Prince Maesa, page 18
‘Costly services,’ harrumphed Stonbrak.
Shattercap poked his head out from under Maesa’s hood and bared his hooked teeth at the sage, but he was lost in the wonders of places he would never see. Shattercap contented himself with giving the man’s servant a grin that would haunt his nightmares forever.
They passed back out into the white streets and the heat of the day.
‘These Hyshians better be glad to get their stone back,’ said Stonbrak. ‘This trip is getting expensive.’ He sniffed at the air, and pulled up his belt. His stomach gurgled with lordly volume. ‘I’m hungry. What do you say to a spot of lunch?’
Maesa nodded. His joy was less now, clouded with dismay. He wracked his mind to place his visit to Sundsfor, but he could not.
‘That would be agreeable,’ said Maesa.
During lunch Stonbrak consumed a quantity of mead and became irksomely wistful, reciting sad tales of lost duardin glories, of which he seemed to have an inexhaustible supply. As they moved through the city afterwards, he complained often about the brightness of the day. ‘I am a duardin of Ulgu!’ he would say to anyone that would listen.
Sundsfor was large, and the going through its streets slow. The afternoon passed and the heat dropped, and more people came out of their workshops and homes to make their way to the city’s night markets. To avoid the crowds, the companions kept to the wider thoroughfares. Nearer the great walls circling the city, the mesa became steeper, with the lowermost wards built into the cliffs themselves, and the streets meandered back and forth to accommodate the increased gradient. Hysh sank from the heavens, flashing off the gold statues adorning the citadel of the Sundered Brotherhood Stormhost at the top of the mesa. Duardin rune lamps ignited with small cracks as the shadows deepened, and the city took on a carnival air. With a sigh of relief, Stonbrak removed his goggles.
By nightfall they reached one of the main gates. It remained open, and a flood of people were coming and going. Maesa and Stonbrak went out onto a viaduct built out from the gate that, in contrast to the city streets, struck out arrow-straight and dropped with gentle declivity directly towards the plain.
‘Now that is proper engineering,’ said Stonbrak admiringly.
At five miles long, the viaduct took some time to traverse. Traffic was kept in orderly lines, inwards and outwards, by duardin and human guards in the city livery. Gate castles every mile spanned the road, and in two places the viaduct was broken by immense metal drawbridges decorated with images of Sigmar and the duardin brother gods.
At the foot of the causeway was a lesser town, close to a shanty at the edges, and poorly planned compared to the great city on the mesa. Hawkers crowded the road, shouting out their wares and services, not all of them of a good and clean sort. Maesa and Stonbrak headed for one of the better inns, intending to set out across the plain of the Gorksmak at dawn. Stonbrak consumed even more mead and ale at the inn.
Daybreak brought a sore head for the duardin and a hearty if unsophisticated breakfast for them both. At Maesa’s insistence, they secured a mount for Stonbrak. He would accept only an emora, a stumpy, flightless bird with legs as thick as his own, but if Stonbrak hoped to find a docile, slow beast, he was mistaken, for it was swift as the wind and sharp-tempered. Eventually, after Maesa had watched the wailing duardin borne round and round in circles, he caught the emora’s reins and bound its beak, then led it away from the scruffy town at the terminus of the viaduct.
‘Duardin do not ride!’ said Stonbrak. ‘I don’t see why we can’t both just walk. You’re walking,’ he added. They went against long streams of wagons laden with meat hunted on the plains beyond the shield mountains.
‘You must ride, because when Aelphis returns to me, you will not be able to keep up, and you are too stout for him to comfortably carry.’ Maesa gave a sly smile.
‘Something’s got into you, prince,’ said Stonbrak. ‘Your manner’s changed.’
‘I am in good spirits,’ said Maesa.
‘He is happy, fat bearded one,’ said Shattercap. ‘Dost thou know happy, or art thou all a-grumbly the whole time?’
‘I liked it better when you were hiding in the aelf’s hood,’ said Stonbrak.
‘No need to hide now! Out in the countryside. Very nice too,’ said Shattercap. He breathed the air deeply. ‘I smell trees!’
