Glimmer Vale Chronicles

1. Garret's Gorge

1

Garret's Gorge

Cold wind whipped past Julian, making his cloak furl out behind him. Biting back a curse, he clutched at the flapping cloth and pulled it back in tight around his body, but not before the momentary exposure had done its damage. What small warmth he had been able to retain was gone, leaving him to shiver in his saddle. The mail shirt he wore didn't help matters, but he had learned the hard way not to go without it.

It was supposed to be getting on into spring. Down below, in the lowlands many miles behind him, farmers were tilling their fields in preparation for the first planting. Trees and bushes were beginning to show their first buds. And people could go about their business in less than three layers of clothing. But not here, among the peaks of the Saddleback Mountains. Here, winter still clung to the land like a young maiden to her first crush.

"Tell me again why we're taking this route?" he muttered with annoyance.

Julian's companion looked sidelong at him and rolled his eyes. Raedrick was a hand taller than Julian and thin as a stick, with shoulder-length black hair that was tied into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. Like Julian, Raedrick wore a cowled brown cloak of thick wool over his mail, and calf-high leather riding boots. Beyond that their fashion sense deviated, for while Raedrick usually picked shirts and pants of blue and grey, Julian preferred greens and browns; they went with his short brown hair and hazel eyes better.

Or at least that's what the ladies told him.

When they first met, Julian thought sure he could break Raedrick in half with one hand. He had quickly learned the folly of that. Raedrick was quick, and a lot stronger than he looked. And he could wield the saber that hung from his saddle horn with deadly efficiency.

"I don't feel like getting caught, do you?" Raedrick said. "Not many people come this way anymore since the southern passes became viable. Plus, it's faster."

"I'd almost rather take my chances down south," Julian replied.

It had been a hard week since they departed Calas. The army did not generally chase deserters, but all the same if a chance patrol happened upon them, they were done. So they took pains to remain out of sight, which meant they mostly traveled at night.

That had been bad enough, but once they made it into the foothills of the mountains, past even the most distant picket lines, the journey had gotten steadily worse. At first Julian had thought riding in the day again would be easier, but as the terrain became more rugged their progress slowed and the day's ride grew more exhausting.

Then, the day before yesterday, they passed through the last of the trees and emerged onto the bare flank of the mountains, leaving them completely exposed to the elements. Fierce gusting winds and lowering temperatures conspired to create a thoroughly miserable day and a restless night. They finally got a bit of relief yesterday afternoon as they put the first few peaks behind them, and then again this morning when they entered Garret's Gorge. But that was a respite only compared to the bitter cold of the mountain range's flanks, as the last wind gust revealed.

At least they had a nice view. Julian had to concede that.

About ten feet to his left, the road abruptly fell away. A sheer cliff, and another one a tenth of a mile away facing it, formed the walls of the Gorge. At the bottom, a couple hundred feet down, the Cascade River flowed, a long series of rapids that only subsided in the foothills far to the west, where it merged with the River Lonaylay on its way to the Tymor Sea. Between the Gorge and the mighty peaks all around, there was always another awe-inspiring sight here. But right then Julian would trade it all for a nice fire and a warm mug of mulled wine. And a warmer maiden.

"Quit complaining," the other man said. "We're almost to the falls. From there it's just barely a half day to Lydelton."

Julian only grunted in reply.

They rode in silence for another hour. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a low noise began to intrude on Julian's consciousness. At first it was easy to not notice it, a low rumble that could just as easily be his imagination. But the rumble grew over time until eventually it became impossible to ignore.

"What's that? The falls?"

Raedrick nodded with a wry grin. "Just around the next corner. Brace yourself."

Julian snorted. He had seen plenty of waterfalls before. One was much the same as... They rounded the corner and Julian abandoned the thought as his jaw dropped in amazement.

The falls were about a quarter of a mile ahead. Spilling over the side of a jagged mountain peak that rose high above all the others nearby, the falls had to have measured a thousand feet from the dropoff to the bottom of the Gorge, where the river began to flow. Mist billowed off the water as it fell and rose in a great cloud at the falls' base. The rocks on either side of the Gorge and on the adjoining flank of the mountain gleamed, frozen mist reflecting the mid-morning sunlight that shined from the west. Julian instantly understood why they were called Silver Falls; if he didn't know better, he would have thought the ice was precious metal from the way it reflected the sunlight.

