Shadow of the Otherverse (The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga Book 3) (25 page)

“Any idea how far we is from that second bridge you mentioned?” asked Rotgut, who showed no signs of weariness after the night’s endeavors. He, like most veteran members of the army, was used to more grueling journeys.

Rexall looked around him, but the sameness of the terrain defeated his ability to establish their exact location. The left side of the trail ended in a sheer rock face that rose up a dizzying thousand feet. To the right was another stone wall but there was a gap of ten feet between the edge of the pathway and the cliffside. Rexall had no idea how far one could fall down that fissure and he wasn’t interested in learning the answer. Although he had used Widow’s Pass twice - once going north and once returning south - the only milestones he knew were the bridges. Other than that, one spot was like the next: foreboding, dangerous, and utterly inhospitable. At least it wasn’t Winter.

“We can’t be too far away,” he said, although his voice betrayed his uncertainty. “Whatever happens, we don’t want to catch up to them on the bridge.” This was a point he had emphasized before they left. “If we haven’t reached them before, we’ll have to hold up. Ain’t possible to fight with so little room for error.” The exception was the three men who had bows, although Rexall didn’t want to risk hitting the non-soldiers. Plus, there was the consideration that all ten of the men with Carannan were thus armed and there was no cover on the bridge. In a hand-to-hand struggle, he had the advantage of numbers; not so in a long-distance fight, when it would come down to how fast his archers could reload and how accurate their aim was compared to that of the bowmen on the other side.

As the day dragged on, clouds moved in from the northwest and a persistent drizzle began to fall, reducing visibility to less than a half mile on those rare occasions when the trail straightened enough to see that far. The gap between the right side of the path and the wall had narrowed to about four feet - almost close enough to touch, not that Rexall was stupid enough to try. He ventured close to the edge and peered down but, after the first few feet, he couldn’t see anything but blackness. The thought occurred to him that it was a good place to toss a body. He knew he wasn’t the first person to have that idea and wondered if the gap had already been used in that manner for Carannan.

With the gloomy mockery of daylight surrounding them, the men moved quickly and, by the time they rested for a brief mid-day meal, Rexall’s calves were burning. Although he had been in military life for a half-year, he wasn’t in shape for this kind of excursion. With the exception of one other man, a lanky farmer who had joined “to fight them invaders,” everyone else treated the journey as if it was routine. Rexall mused that the problem with career soldiers was that they either didn’t feel physical discomfort or, if they did, they were so used to it that they didn’t notice.

Later that day, dusk approached without any clear indication that they were nearing the bridge but Rexall believed them to be close. Then again, he had thought that for most of the day. Since he didn’t want them blundering onto it and possibly losing one or more men as a consequence, he decided they would stop as soon as there was too little light for them to proceed safely. He was unconcerned about them being caught from behind, although he recognized that every passing hour made it less likely they would catch up to their quarry while the overcommander was still in charge. For all he knew, Carannan was already dead.

They were minutes away from halting for the day when they saw something in the road ahead. Rexall mentioned for them to slow and, as they crept closer, the object was revealed to be a body - the body of a man wearing a guard’s uniform. Rexall’s instinct was to dash forward but he held back, fearing a trap. It seemed unlikely that the soldiers commissioned with killing Carannan would simply leave him in the middle of the path with such a nice, convenient crevasse only a few feet away. But there was nowhere for archers waiting in ambush to hide and the light was too dim for a clear shot from more than perhaps a hundred feet away. Besides, why would the soldiers ahead suspect pursuit?  Rexall was certain his men had been careful enough to remain undetected even if someone ahead was paranoid enough to investigate.

Rexall reached the body without suddenly sprouting arrows in his chest - a possibility he had half expected. Before dropping to his haunches, he recognized the overcommander, unmoving and lying on his stomach. Turning Carannan over, Rexall saw no evidence of any critical wounds, although his hands were heavily scraped with some of the cuts almost to the bone. The most surprising thing, however, was that Carannan’s chest rose and fell. He let out a groan when Rexall rolled him onto his back.

