Ruins Falling Read online

  As they turned a bend in the road, the pleasant, relaxed feelings vanished.

  The trail was covered in boulders and broken tree trunks. The landslide was large enough that there would be no way to safely get the horses over it. Graedin could tell, by the lack of plant growth in the soil and the fresh, cracked flesh of the trees, that the slide had happened within the past day or so. The soft chatting of his men silenced. Graedin pulled out his map and looked at it carefully for a few moments. Then he turned around. He carefully guided his horse past his men to meet with the other two captains at the back.

  Su’rah didn’t look at Graedin as he approached. He just stared at the slide, his expression the same as ever. “How does this affect our time of arrival?”

  “The trail will be harder, but we’ll still make the fortress a little after sunset.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yes. Not ideal, but still good.” Tarven turned toward the back of the group, making another comment to one of the soldiers about looking forward to a cold drink. The rest of the scouts and soldiers went back to talking. Graedin thought about that a moment, wondering if the next fortress would have wine, and if he could ask for venison for dinner. He smiled to himself as the sun filtering through the clouds, his thoughts drifting back to Daireth and Airaine, as he lead his men toward the second trail. Had they tried wine yet? They were old enough now.

  But after reaching the second trail and following it for a full mile, Graedin was startled to find another fresh landslide blocking the trail.

  This time, he took several minutes to study the trail closely, and look around for a way to bypass the slide. He sent one of the scouts over a deer trail on one of the nearby hillsides, but the scout came back within ten minutes. “You can’t tell from here with the trees, sir,” he stated, “but the game trail leads to a shale field. It’s right above the trail, so if a horse slipped, they’d tumble off a cliff onto the trail. Only goats could pass those hills. I didn’t dare take my horse up them. And the undergrowth is thick, sir. We’d have to cut a path.”

  Graedin forced himself to keep a calm expression as he consulted the map again, trying to imitate Su’rah’s expression again as he led his men back along the trail. Their cheerful chatting had turned to murmuring. It stopped completely when Tarven asked how long it would delay them. Silently cursing him for asking so soon, Graedin was forced to admit that the only other feasible route could potentially delay them reaching the fortress until midnight.

  It was almost four in the afternoon when they had reached their original choice of trail. Another twenty minutes of riding passed when they had reached the third trail. Only ten minutes passed when they turned around a bend and faced yet another massive, fresh landslide. Graedin sat in his saddle, staring at the twisted roots of the trees that had fallen with the boulders. They had deep roots for firs. They’d been tall, healthy trees—at least five of them had stood over two hundred feet before they’d been ripped from the ground and snapped in half. Graedin stopped his horse, staring at the destruction, with tension filling the air as his men stopped behind him.

  “What are the chances—”

  “—Shut up, Tarven,” Graedin snarled. He yanked the map out of his pocket again, and looked at it once more. As he stared at it, it began to blur. It took him a moment to realize he’d clutched it in his fist. He smoothed it out swiftly, folded it, and stuffed it back into his breast pocket. “Tarven, to the rear. Su’rah, to the middle. Everyone else, pair up again.”

  “Sir.” Su’rah’s voice was almost inaudible over the trotting hooves of his horse. Graedin glanced over as the Knight leaned close. “Are we returning to the fortress we left?”

  “If there’s not another landslide!” Graedin turned his horse away and passed through the crowd. His men backed their horses away from him, their expressions mirroring his own worry. The moment he could, he urged his mare into a canter. The thundering of hooves picked up behind him. He slowed down in places where it was muddy, but picked up the pace as soon as he dared.

  What are the chances? Tarven’s voice repeated in his mind. Exactly. What were the chances that the three fastest trails would be blocked? What were the chances that there would be three different landslides of that extreme caliber, and all so recent? What were the chances that they would have no choice but to turn back the way they came? Next to none—that’s what.

  And now, what were the chances that they all would fall into enemy hands after nightfall?

  Graedin struggled to keep the thin, glaring woman out of his mind as they passed by all of their failed options, and back on the trail that would lead out. The sun hid itself behind a cloud as they rode. The wind hissed in his ears, pressing back against him not only with the speed of his horse, but even in the tree boughs as he passed.

