was faster by air, but still harrowing. Windwhales
quartered across our path. We zipped around them. They were too slow to keep
pace. Turquoise manta things rose from their backs, flapped clumsily, caught
updrafts, rose above us, then dived past like plunging eagles, challenging our
presence in their airspace. We could not outrun them, but outclimbed them
easily. However, we could not climb higher than the windwhales. So high, and the
air becomes too rare for human beings. The whales could rise another mile,
becoming diving platforms for the mantas.
There were other flying things, smaller and less dangerous, but determinedly
obnoxious. Nevertheless, we got through. When a manta did attack, Whisper
defeated it with her thaumaturgic craft.
To do so, she gave up control of the carpet. We fell, out of control, till she
drove the manta away. I got through without losing my breakfast, but just
barely. I never asked Elmo and Kingpin, figuring they might not want their
dignity betrayed. Whisper would not attack first. That is the prime rule for
surviving the Plain of Fear. Don't hit first. If you do, you buy more than a
duel. Every monster out there will go after you.
We crossed without harm, as carpets usually do, and raced on, all day long, into
the night. We turned north. The air became cooler. Whisper dropped to lower
altitudes and slower speeds. Morning found us over Forsberg, where the Company
had served when new in the Lady's service. Elmo and I gawked over the side.
Once I pointed, shouted, “There's Deal.” We had held that fortress briefly. Then
Elmo pointed the other way. There lay Oar, where we had pulled some fine, bloody
tricks on the Rebel, and earned the enmity of the Limper. Whisper flew so low we
could distinguish faces in the streets. Oar looked no more friendly than it had
eight years ago.
We passed on, rolled along above the treetops of the Great Forest, ancient and
virgin wilderness from which the White Rose had conducted her campaigns against
the Dominator. Whisper slowed around noon. We drifted down into a wide sprawl
that once had been cleared land. A cluster of mounds in its middle betrayed the
handiwork of man, though now the barrows are scarcely recognizable.
Whisper landed in the street of a town that was mostly ruin. I presumed it to be
the town occupied by the Eternal Guard, whose task it is to prevent tampering
with the Barrowland. They were effective till betrayed by apathy elsewhere.
It took the Resurrectionists three hundred seventy years to open the Barrowland,
and then they did not get what they wanted. The Lady returned, with the Taken,
but the Dominator remained chained.
The Lady obliterated the Resurrectionist movement root and branch. Some reward,
eh?
A handful of men left a building still in good repair. I eavesdropped on their
exchange with Whisper, understood a few words. “Recall your Forsberger?” I asked
Elmo, while trying to shake the stiffness out of my muscles.
“It'll come back. Want to give Kingpin a look? He don't seem right.”
He wasn't bad off. Just scared. Took a while to convince him we were back on the
ground.
The locals, descendants of the Guards who had watched the Barrowland for
centuries, showed us to our quarters. The town was being restored. We were the
forerunners of a horde of new blood.
Goblin and two of our best soldiers came in on Whisper's next flight, three days
later. They said the Company had left Frost.
I asked if it looked like the Limper was holding a grudge.
“Not that I could see,” Goblin said. “But that don't mean anything.”
No, it didn't.
The last four men arrived three days later. Whisper moved into our barracks. We
formed a sort of bodyguard cum police force. Besides protecting her, we were
supposed to help make sure unauthorized persons did not get near the Barrowland.
The Taken called Feather appeared, bringing her own bodyguard. Specialists
quartered across our path. We zipped around them. They were too slow to keep
pace. Turquoise manta things rose from their backs, flapped clumsily, caught
updrafts, rose above us, then dived past like plunging eagles, challenging our
presence in their airspace. We could not outrun them, but outclimbed them
easily. However, we could not climb higher than the windwhales. So high, and the
air becomes too rare for human beings. The whales could rise another mile,
becoming diving platforms for the mantas.
There were other flying things, smaller and less dangerous, but determinedly
obnoxious. Nevertheless, we got through. When a manta did attack, Whisper
defeated it with her thaumaturgic craft.
To do so, she gave up control of the carpet. We fell, out of control, till she
drove the manta away. I got through without losing my breakfast, but just
barely. I never asked Elmo and Kingpin, figuring they might not want their
dignity betrayed. Whisper would not attack first. That is the prime rule for
surviving the Plain of Fear. Don't hit first. If you do, you buy more than a
duel. Every monster out there will go after you.
We crossed without harm, as carpets usually do, and raced on, all day long, into
the night. We turned north. The air became cooler. Whisper dropped to lower
altitudes and slower speeds. Morning found us over Forsberg, where the Company
had served when new in the Lady's service. Elmo and I gawked over the side.
Once I pointed, shouted, “There's Deal.” We had held that fortress briefly. Then
Elmo pointed the other way. There lay Oar, where we had pulled some fine, bloody
tricks on the Rebel, and earned the enmity of the Limper. Whisper flew so low we
could distinguish faces in the streets. Oar looked no more friendly than it had
eight years ago.
We passed on, rolled along above the treetops of the Great Forest, ancient and
virgin wilderness from which the White Rose had conducted her campaigns against
the Dominator. Whisper slowed around noon. We drifted down into a wide sprawl
that once had been cleared land. A cluster of mounds in its middle betrayed the
handiwork of man, though now the barrows are scarcely recognizable.
Whisper landed in the street of a town that was mostly ruin. I presumed it to be
the town occupied by the Eternal Guard, whose task it is to prevent tampering
with the Barrowland. They were effective till betrayed by apathy elsewhere.
It took the Resurrectionists three hundred seventy years to open the Barrowland,
and then they did not get what they wanted. The Lady returned, with the Taken,
but the Dominator remained chained.
The Lady obliterated the Resurrectionist movement root and branch. Some reward,
eh?
A handful of men left a building still in good repair. I eavesdropped on their
exchange with Whisper, understood a few words. “Recall your Forsberger?” I asked
Elmo, while trying to shake the stiffness out of my muscles.
“It'll come back. Want to give Kingpin a look? He don't seem right.”
He wasn't bad off. Just scared. Took a while to convince him we were back on the
ground.
The locals, descendants of the Guards who had watched the Barrowland for
centuries, showed us to our quarters. The town was being restored. We were the
forerunners of a horde of new blood.
Goblin and two of our best soldiers came in on Whisper's next flight, three days
later. They said the Company had left Frost.
I asked if it looked like the Limper was holding a grudge.
“Not that I could see,” Goblin said. “But that don't mean anything.”
No, it didn't.
The last four men arrived three days later. Whisper moved into our barracks. We
formed a sort of bodyguard cum police force. Besides protecting her, we were
supposed to help make sure unauthorized persons did not get near the Barrowland.
The Taken called Feather appeared, bringing her own bodyguard. Specialists
Similar Books
