Book III, Part 19
“I’m sorry,” Ruath said. “There’s nothing more I can do.”
“I understand,” Dana replied. She extended her mangled hand so that the halfling cleric could carefully wrap it in thick strips of cloth, until a soft white ball hid the ruined flesh underneath.
Around the two women, the rest of the companions hovered nearby, curious and concerned about their friend but at the same time reluctant to intrude too closely upon her privacy. After Ruath had finished her ministrations Dana stood up, and as if that were a signal they all turned to face her.
Their flight from the lair of the spider-mages—and their hurried rush through the upper reaches of the valley seemed exactly that—had taken them to the very mouth of the pass that ran into the depths of the mountain range proper. Even though they had been victorious in battle, they all felt the reality of their narrow escape, and every glance at Dana, and the terrible scars she bore, was a reminder of what could have happened to any of them, or all of them. Once they had covered enough ground to leave them safe from the fire, at least for the moment, Delem had used a potent spell of healing from a scroll to restore the stricken young noblewoman to consciousness. While the healing magic had restored the soundness of her body, it could not fully erase the scars that still marked her face and neck, and it could not restore the function to her hand. Nor could the spell heal the haunted look in her eyes when she regained consciousness and reflexively grasped at the wounded hand, at the memory of agonizing pain. Still, she was able to walk after the spell was completed, and wary of spending the night in the forest they elected to press on to the mouth of the pass into the mountains.
“I can go on… we have to go on,” she told them now, as they gathered in the light of the fading sun. “We have no other choice.”
“Ruath told me what you did,” Cal said. “It was a brave thing—had Delem been struck down, we might not have been able to burn those spider-demons from their webbed lairs. Maybe they might have been able to turn their evil illusion into reality. We are in your debt, Dana, and mark this promise—when we return to Faerûn, we will not rest until we have secured the power to restore you fully to health.”
The others added their general assent, but Delem, who remained a short distance apart from the others, could not bear to meet Dana’s eyes. The priestess noticed him, however, and deliberately walked over to him.
“What’s the matter, Delem?” she asked softly.
“I… I’m sorry, Dana,” the young man responded reluctantly. “It’s… it’s my fault that this happened, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s not your fault, lad,” Cal said. “We all fought our hardest, and for each other.”
“You don’t understand,” Delem protested. “I didn’t even see her, didn’t even try to help her! She nearly died, because I was too lost in the magic to even notice!”
To his surprise, it was Benzan who came up to him, forcing him to meet his steel-gray eyes. “If you had seen, and gone immediately to her, what would that… that thing had done? Cal said that those creatures were sorcerers, like you, which means that they can cast the same spells over and over again, until their energies are depleted. What would it have done, if you hadn’t focused on it, burned it out until it had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide? As Cal said, we might all still be there, living out their horrible fantasies of grim torture in truth.”
Benzan’s words took the young man by surprise, but it was Dana who drew his attention back to her. “We’re a team, and we fight together as one,” she said. The fact that she could say that, even with the hurt that still shone fresh in her eyes, finally caught up the young man, and he folded her into his arms in a rush of genuine feeling.
“Just don’t do anything like that again, all right?” Cal said. “Without you, who would translate what strangers say to us, or fill our water flasks, or tell us what wild foods are safe to eat? Honestly, now, Benzan wouldn’t last half the day before he bit into the wrong plant and keeled over dead.”
They all laughed, even Benzan, and it was a healing laugh, one that helped banish the dark feelings that remained from their recent encounter. They broke up and went to their individual tasks as they prepared their camp for the rapidly approaching night, aware that new dangers would challenge them tomorrow as they made their way into the mountains.
* * * * *
They spent the next two days in the mountains, steadily gaining altitude as they hiked up and down through a seemingly endless reach of peaks, ridgelines, and valleys. The mountains weren’t especially high or forbidding, at least by the standard of the great ranges of Faerûn, but nonetheless the companions found themselves digging deep to their inner reserves of fortitude as they made their way deeper into the range.
They had two encounters in their first two days of traveling the mountains, but their luck held and neither ended in a direct confrontation. The first clash, coming late on their first day of hiking up into the reaches of the mountain pass, involved a huge, two-legged dragon-like creature that Cal identified as a wyvern. They sighted the beast high above them, gliding around the peaks like some majestic bird. It saw them and dove for a closer look, but their first volley of missiles as it passed close overhead must have convinced it to seek easier prey elsewhere, for it turned and winged deeper into the mountains, not to return.
The second encounter came the following morning, as they were making their way up a difficult line of ridges, seemingly laid out in a row across their path. As they were passing along a trail that ran beside a row of deep caves a roar startled them, and they found themselves face to face with the largest bear any of them had ever seen. The creature was easily eight feet tall at the shoulder, and for a moment it looked as though their luck had changed as the companions prepared for battle. Delem, however, thinking quickly, summoned one of his rolling balls of fire that blocked its path long enough for them to beat a hasty retreat, and the angry bear did not follow.