As Rotgut tended to his former liege, Rexall posted lookouts. After taking several swigs of water from a proffered skin, Carannan struggled to a sitting position, wincing and grimacing. Rotgut pronounced that his left arm was broken and he had fractured several ribs - painful, certainly, but not life-threatening. A salve and bandages were applied to the deep abrasions on both hands.

Once he had recovered sufficiently to talk, Carannan related his tale. “Despite what His Eminence claims, it’s hard to believe there aren’t gods… because I can’t think of any other means by which I could’ve survived. I guess you’d call it luck or fate but now I’ve got this to add to living through Vantok’s inferno to the times I’ve cheated death. At any rate, I’m glad to see you men. Don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”

“Why did they leave you in the middle of the road?” asked Rexall.

“They didn’t,” said Carannan. “When no one tried to get rid of me last night, I thought maybe I’d misjudged the situation. Perhaps Ferguson didn’t want me out of the way permanently, only temporarily. I took my watch then lay awake waiting for someone to slide a knife into my belly, but no one tried anything. I may have dozed off but when morning came, I was unmolested. Got all the usual morning greetings from the men - no one seemed the least bit nervous or uncomfortable. So, even though I was tired, I felt better about things. Less tightly wound. I guess I let my guard down too much because I didn’t see it coming.

“The attack was subtle and well-planned. No one drew swords. No one fired arrows. One of the bigger men - Ramrod, I think - came alongside me and pretended to trip. When I reached out to offer him a hand, he returned the favor by giving me a shove. I lost my balance and fell off the trail. Down there.” He gestured to the four-foot wide opening between the edge of the road and the rock wall beyond. “And that was it. Except it wasn’t. About fifteen feet down, the gap narrows and, instead of falling hundreds of feet, I got wedged in between. Smacking into that crevice really, really hurt and I think the impact knocked me out. Things were muddled for a while. I remember hearing a lot of yelling and shouting but by the time I came to my senses, it was quiet. Then I climbed back up to the trail. That wasn’t easy, I can tell you. I’m no expert climber and there aren’t many hand-holds. I fell twice, breaking my arm the second time, and I thought for sure I’d die down there. But it’s amazing what a person can do when staring death in the face.”

Although not doubting the veracity of Carannan’s account, Rexall nevertheless decided to confirm it. He took a lighted torch, walked to the edge, and tossed it over. As it fell, he could tell by the light reflected off the rock that the gap did indeed narrow - enough to still let the torch continue to fall but not enough to pass through a man.

“You’re lucky they didn’t stab you first. Bleeding like that, you’d never have made it back up.”

“I guess they wanted to make it seem like an accident. I was bringing up the rear so none of the wizard candidates would have seen what really happened. I guess the last thing Ferguson wanted is for them to witness a pitched battle between the overcommander and his soldiers. Not a good way to ensure morale. And no one suspected a fall was survivable. I certainly didn’t. I remember in the long moment when I was going over the edge thinking that this was how it was going to end. It didn’t seem real. I suppose the certain knowledge of one’s own death never does.”

They passed the night where they were, allowing Carannan to sleep and regain some of his stamina. Technically, the next move was the overcommander’s decision but Rexall didn’t think it was in doubt. Since they couldn’t go back, they had to go forward. But should they overtake the others or hang back? And if they caught up to them, then what?

It was an especially miserable night with the misty drizzle freezing on contact with the rocks and making everything slippery. Fortunately, with the approach of morning, the temperatures inched upward and everything melted, all of which did little to improve Rexall’s sour disposition. He hated being cold. He hated being wet. He hated being hungry. And now he was all three. There was a reason he had worked in a stable as a boy rather than joining the militia. This was it.

Carannan included all the men in his overview of what was next. “It’s obvious by now, if it wasn’t already, that those of us who remain loyal to Her Majesty are outcasts. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t go back. Ferguson would have us arrested and probably executed for desertion, dereliction of duty, or some other trumped-up charge. The men ahead of us are the real traitors. Not only are they loyal to a man committing treason but they tried to kill me. I don’t propose to offer them mercy or quarter. We’ll catch up to them and take out the soldiers then offer the rest the option of joining us willingly or accompanying us as prisoners. That will be a blow to Ferguson since these are the men and women he’s hoping to use as the cornerstones for his new order.”

