CITY OF BRIDGES

28

Trouble to the South

Mounting the wyverns was much easier now, but the take-off was still a stomach-churner. The landscape below changed from the charcoal grey of the rocky foothills, the deep green of the forests to a patchwork of varicoloured fields towards the east, where the land was flatter. It reminded Leonie of a map she’d once seen in White Cliffs; she had always wondered how they could know the detail.

Following the line of the mountain ridges to the south to utilise the updraughts, the three wyverns hardly required flapping their wings, gliding when they could. The sky was cloudless, but an icy wind came in from the mountains to their right; the riders grateful for the jackets, remained cosy and warm.

Phil spent the morning noting how Slana and Faldo coped with their new passengers.

Singer. Look to the southwest.

“Is that smoke?” Leonie asked, looking westward.

“I believe so,” Phil called down, “but I’m not aware of any settlements this far into the Ranges.”

“If it is smoke, going straight up like that is weird.”

“Especially considering the turbulence you’d expect amongst the mountains,” Phil agreed.

All three wyverns banked gracefully, in order for them to investigate. When closer, they began a gentle spiralling descent, aiming for a deep ravine where the smoke column was emanating.

There is trouble below. Dorn pointed out.

“What kind?” Phil asked, but it was not long before all could see exactly the sort of trouble she meant.

L’ith kind.

Leonie screeched in shock at the sight of a huge ant climbing along the cliff face. As it turned toward them, Dorn dived in and ripped it from the face and hurled it to the ground. The creature landed with a cracking thud on its back, its many legs up in the air floundering about until it died.

There are others.

Can we mind blast them? Slana asked.

“No!” Phil answered. “Our two companions have no way to protect themselves from mind blast,” he explained. “Whatever we do will have to be the old-fashioned way.”

As it turned out, there was only one other l’ith in the area, which both Slana and Faldo dispatched; in a coordinated move, they dived in and grabbed it in their talons, ripping it apart and dropping the dead creature over the edge.

Deeper into the ravine, they found glins’ool bodies scattered around a number of ledges along the cliff-faces. Folding their wings because of the narrow confines, the wyverns levitated to the ground. By the time the three travellers dismounted and made their way to the source of the smoke, the column had begun to dissipate.

“I have limited knowledge of the glins’ool, but this would appear to be the body of the Nest’s shaman.” Phil knelt by a bird-man, his crumpled form lying against the wall of the fire in a pool of blood. His wings were broken and his legs bent at odd angles. “The torc around his neck indicates some familiarity with the power. Looks like he started the signal fire.” Phil stood up.

They separated to explore the ravine and nearby cliffs for survivors.

“Slistorf’s Hairy Balls,” Leonie exclaimed when she got closer to the l’ith Dorn had killed. “Feiron, get over here and look at the size of this. What Styx said is true.”

It is one of the ancient races. Dorn said, looking down from her rocky perch above Slana. From long before your time.

There had been depressingly little to be accomplished at the destroyed glins’ool nest. “We should cremate the glins’ool bodies,” Phil informed them quietly. “It is their way, to release their souls to the air elements.”

The rough ground made it too dangerous to climb to all the bodies. With the wyverns help, they used telekinesis to reach the inaccessible ones. No one wanted to stay here for the night. Once the gruesome task was complete, they left as quickly as possible before it became too dark to find a campsite. After putting some distance and another small mountain between themselves and the site of the massacre, the trio landed on a ledge to make an austere campsite. The wyverns departed to fend for themselves for the evening.

See you at dawn. Phil farewelled them. Too tired and disturbed by the day’s events to chatter, the travellers made a cold dinner from their packs and settled down for a fitful sleep.

The wyverns returned as the sun crested the horizon and the sullen party gradually flew southeast, coming across layers of clouds stretching in ripples from north to south. Slana and Faldo darted through them, their long, lissom bodies zigzagging with much enthusiasm.

It would be nice if we all arrived in Delta. Phil reminded the two young wyverns of their responsibilities for their passengers’ comfort and safety.

Bursting through a cloud-bank, drops of moisture streaking across her face, Leonie gasped at the cold. Flying is all well and good, but freezing is not for me. She snuggled into her thick coat, pulling it tighter around her.

When they saw a large lake far below, the wyverns glided downwards in slow, wide circles. Their long slender necks wove to and fro as they searched for lunch. They closed in on a school of fish.

“This will be quite safe. Hang on and don’t make any sudden moves,” Phil cautioned over the sound of the rushing air.

As befitting the eldest, Dorn struck first, gripping a fish in each taloned foot. Waiting for the fish to regroup, Slana skimmed the surface of the water, succeeding in snaring one fish. Judging his approach too soon and not letting the fish recover, Faldo clawed empty water. Wheeling around for another attempt, this time he waited for the fish to regroup.

Dorn and Slana climbed higher where they turned big circles, munching on their meal as they waited patiently. As Slana began to eat, the saddle tilted forwards and down as she reached for the fish in her claws. Leonie instinctively threw her weight backwards, jerking on the reins. Slana’s head reared up with a hiss of protest.

Be still, child. Dorn scolded.

“It’s alright, Leonie,” Phil called.

“Sorry,” Leonie gasped. Breathing deeply, she braced herself for the next lurch. Looking down, she saw the ‘v’ rippling the surface in Faldo’s wake. A spray of water showed he had success this time and was climbing to join them with his meal.

Brother, try not to lose your passenger, Slana cautioned.

Surrounding the lake, cultivated fields crisscrossed with irrigation channels and dirt roads spread out like a tapestry. Farmhouses dotted the land. Not wanting to cause attention, the riders ate their meal in the saddle, gaining more altitude to use the clouds as cover. The lunch of nut loaf, dried meat and fruit was washed down with wine from leather bladders hanging on the side of the saddles. Leonie found it a challenge to drink and juggle food with the wind’s constant buffeting. She looked across to see how Feiron fared. He simply created limbs as required.

Later in the afternoon the group spied a skyland to the east. After paralleling its course for a short time, they judged it to be drifting slowly south. It wasn’t until they got closer before Leonie guessed it to be over a hundred paces across the widest section, much larger than she’d imagine. Towards the centre was a rocky hillock surrounded by boulders and scree.

Something glinted in the sunlight. Leonie looked around but no one seemed to have noticed. Maybe she’d get a chance later to get a closer look though the rough edges made it appear inhospitable terrain.

Phil and Dorn banked, sliding across the sky to view the other side of the skyland. He pointed to a small area to camp. “May I suggest spending the evening here?”

“But there’s still plenty of light left,” Feiron pointed out.

“Way up here there is, but look below.”

They both followed his gaze; fingers of shadow, formed by every contour, spread across the landscape, creating a surrealistic image.

“This will be an opportunity for us all to experience something vastly different,” Phil continued.

“Assuming we don’t fall off,” Leonie added.

“You have to admit though, that would be vastly different experience,” Feiron quipped.

Leonie looked at her companion, slowly shaking her head. “You know, I don’t think you’ve fully recovered.”

* * *