Chapter 3 - The Cliffs of Lharsil
Dawn came to the camp, bringing with it a tempered sense of excitement and hope amongst the Wind Riders, both of which had been in short supply the last three weeks. Iago waited anxiously near the south end of the valley, just outside the farthest row of tents with the three men he’d selected to join him. They were all members of his Lander squad, and most importantly for a mission like this, they were all men he could trust. Those who knew the underworld of Tyr had a common saying, ‘The best place to sheathe your dagger is in the back of the man in front of you.’ Unfortunately, after nearly a decade of navigating the back rooms and shady dealings common in that city, Iago could vouch quite well for the validity of that saying.
The youngest of the three Landers, Halgren, called Hal by everyone else, was a former slave rescued by the Wind Riders. Hal wasn't terribly bright, but his hefty build and his eager, rambunctious attitude made him a valuable man in a fight. He stood slightly shorter than the others, with a square face and long, brown hair, and the edges of his mouth seemed to naturally curl up, making him appear to always be smiling. Saalis, another Lander from Iago's crew, waited next to Hal, his steady expression unreadable, as usual. He was roughly Iago’s age, and a jack of all trades, spending his free time as a cook, or helping out the physicians in camp. He carried the marks of a former slave all over his arms and back, though, mostly burns and brands, typically given out as punishment in Anzarin cities. He kept his brown hair so short that it spiked more than hung, and his world-weary brown eyes stared at the ground in front of him.
Jonir was Iago’s favorite, though. A few years his junior, Jonir shared a similar background to Iago, working as a guardsman in Tyr. He’d abandoned that life to join the Wind Riders during a raid some years back, and after being assigned to Iago’s group shortly after his own arrival, Iago had found in Jonir the kind of determination and intelligence that he needed in a second in command. So Jonir became his Lander-Sergeant after only a few raids together and Iago never once regretted that decision. Jonir was Iago’s height, but slightly more fit and several years younger. He wore his dark brown hair just long enough to tie at the back of his neck, and his handsome face and easy smile made him one of the most personable people in camp.
The Landers and their Captain all wore various light tunics and pants for the daytime weather, with heavy cloaks for the brisk night winds. Iago had been the first to show up, since he slept so poorly these days that he’d already been awake for some time. The rest had gathered here minutes ago, double checking their supplies and equipment, and chatting with the small group of well-wishers who'd arrived to see them off. Most of them were women who had prepared food or stitched clothes or other items for the group. One of them, a light haired, pretty girl from Otaro named Essa, stayed close to Jonir. Iago hadn’t known the exact nature of their relationship, but he didn’t have to wonder anymore when he saw them together this morning. She’d baked some breads and pastries for Jonir to take with him on the trip, and was quite obvious with her infatuation, even if Jonir seemed embarrassed by it in public.
Galen approached several minutes later, wearing his regular tan clothing and the blue cloak Pilots received upon completion of their training. He hadn’t finished his but Avina presented him with one anyway because of his seat on the Council. A tall, gangly young man followed behind him, with thick, black hair, and wearing similar clothing except for a dark brown cloak. This was Margis, Galen’s Second, a quiet kid, not known for socializing much. In fact, he spent most of his time with the other Pilots, probably training or whatever it was Pilots did when they were out of sight. Both of them looked like children wearing grown up clothes to Iago. They seemed nervous and uncomfortable, out of place amongst the adults. That wasn't fair to them, of course, but Iago needed them to be ready for this journey, and capable of dealing with whatever difficulties might come. At some point along the way, their lives may depend on one of these two making sound, experienced decisions, and he wasn’t sure either could do that yet. He hoped they would prove him wrong.
Avina and Arigin arrived last. Avina chatted briefly with everyone, giving words of encouragement while Arigin just stood at the edge of the gathering, fidgeting with his hands and glaring at everyone. After speaking with Galen, Avina motioned Iago off to the side, away from the others.
“I must ask you," she leaned in close and lowered her voice, "do you think Galen will have any problems in the city?”
Iago shook his head. “I believe your faith in him is well-founded, Pilot. I think he will do fine.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t mean in his duties. I’m sure he can handle that. I worry that he’s Assarin. I haven’t been to the cities since the problems in the West so I don’t know how he may be treated.”
