The hot noon sun blazed down on a sea of marching troops, their faces grim.
At the front, a proud black stallion strode, with a man on his back who
seemed oblivious to the danger that his bristling men sensed. Malice
scarred his face, and scorn. There was an electric feel in the air around
him, and his eyes had no iris or pupil, only a terrible, glowing white. A
sheet of shining, dark hair fell to his waist, flowing easily over the
handsome tunic he wore. A strong forehead topped a dark, ruggedly handsome
face, twisted with years of anger. The man was from an obscure tribe that
wandered the Carthaki desert, and the blood red tattoo that started at his
ears and ran in a straight line across his eyelids proved it. It have him a
barbarian look, and inspired awe and fear in everyone he encountered.
They called him Vaelon.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Medaio was sick of waiting. Numair, Daine, and Damae were all asleep, recovering. He had peeped in on Numair and Daine to see that Daine had shifted during the night-a sure sign that she had woken up. Where she had moved to brought a wistful smile to his face, and the perfect remembrance of the wonderful embrace he'd shared with Damae the night before. If only she knew what it meant to him.
But those thought had to wait. For now, he wanted to do something useful. The best thing he could do, he decided, was to estimate how long it would take for their enemy to reach them. For that, he would need a lookout point at the very least. He knew there was a huge pillar of stone not too far from the village-it was probably similar to the one Daine and Damae had been behind. It would take some effort to climb, but the few would be fantastic. Rummaging through Voltair's dusty shelves for food, water, and rope, his eye fell on an odd, conical object. Lifting it delicately, he blew the dust of years off the top. A large bowl-shaped lens reflected his startled stare, distorting it ridiculously. A spyglass! It was perfect. Old- fashioned, yes, but still good.
Rope, however, was not to be found, and they had eaten the last of the food the day before. He would have to ask Dareem for some-his own cottage held virtually nothing. Medaio was able to find a flask, which he could fill with water on his way to the lookout.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
A knock on his door startled Dareem, who had been thinking deeply about absolutely nothing. When the door opened, it revealed Medaio, who stood in the dim room and blinked repeatedly, adjusting his eyes to the darkness.
"Medaio!" came his pleasantly surprised voice, "Where have you been the last few days? Holed up with that mage all the time, we never see you!" Dareem was rewarded with a smile, and a question in return.
"Dareem, sir, could I borrow a long rope and a chunk of bread? It's important."
"Of course, of course, but why do you need them?"
"To go climbing." Dareem could tell from Medaio's closed expression that he would not learn more, so he heaved himself up to look for the requested supplies. When he brought them back, there was a troubled expression on the healer's face.
"I was thinking," he said, "and it occurred to me that you and the rest of the village had better leave and camp somewhere for a few days. You're all in danger here. See, this is what's been happening."
^^^^^^^^^^^^
Medaio left the leader's house about an hour later with his assurance that the whole village could be gone by evening. It had taken a bit of reasoning to convince Dareem that no one was to stay behind and help them-they would manage, and besides, there weren't many able-bodied people left.
Half an hour's brisk walk brought him to the foot of the huge mound of stone. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he looked up in awe. The dark monolith was almost 100 feet high, lancing almost straight up into the sun. It was pocked and had a good amount of ledges that could support him. The top was flat, as if sliced off, and the sun stood behind him, promising not to be a limit to his view.
With his bread and water shoved deep into the pockets of his breaches, Medaio shed his tunic and doubled the long rope. Sighting, he threw the end at an outcropping about 15 feet above him. A few tries later, it was hooked. Testing his weight, Medaio tied himself sturdily to the rope and started climbing.
After about 10 feet off hauling himself up perilously, Medaio stopped on a protruding ledge, catching his breath. He yanked one end of the rope over the ledge, looped it again, and threw it onto a higher ledge and started over, continuing the sequence until he made it safely to the top.
Sweat streaming off of him; Medaio took greedy gulps of water before settling to a slower pace. Eating his bread slowly, he took out his spyglass and pointed it to the east. A mass of moving men met his eye, shockingly close. If they stopped for the night, he calculated, they could be in the village by the next evening. Obviously, they had picked up their pace considerably. A little more than a day would have to be enough for his friends to recover-but would it be?
They called him Vaelon.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Medaio was sick of waiting. Numair, Daine, and Damae were all asleep, recovering. He had peeped in on Numair and Daine to see that Daine had shifted during the night-a sure sign that she had woken up. Where she had moved to brought a wistful smile to his face, and the perfect remembrance of the wonderful embrace he'd shared with Damae the night before. If only she knew what it meant to him.
But those thought had to wait. For now, he wanted to do something useful. The best thing he could do, he decided, was to estimate how long it would take for their enemy to reach them. For that, he would need a lookout point at the very least. He knew there was a huge pillar of stone not too far from the village-it was probably similar to the one Daine and Damae had been behind. It would take some effort to climb, but the few would be fantastic. Rummaging through Voltair's dusty shelves for food, water, and rope, his eye fell on an odd, conical object. Lifting it delicately, he blew the dust of years off the top. A large bowl-shaped lens reflected his startled stare, distorting it ridiculously. A spyglass! It was perfect. Old- fashioned, yes, but still good.
Rope, however, was not to be found, and they had eaten the last of the food the day before. He would have to ask Dareem for some-his own cottage held virtually nothing. Medaio was able to find a flask, which he could fill with water on his way to the lookout.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
A knock on his door startled Dareem, who had been thinking deeply about absolutely nothing. When the door opened, it revealed Medaio, who stood in the dim room and blinked repeatedly, adjusting his eyes to the darkness.
"Medaio!" came his pleasantly surprised voice, "Where have you been the last few days? Holed up with that mage all the time, we never see you!" Dareem was rewarded with a smile, and a question in return.
"Dareem, sir, could I borrow a long rope and a chunk of bread? It's important."
"Of course, of course, but why do you need them?"
"To go climbing." Dareem could tell from Medaio's closed expression that he would not learn more, so he heaved himself up to look for the requested supplies. When he brought them back, there was a troubled expression on the healer's face.
"I was thinking," he said, "and it occurred to me that you and the rest of the village had better leave and camp somewhere for a few days. You're all in danger here. See, this is what's been happening."
^^^^^^^^^^^^
Medaio left the leader's house about an hour later with his assurance that the whole village could be gone by evening. It had taken a bit of reasoning to convince Dareem that no one was to stay behind and help them-they would manage, and besides, there weren't many able-bodied people left.
Half an hour's brisk walk brought him to the foot of the huge mound of stone. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he looked up in awe. The dark monolith was almost 100 feet high, lancing almost straight up into the sun. It was pocked and had a good amount of ledges that could support him. The top was flat, as if sliced off, and the sun stood behind him, promising not to be a limit to his view.
With his bread and water shoved deep into the pockets of his breaches, Medaio shed his tunic and doubled the long rope. Sighting, he threw the end at an outcropping about 15 feet above him. A few tries later, it was hooked. Testing his weight, Medaio tied himself sturdily to the rope and started climbing.
After about 10 feet off hauling himself up perilously, Medaio stopped on a protruding ledge, catching his breath. He yanked one end of the rope over the ledge, looped it again, and threw it onto a higher ledge and started over, continuing the sequence until he made it safely to the top.
Sweat streaming off of him; Medaio took greedy gulps of water before settling to a slower pace. Eating his bread slowly, he took out his spyglass and pointed it to the east. A mass of moving men met his eye, shockingly close. If they stopped for the night, he calculated, they could be in the village by the next evening. Obviously, they had picked up their pace considerably. A little more than a day would have to be enough for his friends to recover-but would it be?