Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Bryce Valley

“????????.”

???????????

​Malcolm awoke with a start. Disoriented, he forced himself up, then bent quickly to grab the dagger on his boot. A soft hand landed on his shoulder and seemed to instantly calm him. He took a deep breath as if reality had just in that moment caught up to him and he glanced up to see Jaden.

​“We’re coming up on that rendezvous point,” she said, sitting back in her seat and motioning out the window. Malcolm sat upright, leaning forward and looking out. “We’re nearly there.”

​Monoliths of solid rock had replaced the green terrain that had been a blur of motion when Malcolm had first fallen asleep. They were now coming upon the very northeastern end of Veil’driel’s territory. In the distance, the deep abyss of Bryce Valley could already be seen running parallel to them.

​Here and there they spotted guard towers on the far side, long abandoned.

​“Too bad they couldn’t have built a few bridges across this thing. Would have saved us a lot of trouble,” then Malcolm rubbed some of the sleep from his eyes and yawned.

​“They tried,” Jaden said. “For generations, they tried.” Then she waited until Malcolm looked her way. “Sindell did. To build bridges. None of them survived. No matter how sound or strong, no matter how flawlessly designed, not one lasted more than a few days.”

​“None of them?”

​“None. And these are the same engineers who designed airships. Eventually the Bryce dynasty decreed there would be no more. It was a waste of money and risk of lives.”

​Malcolm turned back out the window, staring once more to the valley.

​“I suppose you’re gonna tell me there’s something supernatural behind it.”

​When there was no answer, Malcolm turned back to see Jaden smiling at him.

​“Seriously?” Malcolm asked, his face going completely blank and earnest.
​The wizardess just diverted her eyes.
​“There it is,” Cleo said, pointing.
​Now Jaden leaned forward to look for herself. Close ahead, a spike of rock shot up in the air, no other stones like it to be seen. Beyond that single point the terrain began to rise sharply skyward and the rock outcroppings showed themselves in greater and greater numbers on every side. High cliffs loomed in the distance, their peaks obscured by ragged swathes of pale fog that were already burning away in the afternoon sun.
From here it was already possible to see nooks in the terrain that Malcolm suspected concealed the entrances to the caverns. If the weather held, he thought, the fog would soon dissolve even among the high peaks, and visibility in Bryce Valley would be more than enough to take the shot he needed.
​From here the caverns were no more than a mile or two away, he suspected.
​“Fates willing,” Jaden started as they passed the spike of rock, “both of you will be contacting Creed from that point by nightfall, reporting that the convoy made it through and everything went according to plan.”
​Malcolm was still staring at the spike, hoping that he would see it again. He pictured walking up to it with Cleo, pictured standing at the base unharmed and calling Creed to send another carriage for them. As his eyes drifted away from the window he realized all at once that Cleo was staring at him.
​It took him a moment to realize he had missed something.
​“What?” he asked, his concentration shifting from Cleo to Jaden.
​“The sapphire will not reach the camp anywhere before that point,” Jaden said, and it was obvious to Malcolm that she was repeating herself. “The valley will interfere.”
Malcolm only nodded, as the concept certainly seemed simple enough. But when he realized Jaden was still staring at him, he nodded at her. “Okay, I understand,” he said. “We won’t be able to contact the camp unless we’re at the rendezvous … rock. Spike. Thing.”
Jaden pointed back down to the map. “We will enter the valley from the entrance here,” she said.
“It's a road carved many centuries ago by the druids who lived in the valley,” Cleo said suddenly. Malcolm looked over to her for a moment and there was a pause while neither spoke. Finally, he groped for a response.
​“Um. Neat,” Malcolm blurted, Cleo glanced away, crossing her arms and staring out the window once more.
The convoy began to slow, turning to pass an outcropping on their right. Beyond that stood the cliffs.
​“That’s all?” Malcolm asked Jaden as he turned back to her.
​“Your meaning?”
​“You don’t want me to wait until you're clear?”
​Jaden shook her head and seemed to drift off in her thoughts.
​“No,” she said simply. “When the gate opens you leave.”
​Ahead, the sound of the carriage drivers' commands to stop echoed off of the cliffs. A moment later the convoy halted with a sudden jerk and there was a pause when Malcolm just leaned forward to look out the window, taking his initial survey of the rocky slopes leading up and far away.
​The pause seemed longer than Jaden had expected. Finally, she spoke.
“Is there something wrong?”
“No,” Malcolm said quietly to himself, still surveying
The slopes were built of orange rock, slashes of lighter and darker coloration running through them, some as dark as a blood orange sunset, while most were pale as rust. Great boulders stood as if placed there by the hands of giants, towering like a labyrinth beneath a vanilla sky with a sun set in the center like a distant bone-white marble.
​“No,” he said again. “I’m ready.”
“It has been a pleasure to meet you, Malcolm,” she said, nodding gracefully. “I wish you luck.”
“Same to you,” Malcolm said, popping the door open and jumping off.
His mind was racing with the mission now, falling into a familiar groove of intense concentration. When he was standing on the rocky landscape he looked back up, helping Cleo down from the carriage, continuing to maintain eye contact with Jaden as Cleo stepped to the ground beside him.
“I’ll be in touch,” Malcolm said with a smile.
Jaden smiled and nodded down on him. “We’ll be waiting,” she said, and then, as she leaned back, the door closed without her even touching it.
​Before the convoy began moving again, Malcolm waited and watched as Darvin Nash and Ferris Lang made their way out of their carriages to sit next to the drivers, their twin crossbows and bolt belts now briefly revealed as their cloaks whipped in a chilly breeze. When they had taken position, the crack of reins sounded with the finality of thunder; the first carriage began moving forward.
​The sharp shooter looked up just in time to see the third cart roll by with Ferris Lang looking down at him. As their eyes met he acknowledged Malcolm with a slight nod.
“Well then,” Malcolm began, watching with Cleo as the convoy dwindled into the distance. “Shall we?”
Cleo nodded.
​Malcolm was already reaching into his cloak for the map.
​“You won’t need that yet,” Cleo said, turning back to him as the wagons disappeared.
​Malcolm watched as she started away towards the valley, into the labyrinth of rock. “Why not?” he asked.
​“I have the way memorized.”
Malcolm found himself glancing back the way they came, to the spike of rock still plainly in sight, not two miles away from where they stood. He sighed, drawing in a deep breath before taking his first steps after her.