"Gods be good," he said. Or at least, he tried to say it. Even at that distance, the roar from the falls was tremendous. He could barely hear himself speak.

"We'll need to protect our ears as we get closer." Raedrick leaned over close to Julian's ear as he spoke. Even still, it was hard to understand him.

Julian nodded and flipped open one of his saddlebags. After a moment of digging, he found a small lump of wax. Breaking it in two, he held the two pieces in his fists for a moment to soften them up. Then he pressed them into his ears. The roar was immediately muffled, though it was still distinctly noticeable.

The two men continued forward. The great mountain peak rose on their side of the Gorge, blocking their path like a colossus. But the road shortly veered away from the Gorge and the peak itself, instead climbing the mountain's flank on the other side of the peak from the falls. Julian considered, as they turned on the first of what would probably be many switchbacks designed to lessen the road's angle of ascent, that it was probably for the best. He didn't want to think about how difficult the road would be to follow if it was covered in ice from the mist. So the extra few miles to go around the peak were probably worthwhile.

Just before noon, after more switchbacks than Julian wanted to count, they reached the road's highest point and paused for a moment. Looking down from their lofty perch, Julian was struck by the beauty of the valley before them.

The road descended across the face of the mountain and made its way back to the river just above the falls, then followed the river to a large lake shaped like a kidney bean that dominated the center of the valley: Lake Glimmermere, if Julian remembered his maps correctly. Still except for the wakes from a number of boats making way around the lake, the water reflected the mountains on the other side of the valley with near-pristine clarity.

Off to the north of the lake, the valley was wooded all the way up into the mountains. To the south, a few copses punctuated the rolling hills, but for the most part there was only grassland except for a narrow spur of mountains that pushed north almost to the shore of the lake. Two rivers flowed into the lake: one from the north and one from the east. A number of what Julian assumed were farming hamlets clustered in the grasslands surrounding the eastern river. Almost directly opposite the two men on the other side of the valley, Holbart's Pass led away off to the northeast.

But the thing that truly drew Julian's eye was the fair-sized town on the north shore of the lake. A sprawling collection of buildings large and small surrounding a half-dozen piers that protruded into the lake like the fingers of some great grasping hand, the town of Lydelton might as well have been the most opulent metropolis in the world. Down there were warm Inns, home cooked meals, and wenches aplenty. He could hardly wait to get there.

"Glimmer Vale," Raedrick said in a soft tone. "I've not been here in years."

"Looks like a nice enough place."

Raedrick nodded. "The people are friendly and hospitable, and they have a local recipe for the fish from the lake that is to die for."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Julian spurred his horse to motion and began the descent. Behind him, he heard Raedrick chuckle before doing the same.

Going down was faster than coming up. Before long, they reached the base of the mountain. The road met the river a few hundred yards above the lip of the falls, near a small copse of evergreens. The river was narrow there, maybe a hundred feet across, but flowed swiftly toward the dropoff. Julian was struck by how much quieter it was here than down below. Oh, the falls' roar was still plain to hear, but it was nowhere near as deafening as it had been on the other side.

"I guess the Gorge makes it louder," he murmured to himself, earning a curious glance from Raedrick. Julian shrugged in response and gestured toward the falls.

Raedrick nodded. "A good thing, too. Can you imagine trying to live next to all that racket?"

Julian shuddered.

The road ran into the copse about twenty feet from the rocks overhanging the river. It was a pleasant change from the bare rock of the last couple days, and Julian found himself grinning as they passed beneath the trees' canopy. The smell of pine was soothing, reminding him of pleasant days from his past. He lost himself in enjoyment for a moment.

Which made the harsh voice that barked out at them all the more unpleasant.

"That's far enough. Stop right there."

Julian shook himself back to attention and groaned. Half a dozen men stepped out from behind the trees lining the road ahead. They were unshaven, wearing dirty cloaks and leggings that had seen better days. But they also had on what looked like high-quality leather breastplates that were lined with iron studs, leather gauntlets and bracers, and greaves on their shins. Five of them arranged themselves in a loose arc in the road ahead, while the sixth stood a few feet back and, nocking an arrow to his bowstring, drew back and sighted in on them.

Brigands.

Julian and Raedrick reined in their horses, and a burly man with a vicious-looking scar on his chin who stood in the center of the ring of five spoke. From his voice, he was the same man who spoke before. That made him the leader. "Your money or your life, boys," he said.

Nice welcome.