The Isk Rider of Bazuur by Chris Turner

Author:Chris Turner [Turner, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Innersky Books
Published: 2012-08-28T22:00:00+00:00

2: The Last Magician of Mirdask

The sun arched high. The relic-seekers were plunged in a sultry haze of dawn. The ride west was permeated by a heavy plod of hooves, the low snuffling of the didor, and the swishing of where-back tails which chased away the pestering sand flies.

From a distance of a half league they saw meandering lines of weathered pillars flanking an old road, somewhat of an enclosing fence, Risgan saw. Winding like a snake, the wall of columns stretched as far as the eye could see. With curiosity and misgiving they rode to investigate.

The first sandstone pillars presently came into view. These were of a dull pink colour and set at intervals of roughly a dozen feet. Once they had been flanking supports of a long temple causeway, with a roof perhaps, of wood, or clay, but had long since disintegrated.

The travellers thought the mirage was an atmospheric trick, but the desert trail grew to a stone roadway swinging between the columns like a thoroughfare, a route which Balael identified as the causeway to what was known as the Land of Falling Favour. “Here, we are nearing the place of Lim-Lalyn,” he proposed. “The emperor Vhaud spent fifty years toiling with a thousand slaves to erect these columns, sprinkling them with a potency, the warding spells of his own magicians.”

Risgan squinted dubiously at the near-crumbling pillars. “They look as old as the moon.”

“You can even see the signs of his heritage,” Balael bubbled on. “A half league to the north, you will see a faint sprawl of ruins hidden amongst rounded dunes and cadaverous cypress. It’s a derelict city of sorts—domes, spires, and pylons crouching amongst fallen masonry and wind-blown sand.” The company saw that long since had the spires toppled, and the domes had split or cracked, nor was there any lustre to those big black broken blocks.

Balael motioned gravely: “Once a beautiful city was Tuvvost, the hearthstone of Zanthia! Now a dilapidated ruin, given to dust and decay by the arrows of the warlike Negir. Vhaud was once happy here.”

Hape scratched his head with puzzlement. “Vhaud seems like an easy man to please.”

“Hardly,” warned Balael. “He was known for his bizarre caprice. The ghoulmen made this their haunt and one is safe only within the confines of the causeway.” He gesticulated to the path. “Stay on the path! The emperor erected it for this reason, as a fence for all citizens to pass free from the assaults of the ghoulmen. Stray from the road only at your own peril!”

“We shan’t,” assured Risgan.

“I commend the efforts of Vhaud,” asserted Jurna.

“I no less,” cried Risgan, “particularly Vhaud’s scions who must have upheld the tradition and repaired the mortar.” Risgan hoped the implicit compliment might ensure a hopeful appeal for safe passage, spoken aloud to the spirits.

“Remember!” called Balael sternly. “Tread within the safe confines of the columns. Venturing beyond is an act of folly and death.”

Jurna made an ingenuous reply: “And what, pray tell, specifically are these ghoulmen?”

“As you have witnessed,” barked Balael, “like Ampfu’s ghoulmen.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.