The Buried Symbol (The Ruins of Issalia Book 1) (9 page)

He disappeared into the nearest alley. Two minutes later, he strolled out wearing his new ensemble.

“
How do I look?
”
Tipper asked, smiling as he sauntered over.

“
Much better. You
’
re almost not embarrassing now,
”
Brock grinned.

“
Very funny.
”

The loud peals of the gate bell shattered the stillness of morning. In the distance, the bell at Southgate returned the call. The guards cranked the gate open, and people began to trickle in and out of the city.

Brock tossed his pack over his shoulder.
“
That
’
s our cue. Let
’
s go. An adventure awaits.
”

Falling in line with the small crowd, they passed through the gate and out of the city.

PART II: AN ADVENTURE

CHAPTER 12

Brock gazed at the ocean on the horizon, beyond the walled city. Kantar seemed so small, tucked against the high rock walls of Jepson Peak to the North. It felt odd, seeing the only home he
’
d ever known from this distance. It occurred to him that he might never see the city again. The twinge of loss at the thought quickly passed.

Taking another bite of dried meat, Brock chewed vigorously as he stared to the west. From this height, he could clearly see the entire path they had traveled. From Eastgate, the Great West Road crossed the basin floor and climbed into the foothills of the Brimstone Mountains. Green and brown scrub covered the landscape since little else could survive in the dry soil. A cloud of dust trailed a two-horse wagon heading their direction as it followed the snaking road.

Now some distance from the ocean, the air felt much hotter. They had stripped down to trousers and shirts, their sleeves rolled up. The heat of the mid-day sun and the effort of climbing uphill left their shirts and brows damp with sweat. Brock was thankful to remove the sweaty bandages from his head. Tipper told him that the rune seemed fully healed, now appearing natural.

Finishing his strip of dried meat, Brock washed it down with a drink from his water skin.

He capped the skin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“
I didn
’
t realize how much hotter it was out here, away from the ocean. I hope we have enough water.
”
He threw his pack over his shoulder and resumed walking.
“
Let
’
s keep moving. We
’
ve a long way to go.
”

Tipper followed along, looking at what lay ahead.

“
My legs are already numb. I can
’
t imagine how they
’
ll feel after we climb
that
.
”
Tipper pointed toward the high pass between the peaks to the east.

The Brimstone Mountains were an imposing wall, towering over the smaller foothills around them. The mountains stretched in a line from the north to the south, looking as black as their namesake. Glowridge Pass was the lowest point along the dark wall of peaks, yet it was still a far higher altitude than where they currently stood.

“
I guess it
’
s the price you pay for adventure,
”
Brock responded.

The rumble of an approaching wagon warned them to move aside. Moments later, the clopping sound of hooves filled the air as two horses eased past. When the wagon pulled even with them, the reins tightened, and the horses slowed to a walking pace.

A well-tanned man with dark hair and a wide-brimmed hat held the reins. A freckled boy with red hair, a couple years younger than Brock, sat beside him. Both were marked with the rune of
Mercator
.

The man greeted them.
“
G
’
morning boys. How
’
s life on the road?
”

Keeping pace with the wagon, Brock glanced toward the man and replied,
“
It
’
s going well other than the heat.
”

The man snorted.
“
Yep. It
’
s hot all right. However, what do you expect in early summer down here? Heck, if you guys plan to cross the Maloram Desert, it
’
s going to get a lot warmer.
”

Brock remembered seeing Maloram Desert on the map he had purchased.
“
Yeah, we
’
re heading that way.
”

The man nodded.
“
In that case, I assume you
’
re going through Glowridge Pass?
”

Brock nodded.
“
Yep. That
’
s the only way through the Brimstone Mountains, right?
”

The man snorted again.
“
Well, it
’
s not the only way, but it
’
s the easiest.
”
He took his hat off, wiping his brow with a sleeve.
“
Even then, it
’
s a tough climb up the mountain to get there. If you boys have some coin, we could give you a ride up to the pass.
”

Brock glanced back at Tipper, who nodded eagerly at the idea. Wary of the price, Brock casually responded,
“
We might take you up on that, but we don
’
t have much coin left. How much are you asking?
”

“
I
’
ll give you boys a ride for five coppers each.
”

“
That
’
s one whole silver!
”
Brock exclaimed.