‘In all this dust?’ Stonbrak coughed.
After a time, the three of them went off the highway. Sundsfor had no agriculture of its own, trading meat for grain. Aside from a few scrubby fields of vines lining the road, the plains were largely unspoilt: arid, rocky, but covered in a savannah of tall grasses that supported a wealth of life. Sundsfor stood white and mighty in the centre of the crater, the Argent Gate shining in the sky over the citadel, dominating the landscape for leagues, but it and the road to it with its crawling ant line of carts were the only signs of civilisation. In less than three hours they had entered the true wilds, where creatures bounded from the underbrush and hungry beasts watched from dry woods.
Towards the mountains circling the crater, the ground rumpled. They crested several ridges, each higher than the last, when unexpectedly a moist, forested valley opened before them. Maesa led Stonbrak’s mount down a path the duardin would have never seen. Woodland silences engulfed them, broken by snatches of birdsong.
‘You knew this was here!’ said Stonbrak.
‘Yes,’ said Maesa.
‘Why did you not tell me where we were going?’
‘You were surprised by the forest?’
‘Yes, I was,’ said Stonbrak.
‘Then the emotion you felt was worth keeping our destination from you.’
‘Too busy getting used to this damn cockerel you’ve got me perched on,’ said Stonbrak. The emora made a rattling call. Stonbrak pulled a face and shifted about. ‘My backside’s getting sore.’
‘You must grow accustomed to it.’
Shattercap snored in Maesa’s hood.
The sound of rushing water came to them from further in the forest, and soon they reached a gorge. Maesa turned widdershins, working his way up the gorge. Though of impressive depth, the gorge ended suddenly at a waterfall where a river fell loudly from the mountains. Clouds of cool mist rose like smoke from the depths, and where the trees parted, the light of Hysh coloured them with rainbows.
To the side of the waterfall was a glade full of dappled light. At its centre was an ancient stone covered in ivy. There were dolmens all over the realms, and as such Stonbrak thought it unremarkable, until Maesa dropped the reins of the emora and said, ‘We are here.’
As the aelf approached the stone, green light shone from carvings the duardin could have sworn were not there moments before.
Nervously, Stonbrak slid from his mount’s bony back. Maesa reached the stone, the foliage rustled and parted. The aelf pressed the flat of his hand against the rock. The green light burst from the carved channels and sped into the air in looping patterns, circling the aelf before winding themselves together into an arch of vines made entirely of light. Flowers budded on the arch. Creatures like Shattercap peered out from between the stalks. The spite awoke and crouched low, hiding from his fellows, his ears flat against his head in a gesture of submission, though they were all much smaller than he.
‘You look upon something no outsider gets to see, Idenkor Stonbrak. This is a greenway gate to the ley-roads, the means by which my broken kindred move from realm to realm. This waystone marks the entrance. Only one of my blood can open it. You will never see this again. Count yourself privileged.’ Maesa left one hand pressed against the rock, but cupped the other to his mouth and let out a trilling call.
The spites in the gate branches clambered over the foliage. Those with wings flew round the glade in dizzying displays. Stonbrak was no great lover of green nature, but he found himself entranced.
Again, Maesa trilled. This time, a booming call replied. A tattoo of rapid hoofbeats sounded from the gate, growing unnaturally loud, until the glade shook, and Aelphis burst from within trailing the magic of Ghyran. He came kicking and prancing with joy, as lively as a young faun, gambolling round his master with evident delight at their reunion. Magic from his transit glimmered all over his fur, and he seemed greatly invigorated by the trip. He came to Maesa, bent his head, and with a tenderness that moved the gruff Stonbrak, nuzzled the prince.
Maesa removed his hand from the stone. The lights faded. The gate disappeared, its vanishing marked by the blinking of tiny, spiteful eyes.
The glade was a glade. The stone was a stone. No sign of the secret greenway was left, only Aelphis attested to its presence.
The ritual done, Maesa set about loading the beast with his packs. From a sack he took out riding tack that seemed far too small, until he unfolded it, and by some cunning contrivance it became a saddle and bridle large enough for the beast. Stonbrak swore at his own mount as it pecked hard at the earth.
