Brian Rathbone - The Dawning of Power

The magnificence of the hall left her awestruck, and she wondered what kind of person would sit on such a throne. How could anyone not have felt tiny and insignificant in this enormous display? She pictured herself in that high seat, and seeing herself sitting there in her leathers and homespun made her smile. Thoughts of Osbourne and the others, though, soon banished all humor.

The chasm bisected the wall above the relief like a gaping wound, and Catrin desperately wanted to reach it. She tried to gauge the distance from the ledge that ran along the top of the relief to the bottom of the gap. It was at least three times her height, and she knew she would never be able to jump that far. There didn't seem to be any other way out, so Catrin decided to inspect the wall above the great mantle.

Climbing onto the throne, she hoped the ghosts of whatever kings may have occupied it would not be offended by her trespassing. The relief was easy to climb, its worn image providing an easy grip. She hated to climb on that ancient beauty, but it was unavoidable. The wall above the ledge was rough hewn, like that of the throne, and it bore many scars and cracks. Running her fingers over it, searching for any notches she could use during her climb, she was disappointed to find no suitable handholds within her reach. She needed something to stand on.

The suit of armor on the far side of the throne was in fairly good condition, and she approached it apprehensively, halfway fearing it would come to life and attack her. It remained still, and she ran her hand along the breastplate; it was pocked and corroded, but it still had much of its tensile strength and mass.

Weight was a problem. She would be able to carry only so much while climbing. Knocking on the side of the helmet, she found it was quite solid and pulled it free from the rest of the armor, marveling at the craftsmanship. Even covered in dust and grime, she could see it was beautifully done, and she hated that she was going to use it as a stool.

Climbing the relief with one hand was out of the question. She considered tossing the helm onto the ledge but feared the noise. Finally, she decided to wear the helmet. After cleaning out the inside with her shirt, she gingerly pulled it over her ears. It was too big for her and flopped from side to side whenever she moved her head. Her vision was partially blocked, and the smell was most unpleasant, but she endured the discomfort and made her way to the top of the relief. She set the helmet in the most stable position possible, and after a deep breath, stepped onto it with one foot. Slowly, carefully, she put her weight on it and brought her other foot up to rest on the best toehold she could find.

The toehold was not so good, but it took some of her weight off of the helmet and allowed her to extend herself. At the top of her greatest reach, she felt a knob of rock. Hopeful, she climbed down and slid the helmet perilously close to the end of the ledge. When she stepped back up on it, the helmet shifted and nearly upset her balance, but she caught herself in time.

The protrusion above was wide but not well enough defined to provide a firm grip. Frustrated, she used her belt knife to chisel around the top. The tip of the knife snapped off, and she cursed her luck, promising herself that her next belt knife would be more like a pickaxe.

Using what was now the blunt point of her knife, she fell to work on the stone. What remained of the blade was not as sharp, but it was thicker and stronger, so it had become a better tool for the task. She worked in a precarious position, perched on the helmet and overextended, but she landed several solid blows on the rock. Chips of stone and sparks flew before her determined stabbing.

With her handhold more defined, she began the perilous climb in earnest. She had to expand a few chinks while she clung to the wall, and her energy was nearly spent by the time she reached the large crack, but getting to it gave her a burst of energy. Grappling her way to the base of the opening, she found it difficult to enter. The bottom was too narrow for her to fit through, and her feet scraped against the rock below, unable to find purchase.

With an effort born of desperation, she used her arms to heave herself into the crevice. Dangling in what was an extremely uncomfortable position, she rested her quivering arms. Breathing heavily, she remained there for a few moments before pulling herself the rest of the way in. Catrin knew how close she had come to falling, but her curiosity won out over fear and physical exhaustion, and she moved on.

The crevice continued for a short distance before it opened into fresh air. Catrin made her way to the opening, and she felt moist, chilly air on her face. The sight below terrified her: a sheer drop of several hundred feet was all that stood between her and the valley floor. She realized she was now on the opposite side of the mountain. Edging herself out of the opening, she craned her neck to see how far she was from the crest.

It looked as though she might be able to climb it, and she knew she could not descend the cliff face safely. Gathering her strength, she climbed to the top of the crevice. There were large foot- and handholds, and the opposite wall of the cleft gave her leverage. The ledge above the crevice provided a commanding view of the Pinook Valley, and Catrin saw the sun for the first time in many days.

Columns of smoke, far to the north, rose into the sky. It did not look like a forest fire, and the recent rains reduced that possibility even further. A cold feeling crept into her stomach as it occurred to her that she was seeing the smoke from hundreds of campfires. Her gut told her that an army approached from the north.

She felt naked and exposed on the side of the mountain, especially knowing the men who captured Osbourne might have been army scouts and they could still be looking for his companions. Though she didn't think Osbourne would tell them anything, the supplies and bedrolls in the cavern clearly indicated he had not been alone. She simply had to trust her luck and hope she would not be seen, but she was not optimistic.

From atop the crevice, she had a better view of her climb to the peak. It didn't look easy, but it was certain to be a great deal easier than her escape from the throne room. Having no desire to remain in the open, she began to climb. The incline was fairly gradual, and she walked much of the way. Occasionally she had to get on her hands and knees to make it through a tough spot, and in several places, she had to climb over large rock formations that stuck out of the mountain. From her higher vantage point, the rock face below resembled the edge of a huge crater, as if some god had taken a bite out of the mountainside.

When she gained the crest, she flattened herself down against the rock and crept along to look into the Chinawpa Valley. Trying to take advantage of the excellent view, she searched for the cavern entrance, but she had lost her bearings and was unsure how it would look from above. A small ridge sloped gently down the mountain face, and she decided to follow it to the base. About to stand, she caught movement in her periphery. Flattening herself further, she turned to look.

Nothing stirred, but she remained as still as stone. Fear paralyzed her when two figures emerged from behind a rock outcropping. They were south of her but near the top of the ridgeline, concealed by the shadows, and they seemed to be trying to stay in the darkness. Catrin froze and tried to become invisible. When the forms stopped and turned in her direction, tears came to her eyes and her lip began to quiver. She saw one motion to the other then point in her direction. Escape was unlikely, and she decided she would rather throw herself from the cliff face than be captured.

Standing quickly, she turned to make her desperate retreat. She had taken only three steps when some instinct made her look behind to see if she was being pursued, and she nearly shouted out for joy.