That was more than he wanted to spend. It was still a long way to Fallbrandt, and he didn
’
t know how much it
’
d cost to get there.

“
We
’
re pretty small and light. Surely, you could find room for us for a couple coppers each?
”

The man glanced toward his apprentice, then back to Brock.
“
I can do it for three coppers each, but that
’
s as low as I go.
”

Brock stopped walking and the man stopped the wagon. Tipper
’
s eyes were pleading for him to take the offer.

“
Alright. Six coppers for the two of us to the top of the pass. It
’
s a deal.
”

The man nodded.
“
Good. But you need to pay first.
”
He lifted a loaded crossbow from the wagon seat.
“
And don
’
t try anything funny, or you
’
ll end up with one more hole in you. Got it?
”

Brock nodded.
“
Got it.
”

He counted six coppers, handing them to the man.

“
Thanks, boys.
”
He pocketed the coins.
“
My name is Hank and this is my apprentice, Ren. Go ahead and climb into the wagon next to those crates.
”
He set the crossbow down and grabbed the reins.

“
Thanks, Hank. I
’
m Brock, this is Tipper,
”
he responded.

They tossed their packs into the wagon and climbed on. Hank snapped the reins and the wagon lurched forward toward the mountain pass.

.   .   .

The temperature continued to rise as they descended into the valley. Brock and Tipper were soon holding their cloaks over their heads as cover from the hot sun. Though thankful to be riding rather than walking, their rears were sore from the abuse of the bumpy ride on the hard wagon bed.

Shortly after reaching level ground, they crossed a small bridge over a creek that split the valley floor. They stopped near the bridge to let the horses drink and graze upon the grasses growing nearby. While Hank and Ren tended to the horses, Brock and Tipper refilled their water skins and waited in the shade of the trees lining the creek.

Once the horses had their fill, they resumed their journey. The road angled south and was soon within sight of the Alitus River. As they began the steep ascent toward the pass, their pace slowed. The road became a series of switchbacks, twisting and turning as it wound its way around elevated obstacles and deep drops.

Facing backward in the wagon bed, Brock watched the landscape behind them shrink into the distance. The sun was sinking, and it would be dark within the hour. With night fast approaching, he became nervous about reaching the pass before dark.

“
It
’
s almost nightfall, and we aren
’
t to the top of the pass yet.
”
Brock shouted over the clopping hooves and rumbling wheels.
“
Are we going to make it today?
”

Hank turned his head and shouted,
“
We
’
ll make it tonight. Should be there in two hours.
”

Now Brock was even more nervous. He glanced to the side of the road, only a few feet from where he sat. The cliff dropped hundreds of feet to the river below. The narrow road posed a constant threat of the wagon straying too close to the edge, sending them to a certain death.

Brock yelled to Hank again.
“
You
’
ll bring us to the top like we agreed, right?
”

“
Don
’
t worry, son. We
’
ll get you there tonight.
”

Brock looked at Tipper, who shrugged. How were they going to drive a wagon in the dark on a narrow and curvy mountain road? He shivered just thinking of the wagon going over the edge.

The sun began to dip below the horizon, showing a sliver of reflection on the distant ocean. The dark foothills below and red clouds above framed the bright slice of the setting sun, creating a stunning view.

Moments later, the sun disappeared, leaving them in the dwindling light of dusk.

A faint blue glow caught Brock
’
s attention, causing him to glance toward the rock wall that ran alongside road. Light blue streaks marked the face of the black rock. Amazed, he turned forward as they rounded a bend. The entire cliff face above the pass was a pattern of glowing blue stripes illuminating the road ahead.

Brock now realized how Hank was able to drive the wagon on the narrow road despite the loss of sunlight. The whole side of the mountain acted as a huge glowlamp. Glowridge Pass, the name now made sense.

A roar began to rise over the noise of the wagon and horses. The volume increased as they rounded a bend, exposing the source of the sound.

Hank turned his head and shouted,
“
Whitecap Falls. Beautiful, isn
’
t it?
”

Speechless, Brock just nodded. The heavy flow of the Alitus River rushed over the cliff ahead, dropping into the dark canyon far below. Though not as wide as where the bridge crossed it south of Kantar, the river was still hundreds of feet across.

The roar steadily increased as they passed over the falls and the wagon rolled on into the night.

CHAPTER 13