The next few days were hard walking, most of it uphill, and when it was down, it was through loose dirt and treacherous roots that led down to jagged plateaus of black basalt that had burst out of the ground long ago.
The only foliage here were crabby trees, and thick vines on rocks that cracked them to reach the sparse water.
The weather was warming up, but the nights still had a frost to them, and when their trail brought them above the level of the river gorge, a fierce wind would whip down and sting their eyes and chill them to the bone.
They finally reached the gorge after five days of marching, and all were disappointed that there seemed no easy way across. The other side was at higher elevation, and they could see the dark shade of many thick green trees above them. The gorge was as wide as two hundred feet in places, but they could see that further north were the gorge turned west around a black hill atop the opposite cliff, it narrowed some.
“We’ll find a way to cross up there,” Ratchis said with confidence. “But it will be getting dark soon. I’ll bring us another mile or two closer and then we’ll find a place to camp and get a good look in the morning light.”
Everyone agreed wearily. Even Gunthar did not seem to have a quip ready.
Just after dawn the Keepers of the Gate had left Nikar by the western road, and had turned northward with the town less than a half-mile behind them. They marched along narrow paths that wound between farmsteads; many atop carved plateaus draped with bright green. At first they passed locals with wagon and wheelbarrows bringing things to market in Nikar, or the occasional stray farm dog begging for treats, but by the end of the second day they walked through a thick forest wedged into foothills of the nearby mountains.
They marched from dawn to dusk, taking short breaks to eat and stretch. Gunthar led Fearless the Llama for an hour or two a day, but usually the task fell to Martin the Green who had a way with animals no one had noticed before.
On the fifth day of marching, the forest suddenly dwindled out into nothing. A nasty blue-green blight was on the north side of all the trees and soon the Keepers of the Gate found themselves in a barren expanse of tall jagged rock cracked in many places by tiny streams coming from the northeast.
They cut east following the main stream back up into the mountains, hoping to avoid having to do any actual climbing for as long as possible and taking advantage of the clean cold water to bathe and refill their skins.
Several days later, the Keepers of the Gate had made their way past the first of the mountains, led by Ratchis through deep undercuts made in them by cold streams. In this way they were able to avoid the worst of the climbing, and where they did have to climb some, they found the llama was deft and leaping up onto to rocks and from one to another, as long as they were not too high or too far apart.
Beyond this, was a world ringed by mountains. It was a grassy highland many miles across and marked with many streams and ponds, and littered with huge stones left behind by retreating glaciers thousands of years before. The high plain was broken up by great jagged ridges that rose and fell as if the hard earth had once been sand, and some colossus had dragged its feet walking back and forth.
As usual, Ratchis took point, leaving Logan to lead the rest of the group and he jogged ahead to each rise, squatting down and looking over to make sure nothing awaited them beyond. He would jog back and forth all day, seemingly tireless, reporting what he saw, and for two days it had always been ‘all clear’.
One hazy mid-morning, Ratchis made his way to the top of a ridge, expecting to see the rest of the plain beyond, but instead it was a ragged ravine that ran east from the mountains to a river the party had noticed at the western border of the plain. Movement on the opposite ridge caught his eye, and he lowered himself down even more. It was twelve, or perhaps sixteen, humanoid figures, picking their way up the opposite ridge and over it.