Into Forbidden Lands
Into the West

That night, when they stopped to eat, Azulya opened Faer’s cylinder and drew out the enclosed map. An undecipherable scrawl covered every bit of parchment outside of the mapped area.

“How about comparing it with Sconder’s map?” Sereth said.

They spread the Draca’s fragile map alongside Faer’s.

“They have nothing in common,” Elan grumbled in frustration.

“Or they could be on different scales,” Malco suggested, squinting in the flicker of the flames.

Scald grunted.

“Yes, but Faer’s map clearly covers much more ground, so we should still be able to replace the contours of Sconder’s map somewhere on it.”

“But where?” Malco insisted.

“Maybe Vardail’s map in north is here!” Undina pointed at the top of Faer’s map where it ended at the vellum’s edge.

Scald shook his head.

“Not the same kind of terrain, not even close.”

“Well, where else could it…” Sereth started.

“Here,” Illiom interrupted, pointing to the westernmost reach of Faer’s map.

“Where?” asked the Blade.

“We have been looking at it the wrong way!” Scald exclaimed excitedly.

He picked up Sconder’s brittle old map and turned it sideways, until what they had assumed to be the north became the west.

“Look at the coastline. It is a perfect fit!”

The Chosen crowded around, studying the outlines of the two maps.

Azulya shook her head in disbelief.

“I have never seen a map that places the west at the top,” she said, but there was a satisfied smile on her lips.

Malco continued to look perplexed.

“I see what you mean, but even so, it still does not match.”

He pointed once more at Sconder’s map.

“I grant you that the coastline looks the same, but what about this mountain range? There is no trace of it on Faer’s map.”

Azulya peered closely at the two scrolls.

“You are right. Faer’s map places a sea, where Sconder’s shows a mountain range. How can that be possible?”

“I have no idea,” Scald replied. “But the similarity between the two coastlines cannot be mere coincidence. They are identical to the finest detail!”

He jabbed a finger at a large mountain on the Draca’s map with one hand, and pointed at the sea on Faer’s map with the other.

“Whether here or here, this is where we are going.”

“Igollianath …” whispered Illiom.

A sudden gust of wind wailed in, tugging wildly at the maps, bending the fire’s flames to its will.

Springing to her feet, Argolan motioned the Riders to heightened vigilance and the tribals peered uneasily into the darkness surrounding them.

“I do not think we should say that name out loud again,” Scald whispered.

The moment passed and the night returned to its former stillness. The flames danced merrily once more, as if nothing had happened.

Except that everything had now changed.

For the first time since their journey had begun, the Chosen knew where they were going.

They continued to follow the ravine as it meandered northwards. The hard arid ground allowed them good speed and the presence of water reassured them.

After two days of travel, the gorge veered sharply west. They followed its course all day. By the time Iod descended, the outline of a mountain’s lofty upper reaches appeared magically before them. Its pinnacle was etched in a halo of bright fire, while its lower flanks vanished in a cloudy haze.

The spectacle was compelling and mysterious. The mountain’s gilded peak was suspended so high in the indigo sky that it seemed like a distant island, floating in the heavens.

In the morning, the white peak of Karganath caught Iod’s light even before the sun crested the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and rose.

They set off again, but before too long the ravine veered north. They paused long enough to replenish their supplies of water before abandoning the water’s course and heading directly towards the great mountain.

They travelled for two days through the dust of the wastelands before they reached a vast stretch of grassland. Here, they stopped and pitched camp, allowing the horses to feast at will on the first fresh fodder they had eaten in a while.

The next day they left the grasslands behind them and reached the trees at the base of the foothills. Together, the Riders and the Shakim spent the following day hunting, and though they did not bring down any large game, there was plenty of rabbit meat to feast on.

Sated, rested and replenished, the questers began to skirt the foothills, heading south-west. As Temer had predicted, they found plenty of water and game along the way, yet they did not come across any settlements or signs of human activity.

“It makes no sense,” Sereth said, as they sat around that evening’s fire. “Why live in that barren, Iod-forsaken place, when they could live here?”

The question precipitated some discussion, for this land was clearly more generous and their life here would not have been such an endless struggle.

Two days later, the tribals came across human remains. They found bones and skulls, strewn over a wide area.

“They look old,” Elan said.

“The remains of an ancient battle?” mused Sereth.

Argolan shook her head, her expression grim.

“More like an ancient massacre. No weapons, no armour, only bones.”

She nodded towards one tiny skeleton, still entangled in the remains of a larger one.

“Something terrible happened here,” she murmured.

They did not stop until they were well clear of the area.

They continued to follow the sweep of foothills towards the south-west, but with each day their direction shifted fractionally towards true south.

Soon they chanced upon more waterways than they had seen since leaving Altra. At first these were small, shallow streams that presented no great obstacle, but then they had to traverse three large streams in a single day, each one larger than the one before.

A few days later their progress was halted by a deep and fast-flowing river.

Unable to replace a way across, they followed its course for the remainder of that day. The further they went the broader the river became and, though the waters did calm a little, it was still moving fast.

Argolan called a halt when they reached a bend.

