The monk began to twist left and right to see all around him. Hadrian chuckled. “Myron, you squirm like a puppy.”
Lake Windermere appeared like gray metal pooling at the base of the barren hills. Although it was one of the largest lakes in Avryn, the fingers of the round cliffs hid much of it from view. Its vast open face reflected the desolate sky and appeared cold and empty. Except for a few birds, little moved on the stony clefts.
They reached the western bank. Thousands of fist-sized rocks, rubbed smooth and flat by the lake, made a loose cobblestone plain where they could walk and listen to the quiet lapping of the water. From time to time, rain would briefly fall. They would watch it come across the surface of the lake, the crisp horizon blurring as the raindrops broke the stillness, and then it would stop while the clouds above swirled undecidedly.
Royce, as usual, led the small party. He approached the north side of the lake and found what appeared to be the faint remains of a very old and unused road leading toward the mountains beyond.
Myron’s wriggling was finally subsiding. He sat behind Hadrian but did not move for quite some time. “Myron, are you okay back there?” Hadrian asked.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I was watching the way the horses walk. I’ve been observing them for the last few miles. They are fascinating animals. Their back feet appear to step in exactly the same place their front feet left an instant before. Although, I suppose they aren’t feet at all, are they? Hooves! That’s right! These are hooves! Enylina in Old Speech.”
“Old Speech?”
“The ancient imperial language. Few people outside the clergy know it these days. It’s something of a dead language. Even in the days of the empire it was only used in church services, but that has gone out of style and no one writes in it anymore.”
Hadrian felt Myron rest his head against his back, and for the rest of the ride watched to make sure that Myron did not doze off and fall.
They turned away from the lakeside and started into a broad ravine that became rocky as they climbed. The more they progressed, the more apparent it was to Alric that they were traveling on what had once been a road. The path was too smooth to be wholly natural, and yet over time, rocks had fallen from the heights and cracks had formed where weeds forced themselves out of the crevices. Centuries had taken their toll, but there remained a faint trace of something ancient and forgotten.
Despite the cold, the intermittent rain, and the strange circumstance of his being there, Alric was not nearly as miserable as he let on. There was an odd tranquility to the trip that day. Not often had the prince traveled so simply in such inclement weather and he found it captivating by its sheer strangeness. The vast silence, the muted light, the haunting clip-clop of the horses’ hooves, everything suggested adventure in a fashion he had never experienced before. His most daring escapades had always been organized and catered by servants. He had never been on his own like this, never truly in danger.
When he had found himself bound in the boat, he had been furious. No one had ever treated him with such disregard. Striking a member of the royal family was punishable by death, and because it was, most avoided even touching him. To be trussed up like an animal was humiliating beyond his comprehension. It had never occurred to him that he could come to harm. He had fully expected to be rescued at any moment. That prospect had dimmed dramatically as they had traveled into the deep forests on their way to Windermere.
He had been serious when he had said it was the worst night of his life, but in the morning when the rain let up, and after the meal, he found what he could describe only as a second wind. The prospect of seeking out this mysterious prison and its reputed inmate smacked of real adventure. Perhaps more than anything, it kept his mind occupied. He was busy trying to stay alive and determine the identity of a killer, which kept him from dwelling on the death of his father.