  Suddenly, his mare slowed down, and snorted. He glanced around, looking to see why she’d stopped, but he didn’t see anything. He squeezed her ribs, but she ignored him, prancing a little backward. The rest of the men slowed down behind him. He glanced around again. He couldn’t see or hear anything in the forest boughs. The only thing he saw was a puddle ahead, but there was enough room to the right to pass by it. “What’s the matter?” Su’rah called.

  “Nothing,” Graedin called back, kicking the mare’s flanks. “She just stopped.” The mare snorted again, and stepped back, as if to agree.

  Graedin cursed under his breath, stepped off the horse, took her reins, and pulled on her bridle. He didn’t see or hear any animals nearby, and it was too cold yet for snakes. He grit his teeth. Horses spooked at stupid things sometimes, even things they’d walked by calmly before. Like puddles. Graedin glanced around again. The trail here was between two small granite cliffs, about fifteen feet high. There was forest on either side on top of the cliffs, and below. The pass was only about fifty feet wide. There was nothing there, nothing for the mare to spook at. He looked back as he tugged on the reins. “Come on!” he exclaimed. The mare pulled her head high.

  One of the scouts urged his horse forward and smacked her hard on the rump. She kicked back and whinnied. Graedin turned to the scout, opening his mouth to ask him to smack her again. But then, he stopped, slowly closing his mouth. The hawk on the scout’s shoulder was standing tall, its capped head turning around. It spread its wings and, despite the fact that it was as good as blind, lifted off the scout’s shoulders, only to be constrained by a cord on the scout’s wrist. It shrieked in protest. The scout quickly reached up to try and control it.

  Graedin took a long, hard look around at the other horses. They were all prancing around now. Two or three whinnied. He glanced at the seven other hawks on the scout’s shoulders. They, too, were stretching out their wings, preparing for a blind flight.

  He looked back up to the cliffs. A couple of trees swaying slightly, but now, he saw no wind anywhere else. His horse whinnied again, and reared up. “Captain Tarven!” he called, turning back to the men. “Fall back!”

  “What?” He watched as the commander stood in his stirrups, looking over the heads of nearby men into his eyes.

  “Fall back!” he shrieked.

  Tarven’s eyes widened, and for once, reacted instantly to Graedin’s command. He disappeared from view, and soon, Graedin heard the thundering of hooves begin to flee the area. Most of the horses were screaming now. Graedin ran to his mare’s side, put a foot in the stirrup, and jumped up just as she was turning around to flee. The hawks were screeching too, several gripped under their owner’s arm, three holding on for dear life onto the scout’s shoulder.

  Graedin glanced under his arm just as he began to hear cracking and roaring. Upside-down, he could see the hillside begin to collapse onto the trail, boulders and mighty trunks crashing into the puddle he’d just stood beside moments before.

  He turned back just as the horses were slowing again. “Don’t stop!” he cried. “Retreat to the next trailhead!” Su’rah repeated his command in a shout, Tarven gave a cry, and the company picked u
p the pace again. It took only a few moments for them to stop beside the previous blocked trail, but even then, the horses were still jittery, prancing and snorting and sometimes whinnying in protest. The hawks were back on the shoulders of their scouts, ruffled and flustered, unable to fight the cords on their talons at the same time as the air currents.

  It took only a few minutes, and the group stopped and gathered close. Twenty-five men stared at him with wide eyes. He glanced at them, then all around the forest and mountains, making sure that they were in as safe a place as possible—or at least, that he didn’t see swaying trees. Then he shouted, “Su’rah! Tarven! Get over here. The rest of you—stay where you are. Stay on your horses and watch the trails. If your horses act up, shout to me. If your hawks try to take off, you shout to me. And if you see any movement that looks like it could possibly be a landslide, you alert me immediately, and run. Do you understand?!”

  “Yes, sir!” the men called back. The majority looked toward the hills. A few of the scouts looked to their hawks, stroking their hawk’s ruffled feathers and trying to soothe them in vain. Tarven trotted past most of the men as Su’rah fought through, meeting him near the back of the line. He pulled his horse back just a little, separating them from their men just a little.