No one argued. As reluctant as the men were to attack fellows they had fought alongside at the Battle of Vantok, they understood the necessity. They had made their decision when they slipped out of the refugee camp. The die was cast and there was no turning back. They followed Carannan, their lawfully appointed overcommander.

They arrived at the second bridge late in the afternoon and Carannan opted to begin the crossing even though it would necessitate camping in a precarious perch exposed to the elements - something Rexall urged against in the strongest possible language. In the end, he had no choice but to accept the orders of a superior. He understood the overcommander’s urgency - shortly after the bridge’s terminus, the trail widened, became gentler, and eventually split into branches. It was to their advantage to overtake the others before the terrain became too friendly.

They identified their quarry after dark. The Ibitsal-bound group was ahead of them on the bridge, perhaps only a mile distant. Unconcerned about the potential of pursuit, they had lighted fires. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Rexall - the last time he had traveled north in Widow’s Pass, he had been the hunted. This time, he was the hunter. That knowledge didn’t cheer him or warm him against the chill night wind that whistled through the canyons between the Broken Crags.

Carannan approached Rexall about the possibility of a middle-of-the-night sneak attack. He vetoed the idea. The trail was so narrow and the footing so uncertain that a significant loss of life was possible on both sides, including among the wizard candidates. Their best move, in his opinion, was to wait until morning then move forward slowly and surreptitiously, maintaining their distance and hopefully their surprise advantage. Then, once clear of the bridge, they could increase their speed, close the gap, and do what had to be done before the other group was clear of the pass. Acknowledging the soundness of the strategy, Carannan agreed then informed everyone of his decision. When the time came for the actual attack, he tabbed Rotgut to lead it. Since his injuries would prevent him from participating, he would have no choice but to hang back. Rexall would stay with him to protect him in the event that someone targeted Carannan. It was a tactful way of acknowledging Rexall’s limited skill with weapons. He was an adequate archer but not especially adept with any kind of blade. For his part, he was content to let more experienced soldiers man the front lines. Death might find him but he wasn’t going to seek it out. Those embarking on such a quest usually succeeded.

The attack, when they launched it shortly after noon the next day, went about as expected, if not better. There were no fatalities on Carannan’s side, although two men suffered minor wounds - one a cut to the hand, another a slash to the cheek. Five of the opposing soldiers were dead before they understood the situation and the remaining five threw down their weapons and begged for mercy. Despite his assertion that he would offer no quarter, Carannan relented. He ordered the enemy combatants disarmed and had their wrists bound. The dead were then stripped of all useful items before being unceremoniously kicked off the side of the road.

The candidates regarded the newly arrived soldiers with expressions ranging from wariness to fear, although they recognized Carannan and many knew Rexall. Then one of the would-be wizards rushed forward to embrace the overcommander: his sister, Lavella. He grimaced when she threw her arms around him, squeezing his injured ribs, but he returned the hug as best he could. Many of the others visibly relaxed when they saw this display of affection.

“My friends,” said Carannan, addressing the two-dozen after disentangling himself from his sister, “What you’ve witnessed are the unfortunate actions of a group of soldiers who have proven themselves disloyal to our queen. These ten guards, thinking to elevate Prelate Ferguson to the leadership of Vantok, tried to kill me back up the road. Thanks to the actions of Undercommander Rexall and his band of brave and loyal members of the militia, my life was saved. We’ve undertaken this action, regrettable for its loss of life, in an effort to save you from the pernicious influence of those who would seek to undermine the authority of Queen Myselene. Even now, your rightful leader prepares to confront The Lord of Fire with the armies of Obis and we’ll go there to support her. Once that struggle is done, it’s our most fervent hope that we can return to Vantok and rebuild our lives and homes. What’s happened here in Widow’s Pass need be nothing more than a minor rut in a very uneven road.”