The Great Rift (Book 2) by Edward W. Robertson

Author:Edward W. Robertson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: Edward W. Robertson
Published: 2012-07-24T07:00:00+00:00

13

The plains rolled away, the same empty miles they'd crossed just days before. Dante let Blays and Lira fill Mourn in on what had happened in the Pocket. He pushed his horse until it sweated and heaved. The return to Wending and the lakes of Gallador was their last chance to stave off the coming strife. He resolved not to fail.

A day's ride from the western peaks of the rift, he pulsed Cally's loon. The old man answered at once. Dante related the details of their trip to the cove, expecting Cally to respond with derision and complaints, but he turned thoughtful instead.

"So they make the land do their dirty work for them," Cally mused. "Wish I'd thought of that one."

"Can you move the earth?"

"If I kick it hard enough."

Dante sighed. "Do you have any idea how it's done?"

"Oh, I have ideas," Cally said. "You could plant a rock beneath a stick holding up a giant vat of mud, and then use the nether to crack the rock. But it sounds like the People of the Pocket are a smidge more sophisticated than that."

"I get the feeling they could carve a statue of you without lifting a finger."

"Interesting that you put it in those terms. For the most part, we think of the nether as a brute force, a thing that roughly grabs or bludgeons. An extension of our arm, perhaps, if our arms were made of large hammers. Yet they seem to have precise command of the ground. Are they using finer tools? Or are they employing a different approach altogether? Maybe they're literally convincing the earth to move!"

"I know this much," Dante said. "They're skilled. Highly. I'd love to see a fight between their leader and you."

"I don't get in fights. I have far too much dignity for that." Cally coughed up something wet and substantial. "Speaking of squabbles, the norren haven't been quick to leap into one. None of the clans, towns, or individuals of interest have officially defied the treaty."

"Oh? And how many of them have officially fied it?"

"Few," he admitted. "Still, it's reason for hope, if hope is something you find useful."

It was, as much as Dante might like to deny it. The following morning, he took to the road with something like a smile. White caps rested on the green mountains. A light haze softened the world, muting the early morning light. His horse stepped lightly. They climbed into the pass where a forest of bamboo sliced the sunlight into a thousand yellow wedges. The snows had retreated to isolated patches of blue-white shade, leaving the ground sodden and soft. The haze burned away by the time they crested the pass. Below, the lake of Gallador glittered like the land's most precious gem.

A warm spring wind followed them into Wending. They stabled beside the docks and rowed to Lolligan's. The old man answered the door himself. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"And how are the People of the Pocket?" he said. "Do

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