the shelf drop below a thousand feet. The dip
occurred six miles west of Azertorn. At that point the edge sloped down a
shallow decline and lowered the cliff height to eight hundred feet. Deiran
informed him as they rode into the depression that it had once been a
waterfall, and the river had worn it down before something diverted the
waterway.
Turning back
where the plateau turned into a mountain, they picked up the pace on the return
journey. Pausing for a short repast in Azertorn, they continued east until they
came to the Lake Road. Throughout the day Braon spoke little, observing the
terrain but asking questions when necessary. Sparse vegetation dotted the
plateau's smooth rock, and spread from the cliff to the tree line several miles
back. Remarkably smooth, the stone of the Giant's Shelf rose and fell in gentle
waves of reddish rock.
As they rode,
Braon laid out some preliminary ideas in his mind, but chose not to share them
with Deiran until they were finished with the exploration. As dusk began to
fall, they reached the Lake Road. Stopping at a rocky knoll rising out of the
ground, they dismounted for a meal. The simple food of nuts and fruit tasted
delicious after the long day, but Braon did his best not to overeat. When
Deiran asked if he wanted to return to Azertorn for the night, he shook his
head and asked for a bedroll.
“I want to
see the Lake Road before we return,” he said, and eased his sore body onto his
blanket. As tired as he was, he took a moment to imagine the ground they had
covered, organizing it into an image in his mind.
The Giant's Shelf
was a thousand-foot cliff that ran over twenty-five miles from east to west,
with Azertorn in the center. Near the western end, the dip would be the only
weakness on that side. East of the city the vulnerability would be the road,
which he would see tomorrow.
The city
presented its own problems. Majestic and grand, the tiered city was shaped for
defense, with the smallest level two hundred feet off the valley floor. Each subsequent
tier meant the defenders would always have the high ground. The top tier
spanned the entire distance between the two waterfalls, and boasted additional
battlements that abutted the rivers above the cliff.
Braon didn't
expect the lush gardens and waterways to be a problem—except at the base of the
great tree. Covering the entire first level, the Gardens of Light and
Enlightenment would be the first place their attackers would climb to. In
addition, a pond called the Mirror’s Edge abutted the cliff, meaning there were
no fortifications there. Although two hundred feet above the valley floor,
Braon had no doubt the fiends would reach it. As much as he knew the elves
would fight the issue, the gardens would have to be removed, and the pond
drained.
Underneath the
city, caverns and passages formed the main barracks for the army. Built with
extreme defenses, the corridors formed a path of retreat for the elves in case
the city's main gates were ever breached. He felt a rush of gratitude at
whatever ancient dwarf had designed the entrance. The false portal, backed by a
fifty foot column of stone, strengthened one of the weakest points of any city.
But if the real doors were discovered . . . they would be finished.
Braon paused
in his considerations and stifled a yawn. He felt lucky that he had so much to
work with, and grateful that the board game of Stratos had taught him so much
about strategic planning. Now he just had to figure out how to get the races to
unite—and listen to him.
He blinked at
his tiredness, wishing he could remain awake so he could plan some more. There
was so much to consider, but his endurance was not extensive, a fact he was
careful not to reveal to his companions. He felt a flash of irritation that he
didn't have more stamina, but recognized it as a weakness he would have to work
around. Shifting his bulk on the hard ground, he succumbed to his weariness.
Rising early,
they broke their fast with
occurred six miles west of Azertorn. At that point the edge sloped down a
shallow decline and lowered the cliff height to eight hundred feet. Deiran
informed him as they rode into the depression that it had once been a
waterfall, and the river had worn it down before something diverted the
waterway.
Turning back
where the plateau turned into a mountain, they picked up the pace on the return
journey. Pausing for a short repast in Azertorn, they continued east until they
came to the Lake Road. Throughout the day Braon spoke little, observing the
terrain but asking questions when necessary. Sparse vegetation dotted the
plateau's smooth rock, and spread from the cliff to the tree line several miles
back. Remarkably smooth, the stone of the Giant's Shelf rose and fell in gentle
waves of reddish rock.
As they rode,
Braon laid out some preliminary ideas in his mind, but chose not to share them
with Deiran until they were finished with the exploration. As dusk began to
fall, they reached the Lake Road. Stopping at a rocky knoll rising out of the
ground, they dismounted for a meal. The simple food of nuts and fruit tasted
delicious after the long day, but Braon did his best not to overeat. When
Deiran asked if he wanted to return to Azertorn for the night, he shook his
head and asked for a bedroll.
“I want to
see the Lake Road before we return,” he said, and eased his sore body onto his
blanket. As tired as he was, he took a moment to imagine the ground they had
covered, organizing it into an image in his mind.
The Giant's Shelf
was a thousand-foot cliff that ran over twenty-five miles from east to west,
with Azertorn in the center. Near the western end, the dip would be the only
weakness on that side. East of the city the vulnerability would be the road,
which he would see tomorrow.
The city
presented its own problems. Majestic and grand, the tiered city was shaped for
defense, with the smallest level two hundred feet off the valley floor. Each subsequent
tier meant the defenders would always have the high ground. The top tier
spanned the entire distance between the two waterfalls, and boasted additional
battlements that abutted the rivers above the cliff.
Braon didn't
expect the lush gardens and waterways to be a problem—except at the base of the
great tree. Covering the entire first level, the Gardens of Light and
Enlightenment would be the first place their attackers would climb to. In
addition, a pond called the Mirror’s Edge abutted the cliff, meaning there were
no fortifications there. Although two hundred feet above the valley floor,
Braon had no doubt the fiends would reach it. As much as he knew the elves
would fight the issue, the gardens would have to be removed, and the pond
drained.
Underneath the
city, caverns and passages formed the main barracks for the army. Built with
extreme defenses, the corridors formed a path of retreat for the elves in case
the city's main gates were ever breached. He felt a rush of gratitude at
whatever ancient dwarf had designed the entrance. The false portal, backed by a
fifty foot column of stone, strengthened one of the weakest points of any city.
But if the real doors were discovered . . . they would be finished.
Braon paused
in his considerations and stifled a yawn. He felt lucky that he had so much to
work with, and grateful that the board game of Stratos had taught him so much
about strategic planning. Now he just had to figure out how to get the races to
unite—and listen to him.
He blinked at
his tiredness, wishing he could remain awake so he could plan some more. There
was so much to consider, but his endurance was not extensive, a fact he was
careful not to reveal to his companions. He felt a flash of irritation that he
didn't have more stamina, but recognized it as a weakness he would have to work
around. Shifting his bulk on the hard ground, he succumbed to his weariness.
Rising early,
they broke their fast with
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