“Crossing may be manageable here, so this is where we will have to try.”

Mist made an attempt to get a rope across to the other bank, but was forced back by the current. Undina, being the strongest swimmer in the group, offered to cross and Argolan reluctantly agreed.

“When you reach the other side,” the Shieldarm instructed, “be sure to tie the rope to something firmly fixed.”

Undina nodded.

She crossed without mishap and, having gained the other bank, secured the rope to a spur of rock.

“How deep is the water?” Argolan called out.

“Not too deep, but deep before middle is. Deep for horse too, horse must swim.”

And so the crossing began. The Riders first helped the Chosen across, then the Iolans and the horses.

Finally, it was the Shakim’s turn.

Being desert people, the tribals were clearly discomfited by the turbulent waters and approached the river with apprehension. Even so, they refused assistance and began crossing one by one.

At first they did quite well and eight of them made it across, but the ninth ran into trouble.

He had reached the deepest part of the crossing when his horse panicked and was instantly taken by the current. Its rider, still holding onto the reins, was swept away with his mount.

Within moments both had vanished.

Grifor and Pell mounted and galloped after him, but soon returned grim-faced, shaking their heads.

Two more tribals and one of their horses were lost before the crossing was completed.

Exhausted, they voted to remain by the riverbank the rest of that day. They awoke the following morning to an overcast sky that grew heavier as the day wore on.

It rained continually for the next two days.

The mountains behind them receded until they vanished altogether, and Argolan decided it was time to head west once more.

According to Mist’s tally, it was the tenth day of Newharvest, twenty-three days since leaving Stonecress.

But the change of direction meant even slower progress, for they soon found themselves entering densely wooded and hilly terrain. Sudra was swelling into fullness again, when they fortuitously stumbled across a road.

It was badly overgrown and clearly had been in disuse for a long time.

Despite its condition, however, it served them well as it more than doubled their rate of progress.

Two days after the full moon they found themselves crossing a somewhat clear area. Tarmel leaned from his horse and, using the tip of his sword, parted the leaf litter.

“Remains of a wall here,” he announced.

As they searched the area they found more ruins – charred timbers and blackened stones – all that remained of a handful of houses that had been razed to the ground.

The party did not linger here but rode on, silently noting the presence of more human remains.

The road pressed westward, traversing steep slopes, gullies with fast flowing streams, dense tracts of forest and outcrops of sheer granite. They had to circumvent the remains of a number of old wooden bridges that had been destroyed, either by human hand or by nature itself.

Two days later they breached the worst of the foothills and emerged into an open space with a generous view of the lands beyond. The steeply wooded gradient beneath their vantage point eased and levelled out and the forest ended there, where a stream snaked along the bottom of the vale. Beyond it rose a solitary mount.

Having decided to camp by the stream, they followed the road down the steep hillside, relieved that their laborious ride through the hills was finally coming to an end. On the morrow the horses would be cantering unhindered through tall, windswept grass.

Something woke Illiom in the wee hours of the morning.

She strained to discern what had disturbed her, yet beyond the drone of a few insects and the faint hoots of an owl, nothing stirred.

Who! Oh, how I miss you!

She turned in the bedroll and drew close to Tarmel before drifting back to sleep.

She woke again just as the first pallor of the new day was beginning to creep across the sky.

She heard once more the sound that had awoken her earlier: a dog’s faint but insistent bark.

Suddenly alert, she pulled herself up onto an elbow.

“Where there are dogs, there are people,” Tarmel murmured, reaching to draw her back into his embrace. “It has been at it for a while. No further than half a league from here.”

“Is it barking at us?”

“Not likely, we are too far away. If we were moving about or riding, we would not have heard it at all.

It was barely light, but soon they were all up and ready, having decided to let breakfast wait until they had scouted what they now believed to be a settlement nearby.

They crossed the stream and left the road, heading directly for the mount jutting from the plains.

Illiom once again felt the same unsettling fear that had come upon her when they first left Altra. As though to confirm her premonition, a woman’s wail suddenly pierced the quiet.

Argolan spurred her horse forward, the others right behind her.

They sped up a steep rise. Beyond it the land dipped into a gully only to rise again. They raced through a scattering of tilled plots and orchards towards a handful of houses clustered at the crest of the hill.

A flock of sheep, startled by their sudden appearance, stampeded up the slope to where a group of people were gathered in a clearing between the dwellings. Some were mounted, others were standing, and a few lay unmoving upon the ground.

Illiom noticed the gleam of metal among those mounted, suggesting they were likely soldiers.

Following Argolan’s lead, they reined in.

“Some sort of standoff,” she said, just as another cry rang out and one of the soldiers, turning, spotted their party.

He pointed and shouted a warning.

“Now we will see what they are really made of,” Argolan said through gritted teeth. She drew her sword and the Riders did likewise.

There was some confusion amongst the mounted soldiers, whilst the rest raced for their horses. However, in a few moments they came to order and rode hard down the slope towards the new arrivals.

“Chosen, remain here!” Argolan commanded. “That means you as well, Malco - that is an order!”

Then, with a cry, the Shieldarm spurred her horse forward and the Riders galloped after her.