‘It would be mighty handy if we could go that way,’ said Stonbrak.
‘We cannot,’ said Maesa. ‘The gate would not have accepted you. Even an aelf of another kindred would struggle to pass through.’
‘But you could have gone,’ said Stonbrak.
‘I could. I chose not to.’ Maesa rearranged Aelphis’ burden. Shattercap jumped down and sniffed suspiciously at the stone, pressing his hand against it repeatedly in the hope of gaining a reaction.
‘Why make it harder for yourself? I am pretty sure my company is not what kept you from going that way.’
‘No,’ said Maesa. He beckoned to Shattercap, who reluctantly left the rock and scurried back up the prince’s cloak. Maesa leapt onto the stag’s back. It took Stonbrak considerably more effort to remount his own beast.
‘So tell me why, then,’ he said when he was in the saddle.
‘Because my crime of love is so great in their eyes that if my people caught me in the greenway, they would kill me,’ said the prince. ‘Now, I suggest you improve your riding quickly. We have a long way to go.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
OVER THE MOUNTAIN
They left the crater by means of a hidden pass. From there they descended the mountain’s outer slopes into arid wasteland. In winter, hard rains carved gullies into soft stone then fled along the channels, leaving the place parched and deadly in other seasons. A day’s uncomfortable riding had them across and into better terrain of open woodland. These woods got thicker, until they merged into a forest full of animal cries and beady eyes.
Maesa took an overgrown road where a surface of fitted stone poked through the leaf mould. A further range of mountains climbed up the horizon, much bigger than those circling the crater, and the track followed, passing through the ruins of a town. As the trees thinned again, the road became clearer, and the aelf and duardin encountered signs of life. At first, burnt-out campfires and the detritus left by hunters, then little farmsteads appeared in clearings, where hobbled goats munched weeds and kitchen gardens occupied terraces. A man and two children watched them pass from some distance away. Sweet blue woodsmoke fragranced the air.
‘These houses are ancient, newly repaired. Civilisation returns,’ said Stonbrak. He waved at the children. One waved back. The other pressed into her father, who watched stonily over the head of his long woodsman’s axe.
‘Thousands of years will pass,’ said Maesa, ‘and these lands will still not see the multitudes of people they hosted in the Age of Myth.’
‘Aye, well,’ said Stonbrak, looking up at the bare peaks standing guard over the farm. ‘At least there are proper mountains here.’
The mountains more than fulfilled Stonbrak’s idea of what mountains should be, and without the road would have been all but impassable. In places, it had collapsed and been renewed with lesser skill, but it continued, cuts carved by the ancients taking it directly through the rock where there was no easier route. They went through a village made of mountain slate, the buildings all piled on top of each other on the brink of a cliff. They saw far over the forests fuzzing the foothills. Beyond the trees, the plains were golden expanses, the vegetation on them bright suggestions, like colours on a map. The village people hid themselves away as the pair passed through. A few scrubby fields occupied what little flat land there was. Cairns marked the boundary of the settlement, pennants of ribbons fluttering and snapping from the tops.
Stonbrak peered closely at one as they passed.
‘Grungni’s beard! Those are skulls, not rocks,’ he said. ‘What kind of place is this?’
‘There is magic on them, masters,’ hissed Shattercap. ‘Weak magic, poor magic, but magic.’
‘Do you sense evil?’ asked Maesa.
‘Is fear for your children evil?’ the spite responded. He was shivering, and had wrapped Maesa’s hood about himself again. ‘Is it evil to keep snapping teeth away from plump, young flesh? Is it evil to fear the grip of bony hands in the dark?’
‘Wishing to avoid those things is not evil, you confounded nuisance!’ said Stonbrak.
‘Then, wise prince,’ said Shattercap, ignoring the duardin, ‘there is no evil here, only terror.’
They left the village and ascended. The road switched round above it, and the meanness of hovel and field was accentuated. Stonbrak turned in the saddle of his riding bird.
‘Not a soul dares come out,’ he said.
‘Fear in the night,’ said Maesa. He looked at the cairns. ‘The dead walk.’
