The Wind Riders Read online

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  The weather that first day proved to be remarkably pleasant. The cloudy sky blocked the normally oppressive sun, and cool winds blew in from the south, just enough to keep the air from getting stagnant, but too weak to kick up the dirt. Heavy rain rarely came this far north into the mountains, or even the steppes, but some in the party mentioned that every so often they felt drops of water, which meant a powerful storm might be hitting the south end of the mountain range, near the old Kingdom of Tehvol. But it was calm here. Calm, quiet and peaceful. Hal remarked on this as they traveled through the morning, proclaiming it as a good omen for the rest of the trip. Hal was especially superstitious, and took any sign of good or bad fortune very seriously, no matter how often the others ribbed him for it.

  As midday faded into afternoon, the party finally made it to the banks of the Mirken River, just north of the Falls of Fenuhl, the great waterfall on the north side of the mountain Gahardarac, that most considered the starting point of the river. The Falls began within the mountain, in a cavern also called Gahardarac, though no one knew if the cavern had been named for the mountain or the other way around. The cavern was a large, still mostly unexplored, gathering spot for the rainwater that always fell on the top of the southern Lore Mountains, and rumors persisted that a large lake could be found deep inside, and that the Happarans, who lived in the nearby mountains, used it for their water and mills, rather than coming down to the river.

  They stopped briefly at the riverbank, taking a quick rest to load up their water bags and admire the huge waterfall in the distance. They were in the valley between Gahardarac to their south, and the mountain known as Lharsil to their north. The river ran right up to Lharsil then cut west around the base of the mountain and continued north on through the foothills, and then into the Halaraan Steppes, where they would find Tyr. The plan of travel, as announced by Iago, was to move northeast, away from the river and any travelers who may be near it, hit the base of Lharsil the next day, then move back west towards the river. The river actually cut through a portion of the mountain, creating a deep canyon with several-hundred-foot high cliffs. This canyon, known as the Cliffs of Lharsil, was generally avoided because parts of the pathway along the Cliffs were dangerously narrow. Most travelers went farther west, or they stayed low, moving through the base of the canyon, even though the footing there was suspect. Even so, traveling through the canyon floor was much safer than moving up top, where a strong wind or a clumsy slip could send you falling to your death.

  No one took the news that they’d be taking the high road through Lharsil very well, but they understood the necessity. They had to avoid anyone who might be near the river. Few travelers ventured this deep into the mountains, and anyone who did was most likely a tracker or a bounty hunter, searching for runaway slaves or criminals, or even the Wind Riders themselves. They could not afford to be seen until they were well into the foothills, which would take about four or five more days. They could have gone east around Lharsil, but they didn't have the time or the supplies to travel that far out of the way. They needed speed, and they needed stealth. No one in the group had been told this would be an easy mission.

  After resting, they moved north to a shallow, narrow section of the river, which they crossed using a natural ‘bridge’ of large, flattened rocks laid into the river floor. The water flowed easily around each rock, and still allowed a person to step from rock to rock and make it across relatively dry. Iago didn’t know but he suspected the Happarans were responsible for that bridge. They were well known for their stone craft and he had seen many other ‘natural’ formations that seemed unusually practical in these mountains.

  They spent the rest of the day moving through the shallow valleys away from the river and down to the southern end of the mountain. A stretch of green surrounded each side of the river for a few hundred yards in both directions, full of grass, shrubbery and trees. Past that, though, the soil became dry and brittle, and the ground turned back into shades of brown and orange. The trip wasn’t too arduous but they spent a lot of their time working their way up and down the small, rugged, sun-scorched foothills that littered this part of the Lore Mountains. The Landers handled it well enough but Galen and Margis were usually the two furthest behind. They weren’t ready for the rigorous path Iago chose, and it showed. Iago decided they should stop soon. He didn’t need two irritable, sore-footed Pilots on his heels for the next few weeks.