  “What do you propose we do now, Sea Hawk?” Tarven asked.

  Graedin grit his teeth at Tarven’s use of his call sign. It was a reference to Graedin’s unusual, spur-of-the-moment, yet successful battle strategies—that he was like the sea hawks, who often forsook the sky to dive into water after the fish they survived on. And, unfortunately, his men often used his call sign as another word for a miracle worker. Which Tarven knew—and, Graedin also certain, he was mocking. He inhaled, glaring at his fellow Knight. “We’re going to set up camp here. Half of us will guard. We switch every four hours. Tomorrow, we’re all going to go back to the first trail and begin trail-blazing. We are getting out of these hills and getting home. But we’re not risking another landslide falling on top of us.”

  “That couldn’t possibly happen again,” Tarven argued. “The chances are—”

  “—On the contrary. The chances are getting better by the moment!”

  “Captain,” Su’rah spoke up, “you think someone is causing them, don’t you?”

  “Yeah—you know something. You’ve acted scared since we headed home.”

  “Oh, that’s right, gentlemen,” he snarled. “I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that we would have landslides falling on top of us everywhere we go.”

  For the first time he’d ever seen it, Su’rah’s eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared. “But Tarven is right, isn’t he? You’ve been running scared. What are we facing?”

  “You know everything I know. I don’t know who wants me dead, or why. All I know is that if someone caused these slides, they would have to have previous knowledge and a ridiculous amount of planning, or some sort of inhuman strength. But there’s no way they just happened. Not that many in a row, and certainly not one at the exact moment we turned around to leave.”

  “Don’t bother lying. There’s more to it than that, and we all know it.”

  “Be quiet!” Tarven snapped at him. “Our men can hear you!”

  “Why shouldn’t they hear us?” Su’rah snapped back. “They ought to know the truth, too.” He turned and stared coldly. “Do not lie to me. What’s going on, Kairathed?”

  Graedin threw up his hands. “I saw a coyote on the battlefield, right before I led the rescue mission. When I stepped on the field, the fog moved strangely—unnatural. When I was almost safe, a raven attacked me, driving me into the fog, where I was attacked again, and nearly died. When I finally got back to the fortress, the fog thinned out. And I saw a woman on the field’s edge. She was glaring right at me through the far-sight. I don’t know how, but she knew I watched her. Then she disappeared, and the coyote was back. All I can think—” Their blank, angry stares made him pause, frustrated. He grit his teeth, and ground out, “I think that woman controlled the fog. And the raven, the coyote, and her…”—He inhaled—“…I think they were the same creature.”

  Su’rah stared. Tarven slowly began to laugh. “Is that from the King’s legends? Careful. You know the Princes outlawed those stories. They wouldn’t appreciate you retelling them.” He shook his head, smiling but squinting. “For all your cool logic...I never would’ve guessed…”

  Graedin glared at him. But when he looked at Su’rah, he was surprised to see that the other captain’s tan skin was draining of its color. “Are you saying, you think you saw a—”

  “Sea Hawk!” someone shrieked.

  Su’rah and Tarven turned around in their saddles as Graedin looked past them. The hawks were fighting wildly to take flight, and the horses were rearing and bucking, trying to throw their riders off. Suddenly, Su’rah’s horse reared. Tarven and Graedin’s horses began prancing around too. Graedin gripped the saddle horn and glanced around once more. Most of his men were fighting to hold on. A few had been bucked off, and those horses were flying past him now. The rest of the horses would following after soon. “Dismount!” he shouted as his horse bucked.

  The moment she had all four hooves on the ground, he jumped. He landed hard on his feet and tumbled down to his hands and knees. He looked up just in time to see his mare turn and flee, and a wave of other horses coming at him. He covered his head with his arms instinctively. When he looked up, one of the warriors stood before him, shouting and waving the horses away. Graedin swallowed, and with most of his bones and muscles aching, pulled himself up to kneel. The warrior turned around, offered his hand, and yanked Graedin to his feet. “Thanks,” he muttered. Then he looked around again. Most of the men had gotten off safely. One last scout tumbled off, and the horse took off with the herd, sending mud and rocks flying into the air as it fled.

