She almost did it. The only thing that prevented her, of course, was her remembrance of the Little Prince. Darrick, Rhyss, and her mother were dead, but the Little Prince was alive, and he needed her. She was his only hope.
She sighed deeply, shuddering as she looked down at the cold, grey stone. Finally, reluctantly, she turned away from it.
The sky was low and steely, moving swiftly overhead. Thunder made a dull rumble far off, so that the sound seemed to go on for minutes. Distant foggy shapes clung to the horizon, and Gabriella turned towards them, knowing what they were. The Cragrack Cliffs were her last, and perhaps greatest, obstacle, and they were finally in sight.
Gabriella walked on into the cold, pale light of dawn.
Chapter 7
It began to snow.
Tiny, white flakes skirled through the air and stuck to the grass as well as Gabriella's hair and eyelashes. Close up, the snow looked like white sand. Further away, it was a drifting pale fog, closing off the world around her and hiding the jagged line of the distant Cliffs.
They were the most prominent and storied feature of the Tempest Barrens. The Cragrack Cliffs formed a hundred-mile-long rift, crossing the Barrens in a jagged line and forming a nearly impossible obstruction. No one knew the origin of the Cliffs, except that they were not a natural phenomenon. It was as if a cosmic hammer had fallen onto the Barrens, breaking them in half and crushing one of those halves lower than the other, forming a ragged, impossible stair step hundreds of feet tall.
There were ways over it, Gabriella knew. Adventurers and wanderers had mapped switchback paths up the Cliffs, marking them however possible. The paths might be very difficult to find, and they would probably be extremely treacherous, but she knew that they must exist. Whole wizarding armies were known to have crossed the Cliffs. If the chortha riders of the previous day had indeed come from Merodach, then they had to have crossed the Cragrack Cliffs themselves along with their mounts. If she could find the route they had taken, perhaps she could go up the way they had come down.
It was a thin chance, she knew. She would confront that challenge when she reached it.
The more difficult challenge was still further ahead of her, and it was not a physical one. She needed to find Merodach and his forces in order to head them off even as they marched towards Camelot. She had no idea how she would locate them. If they were skirting the Barrens, as her father's army had done, then she would eventually have to veer west and meet them head on. But where? How far might they have traveled already? Not far, she assumed, because of their numbers and the weight of their armaments and supplies, but she knew that her guess was uninformed and vague at best.
Worse, what precisely would she do when she did find them? At this concern, however, her thoughts ceased, became a blur of red mist behind her eyes. That challenge would be confronted when the time came as well. She was certain of it. She only knew that she had to find the rogue army. Then destiny would have its way.
Gabriella was hungry. Her store of food was running very low; thus, she preserved what little she had left, trying not to think about it in her pack. Soon enough, however, cold began to overtake hunger as her chief concern. She hugged herself as she continued onwards, squinting against the gritty, blowing white.
The ground began to descend beneath her, dipping into a hidden depression. The wind lessened, broken by a scatter of surrounding boulders. Gabriella followed the slope of the ground until the grass became broken earth, hard and grey as ash. Warm air pressed gently up towards her, as if exhaled from a massive throat. As it did, it pushed away a raft of drifting snowflakes, revealing a low crevice, a secret cavern. Sharp boulders surrounded the entrance like teeth.
Gabriella had heard of this place, although (she admitted with a shiver) she had assumed it to be one of the myths. It was called the Troll's Maw. The legends were that a massive rock troll had been killed in battle and subsequently buried, leaving only its gaping stony mouth visible. True or not, the Troll's Maw was purported to actually lead to a chain of tunnels and caverns that webbed beneath the Tempest Barrens. These had been used by the magical armies of eons past, serving as hidden shelters, hideouts, even fortresses. There were stories of buried riches in the forgotten depths of the caverns, enchanted throne rooms, magical kings entombed with all of their treasure.
More importantly, Gabriella remembered, the more lucid myths claimed that the caverns formed safe highways beneath the wasted land of the Barrens, coming up on the other side of the Cragrack Cliffs.
