I turn to where the unbreakable barrier used to be. All that is left are mounds of crystal shards, the way forward clear for passage.
“How could she not,” I reply grimly.
Part FourThe Kingdom of the South
Destinations.
Sixty-SevenNot Here, Not Now. Not Ever.
The way ahead is as the way behind.
As the echoes of the crowd’s departure fade, I look to beyond where the Crystal Gate was and see the other half of the clearing we’re in—and am unimpressed. The continuation of the cliffs, and the hard turn out of the open space is just like all the other twists and curves we went through to get here.
“I thought the Outpost was your destination,” Merc remarks.
So did I. “I changed my mind.”
“The only thing after this is the Kingdom of the South.”
“Yes. That is where I’m going.”
“We ride together then,” Merc announces as he holds out Lavante’s reins to me.
I look over at him. The collapse kicked up dirt on all of us, and like my own togs, his clothes are dusty. He even has a shard hanging in his hair, and as my eyes catch it, he raises his hand and picks the crystal out.
His face is a mask of his features, neither his expression nor his black and white eyes giving anything away. For a moment, I’m tempted to suggest that he go first and I give him a half hour. But that’s just being petty.
I mostly keep my bitterness to myself: “Another new job for you, then.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Disappointed, more like it. I still think you need to stop running and go back to what you love to do.” I take my reins and saddle up. “But we all have choices to make, don’t we.”
Lavante is very excited about what just happened, and he paws at the shards that sparkle on the ground at his feet. The majority of the crystals blew outward from the maid as she broke down the wall, so the debris field is in front of us.
I’m worried about the horses’ hooves.
“Is it safe for them?” I ask.
“We don’t have a choice,” Merc tosses back. “So neither do they.”
He throws a leg over his saddle and spurs his steed forward—
His horse shies away from the crystals, rearing up while backing away and shaking its head. Though Merc gets control and prevents a full-on bolt, when he tries a second approach, the same thing happens, only with a buck or two thrown in for good measure.
“Let me go first,” I say as I give Lavante a little head—
My stallion prances over and kicks up his hooves, the shards spraying around him as he dances through the light show he’s deliberately creating. As I glance back, Merc is giving me an annoyed look.
“I’m not asking him to do this,” I call out over the tinkling sounds.
At least his horse falls in line, the instinct to stay with the herd greater than its fear of the strange ground covering. Soon enough, we’re through the beautiful mess and onto solid dirt. I’m not surprised there’s no vegetation here, as there wasn’t previously on the trail, but as I look up at the stone cliffs, something is different…
I just can’t figure out what my instincts have picked up on.
“No spent musket balls on this side,” I remark as I look down. When Merc doesn’t reply, I glance over my shoulder. “I said, no balls. On the ground—”
“I heard you.”
