There was a collective sigh of hope from the companions. They had lasted the night.
Paedrin stood beneath the open hole and inhaled deeply, floating effortlessly up to the opening and emerging from it. The signs of death were all about. Preachán bodies littered the debris field. But there was still some rope and he used it to pull the others out, using the floating stone for leverage and letting his bad arm rest.
One by one they emerged, dusty and pallid. Hettie began to crisscross the area, searching the ground for corpses and for signs.
“It was big,” she muttered, pausing at the distinguishing tracks it left. Paedrin noticed the claw marks and quickly averted his eyes.
“What are you looking for?” he asked her. But as he asked the question, he already knew. They all knew the answer.
That they would not find Kiranrao’s body amidst the corpses.
“There is much to be said about the Cruithne as a race. They are great experimenters. They study causes and effects. They are tall, in general, and robust, having great physical strength. Having spent thousands of years living among the volcanoes of Alkire, they are adept at trapping fumes and vapors, at learning which smells harbor danger and which can be curative. They have mastered the arts of the forge, creating new metals in their vast underground caves fed by living fires of blackrock. They excavate gemstones from the rock and shape them intricately. It is claimed that Cruithne have soot-colored skin because they dwell in a place full of smoke and ash. The pigment of one’s skin has little to do with chimney smoke. It is said that their race originated in the great deserts beyond the mountains. That seems a more logical explanation of their pigmentation. Some even accuse the Cruithne of slowness due to their great size, but that is a common misperception. Cruithne are large and quick, giving them ample force against smaller men like the Preachán. They learned long ago that to survive the Plague, it would be wise to settle amidst the highest mountains, thus making it difficult for traders to reach them. Some in Havenrook believe that it was their meddling in the earth’s depths that caused the Plague. A fool’s rumor.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The blade from Drosta’s lair was a living thing. Annon had heard its whispers and felt the growing intensity of its compulsion to kill. It took every bit of self-control he mustered not to draw it again from its sheath. It would drive him mad. It would drive anyone mad eventually, but a Druidecht would be the most resilient. As they hiked down from the Alkire, he finally resorted to untying the talisman from around his neck. Only then did the whispers cease.
At darkfall he found himself staring into the flames of the fire, his body aching and sore from the strenuous hike through the downward maze of iron-hard rocks and evergreen. Hettie was slumped next to him, a makeshift bandage around her head. Boulders surrounded them, offering shelter from the wind. Paedrin’s arm was bound tightly against his body, and he paced amidst the camp, staring at each of them in turn and searching the falling darkness for signs of Kiranrao or other pursuers. His staff was broken, but he held a fragment of it like a cudgel. Erasmus shook his head, his eyes bleary from lack of sleep.
Annon looked up, his mind a jumble of thoughts and ideas. “We are in danger in these mountains. One of us will need to be on watch all night long. The Fear Liath will start hunting us now that it is dark.”
“Wonderful,” Paedrin said, swishing the staff fragment violently. “We should keep walking and get free of the mountains tonight.”
“Too dark and too far,” Erasmus said. “Even you know that, sheep-brains. It took us several days just to climb in. Climbing out won’t be any easier. The chances of our success are still abysmally low, unless it rains in the next day. And storms usually do not occur in these mountains this time of year.”
“Do you think Kiranrao was lying?” Hettie said softly.
“About which part?” Paedrin said with a snort. “I don’t hold much confidence in anything he told us.”
“He has ways of knowing things,” Hettie replied, bristling. “He has access…” She stopped, suddenly quiet.
“You don’t understand,” Paedrin said. “No doubt he is crafty. He would make a spider seem friendly. We cannot trust what he said because his intent was to misinform us and influence us into behaving irrationally.”
“And you can judge his intent?” Erasmus said mockingly.
Paedrin chuckled to himself. “Are any of you familiar with the principles of the Uddhava?”
Annon stared at him blankly. “Is it a Vaettir word?”
“A Vaettir word but a Bhikhu philosophy.”