Now Iago understood her concern. Tensions between Assarins and Anzarins in the west were high, and those tensions had started to spread east to the larger Anzarin cities like Tyr, Elbasa and Otaro. Iago had been in Tyr when word reached them about the fall of the Anzarin cities near the Trin Lake, but despite some initial anger at the conquering Assarins, no one in the city seemed to care about it after a while. Anzarins from the steppes and those from the Trin never really considered each other as more than distant cousins at best, and besides, the Assarins seemed content with their new lands and showed no sign of expanding, so most eastern Anzarins left the matter alone. Refugees from the conquered cities, however, would not be so forgiving.
Iago glanced over at Galen, who was busy adjusting his Mergoran Chain for the tenth time this morning, a string necklace that Pilots wore around their neck, under their clothes. The Chain had Mergoran crystals tied up all around it, so Pilots who wore one always had crystals touching their skin, and thus, ready to use.
“I don't think it will be a problem, Pilot. Anzarins in the steppes aren't too concerned about anything that happens outside their walls. He may get some stares, but no one will bother him.”
Avina smiled. “Good. That is good to hear. Now be careful with this group, Iago. I am trusting you to keep them safe.” Iago nodded. He was sure he could do the job, but it was hearing that word again, and it made him uncomfortable. “You’re our best Lander Captain, Iago, you always have been. I know Idaris thought highly of you, and rightly so. I know you can do this.”
“Thank you, Pilot,” Iago said, wondering once again how much Idaris had told her about him. “I won't let you down.”
Avina moved to the center of the gathering and cleared her throat, garnering the attention of everyone present. “Bid these men good luck, fellow Riders. They embark this morning on a dangerous trek to save the future of our people and our mission. With our blessings they will succeed and return to us with what we need to continue on our fight against the Clerics and their wickedness.”
Iago saw the hope and the worry in the faces of the Wind Riders gathered around him. They had suffered greatly over the last several weeks, losing scores of friends or relatives to the destruction caused by the Tyran attack, and those who weren’t dead were either captured or scattered throughout the mountains by now. He knew this group carried a heavy burden on its shoulders and the next two weeks would either save the Wind Riders, or hasten the death knell for these wonderful people. He was surprised to realize that even with all that, he felt calm this morning, almost confident. It felt good to have a mission in front of him he knew he could handle. And he would. No matter what.
“Galen. Iago. We put our faith in you to lead these men.” Iago bowed his head. He saw Galen do the same. Avina stepped forward and stood in front of the two men, putting her hands on Galen’s right shoulder and Iago’s left. “Go now. Our fate rests with you all.”
Iago nodded and he, Galen, Margis, Jonir, Saalis and Hal filed out of the camp to a chorus of waves and well-wishes, heading westward and out of the narrow valley.
Toward the city of their enemies.
* * * * *
The weather that first day proved to be remarkably pleasant. The cloudy sky blocked the normally oppressive sun, and cool winds blew in from the south, just enough to keep the air from getting stagnant, but too weak to kick up the dirt. Heavy rain rarely came this far north into the mountains, or even the steppes, but some in the party mentioned that every so often they felt drops of water, which meant a powerful storm might be hitting the south end of the mountain range, near the old Kingdom of Tehvol. But it was calm here. Calm, quiet and peaceful. Hal remarked on this as they traveled through the morning, proclaiming it as a good omen for the rest of the trip. Hal was especially superstitious, and took any sign of good or bad fortune very seriously, no matter how often the others ribbed him for it.
As midday faded into afternoon, the party finally made it to the banks of the Mirken River, just north of the Falls of Fenuhl, the great waterfall on the north side of the mountain Gahardarac, that most considered the starting point of the river. The Falls began within the mountain, in a cavern also called Gahardarac, though no one knew if the cavern had been named for the mountain or the other way around. The cavern was a large, still mostly unexplored, gathering spot for the rainwater that always fell on the top of the southern Lore Mountains, and rumors persisted that a large lake could be found deep inside, and that the Happarans, who lived in the nearby mountains, used it for their water and mills, rather than coming down to the river.