Now the sun was rapidly waning on the afternoon of that second day, as the companions approached the crest of yet another ridge. As they reached the crest, fully expecting to see the same identical landscape of peaks and dells that they had encountered over the last two days, they gathered in a collective breath at what lay before them.
Ahead of them, nestled in between the surrounding mountains like a coin cradled in an open hand, stretched a wide plateau. The plateau, easily dozens of miles across, was surrounded on all sides by massive cliffs of slate gray that fell hundreds, if not thousands, of feet into a deep river gorge below. The effect was like that of a deep moat around a fortress, and they could just hear the sounds of rushing water as it plummeted from high mountain streams into the depths of the gorge. Below them, a good hour’s hike from their current vantage point, they could see a thin, tenuous bridge, apparently fashioned of rope and wood, that bridged the gorge and connected the mountains on the near side with the plateau.
And ahead, standing like a lonely pillar in the center of the plateau, was the black mountain.
It looked imposing even at this distance, a great solitary peak that rose up on its perch higher than any of the lesser summits around them. Its top was truncated, a clipped, uneven edge that indicated that the mountain was likely of volcanic origin. No smoke or steam could be seen issuing from within, which was perhaps—hopefully so—a sign that the volcano was long dormant.
None of them had any idea of what they would find there, only that they would have to travel there to find their only hope offered thus far at returning home.
They set camp there on the ridgeline, taking shelter in a recessed cleft in the stone warded by a ring of great boulders worn smooth by the constant wind. It was cold, but not oppressively so, and after a brief meal and setting the watch schedule they huddled down in their blankets and awaited the coming of the new day.
The night passed uneventfully, and the morning dawned on a bleak and dreary day. Storm clouds had blown in from the north, covering the eastern half of the island with the dark haze of rain, and while they were spared that at least the oncoming storm had pushed a cold wind up into the mountains, blowing roughly over their campsite and tugging at their cloaks as they made breakfast.
It would also make crossing the bridge a dicey affair, but none of them felt the need to comment on that obvious fact.
After breakfast they broke camp and made their way down the ridge toward the rope bridge.
“Strange, to see such a construction here,” Horath commented. “I wonder who uses it, keeps it up?”
“We haven’t seen any intelligent creatures since leaving the lowlands,” Delem said. “Maybe it is the ‘gods’ of the Inselvolk.”
No one else had any theories, so they continued in silence toward where the bridge stretched across the gorge. Whoever built it, the bridge seemed fairly sturdy, barely moving at all in the wind despite extending for at least three hundred feet across the gap. On the far side, atop the plateau, all they could see was a flat, windswept expanse of short grasses and scrub brush, with some scattered woods located more to the center, closer to the mountain. No living things were visible, and nothing stirred except the constant whisper of the blowing wind.
They reached the bridge, and Lok tested the sturdy supports that held the handrails and the main strands in place. The ropes were thick, as thick through as Lok’s muscled arms, and whatever fiber they were made from seemed unaffected by the harsh elements of the mountains. The planks of the bridge were weathered but sound, forming a stable walkway a good five feet across. None of the planks of the bridge were missing that they could see, and none of the ropes were frayed.
“Looks sound,” the genasi reported after his examination. He took a few tentative steps out onto the bridge, to test it with his weight, and it held him without complaint.
“Unusual,” Cal said, and he took a moment to cast a minor cantrip. Once the spell was completed he could sense a faint aura of magic about the bridge, although he could not identify the specific sort of magic that was present. One thing was evident, though—it felt very, very old. “There’s an ancient magic here,” he reported to the others, “very faint. I don’t think it’s dangerous, though.”
“Well, if we’re going to cross, let’s do it already,” Varrus said. He was shivering slightly, for the wind blowing through the gorge carried some of the cold air up from the river that flowed far down below.
Cal looked out over the gorge once more. It was a breathtaking sight, one that tugged at the bard’s spirit within him, calling him to a majestic song about the glory of nature’s work. But something else tugged at his senses, a vague unease that made him a little uncomfortable. His gaze traveled again to the black mountain, looming far off in the distance, drawing them to it.
He shook his head, clearing it of the dark sentiment. Varrus was right—standing here wasn’t going to accomplish anything more.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Let’s take it slowly, though, and spaced out—the bridge may seem sound, but I don’t think we should unduly test its limits.”
Lok started across first, of course, his powerful hands holding him steady as he fought his way through the swirling wind. Cal followed behind, going slower as he went hand-over-hand on one of the handrails. The wind tore at him mercilessly, doing its best to dislodge him, but soon he was with Lok on the far side, safe and sound.
The others followed in a steady queue, Delem and Ruath and Dana and Elly. Finally, only Varrus, Horath, and Benzan were left on the mountain side of the gorge, watching as Elly passed the halfway point and pressed on toward the far side of the bridge.
“Why don’t you go next,” Benzan said to Varrus. “I don’t think I can trust myself with you alone, especially with this drop off so conveniently close.”
