David Farland - Beyond the Gate

And the bridge they had crossed was a marvel-nearly a mile of vast granite pylons held stonework that was intricately carved along the side with a massive frieze that displayed images of grotesque gargoyles, squatting and grunting as they shoved handcarts over the bridge. The images were somehow both comic and beautiful. And the bridge was enormously wide, enough so that four or five carts could have gone abreast.

On the far side of the island was a shorter bridge, just as intricately decorated, and Orick suddenly saw why the giants chose to camp here: the island could be easily defended.

Orick climbed a steep, pine-covered ridge until he reached the top of the eagle that gazed out to sea. There, on the head between the eagle’s wings, he found Gallen sitting, dangling his feet as if unaware that he was perched above a deadly drop. Gallen wore the black gloves and boots of a Lord Protector, along with his robe that would stay black unless he willed it to change some other color or let it blend into whatever background he happened to be standing in.

Orick climbed beside him, sat gazing out to sea, resting his muzzle on his paws. The double suns had just risen, and the sea was flat, smooth, a deep, pristine blue. Orick could see salmon finning in lazy circles out in the water, and cormorants were flying out to sea, shooting just above the waves.

Orick said, “Did you see the bridges?”

“Indeed.” Gallen sighed. “This place is called Profundis, and those unbreakable bridges were carved long ago by a race called the Thworn. If you look west, on that bluff over there, you will see the walls to an ancient city, Tywee.” Orick looked over to a dome-shaped bluff beside the sea and noticed for the first time some crumbling walls among the trees. “Eight hundred years ago, a young man named Omad fell in love with a beautiful princess, and she agreed to marry him if he took her armies and unified this region. He did so-by making pacts and trade agreements, so that never a drop of blood was spilled. And after their wedding he wisely built the bridges-not only to facilitate travel in his own lands, but to keep enemy ships from sailing upriver into the heart of his realm.

“You see, this river accepts drainage from all the land within a thousand kilometers in any direction, and so it is the major artery leading south into the heartland.”

“Did the king build these statues, too?” Orick asked.

“Yes. A bloody, barbaric race called the Dwinideen were great seamen, and they had often raided deep into the fertile inland. As the bridge was being built, the Dwinideen harried the craftsmen, slaughtering many people, much to the dismay of Omad. But the Dwinideen were superstitious, and they feared Capul, the sky god who appears in the shape of a fish eagle. They believed that if one dies, and the fish eagle gets at the body, the eagle will carry off the dead person’s spirit to be eaten so that the dead can never be reborn. So the King of Tywee carved this statue, and when next the Dwinideen attacked, Omad took thirty of the Dwinideen captive. With his own hand he hurled them from the eagle’s head to the rocks below, crying, ‘Thus shall my enemies die!’ There were many fish eagles living here then, as there are now, and they fed on the carcasses. Afterward, the Dwinideen feared this place and never returned. For the rest of his days, Omad regretted that he was forced to shed blood to protect his kingdom.”

Gallen fell silent. His voice seemed grim. Almost, Orick thought, as if he were grieving for the long-dead king, and there was pain in his eyes, a quiet wisdom that seemed out of place on Gallen’s features.

“Hmmm …” Orick said, wondering how Gallen had learned so much. Gallen must have spoken of this place with the giants.

In the distance, toward the ancient city of Tywee, Orick saw the white flashing of wings as a fish eagle swooped to grab a fish from the water.

“If this bridge is so important, why isn’t there a city here now?” Orick asked.

“The kingdom fell into ruin. It was attacked from the south, by men who came out of the desert. The villagers who live here now are weaker men, too divided to stand against their overlords. They pay a small tribute and live in relative peace.”

“And who might these southern warriors be?” Orick asked, knowing that they would have to go south soon, and might have to pass through their lands.

“Can you not guess?” Gallen said. “They’re the Tekkar.”

Orick licked his lips. “I don’t like the Tekkar.” He’d known that they served the Inhuman, but somehow he imagined that they would be far away-not a present danger. “Will we meet more of them soon?”

Gallen said, “We made good time last night. A hundred kilometers since sunset. And it’s a beautiful, clear day. We’ll go a hundred more kilometers before the day is done. But we are almost a thousand kilometers from the desert, and the Tekkar do not like climates as cool and wet as this. It will be a few days before we find them.”

Orick grunted in relief, and Gallen sat brooding, looking out to sea. Orick headed down between the dark pines to see if breakfast was ready. Squirrels were out in the morning sun, searching for nuts, chattering. At the foot of the trail, Orick found Maggie.

“Have you seen Gallen?” she asked.

“He’s up top.”

“Is he all right?”

“Quiet,” Orick said. “He just seemed to want some time alone, to think.”

Maggie bit her lower lip and frowned. She glanced up the trail, then headed up in a hurry.

Orick watched her leave, and something in her face bothered him. She’d been panicked, as if she didn’t trust Gallen to sit and think for five minutes.

Orick almost headed to camp, but curiosity got the better of him. Maggie was nearly running up the steep trail, darting between trees.

Orick turned and rushed after her, but halfway up the trail, Gallen met Maggie coming down, and Gallen had obviously seen Orick. The two of them walked down together, arm in arm, and Orick tagged along, certain that once again he had missed out on a chance to hear their secret conversations.

When they got back to camp, the Im giants all sat around a small cooking fire, circled by dark trees. Their tunics were stained by sweat, and they smelled none too sweet to Orick, but the humans next to them didn’t mind. Breakfast was ready, and they passed out the corn cakes, tasty enough fare for the road. Even Tallea was up to sitting a bit while she ate. It felt good to Orick to be in the daylight, with the sun shining on his fur.

Ceravanne addressed them all as they ate. “Today we must make some decisions. The roads to Moree are many, and each is fraught with its own dangers. We’ve come west out of expediency, but how far west shall we go? And when do we head south? I walked abroad in this land many years ago. The hills and mountains look little changed, but rivers have turned, old roads are forgotten and new ones are unknown to me. So I think it best to ask our friends, the Im giants, for their advice, and to ask Tallea the Caldurian for her help.”

“I not been to this land,” Tallea said.

“I know the roads along the sea,” Fenorah said, “and I know the roads inland by reputation. You could head south this morning at Marbee Road. It’s a wide road built upon a bed of stone, and it follows the river where it passes through many small hamlets, and borders many a field. The folk along the way are friendly enough, and accustomed to strangers. But I fear it is a dangerous road for you: the hosts of the Inhuman have already gone south on Battic Road, and Marbee Road will meet it in one hundred and twenty kilometers. They may be waiting for you there or beyond. Still, if you hurry, the chances are good that you could keep ahead of them.”