for her caution: Mihn knew full well the rotting corpse of a dragon was bound to this side of the doors and he had no desire to look upon it. Bad enough that he would have to if he returned.
As he reached a chunk of rock twice his height that was protruding awkwardly from the slope Mihn stopped, realising the bones underfoot had given way to grit and dirt. As he paused to catch his breath he felt the heat radiate out from the rock. Now he dared to look at his surroundings and take in the sight of Ghain, the great slope which all souls must walk before they reached either the land of no time or the punishments of Ghenna.
The darkness was not so complete as he’d first thought, more a ghastly red tint, and little by little he started to see some detail of the immeasurable mountain slope. Nothing was clear, but at least he could discern where the bigger stones lay, and the cant of the ground. Here and there boulders punctuated the jagged, stony slope. He crouched and ran his fingers through the dirt at his feet. It felt gritty, almost greasy on his skin, quite unlike the sands of a desert.
There were a few stunted trees but Mihn knew this was not a place where any real life could be sustained. Up above was a roiling mess of smoke-clouds that looked positively poisonous, far from the sort that might provide rain. He started out towards the nearest tree, but after a few hundred yards he began to make out shapes around its base and as he got closer he could see something writhing in its crooked, dead branches . . . He turned away at once, giving the strange sight a wide berth.
When he was safely clear, Mihn stopped and looked up the slope. He felt terribly alone, as fearful as an abandoned child, and part of him wanted to curl up in a hollow and hide from the dread that pervaded the slope. The quiet was broken only by tremors running through the ground and the distant moans of the damned drifting on the air, which was uncomfortably hot, irritating his eyes and throat. At last Mihn shook himself and started off again, trudging up the slope. He kept a wary eye open, checking in all directions every few minutes, but Ghain remained empty until he came to a hollow in the ground, a dozen yards across, below a level stone. From Mihn’s angle it looked like a door lintel set into the slope and while there was nothing but the position of the stone to differentiate it, something made Mihn stop.
He checked his feet and palms, brushing the dirt from his bare soles and ensuring the tattoos put there by the witch of Llehden remained unbroken. Reassured, he skirted the hollow and checked around. Some faint dragging sound seemed to accompany a tiny movement in the distance, but it was miles away and Mihn discounted the threat, at least for the present. He bent and picked up a large stone, hefting it to feel the weight for a moment, then hurled it into the hollow.
The dead soil exploded into movement, a grey cloud of dust erupting up as some hidden creature snapped at the stone. It clawed at the place where the stone had landed, then shook violently to bury itself once more in the ground.
Mihn gaped. Years ago a friend had shown him an ant-lion’s lair, and whilst he had seen only the claw of whatever lay in hidden in Ghain’s slope, it had to be several hundred times larger than the savage insect they’d teased out of the ground all those years ago. He shivered, and continued even more warily on his way.
Death was not a God prone to exaggeration. He had said there were a thousand torments lurking on the slopes of Ghain, and as he walked, Mihn began to wonder whether these were neither daemon nor Aspect: What if they are the mischief and cruelty of mortals given flesh? Or is all I see born of my own fears?
He shivered and chanced a look behind. He felt like he’d walked several miles already and as he turned he saw, far away, the pitted stone construction that housed the door to Death’s throne room, standing alone like a
As he reached a chunk of rock twice his height that was protruding awkwardly from the slope Mihn stopped, realising the bones underfoot had given way to grit and dirt. As he paused to catch his breath he felt the heat radiate out from the rock. Now he dared to look at his surroundings and take in the sight of Ghain, the great slope which all souls must walk before they reached either the land of no time or the punishments of Ghenna.
The darkness was not so complete as he’d first thought, more a ghastly red tint, and little by little he started to see some detail of the immeasurable mountain slope. Nothing was clear, but at least he could discern where the bigger stones lay, and the cant of the ground. Here and there boulders punctuated the jagged, stony slope. He crouched and ran his fingers through the dirt at his feet. It felt gritty, almost greasy on his skin, quite unlike the sands of a desert.
There were a few stunted trees but Mihn knew this was not a place where any real life could be sustained. Up above was a roiling mess of smoke-clouds that looked positively poisonous, far from the sort that might provide rain. He started out towards the nearest tree, but after a few hundred yards he began to make out shapes around its base and as he got closer he could see something writhing in its crooked, dead branches . . . He turned away at once, giving the strange sight a wide berth.
When he was safely clear, Mihn stopped and looked up the slope. He felt terribly alone, as fearful as an abandoned child, and part of him wanted to curl up in a hollow and hide from the dread that pervaded the slope. The quiet was broken only by tremors running through the ground and the distant moans of the damned drifting on the air, which was uncomfortably hot, irritating his eyes and throat. At last Mihn shook himself and started off again, trudging up the slope. He kept a wary eye open, checking in all directions every few minutes, but Ghain remained empty until he came to a hollow in the ground, a dozen yards across, below a level stone. From Mihn’s angle it looked like a door lintel set into the slope and while there was nothing but the position of the stone to differentiate it, something made Mihn stop.
He checked his feet and palms, brushing the dirt from his bare soles and ensuring the tattoos put there by the witch of Llehden remained unbroken. Reassured, he skirted the hollow and checked around. Some faint dragging sound seemed to accompany a tiny movement in the distance, but it was miles away and Mihn discounted the threat, at least for the present. He bent and picked up a large stone, hefting it to feel the weight for a moment, then hurled it into the hollow.
The dead soil exploded into movement, a grey cloud of dust erupting up as some hidden creature snapped at the stone. It clawed at the place where the stone had landed, then shook violently to bury itself once more in the ground.
Mihn gaped. Years ago a friend had shown him an ant-lion’s lair, and whilst he had seen only the claw of whatever lay in hidden in Ghain’s slope, it had to be several hundred times larger than the savage insect they’d teased out of the ground all those years ago. He shivered, and continued even more warily on his way.
Death was not a God prone to exaggeration. He had said there were a thousand torments lurking on the slopes of Ghain, and as he walked, Mihn began to wonder whether these were neither daemon nor Aspect: What if they are the mischief and cruelty of mortals given flesh? Or is all I see born of my own fears?
He shivered and chanced a look behind. He felt like he’d walked several miles already and as he turned he saw, far away, the pitted stone construction that housed the door to Death’s throne room, standing alone like a
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