David Drake - The Fortress of Glass

"Your highness?" Attaper said, this time in confusion instead of building concern.

"Not once in an epic, milord," Sharina said. "Notonce. Is the king killed when one of his own men accidentally sticks a spear through him from behind. I'm beginning to think the poets aren't trustworthy guides to the reality of battle!"

She dissolved into laughter again, resting her palms on the hard ground. Around her rang the triumphant cries of her men as they cleared Calf's Head Bay of living hellplants.

Garric paused at the lip of the abyss. He'd been expecting a narrow canyon-for no particular reason, he realized. It was just an assumption he'd made.

A foolish assumption, he saw now: the abyss was more or less circular as best he could tell through the mist. The walls were steep, crumbled back slightly around the rim but close to vertical in many places further down as Garric's eye tracked it. He heard water roaring over the cliff somewhere though he couldn't see the falls themselves. They were probably the reason that the depths of the abyss were even foggier than the general landscape.

"Is it a sinkhole?" Garric asked the Bird on his shoulder. He bent and rubbed the rock exposed on the track leading downward. "It can't be! This is hard, basalt I think. Sinkholes are in limestone that the water's eaten away."

"There was a bubble in the flow of a great volcano," the Bird explained. "The top wore away. That took longer than you can imagine-longer than this world has known life. But it happened."

It clucked audibly, then added, "There's an hour left of daylight. We should start down. It'll be more dangerous after sunset."

"All right," said Garric. "Ah-I won't be able to see any farther than my hand outstretched when we get anyway down in that, even now."

He wasn't complaining, just making sure the Bird understood the situation.

"A little farther than that," the Bird said. "But yes, I'll guide you. We'll keep to the trail as long as we can, but if we meet a party of Coerli we'll have to move to the side. The other creatures have generally learned to avoid the trail themselves, but even that isn't safe."

Garric chuckled as he started down. It was too narrow for a pack animal, even an unusually sure-footed donkey, but it was only moderately steep.

"Safe was when I was tending sheep back in the borough," he said quietly. He thought of the afternoon the pack of sea wolves had squirmed out of the surf, great marine lizards. "And even that had its moments," he added.

The dense basalt was slick with spray condensed on its surfaces. Though the path wasn't particularly regular-the footing humped and sagged, and at some points the track was undercut so that the side of the cliff bellied out above it-it certainly wasn't natural.

And it showed considerable wear. That would've taken a long time in rock so hard.

"Did men cut this, Bird?" Garric asked. Part of him felt silly to vocalize the question when he knew the Bird heard his thoughts, but he found it more comfortable to pretend this was a normal conversation. "It's too worn for the Coerli to've done it if they just arrived here a few years ago."

"A normal conversation with a crystal bird," Carus said, grinning. "In a land of swamps and shadows, with one really deep hole."

"Others than men built the path, Garric," the Bird said. He'd taken to flying ahead and perching on an outcrop or a tree just at the edge of Garric's vision; a dozen feet or so away. "The cave in which my people lived has drawn visitors since before there was intelligent life in this land, though those who made the path were intelligent."

Garric thought of asking more, then decided not to. The Bird had shown itself a friend. If it didn't volunteer information, there was probably a reason for its reticence.

"I am not your friend, Garric," the Bird said in a tone of dry disapproval. "Our purposes happen to coincide, that is all. But I will not harm you or yours by my own choice."

I wish I could be sure that was true for all the people who say theyaremy friends, Garric thought. And particularly those who say they're friends of Prince Garric. He grinned but he didn't speak aloud.

The walls of the cliff were covered with ferns and air plants, some of which draped broad gray-green streamers like tapestries far down over the rocks. When Garric saw tree tops jetting out from a central stem, he thought he must be nearing the bottom of the gorge. By the time he'd clambered down far enough to be among them, he saw that he'd been wrong: the trunks were dim pillars vanishing far below.

"The trees at this level are three hundred feet high," the Bird said. "It will be some time before we reach the floor. Unless you slip."

"Was that a joke, Bird?" Garric asked.

"No," said the Bird. Then it clicked two body parts together-not its beak-and said, "Stop. I hear something. A band of Coerli has started up the path."

As Garric climbed and slid down the cliff path, he'd heard occasional noises over the background thrum of the falls: a booming croak, a bell-like chiming, and once a shriek like a child being torn limb from limb. He'd left his axe and knife in his sash because he needed both hands free to move safely; even so he'd twitched toward the weapons when he heard the scream.

Now, hunching where a crevice the width of his palm crossed the path, he heard nothing. "What do you recommend?" he asked, moving his lips without letting any sound pass them.

"Get at least twenty feet off the trail and stay very still," the Bird said. Then it added in emotionless apology, "The Coerli have no fixed time to use the portal in the cave. Whether we met a party or did not was purely a matter of chance."

"You didn't tell me it was going to be easy," Garric mouthed as he crept sideways over the edge of the trail.

The slope here was more gradual than in many places, less than one to one, but the rock had a slick covering of hair-fine moss. He found a crack to stick his right big toe into, then settled his weight onto it as he reached down with his left hand. There was nothing better than a handful of moss to grip, short and slippery, but he clung to it as best he could.

"There is a root on your right side," the Bird said, fluttering in the air beside him. "It's narrow, but it will hold you."

Garric swept his hand over the rock and found the root, crawling up the rock from a plant lower down. It was no thicker than a piece of twine, but its suckers held it to the stone like ivy on a brick wall. He pinched the root between his thumb and forefinger, afraid to wrap his whole hand around it lest he pull it away from the cliff.

Garric could hear the Coerli now, the rasping rhythms of their voices. He couldn't tell how many there were, but he doubted he'd be able to handle one healthy warrior in his present condition.

"Though we'd try," cautioned the ghost in his mind; andof course he'd try and die trying. But better to avoid the problem.

"There are five warriors and their chief, Grunog," the Bird said. "Grunog has no females, but he hopes to gain enough prestige in this new land to make himself powerful in two years, or perhaps three."

Garric had stuck the axe helve under his sash, but when he squeezed himself to the rock face the blade gouged him over the hipbone. He'd have been all right if he'd shifted the axe before he left the trail, but he hadn't thought of the problem until it jabbed him.

Supporting himself by his hands alone, Garric removed his right foot from the crack and felt below him for another toe-hold. He was sure the axe was drawing blood. As soon as he got another safe foothold, he'd His right arm spasmed in response to the shoulder wound. Garric lost his grip and tore through plants as he crashed down the cliff side. He bounced from rocks to the bottom fifty feet below where he'd started. Above him the Coerli were calling excitedly.