Several of the buildings were cut directly into the living rock of the mountain; Tobas judged that most of the work had been done by magic. He had heard that the ancients used much more magic than modern people, and this town seemed to bear that out quite emphatically. They found traces of a demonologist’s pentagram carved into the stone floor in one house, shattered jars and broken shelves reminiscent of wizards’ workrooms in several others, and any number of mysterious objects that Peren thought might be sorcerous. Witchcraft and theurgy left no traces, of course, and warlockry had not been known until the start of the fifty-third century, so they came across no evidence of those, but they encountered what Tobas thought might be wholly unfamiliar magics, perhaps entire schools now lost, strange etchings in floors and walls, substances neither of them could identify, and shards of oddly shaped vessels of glass and porcelain.
They made camp in one of the larger, cleaner ruins that night and made a very peculiar discovery when Tobas tried to light their campfire. Thrindle’s Combustion would not work. He tried it several times, with no success.
Finally, he gave up and let Peren light the fire by means of slow, laborious work with flint, steel, and tinder.
When the fire was going and two strips of dried beef were soaking in a tin of hot water, Tobas shook his head. “I don’t understand why the spell didn’t work,” he said for the hundredth time. “I know I did it right. It’s been months since I made any error in it. It always works.”
“Maybe you’re just tired,” Peren said.
“No, that’s not it; I’ve done it plenty of times before when I was tired.”
“Maybe it’s something about the ruins, then.”
“Maybe. Maybe so much magic was used here that some of it still lingers, and that’s messing up my spell somehow.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“I suppose it does.” Tobas was still not convinced, even though the theory was his own. Finally he shrugged. “I’ll just have to try again in the morning.”
In the morning he tried the spell again, several times, still without success.
“I’m going to go back down and see if it works outside the ruins,” he announced.
“I have a better idea,” Peren said. “Why don’t we go the rest of the way up to the peak and take a look around? From there we may be able to see the far side of the mountains and see how much farther we have to go to reach Aigoa, or someplace, anyway. And you can try your spell up there; the ruins stop before the top.”
Tobas had to admit that sounded reasonable; he followed as Peren led the way through a broken wall onto the open slope.
Fortunately, the mountainside above the town was not particularly steep. It was, however, the highest peak in the area, and the winds were ferocious and unpredictable, whipping Tobas’ tunic about like a flag. He climbed with his arms wrapped about himself, keeping the garment from ballooning out with each gust.
A few feet from the top Peren stopped abruptly and fell to his knees, then crawled forward, first on all fours and then on his belly. Tobas stopped in his tracks and watched this performance with surprise.
Then he looked on ahead of his companion and saw the reason for it. Squinting against the wind and concentrating on his own garments and feet, he had not really watched the terrain ahead. They had reached the peak, and, rather than the symmetrical slope down the other side he had expected, Tobas saw that it ended in a cliff. Peren had not dared to approach that sheer drop while standing upright in a high wind.
Tobas realized he didn’t care to, either, and dropped to his belly before inching up to Peren’s side.
The view looking over the cliff was incredible, and distressing. The mountains continued for as far as they could see, row after row of them, some wooded all the way to the top, others with bare gray rock peaks that reached above the timberline or lacked sufficient soil for trees to grow in.
Tobas glanced back the way they had come and noticed a determined patch of lichen clinging to the rocks. Remembering what he had come up here for, he fumbled at his belt, found his dagger and brimstone, and tried Thrindle’s Combustion on the lichen.
Nothing happened.
Annoyed, he sheathed the blade and looked out over the cliff again.
Peren was staring off into the distance, studying the mountains, and Tobas saw little point in that. Instead he looked down toward the bottom of the drop.
Something very odd stood almost directly below them. He inched up farther toward the edge and stared down, shading his eyes with one hand.
“Peren,” he said, “do you see that?” He tugged at the albino’s sleeve and pointed.
Peren looked. “What is it?” he said at last.
“I think,” Tobas said, “it’s a castle.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Peren said. “Why would anyone build a castle down there, where an enemy could drop things on them, instead of up on a mountaintop, where they could see farther? And besides, I can see the sides as well as the roofs; it’s all crooked.”
Tobas studied the structure for another long moment. It was undeniable that whatever it was, it was at a very strange angle. “I don’t think it was built there,” he said. “I think it fell there.”
Peren looked at him in surprise, then ran a hand along the edge of the cliff. “You mean from here?”
Tobas nodded. “Maybe,” he said.
Peren looked down at it again, then back toward the ruins. “You can’t be right,” he said. “I mean, it would make sense, a castle up here would have guarded the town behind us, I suppose, but the fall would have smashed it to pieces!”
“Not if it had strong magic holding it together,” Tobas suggested.
“But magic won’t work here, will it? Your spell didn’t.”
“Wizardry doesn’t work here now, but maybe it did once; after all, weren’t there ruins back there that looked as if they were wizards’ laboratories once? Besides, I don’t know about other kinds of magic; maybe it was sorcery that held it together.”
Peren stared down at the red roof and white walls of the mysterious structure. “Maybe you’re right,” he admitted grudgingly.
Tobas said, “I want to go look at it.”
Peren looked at him, then back down the cliff. “That must be a thousand-foot drop,” he said. “We can’t climb down that.”
“No, of course not!” Tobas said. “But we can go around.” He pointed off to their right, to the south, where the cliff dropped down to meet another slope.
“Besides,” he added, “that’s no thousand feet. Three or four hundred, if you ask me.” He started backing away from the edge.
Reluctantly, Peren followed him.
When they were both upright and walking back down through the ruins, Tobas remarked, “That castle looked intact, not very ruined at all; I mean, not only did it survive the fall, but it hasn’t weathered away since. I guess it’s pretty well sheltered there, with the mountain on one side and trees on the other. And hidden, too. There might still be some valuables.”
Peren nodded. “Maybe. I wonder what it’s doing there, though. Why would anyone build a town and a castle up here? A town of draft dodgers or refugees I suppose I can understand, but a castle? And on a precipice where it fell off eventually? Who would build such a thing?”
“I don’t know,” Tobas said. “But maybe we can find out.”
As they worked their way down the mountainside, Tobas insisted on stopping every few hundred yards to try his spell. As he had expected, it failed completely all the way down through the ruined town and at the first two stops beyond the ruins as well.