They stopped briefly at the riverbank, taking a quick rest to load up their water bags and admire the huge waterfall in the distance. They were in the valley between Gahardarac to their south, and the mountain known as Lharsil to their north. The river ran right up to Lharsil, then cut west around the base of the mountain and continued north on through the foothills, out into the Halaraan Steppes. The plan of travel, as announced by Iago, was to move northeast, away from the river and any travelers who may be near it, hit the base of Lharsil the next day, then move back west towards the river. The river actually cut through a portion of the mountain, creating a deep canyon with several-hundred-foot high cliffs. This canyon, known as the Cliffs of Lharsil, was generally avoided because parts of the pathway along the Cliffs were dangerously narrow. Most travelers went farther west, or they stayed low, moving through the base of the canyon, even though the footing there was suspect. Even so, traveling through the canyon floor was much safer than moving up top, where a strong wind or a clumsy slip could send you falling to your death.
No one took the news that they’d be taking the high road through Lharsil very well, but they understood the necessity. They had to avoid anyone who might be near the river. Few travelers ventured this deep into the mountains, and anyone who did was most likely a tracker or a bounty hunter, searching for runaway slaves or criminals, or even the Wind Riders themselves. They could not afford to be seen until they were well into the foothills, which would take about four or five more days. They could have gone east around Lharsil, but they didn't have the time or the supplies to travel that far out of the way. They needed speed, and they needed stealth. No one in the group had been told this would be an easy mission.
After resting, they moved north to a shallow, narrow section of the river, which they crossed using a natural ‘bridge’ of large, flattened rocks laid into the river floor. The water flowed easily around each rock, and still allowed a person to step from rock to rock and make it across relatively dry. Iago didn’t know but he suspected the Happarans were responsible for that bridge. They were well known for their stone craft and he had seen many other ‘natural’ formations that seemed unusually practical in these mountains.
They spent the rest of the day moving through the shallow valleys away from the river and down to the southern end of the mountain. A stretch of green surrounded each side of the river for a few hundred yards in both directions, full of grass, shrubbery and trees. Past that, though, the soil became dry and brittle, and the ground turned back into shades of brown and orange. The trip wasn’t too arduous but they spent a lot of their time working their way up and down the small, rugged, sun-scorched foothills that littered this part of the Lore Mountains. The Landers handled it well enough but Galen and Margis were usually the two furthest behind. They weren’t ready for the rigorous path Iago chose, and it showed. Iago decided they should stop soon. He didn’t need two irritable, sore-footed Pilots on his heels for the next few weeks.
They set up camp a little before nightfall and gathered around a fire, made with the help of Galen’s limited Fire Magic skills, cooking and eating a couple rabbits that Saalis and Hal had nabbed while still near the river. Galen took only a few bites before pulling out a small box. He opened it and set the contents out in front of him, two small bottles of dark ink, some bandages and cloths, and a couple small blades. He pulled up his left shirt sleeve and began heating the blades in the fire.
“What’s all that, Pilot?” asked Hal.
“My dyes and blades. I use them to do Recordings.”
“You mean the tattoos?”
Galen nodded. “This is how we keep our history alive. We make these markings on our bodies to remember important events. Except the one here,” Galen pointed to the elaborate marking that surrounded his left eye, “that one identifies our clan.”
“Corovin, right?” said Jonir.
Galen smiled. “You’ve been paying attention.”
Saalis perked up. “What do the other ones mean?”
Galen set the blades down. “Not all of them would mean much to anyone else.” He lifted up his shirt to show a large array of symbols drawn over his chest. “These represent the family members lost before Gelanir and I were found. Each one was a cousin, or uncle and aunt, or parent, or brother.” Galen pointed to the different types of symbols as he talked. Everyone could see that there were a lot of them on his chest, almost two dozen from a quick count. It was a disturbing reminder of what Galen had lost in his short life. Galen put his shirt down and opened one of the dye bottles, then grabbed a blade.
“Is that your language? Those symbols there?” said Jonir.
“It’s the old Assarin language, from more generations ago than I can count. But we learn it while we’re young so we can use it to do our Recordings. That way we keep our history, and the language alive. We don’t tell stories like Anzarins do, we keep our past alive like this.” Galen motioned with the dye bottle.
“What are you recording now?” asked Jonir.