She hovered near the entrance, feeling the warm air of the earth's bowels pushing out at her, melting the snowflakes even as they fell. It would certainly be a warmer route, but what if she could not find her way? The thought of becoming lost in the endless tunnels and caverns was deeply unsettling. She began to turn away, and then another thought struck her. What if the chortha riders had come via this route? What if there were not, in fact, paths up the Cragrack Cliffs? She might walk all the way to the base of the Cliffs only to have to turn back, hoping against hope to find the entrance of the Troll's Maw again.
And by then, it would surely be too late anyway.
Indecision froze her in place. Finally, cautiously, she approached the Troll's Maw again. The ashy ground sloped towards it, falling into darkness beneath the shelf of rock that formed the cavern's roof. She had no light. It would be hopeless to attempt such a passage without a torch or lantern.
But then, as she neared the cavern entrance and peered into its depths, she saw that it was not completely dark inside. A dull, milky glow emanated from deep within, teasing her eyes. Gabriella crept closer and then, after only a short pause, ducked beneath the roof of the cavern, moving carefully into its shadow.
The ground continued to slope away into the throat of the cave, becoming loose scree that slipped and scrabbled beneath her boots. The roof of the cavern rose as she descended, feeling her way blindly. The glow ahead of her was faint but unmistakable. It didn't seem to illuminate anything, but rather hung as a faint cloud in the air, slightly brighter at its base. Gabriella inched towards it. After a minute, her eyes adjusted to the gloom, and she saw that the glow was very near her now. It emanated from a long crack in the cavern floor. The crack itself glowed like a faint bolt of lightning, spreading off into the depths.
Gabriella followed the crack, careful not to step on it, fearing that she might fall through into some hidden chamber beneath. Eventually, as her eyes fully adjusted to the dimness, she could see her surroundings. She was in a narrow corridor, apparently worn naturally into the rock. The crack laced along the descending floor, forming a glowing beacon for many hundreds of feet. Finally, as Gabriella followed it into a wider, higher fissure, the crack opened completely. Stairs led down into the bluish glow, carved by hand but worn smooth with the centuries. Gabriella descended the steps carefully. The stone was wet and slick, shiny in the increasing light. Still, she could not see the source of the strange glow.
Finally, the stairs turned, emptying into a large subterranean chamber. Gabriella peered into the depths and gasped, nearly falling backwards onto the stairs.
The chamber was lit with unearthly lanterns, each one filled like a jar with a sort of cloudy, blue liquid, glowing like swamp fire. There were dozens of them, bolted along the walls and marching into dimness. These, however, were not what had surprised Gabriella. It was the ranks of shapes that stood in their faint glow, filling the space in perfect rows and columns.
It was an army, still as stone, their faces as calm and inscrutable as statues. Gabriella stared at them, her heart pounding, and slowly realised that this, in fact, was exactly what they were. She recovered herself and crept forwards, raising her right hand. Her shadow fell over the nearest of the soldiers, and she willed herself to touch it. It was stone, utterly dead and cold to the touch.
Gabriella exhaled, shuddering, and looked around at the others. Each statue was distinct, dressed in full (if ancient) battle armour and armed with carefully sculpte
d swords, bows, axes, and daggers. Some wore high helmets on their brows. Others bore shields nearly as tall as themselves. Morbidly curious, Gabriella began to walk through them, threading carefully between their ranks. Eerily, some of the statues had been overtaken by growths of stalagmites, their smooth cones reaching up towards the cavern ceiling, stretching to reach their dripping counterparts above. Further in, some of the statues had fallen over like dominoes, perhaps toppled by a long-ago earthquake. Some of the fallen figures were still intact, lying awkwardly on their faces. More, however, had broken and even shattered. Arms, legs, and heads lay scattered like broken toys. Gabriella shivered at the sight and hurried onwards.
