foot, the climb up and over the passes was a journey of seven or more days. Once over the mountains the traveler had to drop all the way down into the narrow valley below and then follow a tortuous path back up to the only ground entrance into the fortress. The valley itself was a steeply terraced patchwork of fields, orchards, and stone-walled villages stretching northward for nearly two hundred miles into the cold fastness of Tor's realm.
The main keep of the ancient palace, one of those fashioned by the creator Horat himself, was also built straight into the side of the mountain, atop a sheer rock pinnacle of smooth granite. The only way to enter it was by air--and a series of traps was studded through the narrow pass for an aerial approach. Crystals were mounted to either side in a latticework pattern, with only a narrow, unrestricted opening through the middle. Come in too high or too low and cross between two crystals, and the trap would be sprung as half a hundred energy bolts snapped out from the mountain, incinerating everything between them.
If one approached from down in the valley, the same trap awaited as the unwary victim started to climb the face of the pinnacle. A straight overhead approach and a spiral down would create the same response from an interlocking series of crystals that pointed upwards to their counterparts on the distant peaks.
Without the guides to lead them in, the approach would have been almost impossible to negotiate. Sarnak felt a twinge of jealousy for such a profligate use of the precious stones.
Following the lead of his first battle team, Sarnak turned sharply and came in for final approach. Once across the threshold of the fortress, he breathed an inward sigh of relief: The first part of the ordeal had been passed. Trying to calm the tension within, he alighted on the platform.
Around him, the rest of his sorcerers turned in sharply and, as they landed, spread out in what appeared to be a protective circle.
From the shadows of a doorway that led into the heart of the mountain, a single middle-aged man appeared. Uthul's face was angular and dark, wreathed in a beard that had already gone over to grey. The resemblance was striking, and for an instant Sarnak almost thought that he was standing before his uncle Tor. Yet Sarnak knew there was one thing that Uthul had not inherited, and that was Tor's cunning.
"Cousin, what a debacle---it was a miracle you escaped at all." Uthul strode forward, hands extended sideways in the gesture of greeting.
Sarnak looked past Uthul to see a dozen sorcerers emerge, looking warily at Sarnak's surviving retinue.
"Your father died well and with honor," Sarnak said evenly.
"At the hands of that bastard Jartan," Uthul replied, with obvious emotion in his voice. "I thought no good would come of this effort--I tried to warn him. I just knew it would be a failure."
"It was my plan, you know," Sarnak said dryly.
Uthul fell silent. "Be that as it may," he finally replied. "It's a wonder Jartan has not moved straight here to burn us out."
"I think he might have other concerns right now. He knows your father is dead; he might think that's sufficient for now."
"But it's said Allic still hunts you, and won't stop once he finds out where you have fled."
Sarnak bristled inwardly at the word fled. He had been forced to make a tactical withdrawal... but there would soon be another skirmish--that is, if his hated foe survived the threat he expected was coming.
Uthul shook his head and continued. "At least, cousin, I can give you and yours shelter for awhile here in my kingdom. But I want no part of this war if it should continue. I've already sent an ambassador to Jartan indicating my desire for peace. If he should even suspect that I gave you shelter, I know his wrath would turn on me as well. I'm surprised it hasn't happened already. That is why, when you have rested, I will have to ask that you leave my realm. There are places across the sea where I am
The main keep of the ancient palace, one of those fashioned by the creator Horat himself, was also built straight into the side of the mountain, atop a sheer rock pinnacle of smooth granite. The only way to enter it was by air--and a series of traps was studded through the narrow pass for an aerial approach. Crystals were mounted to either side in a latticework pattern, with only a narrow, unrestricted opening through the middle. Come in too high or too low and cross between two crystals, and the trap would be sprung as half a hundred energy bolts snapped out from the mountain, incinerating everything between them.
If one approached from down in the valley, the same trap awaited as the unwary victim started to climb the face of the pinnacle. A straight overhead approach and a spiral down would create the same response from an interlocking series of crystals that pointed upwards to their counterparts on the distant peaks.
Without the guides to lead them in, the approach would have been almost impossible to negotiate. Sarnak felt a twinge of jealousy for such a profligate use of the precious stones.
Following the lead of his first battle team, Sarnak turned sharply and came in for final approach. Once across the threshold of the fortress, he breathed an inward sigh of relief: The first part of the ordeal had been passed. Trying to calm the tension within, he alighted on the platform.
Around him, the rest of his sorcerers turned in sharply and, as they landed, spread out in what appeared to be a protective circle.
From the shadows of a doorway that led into the heart of the mountain, a single middle-aged man appeared. Uthul's face was angular and dark, wreathed in a beard that had already gone over to grey. The resemblance was striking, and for an instant Sarnak almost thought that he was standing before his uncle Tor. Yet Sarnak knew there was one thing that Uthul had not inherited, and that was Tor's cunning.
"Cousin, what a debacle---it was a miracle you escaped at all." Uthul strode forward, hands extended sideways in the gesture of greeting.
Sarnak looked past Uthul to see a dozen sorcerers emerge, looking warily at Sarnak's surviving retinue.
"Your father died well and with honor," Sarnak said evenly.
"At the hands of that bastard Jartan," Uthul replied, with obvious emotion in his voice. "I thought no good would come of this effort--I tried to warn him. I just knew it would be a failure."
"It was my plan, you know," Sarnak said dryly.
Uthul fell silent. "Be that as it may," he finally replied. "It's a wonder Jartan has not moved straight here to burn us out."
"I think he might have other concerns right now. He knows your father is dead; he might think that's sufficient for now."
"But it's said Allic still hunts you, and won't stop once he finds out where you have fled."
Sarnak bristled inwardly at the word fled. He had been forced to make a tactical withdrawal... but there would soon be another skirmish--that is, if his hated foe survived the threat he expected was coming.
Uthul shook his head and continued. "At least, cousin, I can give you and yours shelter for awhile here in my kingdom. But I want no part of this war if it should continue. I've already sent an ambassador to Jartan indicating my desire for peace. If he should even suspect that I gave you shelter, I know his wrath would turn on me as well. I'm surprised it hasn't happened already. That is why, when you have rested, I will have to ask that you leave my realm. There are places across the sea where I am
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