***

​A few more minutes passed in silence as they focused on the hard terrain, staying close by one another as the ground sloped upward ever more harshly. Their boots brought up clouds of orange dust and sent stones skittering and bouncing down the way they had come.
​At long last, Cleo spoke up again, her tone milder than it had been before.
“You know the outriders,” she said, staring far above at a point that still lay ahead of them. The entrance to the valley was within her view by now; Malcolm straightened up and took the last few steps to come up behind. “There are half a dozen copies of that map. Nothing left to chance.”
“Ah,” Malcolm said, looking away from her back to follow her gaze.
Cleo hesitated a moment before looking down away from where she was staring and back to Malcolm. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Malcolm said, shrugging, and then looked back into her eyes with a smirk. “Just good to know that if I die there are plenty more copies of the map.”
​Cleo rolled her eyes. “Psht. You’re not gonna die, c’mon.”
​“Please,” Malcolm said, climbing after her. “Don’t you know how missions like this work?”
Cleo sighed, turning around to stare down at him from her higher perch. “No,” she said, and her hand came up to her hip. “But I get the feeling you’re about to enlighten me.”
Malcolm smiled. “I am,” he said, finishing the ascent up to her so that they were on even ground again. “See, I was cursed as soon as the general told me I could take this mission or go on leave.”
The two were now walking in step, the path smoothing out a little from where it wrapped around another towering ledge.
“How do you figure?” Cleo asked.
“Oldest story in the book,” Malcolm explained, and he appeared to be taking in the majestic landscape, looking far ahead and every which way as he spoke. “A thief vowing to give up his life of crime after just one more heist. A grizzled old veteran’s final battle before retiring?” Malcolm did a double take with her. “That’s always a death sentence.”
Cleo smiled beside him. “Well then it’s a good thing you’re just going on leave after this,” she said.
Malcolm smiled back, then shrugged. “Yeah, well, I’m hoping that little technicality will be enough to save me, but we’ll see.”
“You’re an idiot,” she said simply.
“An idiot?” he asked, feigning shock.
Cleo raised her eyebrows and nodded, doing her best to hold back her smile.
“Well, Page, I don’t mind telling you that I find those comments deeply ...”
​Malcolm stopped in his tracks, his expression turning as hard as the rock they treaded upon. He just stared, his head arcing, listening for something.
Cleo heard nothing at all, and Malcolm’s sudden change in demeanor was startling. “What?” she asked softly, frozen. “Did you hear-”
“Shh …” is all the bowman said, and he loosened his cloak, alternating the hand he held his bow with so that it fell free to a pool of dark fabric at his feet. Then, in one fluid instant he turned around, reached back to his quiver and loaded the bow to face what had been at his back.
“Malcolm, what is it?”
“Shifting rocks,” he said, bow steady “Somewhere beside us. Stay behind me.”
Cleo reached into her own cloak, revealing a short sword with an ivory hilt, the sides picked out in an ornate swirling design with what looked like obsidian. It came out of its sheath with a clean ring and Malcolm risked a brief shift in focus to see it.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said when she noticed the surprise on Malcolm’s face. “Were you expecting a damsel in distress?”
Malcolm’s attention was back on the rocks. “Hoping, actually,” he said.
“Are you sure you heard something?”
“Yes,” Malcolm answered.
A long moment of silence passed.
“Um.” Her eyes surveyed the landscape in front of them. “Where is it, then?”
​“Why, standing right behind you, my dear,” said a voice that caused her to spin so fast she almost fell. Cleo found herself face to face with an old man wearing a straw hat and a tattered old cloak that looked to be falling apart. His beard was long and white, his boots dirty and covered completely in the orange dust of the cliff side. The tip of Malcolm’s arrow was mere inches away from his face, drawn back full.
​The old man’s eyes crossed at its point.

“Would you mind, lad?” he asked. “I would much prefer not to be shot in the face today.”

“Who are you?” Malcolm asked. His face remained blank, and to Cleo he seemed a completely different person.

“Me?” he asked innocently.

​“Uh … no,” Malcolm paused, his peripheral vision drifting to his right where Cleo was now standing. “The other creepy old guy who just appeared out of nowhere.”

Well, maybe not completely different, Cleo thought.

“Gabriel Foy,” he said, turning his back fearlessly and taking a few steps in the direction they had been headed only moments before. As he walked they spotted the stick he carried, bouncing as it balanced the burden of several tied up hares the old man had hunted. “And if I meant you harm, would I have announced my presence?” he asked, still walking. “I think not,” he said, his reedy voice echoing off the walls.

​“Have you ever seen that guy before?” Malcolm asked out of the corner of his mouth, daring to lower his bow a little as he did. Cleo was still staring at the man's departure in undisguised awe.

“No,” she said. “You don’t think I might have mentioned that?”

“Well c’mon, children,” he said. “Come and follow.”

Chapter Twelve  (E) All or Nothing #2190506 by Dan Hiestand