“It’s a massive fortress,” Lianshi explained to Xandera as they climbed up the ladder to the dunerunner’s palanquin and took their seats. “And though it looks a complete ruin now, it’s only a couple of centuries old. Pretty new, by our standards.”
Xandera pouted. “That’s as long as my kind have even existed.”
“Does that make me your elder?” teased Lianshi.
Xandera squinted at her. “Yes, Grandma.”
To which Lianshi only laughed. “Be nice.”
The two chattered on, Lianshi explaining the why and how of the city’s founding, and how for two centuries it’d been a bulwark against the fiends of the Silver Unfathom. They’d threatened to invade over some romantic liaison between a queen of theirs and a Great Soul who’d broken her heart. Xandera was fascinated, and insisted on Lianshi recounting the whole tale, which took most of the morning. Scorio half-listened, but mostly rested. Even now, so many days after the fighting, his Heart and soul were weary and bruised. The Blood Ox had badly abused him when he’d torn away his mana, but worse, Naomi’s absence ached like a poorly set bone.
The twin walls of the Triangle loomed massive on both flanks, and rapidly drew closer as they progressed south. Scorio wondered if every crack between the cyclopean boulders was as infested with Tokalauths as the part he’d raced through, but couldn’t rouse himself enough to ask.
Nobody wanted to stop for lunch, so they ate on their benches, rocking and swaying as the dunerunner charged on over the sands. Finally Xandera stood and pointed. “Look! Is that it?”
Everybody twisted to look straight south. The walls joined up ahead at the triangular point of the Bone Plains. A singular flat boulder rose like a mesa from the white sands, perhaps three or four hundred feet high. Its sides were smooth and rounded, as if it were the world’s largest river stone, and all of it the same dull, weathered gray. From their vantage point LastRock wasn’t visible, but Scorio thought he saw some vertical scaffolding running up the rock’s northern face.
“We can’t see it from here,” chided Lianshi. “It’s perched on the far side of the mesa. Looking out over the southern cliff at the Silver Unfathom, which lies only some hundred miles beyond.”
“You can see the Silver Unfathom from LastRock?” asked Scorio.
“No.” Lianshi smiled apologetically. “It’s beyond the horizon. You can see some twenty miles out, but not to the mists themselves.”
Scorio nodded and subsided.
A large caravanserai was being repaired at the foot of the cliff. Four dunerunners were being cared for in an improvised corral, and the pilot guided their own toward the enclosure. The passengers leaped down after thanking the Tomb Spark pilot, and most made their way toward the great warehouse-like building that promised shade and refreshments to the weary travelers.
“It’s not bad,” said Lianshi, shouldering her pack. “The food’s decent, and they’ve a dozen rooms for those who don’t want to make the climb.”
“Why would we rest?” asked Xandera, sweeping her glowing orange hair behind one shoulder. “We’ve been sitting all day. Let’s go!”
“How long would it take to reach LastRock?” asked Scorio. He’d packed Bravurn’s ledgers and treasures into a large chest for which he’d brought a small hand-drawn wagon expressly to carry his load. He finished strapping the chest down on the stout frame and looked up to examine the scaffolding that had been bolted to the cliff face. It had once been an elevator, but much of it was now ruined. The only way up for most people would be to scale the four hundred feet by means of a switchbacking ramp.
“It’s only a mile across the top,” said Lianshi. “If you don’t mind the climb, we can be there in an hour.”
“Then let’s go,” he said, and couldn’t repress a smile at Xandera’s relief. He was tempted to shift into his dragon form and simply fly them up, but for reasons he couldn’t explain he felt reluctant to do so. So instead they joined a handful of other travelers who crossed the compact sand to the base of the ramp, and set to climbing.
It was good exercise, but not enough to make his thighs burn. Even with his large pack and pulling the small wagon behind him, he found that it wasn’t even taxing. A memory came to him, and he smirked.
“What?” asked Lianshi.
“Just something from our past.”
“Yes?” prompted Xandera, lightly skipping up the ramp as if it were level ground. “You can’t say that and not tell us what it is.”
“The first time we rode a whale ship out of Bastion. Manticore owned a tiny vessel called The Sloop. We had to climb an endless set of stairs to the top of the wall that surrounds Bastion’s entrance, and I nearly died trying to reach the top.”
“Why’s that funny?” asked Xandera.
“I was just reflecting on how much has changed. Back then I couldn’t keep my Heart ignited for more than a minute or so. Everyone else just charged to the top, burning mana all the way, but I had to wrestle up alone. Now?” He shook his head ruefully. “I don’t even have to ignite. My Gold-tempered body can handle this climb just fine.”
“You’ve come a long way since then,” agreed Lianshi. “And seeing as I don’t have a Gold-tempered body, I’m burning mana as we speak to keep up.”
“You are?” Xandera walked backward up the slope. “You are! I can kind of sense it.”
“Not everyone’s a Gold-infused fiend or a Gold-tempered Great Soul,” smiled Lianshi, sweat beading her brow.
Scorio took the climb slowly. When they finally crested the top he saw a plateau stretching out into the distance. The rock was covered in a thick carpeting of lichen, most of which had feelers extended to catch the passing mana, and here and there small insectile swarms hovered, spinning endlessly like dust devils around heightened concentrations of Bronze.
But his gaze was drawn across the weathered plateau, along the path worn through the lichen, to the massive and blocky fortress that stood in the far distance. It was ponderous and brutally built, its walls obdurate and powerful and without decoration.
Scorio was surprised at how small it was, though that might have been a trick of the distance. He’d expected a small city, but instead it was more of an actual fortress. Time and the Blood Ox hadn’t been kind to it, however. The walls were tumbled and torn down, and the few towers that rose into view beyond the crenellations were equally in ruins.
They set off toward it.
“Jova’s been cajoled into helping rebuild, but her heart’s not in it,” said Lianshi. “Moira’s examining options. A good two-thirds of it is uninhabitable, so it’s fortunate there’s less than a hundred Great Souls there. But in time it will be rebuilt.” She considered. “Maybe? There isn’t much time left.”
“Because your city of Bastion is going to be destroyed and you’ll never be reborn again,” chimed in Xandera helpfully.
“That’s right,” said Lianshi, tone wry.
They crossed the plateau in companionable silence. LastRock grew in size as they drew closer, but it was definitely more of a rambling fortress than a small city. The northern gatehouse was mostly a pile of boulders that had been cleared aside so the road could pass through, but from what little remained standing it had obviously once been an impressive entrance.
A couple of Tomb Sparks were on guard duty, but it was clear their vigil was symbolic. The small group of travelers who’d strung out into a slight column bunched up once more as they reached the pair, one of whom, a dark-skinned man with a warm smile, stepped forward to greet them.
“Hello, and welcome to LastRock! I’m Tomb Spark Adane, and this is Tomb Spark Belladonna. We’re the welcome committee, and here to help answer any questions you may have before going into the city.”