“The attack. We lost a lot of friends there and I hope to keep their memories alive this way.”
The others nodded while Iago grabbed a piece of meat to distract himself from the sickness rising in his stomach.
“So what is Tyr like?” Margis, who was by far the least talkative person of the group, asked. He’d spent the evening sitting next to the fire with a bundle of papers, glancing through them distractedly.
“It’s no place for any sane person to be,” Hal said, chewing on a piece of rabbit meat. “I was never a free man there, but all I saw was evil men doing evil things.”
“That sounds about right,” Jonir added.
Saalis chuckled. “Parts of it aren’t so bad. I was there a few months once, I forget where though, ‘cause it’s so big.”
Iago put down his food and grabbed some water. “Tyr has five districts. A couple of them aren’t real safe places if you don’t know people. Of course, one of those is where we’ll be going. Avis.”
Jonir nodded in agreement. “The Avis district is the worst, but outside that there are some genuine people there. If you know where to look.”
“Where are you from, Margis? Otaro?” asked Iago, picking up his food again.
“Aye, Captain. My whole life.”
“I lived in Otaro for a long while, too,” Saalis said. “I was a guard, and then I was a slave. But you were probably still running down the streets as a kid when I was there.”
Margis smiled. “Probably.”
“What about you, Cap’n? You’re from Elbasa, right?” said Hal.
Iago nodded, working on a piece of meat.
“You was a guard there, weren’t ya?”
Jonir chimed in. “He was a Cleric’s Guardsman.”
Iago nodded again, still chewing.
“That’s a good job, Cap’n! Those are the ones that make the good money and stay in the big houses with the Clerics. Why’d you leave that one?”
Iago shrugged. “It wasn’t the right place for me.”
“You got any family there? In Elbasa?” asked Saalis.
Iago hesitated briefly. “No.” He chewed on the meat for a moment before answering more fully. “I was an orphan by the time I was eight, but I was on my own even before then.”
Galen continued his markings. “Most of us have lost a lot of family. I think if we hadn’t we wouldn’t be here, with the Wind Riders.” Hal, Jonir and Margis nodded. Iago put down his food. The stomach pains were hurting bad, now.
* * * * *
The second day of traveling was similarly uneventful. They spent most of it moving from the northern base of Gahardarac to the southern base of Lharsil, walking along rocky paths and pulling pebbles out of their boots every few hours, muttering loudly about how the pebbles made it into the boots in the first place. They made a quick stop at midday to rest and eat lightly, but were on their feet again before swallowing their last bites.
The only excitement of the day came around mid-afternoon, when they spotted a lone traveler heading south. From a distance he seemed to be Anzarin, and he carried a small pack, with a dog and a leashed goat following behind. His path took him some ways west of the group but Jonir wondered aloud if they should give him an even wider berth.
“I don’t think he’s a tracker, or any such sort. I think he’s running from them,” said Iago.
“Why’s that?” asked Galen.
“I would guess the goat, the dog and whatever’s in his pack are everything he owns, or everything he could walk away with. He’s probably in trouble with guards, or he owes too much money so he’s running to avoid slavery. He probably thinks he’s safer on the south side of the Lore hiding from those Horsemen, than the north.”
“That’s foolish,” Galen said.
Iago shrugged. “I’ve lived in those cities. I would rather chance the unknown than stay and be a slave myself.”
“Aye,” Saalis said. “I’ll take my chances with those White Horsemen than go back to slavery any day.”
“Either way, he’s probably more worried about us being trackers.” Iago watched the man as he got closer and took his path wide west of the group. Hal waved his arm in greeting as the stranger passed by, but he did not return it. The dog stopped to watch them warily a few times, and threw in several barks for good measure, but stayed close to his master.
After the man receded into the distance behind them, a realization struck Iago and he stopped.
“Your cloak,” he said, looking at Galen
“My cloak?” Galen seemed puzzled.
“Your cloak is what all the Pilots wear. You can’t wear that anymore. Anyone looking for Wind Riders out here might recognize it.”
Galen froze for a moment, then shook his head guiltily. He pulled off his cloak. “I’ll need to wear something, though. The nights are cold out here.”
