A warm wind from the east blew steadily during the day and slowly piled clouds up against the mountains’ lofty heads. By midafternoon, towering thunderheads began to form, and the elemental forces of a storm were spawned in the battle between air, stone, and fire.
On the ground the men and Hunnuli sensed the coming storm in the magical energies around them. In a phenomenon little understood by the magic-wielders themselves, thunderstorms strengthened the forces of magic and enhanced the sorcerers’ ability to wield it. Even before the sky turned to steel and the first bolt of lightning streaked to earth, the two sorcerers could feel the tingle in their blood and the building exhilaration as the storm brewed along the mountain’s face.
Worriedly they hurried on, but there was still no sign of the elusive wagon except for its tracks winding ever higher into the inhospitable flanks of the mountains. In the late afternoon they rode up a rocky ridge, crested the top, and stopped to look around. Although the van was nowhere in sight, they saw two shepherds hurrying a flock of goats down a valley below. Afer and Tibor quickly caught up with the shepherds, and the clansmen cordially greeted the two Turics.
The shepherds eyed them and the big horses suspiciously until they recognized the Raid crests on the riders’ robes.
“The True God go with you, travelers,” the younger shepherd said over the bleating goats. “We thought you might be taxers or collectors for the Fel Azureth.”
Sayyed chuckled. “The Raid ride only for honor, which is why we’re so poor.”
The shepherds relaxed a little, but they shifted their feet, anxious to be away. Their goats, the long-legged, rangy mountain breed, crowded around them, noisy and impatient. Sayyed quickly asked about the wagon.
“Haven’t seen it today,” the older shepherd replied. “We’ve had the herd in the meadows up there.” He pointed toward one mountain rather isolated from the rest, a savage, lonely peak with its crown buried in the clouds. “Had to bring ’em down early, though. The Storm King grows angry.”
“The who?” Rafnir asked.
“You are strangers here.” The shepherd grimaced. “Yonder lies the Storm King,” he pointed to the same peak. “The old man can force ferocious storms when his anger is up.”
“Well, do you know where that road goes?”
The shepherds looked at one another as if trying to jog each other’s memories. “Doesn’t it go to that old fortress?” the young one offered.
The other shrugged. “Could be. The main trail to the place is south of here, but I’ve heard there was a back road going up there. I just never followed this one. Won’t go up there myself.”
Something in his tone caused Rafnir to ask, “Why not?”
Both men were startled when the shepherds crossed I heir wrists to ward off evil. “There’s something dark far back in those mountains. Some old evil that won’t die away. Something I wouldn’t risk for all the gold on Storm King,” the old shepherd said.
“If you’re going on that road,” suggested the young one forcefully, “don’t stray off it. Find your wagon and get out as fast as you can.” Without waiting for an answer, the shepherds rounded up their herd and hurried away.
The Hunnuli returned to the track and resumed a canter. The men saw now that the trail headed toward the peak the shepherds had called the Storm King. True to its name, the mountain sat under a roiling gray—and-white mantle of cloud that obscured its upper slopes. Lightning crackled around its crown.
“We’d better find shelter soon.” Sayyed called.
Faster now, the stallions galloped along the open path on the rising slopes of hills and ridges, but all too soon they reached the treeline and were forced to slow-to a trot through the scattered groves of trees and heavy brush.
The hunters pushed on and on into the higher reaches, while the sky darkened and the wind began to roar through the trees. Dust and leaves whirled, and the warm, sultry air suddenly turned cold. Thunder rumbled in a continuous drumroll that echoed from peak to peak. The daylight died to a ghostly twilight.
Sayyed was scanning the trail ahead when a bolt of lightning snaked down from the clouds and exploded a tree close by. The thunderous shock wave nearly blew him from the saddle. Afer and Tibor neighed in pain from the horrendous sound. With that fanfare, the fury of the Storm King broke loose in a wind that came screaming down from the peak, snapping off branches and flattening grass.
Half-blinded by flying dust and grit, the men clung to the horses as the wind howled by them. The Hunnuli struggled on as best they could. In seconds, they had lost the trail in a whirlwind of dirt, debris, and leaves.
“Go on,” Sayyed cried to Afer. “Find shelter!”
Obediently the old stallion plowed ahead, using his wits and his senses to locate any kind of shelter out of this terrible wind. Tibor struggled to stay close on his tail. Neither could see where they were going. All they could discern were darker shapes through the flying wind and the direction of the slopes under their feet. Lightning continued to explode, with shattering crescendos of thunder around them.
They had not yet found a safe place to stop when the hail came pelting down in curtains of stinging pellets. Mumbling an oath, Sayyed tied his burnoose tightly across his face and stopped Afer. He hunched down, his back to the wind, and waited for Tibor to come close.
“We don’t have much choice. We’ll stay here until the storm passes,” he shouted to Rafnir. “Let’s make a shield.”
Rafnir nodded a reply. They started the spell to form a storm-proof dome against the wind and hail.
Afer lifted his head. I smell something! I cannot tell what it is, but it smells man-made, the Hunnuli told both men.
Sayyed grimaced. “Do we look for it?”
“Let’s try. There’s no knowing how long this storm will last, and shelter would be welcome.”
Excitedly now, Afer plunged ahead into the wind and whipping ice. Using the magic they had already summoned, the men formed small shields of power and used the energy to ward off the worst of the weather. Tibor hurried after Afer along a saddleback ridge and down into a steep, narrow valley.
Dusk came and went too quickly, and an impenetrable night blanketed the mountains. The hail finally dwindled to a stop only to be replaced by a heavy torrent of rain. In moments Sayyed and Rafnir were soaked by the cold downpour in spite of their shields. Still Afer went on after the elusive scent, leading them farther up the valley along the banks of a small, tumbling stream. In the dense darkness and pouring rain, they were unaware that the valley walls were rising steeper and higher the deeper into the mountains they went.
Then, without warning, a towering shape loomed out of the darkness. Twice as tall as a man, thick and ungainly, it sat in the middle of the canyon floor like a misshapen row of large human heads set one on top of the other. The topmost head, its gruesome face nearly lost in the gloom, glowered down the valley at any who approached it.
It is stone, snorted Tibor.
“Yes, but what is it?” Rafnir exclaimed, not really expecting an answer. The huge statue was unlike anything he had ever seen.
“It is an ancestor pole, an ancient device used to warn evil spirits.” Sayyed replied wearily.
Rafnir shivered in the icy blast of the wind. “I don’t think it’s working. Is this what you smelled?” he asked Afer.
Some of it. But now I sense other things, Afer answered.
So do I. Man smells on wood, stone, and smoke. Horses, too. added Tibor.
“Then let’s go,” Sayyed sighed. The need for shelter outweighed his caution and curiosity. They circled past the strange statue and pushed ahead up the canyon.