CHAPTER SIXTEEN - IMPREGNABLE CLIFFS

The grating screech of rusted iron tore Krazoc from the heavy darkness of the sleep he had sunk into.

When he opened his eyes, the world was nothing but a blur and pure pain. The blank, snow-white expanse in his mind was now stained with blood. Every cell of his body ached as though it had been set alight beneath the skin. Those few seconds during the ambush in the forest—when he had ignored his limits and pushed past them—had cost him dearly.

He was tired. His mind wanted to shut down, to sink into that darkness for days on end. He remembered the wagon he used to sleep on. It had been smashed to pieces, along with the rest of the squad.

A rough hand yanked hard on the thick chain binding his arms behind him and flung him backward. Krazoc lurched and tumbled out of the narrow, iron-barred cage, onto the cold and muddy ground.

Right after him, hauled out of the cage by the scruff of his neck and flung out like a sack, came Alister. The boy didn't even put out his hands to catch himself when he fell face-first into the mud. He made no sound. He only rose trembling to his feet and took shelter behind Krazoc's massive leg. He didn't wipe the mud that had splattered across his face. His two differently colored eyes, the ones that always scanned his surroundings with sharp attention, were now fixed on nothing but emptiness—a meaningless point on a muddy stone. The bloody feelings in the forest had frozen the child from the inside out.

"Move, freak!" barked a masked guard, bringing the shaft of his spear down on Krazoc's back, which was covered in open wounds.

Krazoc didn't even feel the blow. He only lifted his head and looked at this new hell they had been brought to.

When he saw the two vast, demonic mountain ranges clawing up and tearing through the sky, he understood why the place was called the Brothers' Pass. The folds between the mountains formed a narrow gorge through this monstrous mass. The pass between them was so narrow, so steep, and so winding that it looked like two brothers locked in a death-grip embrace, refusing to let anyone through. The sheer cliffs made it physically impossible for any army to lay siege to it. A single boulder hurled from above would be enough to crush hundreds of soldiers below. This was an impregnable graveyard built by nature's own hands.

Krazoc and Alister were dragged into the narrow path that wound up from the foot of the mountain, in the shadow of spears.

As they climbed, the sharp stench of rotting flesh began to fill Krazoc's nose. Thick iron stakes had been driven into the steep rock faces along the edges of the path. At the ends of the thick chains hanging down from these stakes swung human-sized wooden cages. As the wind blew, the cages knocked against the rocks with dull thuds.

Krazoc's steps slowed. The cages were full.

Attivs, their skin turned the ashen grey of the dead, their skeletal arms dangling out between the bars of the cages, had been strung up along the mountain's slopes like so many warning signs. Every one of those hung here was already dead. It seemed that the masters of this mountain had very different plans for the living.

The boy clung a little tighter to Krazoc's leg. With those empty eyes of his he tried not to look at the dangling Attivs, but it was impossible.

As the column climbed the path, the guards' tense whispers among themselves reached Krazoc's ears.

"One of the dead ones was a Channeler of Being... A full-blown mage," grunted the swordsman.

"If the Leaders don't get good coin for these two, one of us'll end up swinging in a cage too. Talon's going to lose his mind when he learns what happened," the spearman answered.

The path ended at a vast, natural cave system that opened into the heart of the mountain. As they passed through the mouth of the cave, Krazoc studied his surroundings, and a small wave of contempt rose in the White Void within him.

These were no soldiers, nothing of the sort.

The name Summit Wardens was nothing but a gaudy lie. Just inside the cave's entrance, a man perched on a wooden barrel was picking a bloody finger clean between his teeth. At the table beside him, another lay passed out in his own vomit and drool. Further back, three men hunched over a blood-smeared slave-market list, scratching crude lines across the paper. Which name had been sold, which one had died—there was no telling.

The vast cave was crammed with ramshackle tents, overturned drinking barrels, and rusted cages. The thick stink of sweat, piss, cheap liquor, and blood in the air was suffocating. No one wore a matching uniform. Every man wore mismatched armor, rusted swords, and filthy animal hides plundered from dead soldiers. In one corner dice were being thrown; in another, two men were throttling each other over a single barrel of wine.

