“Ain’t sure trapped is the right word,” Clay said, getting to his feet and taking a good look at their surroundings for the first time.
They stood at the start of what appeared to be a concourse of some kind, the columns on either side forming an avenue that disappeared into a thick mass of trees some twenty feet away. Seeing the collage of light and shade that dappled the surface of the concourse, Clay looked up to see an interlocking canopy of tree-branches above. Through the gaps in the canopy he could see the pale blue of what he could only assume was sky. There was a faintly floral tinge to the atmosphere that put him in mind of the jungle, though the scent was decidedly more pleasant.
“What in the Travail is this, Clay?” Loriabeth demanded, her face riven with a mixture of wonder and fear.
“Not exactly certain what I was expecting to find down here, cuz,” he replied. “But it surely wasn’t this.”
“It looks like the Imperial Swath,” Sigoral said, eyes roaming the trees with deep suspicion.
“The what?” Loriabeth asked.
“The Emperor’s private forest north of Corvus,” the marine replied. “Three thousand square miles where only those of divine blood are allowed to hunt. I had the honour of escorting the Emperor’s cousin on a boar-hunt once.” He paused, peering through at the deep arboreal maze. “He was a very poor shot, truth be told.”
They stood staring at the view for some time, Clay once again suffering the sensation of being dwarfed by discovery. He moved to one of the columns, finding it overgrown with a thick web of creeping foliage. Pushing the leaves aside, he saw the stone beneath to be rich in carved script, the symbols all reminiscent of those in the shaft and the city beneath the mountain. There was also a faint visual echo of the hieroglyphs he had seen in the ruins on the shore of Krystaline Lake. Miss Ethelynne could read them, he remembered, fingers playing over the swirling script. Wonder if she could’ve read this too.
“Look,” Sigoral said, drawing Clay’s gaze from the column. The Corvantine was pointing at something in the forest canopy above the now-closed doorway. Peering closer, Clay saw that the door was housed in the base of a very substantial structure. It possessed familiar architecture he had last seen bathed in the red glow of molten rock, all hard angles and interlocking blocks of stone that contrasted with the chaotic web of foliage that surrounded it.
“Military logic,” Sigoral said, “dictates one should seek a vantage point when confronted with unfamiliar terrain . . .”
He trailed off as a high-pitched cry echoed through the forest. It lasted only a second, and was some ways off by Clay’s reckoning, but both he and Loriabeth had no difficulty in identifying the source.
“What was that?” Sigoral asked, seeing them exchange tense glances before drawing their weapons.
“Green,” Loriabeth said, eyes bright as she scanned the trees. They waited, peering into the myriad shadows of the forest, which seemed to have grown suddenly deeper. After several long minutes in which the Green cry failed to come again, Loriabeth holstered her guns and moved to the vine-covered stone fringing the door. “Sailor boy’s right,” she said, taking hold of a vine and starting to climb. “We need a good look-see at this place.”
Clay hurried to follow as she nimbly ascended into the canopy. He struggled to keep her in sight as he clambered up the web of vines and into the trees. The branches were thick and became more twisted and difficult to navigate the closer they were to the structure. Clay could see numerous cracks in the stone where invading vegetation had gained purchase over what must have been many years’ growth. It was hard to discern the true shape of the structure, but he gained a sense of sloping walls. Also, he could see no sign of any windows or other points of access.
He saw that Loriabeth had paused in her climb, having ascended above the canopy to perch on a narrow branch as she gazed all around.
“What you got, cuz?” Clay called to her.
Loriabeth left a long pause before replying, her voice rich in both amazement and despair, “You’d best see for yourself.”
Clay clambered to her side and stopped, frozen by the scale and impossibility of what he saw. It took some time to fully comprehend it, and even then the sight was as baffling as it was spectacular. The forest stretched away on either side for several miles and to their front it continued on for about ten miles or so before giving way to what looked like a bare plain. Beyond that the landscape was too misted to make out any clear detail but he was sure he could make out the faint shimmer of water through the haze.
Looking left and right, he saw that the forest took on a gradual but definite curve where it met a vast featureless wall. It was dark, like the surface of the spire and Clay assumed it must be made of the same material. Turning completely around he found himself blinking in mystification at what appeared to be a great monolith rising from the trees. After further investigation he saw that it rose from the top of a tree-covered structure. The shaft that brought us here, he realised. As his gaze tracked upwards he expected to see the shaft meet a ceiling of some kind but the huge monolith faded from sight, occluded by a blue haze that grew thicker with altitude.
“Look,” Loriabeth said, face raised. “Three suns.”
Clay followed her gaze, blinking at the sight of a trio of blazing stars. The light they cast was sufficient to illuminate the entire landscape even though most of it was still obscured by the haze. He shielded his eyes, blinking in the glare as he tried to estimate the height and size of the three suns but it proved impossible. He also could see no structure that might be holding them in place. His memory returned once more to the White’s lair and the crystals he had seen there, crystals that cast forth light and floated in mid air.
“They ain’t suns,” he muttered softly.
“Then what are they?”
Clay looked down to see that Sigoral had climbed up to join them, face flushed with exertion and a depth of unease that seemed even greater than Loriabeth’s.
“Mechanicals,” Clay told the Corvantine, deciding a full explanation would stretch the man’s credulity a touch too far. “Of a sort. Set to keep this forest alive. Plants need light to live after all.”
“Mechanicals need engineers,” Sigoral said. “Meaning someone else must be down here.”
“If so, they ain’t seen fit to greet us.” Clay took a final glance around and crouched to lever himself off the branch. “And we’d best move on if we’re aiming to find them.”
“Which way?” Loriabeth asked.
Clay paused to jerk his head at the plain beyond the forest. “Nothing behind ’cept a wall and we can’t go up. Seems going farther in is the only option.”
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