‘I thought we’d left all that nonsense behind us in Shyish,’ said Stonbrak.
‘Something is changing,’ said Maesa. ‘Everywhere.’
The road wound on and up, nearing the sharp shoulders of the mountains. Loose rock lay dangerously on the slopes above, yet no rubble was scattered along the route, and the travellers guessed someone tended this high way, remote though it was. The route turned around a crag, then led downwards into a corrie seemingly scooped by godlike hands from the mountainside. A dark tarn lay mirrored in the basin. They then knew that the route was maintained for certain, for visible at the back of the corrie was a stone traveller’s cabin in good repair, with an attached stable, and as at the village, cairns ringed it, adorned with the same flapping ribbons.
‘We’ll stop here for the night,’ said Maesa.
‘Are you sure?’ said Stonbrak, peering uneasily about. The light was fading, and he had moved his goggles onto his forehead. ‘Maybe we should press on.’
‘We will be caught in the open, and you will be cold,’ said Maesa.
‘I will not!’ protested Stonbrak.
‘Nevertheless, Shattercap is freezing. I smell snow on the air, and the mounts are tired.’
Stonbrak nodded reluctantly. ‘Aye, I’d welcome the chance to use my own feet.’ He slipped out of the emora’s saddle, and stood with bowed legs. ‘Oooooh, that hurts.’
‘Stable the beasts,’ said Maesa. He came down from Aelphis. ‘I shall scout a little. Shattercap will remain here with you.’
Shattercap was blue and shaking head to foot, his teeth bared and clamped hard together. Maesa picked up the spite from his back. He did not complain when Maesa dropped him into Stonbrak’s arms, but attempted to burrow into the duardin’s beard for warmth.
‘Stop that, you little…’ muttered Stonbrak, but Shattercap looked so dejected he relented, and parted his beard for him.
Maesa vanished. Stonbrak looked all around but could not see him. He strained his ears but could not hear him. Feeling suddenly exposed, the duardin went about bedding the animals down, whistling defiantly against his own sense of unease.
By the time the aelf came back, it was dark. Aelphis and the emora were in the hut’s stable with blankets draped over them, and Stonbrak had a fire going in the simple stove. He hummed an old smelter’s song as he prepared a meal from some of their supplies. His encouragements to Shattercap to join in fell on deaf ears, and the spite stared into the fire, shivering miserably.
Maesa announced his return with a sharp series of whistles, then opened the door into the shelter’s common room.
‘Stew!’ said Stonbrak with a grin, gesturing to the pot bubbling on the stove. He lifted the lid and scraped the vegetables he’d been chopping into the mixture, then dusted off his hands. ‘Dry stuff mainly. There’s nothing to eat in here, and a long list of fees for the use of the hut.’
Maesa said nothing, but sat in a chair by the long table that filled half of the room.
‘I paid the fees,’ said Stonbrak pointedly.
Maesa glanced at him. He had his hands pressed together. He seemed cold for once. ‘My thanks,’ he said.
Stonbrak sat in front of him. ‘What did you see?’
‘Nothing,’ said Maesa. ‘Some lights in the far western clouds that could have been a storm. The pass goes up again past this vale. It is growing colder, and it will definitely snow tonight.’
‘And?’ said Stonbrak, filling his pipe.
‘There is a presence here. He can sense it better than I.’ He nodded at the spite.
Stonbrak’s face set. ‘Yes. A sense of being watched.’
‘We will take turns in sleeping tonight,’ said Maesa.
‘You don’t sleep much anyway,’ said Stonbrak, lighting his pipe.
‘Tonight I must,’ said Maesa. ‘This landscape is hard on my soul. There is little of the magic of Ghyran here. It drains me.’
‘Then I will take first watch. This country suits my kind,’ said Stonbrak. He sucked on his pipe thoughtfully. ‘What do you think our watcher wants?’
Maesa shivered slightly. ‘It has the touch of death. What else does Nagash want, other than for the living to be the dead?’
Stonbrak nodded and peered at the coals in his pipe bowl. ‘Maybe some stew will cheer us up,’ he said.
