The trail gradually began to rise. The verdant meadow was left behind and replaced by piles of tumbled boulders, stony slopes, and granite outcrop pings. Soon other trails appeared to the right and left and merged with Valorian’s path. The clansman saw more people: a few clanspeople, some Chadarians, a Sarcithian, and some from races he did not know, all coming with their escorts. The Harbingers were rather busy that day, he mused.
It was then that he suddenly noticed his own Harbingers were gone. They had vanished without a word or a reason and left him alone on the path. Surprised, he brought the black stallion to a halt and glanced around at the tumbled mountainside. There was no sign of his escorts.
Perhaps Amara had recognized Valorian’s difficulty and drawn away the Harbingers. Without them in his way, he should be able to slip off and begin his search for an entrance into the gorthlings’ domain. He wished she had told him where to find a door. One could be hidden anywhere on this vast mountain.
Hunnul nickered, startling Valorian from his thoughts. The young woman and her baby were passing by. She nodded to him politely and the baby cooed, but their escorting Harbinger totally ignored him. They rode on, disappearing out of sight beyond a clump of boulders.
The clansman waited only until the way was momentarily clear before he dismounted and cautiously stepped off the glowing path. Nothing happened. The path remained empty, no alarms were sounded, and his escorts did not return.
Relieved, he led Hunnul off the trail and into the rugged flanks of the mountain to begin his search.
He has come, Lord Sorh.
The dark, emotionless visage of the god of the dead turned toward the kneeling Harbinger and nodded once. So, Amara has found her champion. Who is it?
A clansman named Valorian, replied the escort.
Ah, yes. The son of Daltor. He will need his father’s courage and his mother’s restraint for this task. It should prove interesting. The god leaned back in his massive throne and steepled his fingers. Allow the man some time to search, then reveal the entrance. I will give him a chance to show his mettle.
The Harbinger bowed and backed out of the god’s presence.
The goddess Amara stepped out of the shadows of Sorh’s hall and came forward to face her brother. Bright and passionate against Sorh’s impartial gravity, she shone like a sun in a gloomy, cold cavern. You will not interfere in this matter? she asked.
I will not if you will not.
Agreed.
Sorh summoned the other deities. Surgart and Krath, bear witness!
The god of war and the goddess of destinies arrived together and stood beside Amara.
We have heard, Surgart told them.
Krath agreed. The man goes alone.
Then so be it.
Valorian had no idea how much time had passed since he left the path of the dead. What was time, anyway, compared to immortality? There was no night with its stars or day with its sun to guide his efforts. Instead, there was only the ceaseless golden light and the looming mountain with its impenetrable walls.
The clansman knew that he and Hunnul had circled up the gigantic peak three times, climbing, scrambling, and fighting their way around the tumbled boulders and steep inclines. So far they had found nothing. The only paths led up to Sorh’s throne. There were no footprints, worn places, cracks, or any sort of sign that would lead him to an entrance into Gormoth. The mountain was as impassive and impervious as Sorh himself.
When they had completed their fourth loop around the mountain, Valorian wearily drew Hunnul to a halt and stood staring out over the mountainside. He shook his head. This was the strangest mountain he had ever known. There was no wind, no animal life, no heat or cold, no ice; there was only rock.
Climbing the peak should have been easy, but Valorian hadn’t been dead long enough to grow accustomed to the strangeness of his immortal existence. He had no real feeling in his body, and physical exertion did not tire him, yet even the realm of the dead seemed bound by some of the laws of nature. He couldn’t simply float around the mountain; he and Hunnul had to traverse it the hard way. After four long circles, he was thoroughly tired of the fruitless struggling.
Valorian hoped they didn’t have to go much higher in their search. The way was growing too steep and difficult for the stallion, and they were only halfway up the mountain slope. He didn’t want to leave his mount behind if he could help it. At least he didn’t have to worry about the two of them falling to their deaths. If they fell, he supposed they would just climb back up again.
The clansman led the black horse along a slippery escarpment to a wide, flat ledge. Close by was the path of the dead they had left some time ago. He stared up the mountain to the curtain of mist that obscured the realm of the gods. Had Sorh noticed he was missing from the ranks of the newly dead who stood before the throne of judgment? Had any of the deities noticed him crawling like a fly on the walls of their home? He leaned against Hunnul’s side and wished he were someplace else.
Hunnul’s soft muzzle suddenly nudged his arm. Startled, the clansman looked up to see a Harbinger riding down the nearby path leading another man, a Sarcithian marauder, on foot. Valorian pressed Hunnul back into the shadow of a big boulder, out of sight of the Harbinger, then carefully peered around the rock edge. Harbingers usually escorted souls up to Sorh, not away from him—unless . . . Valorian worked his way closer to the trail in time to see the shining white rider turn off the main path onto a way only he could see. The dead man followed.
Valorian drew a sharp breath. The Harbinger must be escorting a soul to the entrance into Gormoth, the gorthlings’ lair. If he could just follow them, they would lead him to the door. Quickly Valorian led Hunnul onto the mountain path and down to the place where the Harbinger had left the trail. There on the rocks Valorian saw the faintest track worn into the rock by the countless condemned souls who had traveled that way. The trail angled sharply uphill, traversed a steep, boulder—strewn slope, and came to an abrupt end in a tremendous cliff wall.
Valorian watched from behind an outcropping as the Harbinger and the helpless soul came to a halt before the blank stone wall. In a loud voice, the escort called a single word. There was a deep, sonorous noise in the cliffs, and Valorian stared openmouthed at the large door—shaped crack that appeared in the rock wall. He had passed by this cliff before and never noticed the entrance. The noise changed to a grinding groan as the door swung outward, revealing an opening large enough for several horses abreast to pass through. Behind the door was a tunnel, a hole of stygian darkness.
The opening door suddenly galvanized the Sarcithian who stood with the Harbinger. His shriek of utter despair shattered the mountain quiet as he whirled frantically to flee.
But the white rider was faster. A bolt of shining energy flew from his upraised hand and caught the man before he had taken two steps. The power wrapped around his chest like a rope and pinioned his arms to his sides. The doomed man screeched and struggled, his face wracked in terror.
The Harbinger paid no heed.
Inexorably the power began to draw the Sarcithian toward the open doorway. The condemned man fought his bonds like a madman, but the magic held firm to the threshold of the door. There the man was halted, the white energy vanished, and he was left standing just inside the ominous black tunnel into Gormoth. A high-pitched cackle of glee echoed out of the darkness. The soul froze in horror.
The Harbinger lowered his hand and spoke. “For your crimes, you are condemned to Gormoth for eternity. There is no hope beyond those portals.”