Before the chief could snatch at the leashes, Early scrambled forward. The nomad’s horse had short, thick legs, but there was ample room for a kender underneath. Since their hands had been bound together in front of them, Early had no problem getting his nimble fingers on the cinch of the chief’s saddle girth.
The nomad calmed his unnerved horse and shouted for a man to haul Early out. The kender was dragged out by his ankles and kicked a few times.
“I’m supposed to bring you in alive,” the chief growled, “but nobody said you had to have eyes when you get there! Any more trouble and I’ll have them out, both pair!”
The ride resumed with Tol trotting on the chief’s left, and Early on the right. After a league, when both thought they would expire from the effort of keeping up the pace, the chief reined up.
“You men without talismans continue the patrol.” Half the band turned and rode away. The chief tugged the leash connected to Tol’s bound wrists. “Come ’ere!”
Tol shuffled forward. A loop of string was placed around his neck. Dangling from it was a square of parchment; on the square were drawn arcane symbols in an elaborate design. Tol asked its purpose.
“Gets you through the mist,” was the brusque reply. The chief and the five remaining riders wore identical talismans, as did their horses. Talismans were placed around the necks of Tol’s war-horse and Early’s pony.
Tol didn’t need the talisman, since he had the nullstone, but the mercenaries didn’t know that. When the time was right, he would act.
Ahead, the grade steepened as the trees thinned out. The stony slope was divided down the center by a well-worn path. This was the foot of the Axas Pass. The mountain itself loomed above, walled off by bulwarks of white fog. The mist rose to a great height, at least a thousand paces. Although made of vapor, it was an impressive barrier, pearlescent by starlight.
They headed up the trail in single file. The chief, leading Tol and Early, was second in line. Barbarian though he was, the man was not a fool. As they neared the mist wall, he ordered the men following to level their spears at the captives’ backs.
“Don’t try to bolt in the fog,” he said. “Make trouble, and you’ll be spitted like partridges.”
“Doesn’t your master want us alive?”
The chief sniffed. “If I bring you in lifeless, Ergoth, I’ll lose a large part of the bounty, but you’ll be dead!”
They rounded a bend and the trail steepened dramatically. The mercenaries’ stocky horses picked their way carefully along a path never meant for four-legged beasts. The going was awkward for Tol and Early, too, not only because their hands were tied, but because dampness from the fog had frozen on the slate floor of the high pass. Captives and horses alike slipped and stumbled on the frosty stones.
The line of mercenaries halted as the lead rider reached the sharply delineated wall of mist and reined up. The stuff looked impenetrable. He checked his talisman, and his horse’s, then drew a deep breath and thumped heels against his horse’s flanks. He entered the white void and vanished.
“Move,” said the chief, jerking at their ropes.
Early caught Tol’s eye, brows rising: Now?
Tol’s head shake was barely perceptible.
They moved slowly into the mist. Tol closed his eyes, expecting a chill or dampness like fog. Instead, he felt a caress of warmth. He opened his eyes.
Inside the barrier, the air was clear. More, it was warm and bright, like daylight. No sun was visible (it was night after all), yet neither were there stars. The vault above was white, illuminated by a soft glow with no obvious origin. Strange magic indeed!
The mercenary chief laughed at their reactions. “Never fails!” he said, looking up at the oddly colored sky.
Tol seized the moment. There was some slack in his leash. He grasped the loose rope in both hands. Early did likewise. They planted their feet and hauled back on the ropes with all their strength. The loosed girth cinch did the rest.
The chief was sliding backward over his horse’s rump, saddle and all, before he could react. He hit the ground hard. In a flash his captives were on him, wrapping the rope around his thick neck.
The next rider came through the mist wall and saw his leader’s predicament. He lowered his spear to charge, but Tol tightened the rope around his hostage’s throat.
“Keep off!” he shouted. “Make a move and I’ll wring his neck!”
All the mercenaries hesitated. Blades for hire knew little of loyalty, but Tol counted on them caring about their commander.
“Early, get their talismans.”
Grinning, the kender tore the parchment wards first from the horses’ necks. The beasts were instantly blinded by the unnatural fog. They stood stock still, afraid to move, and Early quickly deprived their riders’ of the protection as well. As the remaining nomads entered, he collected more talismans.
The formerly fierce mercenaries were so thrown off balance, they could do nothing but grip their animals’ manes tightly. Their terror rendered them as immobile as their mounts.
Tol dropped the chief to the ground, yanked off his talisman, and planted a boot on his back.
“You men, listen!” he shouted. “You’ve seen this pass. Go too far and you’ll fall to your deaths!”
The captured chief would say nothing about the defenses that lay ahead. There was no time to question him properly, so Tol and Early retrieved their weapons and mounted their own horses, which were still protected by talismans. They left behind a bizarre tableau: unhorsed soldiers, mounted men, and their animals frozen in place. The horses were shaking, the men cursing, all too frightened to move.
The peculiar half-light cast no shadows, as if the air itself was the source of the illumination. Riding cautiously up the steep slope, they still could not see their destination. The escarpment frowned above them, but the fortress itself was set back so far it wasn’t yet visible.
“That wasn’t so hard,” said the kender cheerfully. “Getting away from the soldiers and through the wall of fog. Not so hard at all.”
Tol stared at him in disbelief. Blotchy purple bruises covered Early’s face. He had only one good eye and had lost two front teeth. Tol knew he himself must look at least as bad.
“Not hard at all,” he agreed, grinning back.
The path abruptly leveled out. Brown granite, deeply fluted by years of wind and rain, rose like a wall in front of them. Flanking the path were two huge statues. Each was more than twice the height of a man. They appeared to be lions, sitting on their haunches, but their features were so eroded it was hard to know for certain. Something about the statues nagged at Tol; they seemed oddly familiar.
As he came abreast of the two figures, he felt a sharp sensation of warmth. The nullstone was hot against his belly. He reined up, realizing why the statues looked familiar. They were carved from the same bluestone as the ruins he’d explored at the confluence of the Caer River, the ruins where he’d found the nullstone. These statues must be Irda-made as well. Why else would the nullstone react this way?
Early doubled back, asking why Tol had stopped.
“This place is very old,” Tol murmured, staring up at the colossal lions. The nullstone was pulsing now, first hot, then cooler, then hot again. It had never behaved this way before.
“Trust in the gods and your sword of steel.”
Tol gave Early a sharp look. The kender’s voice sounded deeper than usual. Beneath the bruises, his usual carefree expression was gone. He seemed calm, composed-and not himself.
“Felryn?”
“You’re not alone,” was the reply, “nor is the kinder, but do not speak any names. The stones have ears.”
A surge of confidence filled Tol. With the gallant healer at his side, even in spirit form, he felt he could handle anything Mandes threw at him. They rode on. Once they’d left the lions behind, the millstone’s pulsations ended.