caught in ambushes?”
“Non, but in the war my comrades and I sprang many.”
“How is it done?”
“Generally with a surprise attack on the flank,” said Roel. “A place is chosen to give the ambushers concealment on high ground, and, if you have archers, divide them into two squads and set them at an angle to one another, and then. .”
They made camp nigh a stream in a grassy swale in the foothills, and after unlading and currying the horses and feeding and watering them, and eating a meal, Roel and Celeste fell into an exhausted sleep, trusting to the Fates to keep watch o’er them.
The next morning they rested awhile ere making ready to ride, and as they broke fast, Roel said, “I wish we had thought to bring a dog along from Port Cient, for I think we need a sentry in the night, and none is better than a dog.”
“What kind would you have, Roel? A mastiff, a hound, a terrier, what?”
“My love, I think I would take the most nervous animal I could find, no matter the breed.”
“Nervous?”
Roel smiled. “What better dog to keep watch than one on edge?”
Celeste broke into laughter. She suddenly sobered and asked, “Is that something you learned in war?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Celeste cocked an eyebrow at Roel, and he said,
“When we would send a scout to seek sign of the foe, we always chose the most edgy man among the scouts at hand. For, you see, he would be the most alert to any sound or movement or odor. It seemed a good tactic, for we never lost a single scout, and yet many an enemy group we found. Hence, if it ever comes to a dog to keep watch, I will choose in a like manner.” Celeste grinned and turned up her hands and said,
“Ah, ’twould be splendid to have such a noble dog cower at our side, one who trembles and whines at the snap of a twig or twitch of a leaf or the waft of an unexpected scent.” Roel laughed and said, “Better that than one who snores through the night though a dreadful thing be creeping ’pon us.” Then he stood and added, “Come, cherie, it is time we were on our way.” They rode out across the rolling plains, where tall grass grew, the air filled with the sweet fragrance of the tiny blue blossoms nodding at the tips of green stems.
And as they fared through the lush verdancy, in the angled light of the morning, high in the sky they espied a ruddy flash. ’Twas a raptor sweeping back and forth in the distance.
“A red hawk, do you think?” asked Roel, shading his eyes.
The princess nodded. “Most likely.”
They watched the hunter for a while as across the land they rode. And then Celeste took in a quick breath.
“Ah, he’s sighted quarry.”
Even as she said it, the raptor stooped, plummeting down and down, and just above the tops of the tall grass, its wings flared, and it disappeared down within.