Iago let his mind work, cursing himself for not thinking of this earlier. What good was he as their guide if he let something as obvious as this trip them up? “You can wear it at nights, that won’t be a problem. Once we get through the foothills though, you need to put it in your pack and keep it there until we get back to camp.”
Galen nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry for not realizing that before we left.”
“No, it’s my fault. But be glad we thought of it now, before we got any closer. Remember, no one should be wearing anything that would give away what we are, just to be safe.”
The rest of the day passed quietly, with no sign of travelers. The sun’s heat bore down on them in the afternoon but Iago told them they were ahead of the pace he expected, so they stopped to rest as needed. Iago loved this part of the journey. He enjoyed wandering the paths and trails of the Lore Mountains. He hated the cities, especially Tyr. Too many people packed together, each with their stories of desperation. The misery on the faces of the poor, or the refugees, most of them just trying to survive. Children with no food to eat. Beggars sleeping on the roads at night. The Clerics hoarding their money and power, believing kindness to be a sign of weakness. It was more than he could take sometimes.
But the mountains were different. Here, there were no guards to imprison the innocent. No Clerics flaying the skin of their servants. Just silence. Silence and space. He always enjoyed the Lore Mountains. He considered them much more beautiful than the Rhokan, which were closer to Elbasa. He wanted to scale one of these mountains someday, so he could look down on the world from a vantage point where no one could look back. He enjoyed solitude and he could think of nothing better than to be so far out of reach of the trials of life and men that he could just watch the clouds pass by at arm’s length. He wondered what that would be like, if it would be as joyous as he imagined it. He looked up at the top of Gahardarac as they moved farther and farther away from its majestic peak.
One day he would find out.
* * * * *
The third day of their journey took them around the base of Lharsil. Galen, weary but confident up to this point, tried to remember what he could about the route. They would spend half the day working their way around the mountain back towards the river, and the other half working their way up to the Cliffs. Iago had warned them the night before that the winds up there would be considerably stronger than in the valleys, and parts of the path would be narrow enough that they could easily fall off to their death. That news had given them some anxious jitters that still hadn't gone away.
The journey around the base was similar to their first afternoon of travel, near Gahardarac. They moved up and down rocky trails, taking rougher, less-traveled paths. Again, they made frequent stops to remove rocks from their boots. Hal complained the most out of the group, exclaiming that he might as well walk barefoot since it would probably be more comfortable. They neared the river by midday and stopped to rest briefly. Everyone refilled their water bags and canteens and ate a quick lunch of dried meats. Iago cautioned them to eat sparingly, since they would not be able to catch their dinner tonight, which caused a groan from the Landers. Galen took a moment to readjust his chain. The three days of hiking caused a few of the crystals to come loose from their knots a bit, and he needed to make sure he didn’t lose any. They were increasingly valuable now until they found purifiers for the raw crystals they had stockpiled.
Just before moving out again, Iago stood before everyone with a stern face. “We’ll reach the Cliffs this afternoon, but we won’t get to the most dangerous paths until late tonight. I have never traveled this route so I don’t know what dangers we'll face, but I do know the path is clear enough to get through because it’s been done before. It’s narrow in some parts and the winds are high so we need to be careful. I don’t know where a safe camp spot is either, so we’ll just have to take the first one we find. Tomorrow will be easier but I suggest we move as long as we can tonight until we get to safety.”
“Do we have to come back the same way?” said Jonir.
“No. I think we’ll be taking the fastest route back instead of the deadliest one.”
“Good. I’ve heard enough about the Cliffs that I’m not looking forward to this.”
“I’ve heard there are ghosts up there,” Hal said in a concerned voice.
Saalis smiled. Jonir shook his head and said, “There are no ghosts. That’s a children’s tale.”
“Don’t be so sure. I’ve heard about them Cliffs, too. People aren’t so stupid, they don’t just go up there and fall off ‘cause the wind. The ghosts up there scare them off.”
“Well, no ghost is scaring me off,” Jonir said.
“We have two Pilots with us, Hal. Their Magic will keep ghosts away.” Galen was sure Iago stifled a smile as he said that.
