Silverthorn (Riftware Sage Book 2)

 

The moredhel watched the trail below, well lit by large and middle moons, as little moon rose. He perched atop an outcropping of rock, nestled behind a boulder. He was positioned so he would be unobserved by any coming up the trail.

 

Martin and Galain took aim at the moredhel’s back as Jimmy slipped behind the rocks. They would try to win past without being seen, but if the moredhel twitched in the wrong direction, Martin and Galain meant to see him dead before he could speak. Jimmy had gone first, as he was judged the least likely to make noise. Next came Baru, and the hillman moved through the rocks with the practiced ease of one mountain-born. Laurie and Roald moved very slowly, and Martin wondered if he could hold his target for the week it was taking them to pass. Then at last Arutha slipped past, the light breeze making enough noise to disguise the faint scuff of boot upon rock as he stepped down into a shallow depression. He scampered along until he joined with the others, out of sight of the sentry. Within seconds Martin, then Galain, followed, and the elf went past to again take point.

 

Baru signaled he would go after, and Arutha motioned agreement. In a moment Laurie and Roald followed. Just before he turned to follow, Jimmy put his face before Martin and Arutha’s and whispered, “When we get back, the first thing I’m going to do is scream my bloody head off.”

 

With a playful swat, Martin sent him along. Arutha looked at Martin and silently mouthed the words, “Me too.” Then the Prince was going down the wash. Martin took a last backwards glance, then followed.

 

 

 

 

 

Silently they lay in a depression near the road, a small ridge of rock hiding them from the passing moredhel horsemen. Reluctant even to breathe, they remained motionless as the riders seemed to pause in their slow passage. For a long, torturous moment, Arutha and his companions feared discovery. Just as every nerve seemed to scream for action, as every muscle demanded motion, the riders continued along their patrol. With a sigh of relief close to a sob, Arutha rolled over and discovered the trail empty. With a nod to Galain, Arutha ordered a resumption of the trek. The elf was off along the defile, and the others slowly rose and followed.

 

 

 

 

 

The night wind blew bitter along the face of the mountains. Arutha sat back against the rocks, looking where Martin pointed. Galain hugged the opposite wall of the crevice they crouched in. They had taken a rise over a crest to the east of the trail, seeming to take them away from their destination, but a necessary detour to avoid increasing moredhel activity. Now they looked down upon a broad canyon, in the middle of which a high plateau rose upward. In the center of the plateau a small lake could be seen. To their left they could see the trail returning as it ran past the edge of the canyon, then disappeared over the crest of the mountains farther up, clearly shown in the light of all three moons.

 

Where the trail came closest to the edge of the canyon, twin towers of stone had been erected. Another pair stood opposite on the plateau. Between them a narrow suspension bridge swayed in the wind. On top of all four towers torches burned, their flames dancing madly in the wind. Movement along the bridge and atop the towers told them the entire area around the plateau was heavily guarded. Arutha leaned back against the rocks. “Moraelin.”

 

Galain said, “Indeed. It appears they feared you might bring an army with you.”

 

Martin said, “It was a thought.”

 

Arutha said, “You were right about its comparing to the road to Sarth. This would have been almost as bad. We’d have lost a thousand men reaching this point alone—if we could have gotten this far. Across the bridge, single file . . . ? It would have been mass slaughter.”

 

Martin asked, “Can you see the black shape across the lake?”

 

“A building of some sort,” said Galain. He looked perplexed. “It is unusual to see a building, that building, any building, though the Valheru were capable of anything. This is a place of power. That must be a Valheru building, though I’ve never heard of its like before.”

 

“Where shall I find Silverthorn?” asked Arutha.

 

Galain said, “Most of the stories say it needs water, so it grows on the edge of the lake. Nothing more specific.”

 

Martin said, “Now, as to gaining entrance.”