The sailor shot him a dark look, but he moved quickly to the bridge and started across. His progress was even slower than Cal’s, however, and Elly was already on the plateau side before he managed thirty paces.
“He’s having a tough time of it,” Horath observed. “I’d better follow, in case he needs help.” The elf started after Varrus onto the bridge, leaving Benzan alone. Horath’s presence seemed to add some courage to the sailor, and he picked up his pace some, the agile elf having no problem at all following him despite the swirling wind.
They’d neared the halfway point, and Benzan had just started after them, when they heard the sound.
At first, it seemed just like the shriek of the wind, whistling past them as if angry at their boldness in crossing its gorge. Then the three on the bridge saw the others pointing down the length of the gorge to the east, yelling something that was lost in the wind, and their heads turned as one in that direction.
Two creatures were flying at great speed down the gorge, in their direction. They looked like great birds, their wingspans a good thirty feet across, except that even at this distance they were obvious reptilian, rather than avian, in ancestry. The flying dinosaurs flew like darts on the wind, their wings spread wide to catch the force of the air rushing up from the chasm below.
“Run!” Benzan cried, unsure if his words would be heard over the wind. He could see Varrus standing there, frozen as he stared into the face of onrushing death, but then Horath was beside him, all but pushing the man toward the relative shelter of the far end of the bridge.
Benzan was himself vulnerable, exposed about fifty paces out onto the bridge, but he did not retreat for the shelter of the rocks on the nearer side. Instead, twisting one leg into the supporting strands of the rail to brace himself, he strung his bow and dug out one of his few remaining acid arrows.
The flying reptiles glided up to the bridge, focused on the running forms of Horath and Varrus. The elf could have streaked past the hapless form of his companion, but he remained close by him, and as the creatures closed he too hefted his bow, a long arrow ready to fire.
The companions unleashed a storm of missiles at the lead creature, and even with the vagaries of the sharply blowing wind a few hits were scored. Lok’s arrow, backed by the full power of the minotaur’s bow and his own considerable strength, slammed hard into the flank of the dinosaur, and on the opposite side Benzan’s acid arrow tore through one membranous wing, drawing a shriek of pain from the creature. The wind caused several crossbow bolts from the others to go wide, but even the wind could not affect Delem’s bolts of energy, which scored the creature in the head and torso.
Heavily damaged by the hits, the dinosaur was thrown off its course and it glided under the bridge, diving as the wind carried it rapidly down the gorge to the west. The second creature, however, came on, less than a hundred feet behind the first. Its wings caught the wind and it tore through the air directly for Horath, who sighted and fired. Varrus cried and dove out of the way, his hands spreading as if to embrace the wood planks of the bridge.
Horath’s arrow struck true, hitting the onrushing pteranodon in the chest. Its lashing beak narrowly missed the elf as it darted past, but one wing clipped the edge of the bridge, causing it to sway precipitously. Horath staggered, trying to keep his balance, but he hit the rail and twisted over it. For a moment it looked as though the elf captain was doomed, his companions looking on with their hearts frozen in their chests, but then he managed to grasp onto one of the rope supports, arresting his fall. He dangled there, holding one with one hand as the wind buffeted him madly about. His bow fell out into the void below him, quickly vanishing into the shadows far below.
“KAEL!” screamed Elly, and before the others could stop her she had started out onto the bridge. She’d barely started, however, when she slipped on the still-rocking planks, and had to grab onto the rope railing herself for her very life. Lok rushed out to help her. Varrus, who was just a few feet away, staggered to his feet, but instead of turning to help he headed for the nearest side, toward the plateau.
Benzan was already moving toward the elf, who was unsuccessfully trying to pull himself back up to the bridge. Their combined actions were causing the bridge to continue its dangerous undulation, but Benzan’s steps were sure as he swiftly crossed to where Horath dangled. Bracing himself, he dropped to his knees and grasped the elf’s wrist, gritting his teeth as he started to pull the captain up to safety.
“Look out, Benzan!” the cry carried faintly—but clearly—to his ears. It was Cal’s voice, and the dread carried in the words caused him to glance back over his shoulder.
A third pteranodon was coming straight toward him, it seemed, following the same course as the earlier two toward the center of the bridge. He saw the attacks of his companions, including more arrows and a pair of fiery bolts from Delem that hit it on the side of its body, but did not affect its course. Cal even summoned an illusion, an image of a drake that darted in at it from the side, but whether it was too stupid to notice or unable to change its course it came on, sweeping right over the bridge.
Desperation gave him strength as he pulled Horath up through the gaps in the railing, then he turned to face the onrushing creature. He knew even as he reached for an arrow that he was too late, even before he felt something hard slam into his chest with a force like a battering ram. For an instant, the world spun around him, then his vision cleared and he was aware of the gorge, falling away for what seemed like an endless distance below him. As he twisted in the air he could see the bridge, the railing just a few tantalizing yards away, but it may as well have been a mile.
Of Horath, there was no sign.
And then, he was falling.