Fantasy fiction; Imaginary wars and battles -- Fiction
Next morning, when it was light enough to climb, they set forth. For
two hours’ space on that traverse not a moment passed but they were
in instant peril of death. They were not roped, for on those slabbery
rocks one man had dragged a dozen to perdition had he made a slip. The
ledges sloped outward; they were piled with broken rock and mud; the
soft red rock broke away at a hand’s touch and plunged at a leap to the
glacier below. Down and up and along, and down and up and up again they
wound their way, rounding the base of that great tower, and came at
last by a rotten gully safe to the ridge above it.
While they climbed, white wispy clouds which had gathered in the high
gullies of Ailinon in the morning had grown to a mass of blackness that
hid all the mountains to the west. Great streamers ran from it across
the gulf below, joined and boiled upward, lifting and sinking like a
full-tided sea, rising at last to the high ridge where the Demons stood
and wrapping them in a cloak of vapour with a chill wind in its folds,
and darkness in broad noon-day. They halted, for they might not see
the rocks before them. The wind grew boisterous, shouting among the
splintered towers. Snow swept powdery and keen across the ridge. The
cloud lifted and plunged again like some great bird shadowing them with
its wings. From its bosom the lightning flared above and below. Thunder
crashed on the heels of the lightning, sending the echoes rolling among
the distant cliffs. Their weapons, planted in the snow, sizzled with
blue flame; Juss had counselled laying them aside lest they should
perish holding them. Crouched in a hollow of the snow among the rocks
of that high ridge of Koshtra Pivrarcha, Lord Juss and Lord Brandoch
Daha and Mivarsh Faz weathered that night of terror. When night came
they knew not, for the storm brought darkness on them hours before
sun-down. Blinding snow and sleet and fire and thunder, and wild winds
shrieking in the gullies till the firm mountain seemed to rock, kept
them awake. They were near frozen, and scarce desired aught but death,
which might bring them ease from that hellish roundelay.
Day broke with a weak gray light, and the storm died down. Juss stood
up weary beyond speech. Mivarsh said, “Ye be devils, but of myself I
marvel. For I have dwelt by snow mountains all my days, and many I
wot of that have been benighted on the snows in wild weather. And not
one but was starved by reason of the cold. I speak of them that were
found. Many were not found, for the spirits devoured them.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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