Darkin A Journey East - By Joseph A. Turkot Page 0,40
Slowin, “and I assure you that I need rest just the same too, though it may not seem so.”
Adacon looked up at the steep incline of their intended path. It appeared to grow more technical, giving way to bare-faced rock that went nearly vertical amidst the trees and shrubs.
“This path grows treacherous,” Adacon thought aloud.
“It is not much farther to the entrance,” Slowin remarked, and then he turned to lead the trek upwards. Flaer seemed in happy spirits for the climb, though being unable to talk seemed to weigh on him now—often would a look overtake his face when conversation began, as if he wanted to add his thoughts; too long had he wasted away in the rusty confines of Ceptical, deprived of merry conversation.
They climbed farther up over bare-faced rocks, and even Slowin, whose size belied his agility, climbed with grace. As he reached a higher ledge he unearthed a small tree and sent it hanging over down toward the others. Holding fast, Slowin called them to climb up; one by one, each made his way up to Slowin’s ledge. In front of them now was a vast wall of vines and dense thorn.
“This is the Plant Wall of Rislind, enchanted by none other than Krem himself,” Slowin told them. “Use caution even after we have silenced it.”
Suddenly the wall of vine tendrils began writhing in offense at their presence. A vine snapped out and then another, sharp thorns scraping the air in a deadly frenzy. Adacon and Erguile backed away. Flaer pulled out his sword, and he appeared ready to dismember the mass of livened vines and bramble when Erguile suddenly spoke up:
“Let me have at it first, Flaer.”
Flaer smiled and paused. He sheathed his sword and issued a good luck gesture with his hand. Adacon looked frightfully at the plant, then at Erguile, then at Slowin who smiled also. Erguile stepped forward and hacked at a lashing vine. The vine was cut in two, but the plant retaliated; a thorn shot deep into Erguile’s arm from its opposite side. Erguile groaned and backed away. He regained his composure and charged back at the plant.
“Do you have a death wish? Let Flaer do it!” Adacon warned.
“Never mind that,” Erguile pressed, and back to strike at the plant he went; this time his hack missed entirely and his feet were caught in a thorny tangle. Swept to the ground, Erguile slashed about frantically, but a vine suddenly coiled around his sword and ripped it from him. Adacon looked side to side and saw Flaer smiling even broader, and Slowin still looking on without reaction.
“Help him!” Adacon burst, and then he ran at the bramble, courageously slashing at tendrils that were coiling around Erguile. Soon Adacon was gripped in a tendril vise the same as Erguile, and it was only when blood began to trickle down the foliage that Flaer jumped into action; he severed the limbs of the plant with great speed. The plant lay dead and in pieces amidst a pool of jade ooze, and the slaves rubbed their grazed heads and arms.
“What a mess that was,” coughed Erguile as Slowin helped them both to their feet. Behind the bramble, which still twitched violently on the ground, was a cave of earth and rock leading through the mountain, a tunnel down to the Rislind valley.
“Amazing,” ushered Adacon, following behind Slowin and Flaer into the cave. The cave was cut squarely and led down and still farther down, descending to the eastern foothills of the range. After a long and eventless journey they exited finally at the bottom, stepping once again into forest.
“Won’t the secret pass be revealed now?” Adacon asked.
“For perhaps an hour, yes, but Krem’s enchantment causes the plant to regenerate swiftly to full girth, as strong as before it was cut down,” answered Slowin.
Eventually the trees of the foothills thinned out and the earth became level yet again. In front of them appeared a field, treeless and wide, filled with opal flowers. Several horses roamed in the distance, heedless of the wide Rislind Mountains that afforded them safety by ensnaring their fair lawn in secrecy. In the center of the field were buildings; small thatched structures sprouted roofs the color of faded wheat and walls molded of ocher mortar. The party set across the field toward the village as the roaming horses stilled to gaze.
“Free horses—they are incredible—I’ve ever only seen them hauling trade carts, dispirited and filthy, never so beautiful,” Adacon beamed.