  They set up camp a little before nightfall and gathered around a fire, made with the help of Galen’s limited Fire Magic skills, cooking and eating a couple rabbits that Saalis and Hal had nabbed while still near the river. Galen took only a few bites before pulling out a small box. He opened it and set the contents out in front of him, two small bottles of dark ink, some bandages and cloths, and a couple small blades. He pulled up his left shirt sleeve and began heating the blades in the fire.

  “What’s all that, Pilot?” asked Hal.

  “My dyes and blades. I use them to do Recordings.”

  “You mean the tattoos?”

  Galen nodded. “This is how we keep our history alive. We make these markings on our bodies to remember important events. Except the one here,” Galen pointed to the elaborate marking that surrounded his left eye, “that one identifies our clan.”

  “Corovin, right?” said Jonir.

  Galen smiled. “You’ve been paying attention.”

  Saalis perked up. “What do the other ones mean?”

  Galen set the blades down. “Not all of them would mean much to anyone else.” He lifted up his shirt to show a large array of symbols drawn over his chest. “These represent the family members lost before Gelanir and I were found. Each one was a cousin, or uncle and aunt, or parent, or brother.” Galen pointed to the different types of symbols as he talked. Everyone could see that there were a lot of them on his chest, almost two dozen from a quick count. It was a disturbing reminder of what Galen had lost in his short life. Galen put his shirt down and opened one of the dye bottles, then grabbed a blade.

  “Is that your language? Those symbols there?” said Jonir.

  “It’s the old Assarin language, from more generations ago than I can count. But we learn it while we’re young so we can use it to do our Recordings. That way we keep our history, and the language alive. We don’t tell stories like Anzarins do, we keep our past alive like this.” Galen motioned with the dye bottle.

  “What are you recording now?” asked Jonir.

  “The attack. We lost a lot of friends there and I hope to keep their memories alive this way.”

  The others nodded while Iago grabbed a piece of meat to distract himself from the sickness rising in his stomach.

  “So what is Tyr like?” Margis, who was by far the least talkative person of the group, asked. He’d spent the evening sitting next to the fire with a bundle of papers, glancing through them distractedly.

  “It’s no place for any sane person to be,” Hal said, chewing on a piece of rabbit meat. “I was never a free man there, but all I saw was evil men doing evil things.”

  “That sounds about right,” Jonir added.

  Saalis chuckled. “Parts of it aren’t so bad. I was there a few months once, I forget where though, ‘cause it’s so big.”

  Iago put down his food and grabbed some water. “Tyr has five districts. A couple of them aren’t real safe places if you don’t know people. Of course, one of those is where we’ll be going. Avis.”

  Jonir nodded in agreement. “The Avis district is the worst, but outside that there are some genuine people there. If you know where to look.”

  “Where are you from, Margis? Otaro?” asked Iago, picking up his food again.

  “Aye, Captain. My whole life.”

  “I lived in Otaro for a long while, too,” Saalis said. “I was a guard, and then I was a slave. But you were probably still running down the streets as a kid when I was there.”

  Margis smiled. “Probabl
y.”

  “What about you, Cap’n? You’re from Elbasa, right?” said Hal.

  Iago nodded, working on a piece of meat.

  “You was a guard there, weren’t ya?”

  Jonir chimed in. “He was a Cleric’s Guardsman.”

  Iago nodded again, still chewing.

  “That’s a good job, Cap’n! Those are the ones that make the good money and stay in the big houses with the Clerics. Why’d you leave that one?”

  Iago shrugged. “It wasn’t the right place for me.”

  “You got any family there? In Elbasa?” asked Saalis.

  Iago hesitated briefly. “No.” He chewed on the meat for a moment before answering more fully. “I was an orphan by the time I was eight, but I was on my own even before then.”

  Galen continued his markings. “Most of us have lost a lot of family. I think if we hadn’t we wouldn’t be here, with the Wind Riders.” Hal, Jonir and Margis nodded. Iago put down his food. The stomach pains were hurting bad, now.