  The hawks were fighting harder than ever against their scouts, after the scouts had jumped off their horses, dragging the poor birds along with them. One hawk, whose wing looked injured, even began tearing at its leather cord. “Unhood the hawks!” Su’rah shouted at them. “Free them!” One warrior drew a knife from his belt and cut a hawk free. It took off. The rest fled after it. One scout pressed a sleeve to his cheek. A red stain slowly spread in the cloth.

  Graedin began to jog toward the man, hoping that the scout’s eyes hadn’t been clawed. Su’rah was already there, taking the man’s hand off his cheek. Just as Graedin drew near, he saw another man grip the captain’s arm, and point. Su’rah grew still. Then, slowly, he reached for his sword hilt. Graedin glanced over, searching in the trees for what they were looking at.

  When he saw it, a chill began to spread through his chest.

  A coyote was staring right at him, ignoring everyone else. It was sauntering along the edge of the trees, and hopped up gracefully, almost lazily, on a fallen, mossy log. It gave a series of soft, throaty growls, and its shoulders shuddered, almost as if it were chuckling. It shook its head. Then it looked back up into Graedin’s eyes. Its lip curled over one side of its snout, revealing a fang, but only on the one side. But it didn’t look aggressive—not exactly. It looked like a sneer.

  Graedin glared at it. “All of you, draw your swords and shields. Now.” There was an awkward pause, and then he heard the swords being drawn, and rustling as the men drew shields off their backs and looped their arms through the leather in their shields. “Any scout who still has their bow and quiver—shoot that coyote.”

  Again, the coyote made the strange barking sounds. Graedin glanced over, and watched as one of the scouts notched an arrow to the bowstring. When he drew and released, Graedin watched with shock as the coyote dodged it. How in the world?! How could it have reacted that fast?! He yanked his own hunting knife from his belt, gripped it just briefly, focused on the coyote’s throat, and threw as hard as he could.

  The coyote burst into gray, acrid smoke. The men around him gasped, then coughed and choked. Tarven shouted. And as the smoke quickly disapp
eared, with brief sparks of orange flame, a thin woman was kneeling on the log. She had a blue dress and a black cloak around her shoulders, with ash brown hair like a veil around her face. Between her slender, pale thumb and forefinger, she held Graedin’s knife. Graedin stepped back, stunned. Then she looked up, her gaze locking into his face, and a sneer spread widely across her thin mouth. She might have been beautiful but for the look in her eyes: a strange mixture of what Graedin could only interpret as both hatred and delight. Slowly, she stood up on the log. Then she flicked the knife back at Graedin’s feet, where it hit the ground, sizzling. She stretched out her hand, and flickers of lightning and silver flame began to dance all along her hand, arms, and hair. He and his men gasped. She stretched out her hand toward the knife, and before his eyes, the small piece of metal began to glow orange, and suddenly it burst into flame. It made a piercing hiss, and the fire went out, leaving behind a small, smoking piece of melted metal. He looked up again, his chest hammering with his horror. “That was rude, Sea Hawk,” she accused.

  Suddenly, her face contorted, and she uttered a feral sound—a magnified mixture between a hiss and a snarl. He stumbled back. He felt hands and arms pulling him back. One of the scouts, and to his surprise, now Su’rah, stood between him and the woman. “Circle up!” Su’rah commanded. “Protect the First Knight of the Realm!”

  Hastily, Graedin pulled his shield off his back, never taking his eyes off the woman. She just laughed, still watching him. And then, one of the men screamed.

  Graedin whirled around. No—not one of his men. Its skin was gray, like a frozen body in snow. Horrific leathery wings spread from his back outward. It had a feline’s fangs. Graedin felt his jaw drop. The gargoyle stepped toward his men, twisted its body to the side suddenly, and its wings spread and swung hard, hitting three men across the chest. They were plowed to the ground.