The Doom of Kings_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [85]
The stone surface was washed with drifting soil, broken by weather and by the roots of trees that were themselves centuries old. It coiled across the landscape, running roughly northwest to southeast along the line of the mountains in that area. Both behind and ahead, it seemed to appear in stretches, then vanish among the trees before reappearing once more along the curve of a distant ridge.
Geth could guess at what they were all thinking: the curving road might take them out of their way, but it was still a road, and following it was easier than breaking their own trail. He lifted Wrath. The sword pointed in the same general direction as the road. “Grandfather Rat smiles for a change,” he said.
Even when the ancient road was under the canopy of trees that had grown up through it, they made good time. “Where do you think it goes?” Dagii asked as they paused to take some food.
“We’re not likely to follow it to the end,” Geth pointed out.
“No, but the Dhakaani must have. No one builds a road to nowhere.”
“We’re approaching the headwaters of the Torlaac River,” Ekhaas said. She pointed to a distinctive cleft peak far in the distance. “I think that’s the back of Giim Astraa. There are extensive ruins there.”
Midian’s eyebrows rose and he took a sudden interest in the hazy peak, but Ekhaas didn’t seem to notice.
Dagii nodded and said, “I think you’re right. Well done.”
Ekhaas flicked her ears casually in response, but Geth could see the expression of self-satisfaction she tried to hide.
His prediction that they wouldn’t see the end of the road seemed accurate, though. When they started on the road again, he checked their direction. Wrath didn’t point anywhere near Giim Astraa, but rather along the road and directly to the massive bulk of a much closer mountain. The road curved wide around the mountain’s flank. He grimaced. “It was nice while it lasted.”
“Follow the road around,” Ashi suggested. “It might curve back again.”
It didn’t. As they came around the mountain, a stray sunbeam, the last light of the day, fell on the road ahead. The way was remarkably clear, the road a pale ribbon—one that snaked off in the direction of Giim Astraa and away from where they needed to go. There was no chance it would curve back.
“Rat,” cursed Geth.
“We’ll make camp here for the night,” said Dagii. “We can carry on in the morning.”
“Aye,” Geth said. Out of habit, he drew Wrath and held it out to get a new sense of their bearings.
His gut twisted. The sword no longer pointed south-southwest, but northeast toward the mountain they had just come around. “Look,” he said, then louder, “Look!”
Everyone turned to him and froze. Ekhaas’s ears rose sharply. “It’s here. Guulen is on this mountain.”
Excitement ran high in the camp that night. They ate a dinner of sour sausages and starchy dumplings in silence, each of them wrapped up in his or her thoughts. Ekhaas stared into the fire. Midian dug out his little silk-bound book and seemed to read it, though Geth noticed he was very slow in turning the pages. Dagii set himself to inspecting his armor. Chetiin examined the edge of his curved dagger, honing it with a worn sharpening stone: Geth realized for the first time that, though the goblin wore a pair of daggers sheathed to his forearms, he only drew and used the one on his left arm. He would have asked Chetiin about it, but it seemed somehow wrong to break the silence of the camp.
When his time came to sit watch, he stood and stared up at the mountain overhead. In his hand, Wrath throbbed as if in anticipation. Geth’s heart beat in the same time and he wondered if this was how the heroes of the name of Kuun had felt as they drew close