There was a silent sharpness to the air that raised Kadrigul's hackles. He took his scabbard from where it hung off his saddle, slid it under his belt, then loosened the knot on his cloak so that he could throw it off quickly if need be.
They continued on, rounding the shoulder of the hill. Below them, in a round hollow between the hill and the next, were a jumble of shapes that at first glance Kadrigul thought was some sort of building, long fallen to ruin. The trail they followed headed in that direction.
As they grew closer, he saw it wasn't a ruin at all, but a series of standing stones, some fallen at haphazard angles.
When they closed to within a hundred feet or so, he saw that he'd been wrong yet again. If the shapes were standing stones, they were like none he'd ever seen before. They looked more like broken shards of ice thrust up from the ground. Some almost straight up, but most at varying angles, no two seemingly alike, and in no discernible pattern that he could see. The bases of most were far enough apart that three men could have walked between them, side by side, but the way many leaned past one another formed odd pathways, some open to the sky, and some covered by leaning pillars of ice.
Soran stopped in front of the nearest, its pinnacle leaning over him.
Kadrigul stopped behind him. "What is it?"
"I do not know," said Soran, no emotion in his voice whatsoever. His gaze seemed to strain at the deep blue shadows between the great shards, and his nostrils flared as he took in a great lungful of air. But Kadrigul could see it was an effort for him to do so. It wouldn't be long now.
"Anything?" said Kadrigul.
"She was here."
"But no longer?"
Soran gave a strong wrench on his mount's reins and began pacing around the structure, circling it.
Shifting his own horse's reins from one hand to the other, Kadrigul turned to the Creel, who had stopped several feet away. They were staring at the strange structure, and Kadrigul saw one of them clutching some sort of talisman.
"You men," he called in their own tongue, "do you know this place?"
"No, lord," said one of them.
One of the Creel in the back of the group called out, "We must leave this unclean place!"
The first said, "It is getting dark, lord. Should we not find a place to camp for the night? Some place else?"
Kadrigul looked up. The eastern sky, mantling the arm of the mountains as it stretched out onto the steppe, was already a muted purple, and the first stars peeked out. The western sky, where the mountains piled up against the sky, still held a blue glow of evening. Even if they left now, they wouldn't get far before full night fell, and the breeze off the mountains was getting colder by the moment.
"We'll camp here," Kadrigul told the Creel. "Get the tents up and sort out the last of the fuel. We'll need a fire tonight. Picket the horses nearby. They'll need the warmth as well."
None of the Creel moved, other than to exchange nervous glances.
"We can't sleep here, my lord," one said.
Kadrigul walked over to them, leading his horse behind. He walked up to the Creel who had been doing most of the talking. He didn't get too close. Kadrigul wasn't one of those blustering fools who counted on intimidation to win his fights. He acted or didn't. If he did, better let it come as a surprise.
"And why is that?" he asked. He pitched his voice for all to hear, but he kept his gaze on the nearest man.
"L-look at this place, my lord." The man pointed at the structure. "That… not right. Not natural. We've come too close as it is. The girl isn't here, lord! This place is lakhot!"
Kadrigul wasn't sure of the exact meaning there. Unholy perhaps, though not in the way most thought of it. Many of the Creel had returned to their ancestors' devil worship and demon binding, so the concept of holy was not really in their thinking. Lakhot meant something older, some other than mortal men-and best left alone.
He pulled his left glove off with his teeth and was about to reach for his sword-perhaps killing this mouthy one would put the rest back in line-when he heard hoofbeats. They all turned to see Soran coming around from the opposite side of the structure from which he'd departed. He was riding his horse now, the great beast billowing out clouds of steam in the cold. Soran had a tight hold on the reins, but he rode hunched over, as if wounded or sick. Kadrigul knew it wouldn't be long now. Better to leave all the Creel alive in case they were needed for other purposes.
"You've found something?" Kadrigul called.
Soran pulled up beside the Creel and stopped his mount just in time. He looked down at Kadrigul and said, "Their trail leads into that structure. It doesn't come out again. Whoever took the girl took her in there and didn't come out again."
"Then in we go," said Kadrigul.
"My lord, please!" said the Creel. "At least wait for the sun. Please, I beg you."
"We look now," said Kadrigul. "She's in there, or she isn't. Either way, our hunt ends here tonight. If she isn't there, we head home with the sun."
"You swear?"
Kadrigul ground his teeth.
"Come," he said. "It shouldn't take long. But we'll need light"
Weaving through the leaning shards of ice, the horses would have been more hindrance than help, so Kadrigul chose two of the Creel to stay behind with their horses and supplies. The other five, three holding torches, gathered with Kadrigul and Soran at the edge of the structure.
Soran led the way, plunging in without a torch. Kadrigul drew his sword and motioned the Creel after him.
The boldest of them licked his lips and said, "After you, my lord."
"You men get in there now," said Kadrigul, "or I'll have Soran come back and hold two of you by the neck. Which two will it be?"
The men exchanged nervous glances, and every one of them either looked at Kadrigul's naked blade-or pointedly did not look. One of the torch bearers said, "Sooner in, sooner out," and plunged in after Soran. The others followed, and Kadrigul came after.
He prodded the rearmost man with the point of his sword and said loud for all of them, "Catch up with Soran."
The trail was easy enough to follow. Most places inside the structure were still open to the sky, and snow lay thick on the ground.
"Ai, lakhot!" one of the men ahead said. The others stopped and stood in a tight group. The path was just wide enough for all of them to gather. Kadrigul saw why. The light from their torches hit the great shards of ice and refracted back in dozens of colors. In the thicker parts of the ice-and this close, Kadrigul was no longer certain it even was ice-the light seemed to catch, spark, and glimmer in tiny motes at times very deep within the shards, and at other times just below the surface.
"What is it?" said another.
"It doesn't matter," said Kadrigul. "Move along. Quickly!"
The men looked at one another. The one who had called out was trembling with fear. He placed a hand on the hilt of his knife.
"Soran!" Kadrigul called.
That got them moving again, though all of them had hands on weapons now.
Paths veered off in every direction between the shards. Three times out of four, they veered left at one of these branches. The trail remained clear, but they still hadn't caught up to Soran.
Night fell outside, and as darkness pressed in, the glow from their three torches seemed all the brighter, refracting off snow and shards in a dozen shades of blue, green, and red. Gold, silver, and bright white flared in the depths of the shards. At least two of the men muttered frightened prayers.
The Creel with the torch leading the way stopped again. He turned to look past his companions to Kadrigul. There was no insolence or rebellion in his face. Just fear. "Shouldn't we have come to the other side by now?"