Book 5, Chapter 40: The Temple
It was late afternoon when I next awoke or perhaps regained awareness is a more accurate descriptor. Lying prone, watching large stones go by, lichens covering them like clothing against the cool air. The few trees were small and scraggly, looking miserable, as if they preferred to have grown somewhere else far from here and warmer. Tough little shrubs and grasses poking out between the rocks and even some tiny and pretty purple, blue, and white flowers scattered around. Fat marmots standing on the rocks, calling out warnings to all who would hear.
More mages on the cart in front of me. Four at their usual princess-observation site, concentrating. They didn’t age nor de-age as much, and I didn’t test them, still feeling disoriented from the blow to my head, nauseous from their syphoning. Four more behind them in the cart. Replacements or reinforcements, guarding against further escape attempts.
Roughly half had bandages around their heads. A couple, over their eyes. Silently thanked the ravens who’d stolen them.
I’d not seen Morry and worried for him. Hoped they weren’t beating or torturing him. I should have told my new duke not to follow me back at the battle. In fact, I did. I’d ordered him to retreat the army beyond the mountains if he saw me give in to the rage.
Yet, yes, he wouldn’t be Morry if he listened to my orders for his safety. I choked up a bit then. Rubbed away wetness at my eyes. Somehow, he’d coordinated with my animals for the attack, doomed as it was.
Worried for my birds and foxes, too. Unsure whether they listened to my silent calls to stay out of sight, not attack. But I didn’t control them. They merely loved me, their actions their own.
As we moved down into the valley, the river was much wider than it looked. And raging. The boulders I saw from up above were just the largest ones present. Down here, it was white water rushing over stones bigger than a horse. Some smaller, some larger, some round, some jagged and sharp. Every few moments, the percussion of stones being pummeled against each other echoed throughout the valley.
The smoothest part for me was crossing the bridge. Wooden, but sturdy. The only place without rocks littering the path and catching the wheels. Crossing was cool from the mist and, despite the constant pain, even in the chilly mountain air, it was soothing. I closed my eyes, enjoying this respite for its time.
From down here in the steep valley, the temple up above looked both imposing and fragile. It hugged a sloping cliff face that rose high up the mountain, snow at its peak, as if clinging on for support. I could not imagine how such a building could be built with this level of technology, yet there it stood. The outer walls came straight off the grey rock of the cliff, seemed to hang in the air as they wrapped around what must be the courtyard and main buildings. The central tower reached up as if competing with the mountain for the gods’ attention.
It took the remainder of the daylight to climb the road as it zigzagged up the mountain. Finally, we came to a flat area, crossed that and ended before the temple’s drawbridge, which was down, waiting for us. It spanned a deep ravine. On the other side, two enormous wooden doors, were shut and unwelcoming. Built into the right one, a little door.
The grand magister himself slid off his horse, strode over, banged on the door within the door.
After what felt like a long while, someone answered.
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