She was deep amongst the statue army now and realised that she was unsure from which direction she had come. She fought a panicked urge to try to retrace her steps. Instead, she approached the nearest of the cavern walls, heading towards one of the strange lanterns. She looked up at it and saw that it was indeed rather like a glass jar, although quite thick and as round as a pumpkin. It was embraced in a brass frame, which itself was hung on an iron hook bolted directly into the cavern wall. Below it, lying in the shadows where it had apparently fallen, was an iron pole with a hooked loop on its end. Gabriella understood its purpose immediately and breathed a shallow sigh of relief. Retrieving the pole, she used it to reach upwards, hooking the lantern from its place and lowering it.
The globe of glass was small and relatively light, stoppered with a ceramic plug. The liquid inside was thick as syrup, shimmering with blue light that intensified as it moved. She shook the globe gently, and the light bloomed, cold but bright, casting her shadow up onto the stone wall. She left the globe hanging on the pole's hook and simply leant the pole against her shoulder. The lamp bobbed, casting its light all around her.
She had a lantern now. She could move onwards.
A sudden breath of air pushed past her, sighing harshly. It lifted her hair, swirled around her, and then coursed off into the ranks of stone statues. Gabriella sucked in a breath and spun on her heels, crouching instinctively.
Silence pressed upon her ears again, punctuated only by the distant drips of the stalactites. She waited, her eyes bulging at the dimness. Nothing moved.
Cautiously, still looking about her, she began to move. She followed the line of the cavern wall, hoping it would lead her into the tunnels and eventually to her passage beyond the Cragrack Cliffs. Gradually, she picked up her pace, passing rank after rank of the statue army.
Behind her, a stir of whispers arose, and then a low howl. It rushed through the soldiers, seeming to come from many directions at once, approaching.
Gabriella spun around, her eyes going wide and her free hand dropping to her sword. Even in the midst of her fear, she reminded herself not to drop the glass lantern, not to shatter it and spill its mysterious contents.
The rushing howl increased, splitting into several sources and snaking through the statue army. Gabriella cast around, looking, but could see nothing. Her heart pounded now, pulsing in the corners of her vision.
Suddenly, there was movement between the ranks of statues. A ribbon of dust lifted into the air and rushed towards her, swirling through the petrified soldiers. As it came, it emitted a low, harsh roar.
Gabriella turned, gripped the lantern pole with both hands, and ran. She dashed along the wall, her feet slipping on the loose shale, and bumped one of the stone soldiers with her elbow. The statue began to totter, but Gabriella did not look back to watch. There was a loud clack of stone on stone as the statue keeled over, knocking its closest counterpart. More cracks rang into the air as a chain reaction ensued. The howling tendrils of wind seemed to grow enraged by this. Their voices rose to furious shrieks, and their numbers seemed to increase, even into the hundreds, all swirling closer to her.
The tottering statues caught up to Gabriella as she ran. She sensed the movement of them next to her as they keeled over, breaking against their mates. Heads cracked off and rolled into the aisle before her. A cacophony of crashes filled the air, competing with the screams of her hidden pursuers.
Then, horribly, a rank of the stone soldiers leant ponderously across the aisle ahead of her, almost as if they had come alive. Their calm faces leered at her as they toppled over, striking the cavern wall and shattering. Her path was suddenly blocked, filled with crumbling statues and choked with dust.
Gabriella turned, dropping the lantern pole and grabbing for her sword. The lantern globe struck the ground and shattered, sending up a burst of blinding, blue light and then falling dark. Gabriella boggled in the sudden dimness. Shadows loomed over her, faint in the light of the distant lanterns. The howling winds surrounded her now, collapsing upon her, becoming visible as snakes of dust and grit. They had faces, each one a mask of gaping rage. Gabriella raised her sword to them, knowing it was useless, ridiculous.
A burst of air suddenly swarmed over her shoulder, beaten by a fury of wings. There was a screech, a flurry of motion, and Gabriella realised that the dark shape was a bird flapping wildly against the howling tendrils and forcing them back. It screeched again, switching its tail feathers in the air like a rudder. The snaking winds recoiled slightly from the bird, pushed by its wings, but did not retreat. They strained closer, their incessant howls merging into a ululating roar.
"Fall back!" a voice called out, so loudly and suddenly that Gabriella cringed in terror. It was a woman's voice, clear and strong in the rushing dark. "Fall back, armies of Orudhor! This is not your enemy! Your day of vengeance still awaits! Fall back now and return to your slumber!"