This was no garrison—it was a scavengers' den hidden away at the end of the world.

As they were dragged through this vile crowd, a scar-faced bandit who had been marinating in drink at a wooden table rose slowly to his feet. The hand holding his bottle trembled. The man's yellowed, bloodshot eyes fixed on Alister, hiding behind Krazoc. He grinned, baring his foul teeth.

"Ohhh," the drunk slurred, stumbling toward them. "Fresh meat. Did the Leaders take on a new cleaner, or did you bring a little appetizer for tonight's feast?"

The man reached his thick fingers, the nails rimmed with black grime, toward Alister's hair.

The chains on Krazoc's arms rattled with sudden violence. Despite the heavy shackles on his legs, the giant stepped in front of the boy in a single move.

Krazoc said nothing. He didn't raise a hand; he didn't roar. He only fixed those empty, dark eyes on the drunk's. The vile grin on the drunk's face melted within seconds. The half-bottle of wine in his hand slipped through his trembling fingers and fell into the mud. The false courage the alcohol had given him had evaporated before the mute, absolute promise of death he saw in the eyes of the giant before him.

"Back off, you carrion crow!" shouted the guard commander at the head of the column, shoving his spear between them. "They belong to the Leaders."

The drunk swallowed hard and staggered backward, tripping over his own feet. Krazoc pulled his gaze from him and turned it forward again.

The guard commander shoving Krazoc and Alister along paused for a moment. With a nod he signaled to two of his men, gesturing toward a narrow corridor that opened into the depths of the mountain.

"Send word to the Leaders. Tell them the prisoners have arrived. Tell them there are new bloody accounts to settle that'll change the price."

The two men split off toward the corridor. Krazoc watched them until they vanished from sight. At the end of the corridor, the mouth of a room flickered with candlelight. The low, broken voices coming from within echoed off the walls of the cave.

Krazoc's exhausted mind couldn't quite make out the words; only disjointed fragments reached his ear.

"...the big one..."

"...whatever they're hiding..."

"...the child... price..."

Then a cold, dry laugh. Through the haze of blood loss, Krazoc's mind struggled to piece the words together. The notion that he himself might have any worth was foreign to him. But that one word echoing in his mind was like oil poured onto a dead fire: The child.

The guard commander jabbed his spear into Krazoc's shoulder. "Move."

As they were shoved down toward the damp, lightless lower levels, a crushing pressure built in Krazoc's massive ribcage—one that no blade had ever managed to create before.

His steps grew heavy. The mold-scented air he drew into his lungs was like a thorn lodged in his throat. He looked at the thick shackles on his wrists. Until now he had always worn that iron with the arrogance of knowing he could snap it off whenever he willed. But now, as he descended deeper into this underground tomb, he felt control slipping through his enormous fingers like a heap of sand. The possibility that Alister might be torn apart in this pit was opening irreparable fissures in the White Void within his mind.

Right there, in the middle of that suffocating darkness, he felt a small, warm hand between his thick, rough fingers.

Krazoc stopped with a start. Alister was looking up at him out of the darkness. The vacancy in the boy's eyes had broken, replaced by pure fear, yet those small fingers had gripped Krazoc's massive hand tightly. In that instant, Krazoc's breathing settled at an invisible, soothing touch. In the child's mute contact, there was an inexplicable calm.

The giant drew a deep breath. First, they would survive this place.

The heavy iron door creaked open. As they were shoved into the damp, lightless cell, Krazoc's chains were locked to the thick rings in the wall. Just before the door slammed shut on them with a great clatter, Krazoc sensed a faint stirring in one of the dark corners.

Two yellow eyes, watching them from within an ashen-grey face.

When Krazoc strained against his chains and turned toward it, the face had already melted away into the shadows. Maybe it had truly been there; maybe it was a trick of his exhausted mind. The door shut. The lock settled into place with a dull thud.

Inside, there remained only Krazoc, the child, and that silent feeling of being watched in the dark.