Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
That’s when I notice all the musket balls that cover the dirt. I’d assumed they were pebbles, given the layers of them. There are also objects of various extraction—axe-heads, hammers, arrows—that suggest many people over many, many years have tried to break down that which has stopped their way forth.
Though Lavante remains agitated, I swing a leg over and drop to the ground. Tightening the reins around one of the saddlebags, he stays put, but doesn’t like it, his hooves stamping at the loose detritus, kicking up musket balls and shards. I walk over to the barrier, and feel the smooth expanse with my fingertips. It’s cold, ever so slightly bumpy, and has a pearlized effect that prevents me from seeing anything but shadows on the other side.
Leaning into my hands, I push against it. There’s no give, and as I go over to where it meets the elevation on the left, there’s a tinkling sound at my feet. The shards that have fallen are octagonal in nature, and as I drop down on my haunches and pick one up, it’s Thale’s weapon.
Or rather, the bearded man’s—
Gong! Gong! Gong—
“By all means,” I call out over the din. “Let’s continue that approach as it’s worked so well.”
Merc halts in mid-swing again. “Have you any better idea? Or is commentary all you have to offer.”
The crystal falls from my hand, refinding its like. “I’m surprised you went this way. To the south.”
His expression remains remote. “I take jobs when they come to me and go where they take me. So I am here. What about you.”
I open my mouth to suggest we could have traveled together all along, but that’s like a declaration of failure on my part, isn’t it. Besides, I haven’t told him about my change in plans, and I don’t want him to think I’m just following him. I wonder where he spent the night? Somewhere in the Outpost? Or the bed of another woman, maybe this time someone he could finish with—
Well. I might as well stab myself at this rate.
Returning my palm to the barrier, I sweep it up and down as I walk over to him. It occurs to me, as I examine the height and breadth of the gate, that the unevenness on the surface is concentrated in a band that is somewhere between the chest and the upper arm reach of a grown man. Clearly, efforts to break through have focused in this area, though there are pockmarks farther up, too.
“What created this,” I murmur.
“It’s ancient.” He puts his own hand on the pane. “And there has been plenty of trying.”
“So you’re in a hurry, then. To go south.” When he doesn’t reply, I glance over at his grim profile. “What about heading around the other way?”
“I already attempted that. Rushing storm runoff, and a mud bog that if it were water could be boated across, but as it is, everything’s impassable at least for days.”
He nods to his horse, and that’s when I notice the muddy hocks.
“Then you’ll be returning to the Outpost?”
Merc shakes his head. “No, I shall be getting through this.”
“By will alone, I presume.”
“As I said before,”—his tone becomes sharp—“if you have a better idea, by all means, woman, have at it.”
He bows and sweeps his arm forth with mocking gallantry, and then he walks off for his horse, stabbing the broadsword into its holster on his back. When he arrives at his saddle, he shoves the various rolls and packs around, and takes off a bladder. After a stout drink, he turns to me, and doesn’t meet my eyes.
In fact, he hasn’t looked at me properly since my arrival.
“And if you don’t get through it.” I glance around. “Were you camping out here?”
He glowers at the barrier. “Is that your plan?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“I figure you’ll be wanting to get back to the pub.”
“No, my way is only forward—”
“Your friend in the top hat must be heartbroken.”
My brows go down, and the next thing I know, I’m marching over to him. “Hit it for me, will you?”
When he seems confused, I point at the gate. “I’d like to see you fail at something. It will cheer me up, and be far more fun than arguing with you over a man I haven’t touched.”
Now he looks at me properly, and we just stand there, glaring at each other.
“Let me guess,” he mutters as he’s the one who breaks the eye contact. “You want me to use my head for the job.”
“Certainly would give it something to do for once.” As he slants a look over at me, I shrug. “Or use your sword. The sword will be less painful, of course.”
“Will it,” he mutters as he unsheathes his weapon once more. “There are advantages to concussive events, loss of consciousness among certain company, for example.”