A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [38]
And that, he mused now, was another reason that escape was so difficult to contemplate.
As he neared the end of the pass, the sky opened up. And the marshal loomed closer-his sleek black sled glinting in the cloud-filtered sunlight.
Despite the awkward angle and the interposing bulk of the sled itself, Picard was able to get his first good look at a sky rider. All he’d been able to discern up until this point was that they were basically humanoid-and that they wore their hair long, tied up in a pigtail.
Now he could see how, in many ways, they resembled his own species. Two eyes, a nose, a proper mouth; long, narrow features set in a pale complexion beneath that dark, drawnback hair.
Suddenly, he felt that he’d seen that face before-or one very much like it. Where? In his former life?
Was that a clue, then? Something he could trace back to his own identity?
He set his mind to it, never taking his eyes off the marshal-not even as his wagon passed beneath the sled. But try as he might, he could recall nothing more.
Damn.
As he emerged from the pass-the first to do so-Picard saw that they had their work cut out for them. The long, winding ascent up the lee side of the mountain and the slow, careful progress through the pass had been only a prelude… to the difficult part of the journey.
What stretched before them was a long series of terraced ledges descending from left to right. Like a gargantuan set of stairs, seen from the side.
Each ledge was narrow-though some were narrower than others. And in every case, there was a considerable drop from a given stairstep to the one below it.
The wind howled out there, savage and unfettered. Picard slowed his beasts to a halt as he considered his options.
He’d been a little surprised at the way his companions had gradually deferred to himselected him as their de facto leader. Nor had the former leader-an angular individual with an angry red, leathery sort of skin-been reluctant to give up the position. Quite the contrary.
There were no benefits to being the first driver in the line-other than the knowledge that one had the trust of one’s peers. Mostly, it was a burden.
But Picard had taken it up without hesitation. It gave him a measure of control over what happened to him. If he couldn’t dredge up his past, at least he could take an active part in preserving his chance for a future.
In short, he felt safer abiding by his own decisions than someone else’s.
The situation at hand was a good example. Of the three paths accessible to them, the most obvious choice was the one straight ahead. However, that one appeared to lose too much breadth just before it disappeared around the flank of the mountain.
The ledge immediately above it would give them more latitude, but it seemed to pitch this way and that, making the going tricky. If a driver was caught unaware when the path chose to tilt down slope…
The lowermost trail, on the other hand, started out fairly narrow. But it remained the same width as it went on-at least for as far as he could see-and the pitch was about as good as one could hope for. What’s more, it was remarkably free of the detritus that popped up from time to time on the other ledges.
The only problem with the low trail was that some skill was required to get to it. The ground between this spot and the beginning of the ledge was steep and littered with loose stones.
Nonetheless, he concluded that it was worth the risk. Spurring his beasts on again with a flick of the reins, Picard concentrated on the terrain before him.
And tried to ignore the sky-riding marshal for the time being.
The wind was cold, cutting through his cloak as if it didn’t exist. But as he left the sheltering pass behind, and the other wagons moved out to follow, the howling he’d heard at first seemed to dissipate-to become a sound like that of rushing water, felt in the bones as much as heard.
It took some time to negotiate the open slope, but it went well enough. Exercising caution, Picard