And the gate was guarded. Wiz saw four men on the road and one more sitting on the cliff edge. Their manner left no doubt there were more men on down the gorge or hidden by the trees.
"I don’t suppose we could use magic to get through?" Wiz whispered.
Moira surveyed the scene and bit her lips. "It is a trap. Those men are out in the open in hope that we will try something like that. Make no doubt there are magicians waiting to pounce."
"What then?"
"We thread our way between them. I hope they are not too thick along the slopes. Now be quiet."
They were higher on the mountainside than the walls of the gorge, a good 200 feet above the place where the trees began. If most of the robbers were down on the road and there weren’t too many sentinels on the heights and the robbers weren’t too alert, they should be able to work their way along the slope without being seen.
And if frogs had wings they wouldn’t bump their asses every time they took a step, Wiz thought sourly.
With agonizing caution they worked their way forward. In spite of their steepness the slopes were thickly wooded and well-grown with brush. Most of the time they could see only a few yards in any direction. Wiz kept his eyes on the ground, putting his feet down as carefully as he could. Every time he scuffed the leaves the sound rang in his ears. He was certain the noise they made echoed off the walls of the canyon. Every few yards they halted for a long minute to listen.
Luck seemed to be with them. It was a hard climb up to the slope from the road and few of the robbers were inclined to make it. Those that did were more interested in looking down the road than they were in checking the mountainside. Moving with exquisite care, Wiz and Moira passed the watchers, sometimes so close they could see them through the trees.
The mountainside grew steeper and the ground became more rocky. Trees were scarcer and the brush thicker. The terrain forced them closer and closer to the cliff edge. Below them they could see the gorge curve sharply in a hairpin bend and beyond that the land widened out again.
Finally, at the very point of the hairpin, the wood narrowed to a thin band. And at its narrowest point there was a man sitting on a rock.
He was at his ease, hands clasped around one knee and the other leg dangling. Like his fellows he was looking over the canyon. Obviously the last thing he expected was to find his quarry on the slopes. There was a leather patch over his right eye, the eye closest to Wiz and Moira.
But to get by him they would have to pass scant feet from him. In the movies this is always where they jump the sentry, Wiz thought. This wasn’t a movie and Wiz wasn’t a trained commando. The man was at least a head taller than he was and heavily muscled. He was wearing a broadsword, while their only weapon was Moira’s eating knife. The last thing Wiz wanted to do was make like Bruce Lee.
Moira obviously agreed. Crouching low, she began to work her way forward, keeping as much brush as she could between her and the man on the rock. Crouching even lower, Wiz followed.
Moira was almost behind the man when Wiz stepped on a loose rock.
With a crunch and a clatter the stone went rolling down the slope, taking several others with it. The sentry’s head whipped around and he saw Moira behind a bush not six feet from him.
"Hey!" he shouted and sprang to his feet, grabbing for his sword. Moira cringed and made ready to run.
Wiz stood up too. As the man took his first step toward Moira he literally blindsided him and shoved him with all his strength, away from his beloved and toward the cliff edge.
The man whooped, tottered on the brink and then went over the cliff backwards, screaming all the way down.
The scream was cut off by an enormous splash and a second later the gorge resounded with curses. When Wiz peeked over the edge he saw that the stream made a pool in the bend of the canyon and the man was in the middle of it, treading water and swearing at the top of his lungs.
A laughing voice called out to him.
"By the nine netherhells I was pushed! They’re up there I tell you. Get after them!"
Again the laughing voice.
"Damn your mangy hide I am not drunk! There’s someone up there and they’re getting away."
"Better search along that cliff, lads," came a harsher, louder voice. "Who knows? There may actually be someone up there."
Wiz and Moira ducked in among the trees and ran for all they were worth, never slowing until they were past the Gate and out on the forest floor again.
There were no sounds of pursuit, but just to be safe Moira led them back and forth through the stream several times and doubled back on their trail twice. All the while she said nothing to Wiz and shushed him when he tried to speak.
By the time Moira was satisfied the sun was dipping toward the horizon. She paused as if considering, and abruptly she changed direction and started angling back almost the way they had come. Finally she struck a track like a sunken road and led Wiz up it.
The road was canopied over with trees and thickly covered with fallen leaves, but there was not so much as a blade of grass growing on it. Here and there were bare spots where he could see paving blocks of blue-gray marble dressed square and neatly fitted together. Occasionally there would be another stone sticking up to one side with a runic inscription on it.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t the Forest Road. It was too wide and too well-built. More, there was a different—feel—about it, and Wiz wasn’t sure he liked the feel at all.
They came over a crest and Wiz looked down on a ruin. Delicate fluted columns and graceful arches protruded here and there from the trees and bushes. Wiz could make out the remains of a wall of the same blue-gray marble running around the place.
It was big, Wiz saw as they trudged down the road toward the ruin. The wall had to enclose several hundred acres. It was hard to imagine what the ground plan could have been, but Wiz formed an impression of a palatial, spacious building that had stood in the midst of extensive gardens.
Moira turned off from the road before they got to what should have been the main gate and searched until she found a breach in the wall. Without a word to Wiz she scrambled over the broken stones and onto the grounds.
She led deeper into the ruin, passing dry fountains surmounted by statues weathered almost to shapelessness, elaborate porticos and paved courtyards which had apparently never been roofed. At last she found a spot that seemed to suit her.
"We will camp here."
"What was this place anyway?" Wiz asked, staring up at the ruined arches. The pillars were too tall and too thin and the arches themselves were too pointed. Like everything else about the ruin they were at once beautiful and unsettling.
"A castle," Moira said as she dropped her pack beside him. "They say it belonged to a wizard."
"I thought we were supposed to avoid magic."
"It was not my plan to come this way," the red-haired witch said tartly. "I hoped to be well beyond this part of the Wild Wood by nightfall, but we lost too much time playing hide and seek. This place still has the remnants of the owner’s guard spells and they offer some protection. If it does not meet with your approval I am truly sorry."
"Hey, I didn’t mean…"
"Oh, be quiet," Moira snapped and Wiz lapsed into abashed silence.
As the afternoon turned to twilight Moira sent Wiz to gather firewood. He came back with a good armload which she accepted wordlessly and with little grace. Then she set about kindling the fire. Wiz stood watching her.
"All right," he said grimly. "Let’s have it."
"Have what?" She looked up as the fire sprang to life.
"Whatever’s eating you. You’ve been mad ever since we got past the gate and I want to know why."