A burst of pristine, white light exploded before Gabriella. Before it, the swirling tendrils shrank away, diminished and fading. The light remained, glimmering, and Gabriella saw that it came from the end of a wand. The wand was held in a woman's hand, but she herself was not visible through the light.
Gabriella collapsed to her knees, still gripping her sword, weak with relief and confusion. The bird landed before her, and she saw that it was a falcon, the very same one that had visited her early that morning and chased her out of the cursed stone clearing. It cocked its head at her, showing her one gold-ringed eye, seeming pleased with itself.
The white light finally faded but did not completely vanish. It moved now, lowering, revealing a tall woman with red braids framing a pale, narrow face. She was dressed in robes the colour of sunflowers with a black cloak pulled over her shoulders.
"That," she said gravely, inclining her head to meet Gabriella's eyes, "was far too close for comfort."
Gabriella's voice came out as a hoarse rasp. "What was that?" she asked breathlessly. "Who are you?"
"Alas, the spectral army of Orudhor," the woman replied, glancing back out over the ranks of stone soldiers, "They are cursed to remain with their frozen bodies until their time of reckoning. They were once quite noble, before being turned to stone by a certain mercenary sorcerer. Now, being dead, they are no longer… exactly sane."
Gabriella looked around at the frozen army, many of them now toppled and broken. Stone dust still arose from the shattered ranks. She chilled with the realisation that these were not in fact statues, but petrified men, lost to the ages. She gulped thickly.
"And to answer your other question," the woman answered, switching her wand to her other hand and reaching to help Gabriella to her feet, "we are Featherbolt and Helena. I presume you can guess who is who."
The woman, Helena, led Gabriella out of the chamber of the frozen army, following a jagged rift that descended even deeper into the earth. Featherbolt flew ahead, occasionally circling back and landing on the woman's shoulder. Shortly, another cavern opened before them, lit with a strangely glowing subterranean river.
"It is I," Helena called out, her voice echoing into the depths of the chamber. "And I bring a guest."
A point of light arose in the dim distance, and Gabriella saw that it was another wand, held upright in the fist of a tall man.
"That is good news," the figure called back.
"Featherbolt found his quarry then, I assume."
"It would appear yes," Helena answered, glancing aside at Gabriella. At the mention of his name, Featherbolt launched from the woman's shoulder and spiraled up into the murky heights of the cavern. Clusters of brown shapes hung there, chittering faintly.
Helena watched after the bird and shook her head. "He fancies himself kindred with the bats," she commented. "Why he should wish to consort with winged rodents, I cannot guess, but it does occasionally serve a purpose."
The man approached, lowering his wand as he came. To Gabriella, he looked like a taller, less fussy version of the late High Constable Ulric. His red goatee made a neat point on his chin below a rugged face and rather severe eyes. He was dressed similarly to the woman, although his robes were mostly deep crimson, offset with a fur-lined cape. He smiled a bit grimly as he reached the two women.
"This is an unexpected meeting," he said, turning to Gabriella. "You may call me Goodrik. You have already met my traveling companions, I see. Would you be so kind as to join us in a palaver? We do not often meet human travelers this deep in the Tempest Barrens. And you, for reasons as yet unknown, have attracted the rather insistent attention of our falcon friend."
Gabriella agreed to this, feeling that she owed as much to her benefactors in spite of knowing nearly nothing about them. The three approached the shore of the subterranean river, and Gabriella saw that its glow came from thousands of tiny, incandescent fish that swam in its depths, remaining nearly motionless against the swift current.
The man, Goodrik, produced his wand and pointed it at an arbitrary spot on the rocky cavern floor. He spoke a short phrase, and a burst of fire appeared on the rocks, burning merrily on nothing. Turning slightly, he flicked his wand three more times, and then, after a short consideration, a fourth. Three small but ornate chairs appeared around the fire, carved of wood and looking appropriately rustic. The fourth flick produced a camp table with a tidy silver serving tray upon it.