The group resumed their trek - the other Landers still reassuring Hal that they would get through the Cliffs unscathed - trudging forward as the path sloped steadily upward. The wind picked up as they moved higher, and it seemed to get colder, too. Galen had his cloak on again, and he pulled it tight around him as they moved up the rocky trail. The grass, sparse throughout the mountains, turned from green to brown, only showing itself in clumps under and around the rocks or popping through crevices.
The day dragged on unmercifully as they hiked along the rock-strewn path, moving higher up the mountainside, and farther west toward the river. The longer they walked without any noticeable change in the scenery, though, the more Galen wondered if they were behind schedule. They should be near the Cliffs by now but since he had no idea what the Cliffs were, or what they even looked like, he kept quiet, hoping they would present themselves in an obvious fashion.
Just as he began to wonder whether Iago had led them completely astray, the group approached a high cliff face that curved around to the left, facing the direction the river would be. It seemed to go up as high as he could see, falling farther and farther back at points, creating rows of ledges above. The path led them right up beside the cliff face and followed it around, keeping in sight of the river. Galen wondered if these were the Cliffs of Lharsil. If so, he was extremely unimpressed.
He quickly changed his mind once they came around the next bend. The path ahead narrowed to about ten feet wide, and nestled against the sheer cliff face to their right. The other side dropped straight down about three or four hundred feet, right to the Mirken River below. Galen’s eyes bulged, and his stomach turned. He backed away from the edge, worried that he might faint, and he stared at the magnificent canyon ahead, which stretched on as far as he could see. The sheer rock face on each side made it seem as if one of the Basarah had taken a giant axe and cleaved the mountain in two. These were the Cliffs of Lharsil, the same cliffs that inspired countless stories and legends. Now he could see why.
“That’s incredible,” Jonir said, shouting over the heavy wind that suddenly buffeted them, whipping their cloaks around wildly. Galen bowed his head and pushed himself through it, pressing on with the rest of the group as they continued down the path.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Galen said, also raising his voice.
“It’s amazing!” exclaimed Saalis, which made Galen smile. It may be terrifying, but it was also a sight he would never forget.
"Why haven't we ever flown out here before?" Jonir asked.
"The winds, I'm guessing," Galen answered. "It would be incredibly dangerous to bring a Karawan out here. If you don't have an exceptional Pilot, you'd get smashed into the sides."
Jonir winced. "Good point."
The ledge continued to get smaller as they traveled, while the wind picked up in intensity. Galen looked around for a spot that would be suitable to camp in, but he couldn’t see one anywhere. The ledge wasn’t too narrow to lay down, but he had no desire to sleep right next to the edge of a cliff, and besides that, the wind would make it impossible to rest. It was getting late in the day, though, and he began to wonder just how much farther they needed to go to reach a spot he’d feel safe enough to camp in.
They moved along the ledge for a short time, less than an hour, when it started getting smaller. Much smaller. It shrunk in size from roughly ten feet wide to maybe half that. They could still walk it as long as they were careful, and they did for a while, until it lost another foot or two. With the high winds here and the ledge becoming increasingly narrow, Galen began to see how easy it was for people to fall off to their death. He wondered if Iago had the same thought, because Lander-Captain stopped and held up his hand.
“Saalis, I need that rope you have!” he called out. Saalis opened his pack, pulled out a coiled up length of rope, and handed it to Iago, who unfurled it, and tied a large loops at either end. He put one of the loops around his waist, and tossed the other end to Hal, who brought up the rear.
“Put that around you!” he called out. Hal nodded and put the other loop around his waist. Iago leaned in between everyone. “You four, grab the rope and hold on as we make our way across. It’s narrow at parts and the wind might be strong enough to carry you right over the edge. If you hold on to the rope, and one of you falls, the other five can carry the weight so you don’t fall to your death. But you have to hold the rope tight!” Iago squeezed the rope in his hands in demonstration.
Everyone nodded and moved in between Iago and Hal, grabbing a part of the rope. Galen twisted some of the rope around his wrist then got a death grip on it. He had been around Landers and their training enough to know that the way he held the rope would snap his wrist if someone next to him fell, but at the moment he didn’t feel safe without doing it, irrational as it was. He wanted that rope to hold him just as much as he held it.
They moved slowly, deliberating every step and footfall. Sometimes the ledge widened enough to feel safe again, but just as Galen thought