Despite the harsh night winds, the wood hut proved sturdy, and Sam slept undisturbed until Tristan woke them at first dawn. She scarcely had time to process she was awake before she was on her horse and en route to Luca.
They drove their horses deeper into the mountain, pausing only to remove a small stone from one of the horse’s hooves. After a few hours of riding, the gray, crystalline granite shifted to an orange-reddish sandstone, peppered with tiny holes like a honeycomb. Vertical columns of rock rose from the ground, twisting upwards into the heavens.
Their path narrowed and the steep sides of the mountain drew together, forming a winding canyon with smooth walls rounded by the wear of water. “Luca is through here,” Tristan said.
The canyon ended, exposing a long, flat ridge that extended as far as the eye could see. Human hands had carved cylindrical columns topped with acanthus leaves and an ornately designed lintel into the face of the cliff, framing a large rectangular opening.
“How did they build that?” Sam asked wonderingly.
Tristan shrugged. “Nobody knows. It’s been here for millennia.” He nudged his horse forward, disappearing into the rectangular doorway. Sam and Braeden followed him in, plunged into total darkness until they emerged on the other side. They found themselves on a high ledge overlooking a chasm so deep they couldn’t see the bottom, only a hazy carpet of white where cloud met sky. A simple suspension bridge decked with wooden planks was anchored on either side of the chasm, swaying in the wind.
Sam swallowed a lump in her throat. She wasn’t particularly afraid of heights, but this was pushing it. “Are we crossing over that?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Tristan. “You can see why the Uriel established their base here. It’s damned near impossible to attack, at least by human enemies.”
Sam eyed the rickety bridge warily. “If I lived in Luca, I’d never leave. I can’t imagine crossing that thing regularly.”
“You’d get used to it,” Tristan said. “Besides, there are other ways in and out of Luca.”
Sam glared at Tristan. “Then why in the name of the gods are we going this way?”
“It’s fastest,” said Tristan. “Stop dallying, and let’s cross already.”
They made their way across the bridge slowly and carefully, Sam’s heart in her mouth every time her horse took a slight misstep. But they made it without harm.
Sam was so distracted by the bridge that she hadn’t noticed the tall, manmade wall in front of them, much like the city walls back east apart from the rose-red color of the stone. Green vines hung against the wall in gnarled ropes, almost completely hiding the open archway into the city. “Welcome to Luca,” Tristan said.
Though it was all but silent outside the city walls, once they stepped through the archway, the city was as loud and bustling as Haywood during the Grand Fair. The streets were so crowded that it was hard to tell where the road stopped and began. People brushed past them, a lightness in their step and laughter in their throats. Some were on horses, plodding along slowly but purposefully, while others clumped together in huddles, rapt in conversation. A few men on horseback patrolled the edges of the crowd, unhurried but watchful. Only they took note of the newcomers as Tristan, Sam and Braeden pushed into the traffic. The men were Uriel, Sam guessed.
Luca had been built to accommodate the sloping incline of the mountain beneath it, square, turreted buildings stacked together unevenly like a giant staircase. At the center of the city stood a gleaming white octagonal structure capped with an onion-shaped dome and a tall spire. It was unlike any castle – if it could be called that – Sam had ever seen.
“Tristan Lyons,” said a rough, male voice, startling Sam from her thoughts. The voice was housed in a thin, nondescript man in a dark cloak and hat, the brim shadowing his face. He curled his index and middle fingers to his thumb, and showed his hand deliberately to Tristan.
Tristan nodded curtly to the man, and turned to Sam and Braeden. “Stay here. I’ll be back shortly.” He leapt off his horse, handed the reins to Braeden, and followed the man into the crowd.
“What was that about?” asked Sam.
Braeden shrugged. “He’ll tell us if he wants us to know.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Not really.” Braeden’s gaze was flat, disinterested.
So he was going to play it that way, was he? She ground her teeth together. “Fine, I’ll ask him myself.”
Tristan returned a moment later, his jaw ticking. He strode to his horse and swung into the saddle. He sat, silent, unmoving, his eyes glued to his fists, his knuckles white.
“Tristan?” Sam ventured. “Who was that?”
“Hush,” Tristan hissed. “We can’t talk about it here. We need to find an inn, somewhere private.”
The Mountain’s Respite was the fifth inn off the main boulevard – the first four were so full that they would have wound up sleeping in the stables with their horses. It was hard to believe that so many travelers visited Luca, given how difficult it was to get there, but perhaps its visitors thought the city was worth the journey. Sam had seen the misery of Westergo and Pirama – maybe Luca was the one bright spot of the West.
The innkeeper was a large, jovial man, with a thick mustache that wiggled madly whenever he smiled, which was often. He had reason to smile—The Mountain’s Respite might have been the fifth inn, but business was still booming. He shook hands and accepted payment from several patrons before wiggling his mustache at Tristan, Sam and Braeden. “Welcome to The Mountain’s Respite. The name’s Ewan Michaels. What can I do you gentlemen for?”
“One room, three pallets,” said Tristan. “We’ll be needing it for the next seven nights.”
“We’re staying in Luca for a week?” Sam asked, surprised. The longest they’d spent in one place was three days, in Pirama, and that had been because of Braeden’s injury.
Tristan narrowed his eyes at her in warning, and then faced the innkeeper. “We’ve got business in town, Master Michaels,” he said.
“Not a problem, Master…” The innkeeper cleared his throat when Tristan didn’t offer his name. He scribbled into his ledger and handed Tristan a set of keys. “Second floor, fourth room on your left. Three silver coins a night, two coppers extra for each additional pallet. You can pay me after your stay or upfront.”
Tristan removed his coin pouch from underneath his tunic with his left hand, his right hand still clenched into a white knuckled fist. “We’ll pay now,” he said, and withdrew the appropriate amount.
Master Michaels swept the coins into his palm. “Enjoy, gentlemen. If there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Tristan muttered a brief thanks and marched straight upstairs to their room, while Braeden and Sam scurried to keep up. He slammed the door behind them. “Sit!” he barked, gesturing at the small table and chairs in the middle of the room.
Sam and Braeden sat. “Are you going to sit, too?” Sam asked.
“No,” said Tristan, pacing. “I need to pace.”
“Are you going to tell us what’s going on?” Braeden asked, quirking an eyebrow.
Hah! So he had been curious after all. “That’s my line,” Sam told Braeden. “Who was that man you were talking to?”
Tristan stopped his pacing. “What I say here can not leave this room. Are we clear?” Sam and Braeden nodded. He continued, “That man was sent by the High Commander to meet us in Luca.”
“A Paladin?” asked Sam.
Tristan shook his head. “Not in full. Men like him aren’t trained in the fighting arts. Stealth is his trade, not weaponry.”
“A spy,” said Braeden.
“He is whatever the High Commander needs him to be,” said Tristan. “And today he brought me a letter. A missive from the High Commander.”
“Does he say whether we are to join Sander Branimir for dinner?” Sam asked.
Tristan opened his right palm to reveal a folded, crumpled piece of parchment. He flipped his hand, dropping the small white square onto the table. “Read it."
Sam and Braeden reached for it at the same time, their fingers brushing. Sam felt Braeden’s touch move through her, and then his hand was gone, leaving her oddly bereft. “Go ahead,” said Braeden calmly, as though he were completely unaffected. Damn him.
“Thank you,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. She unfolded the parchment and smoothed it on the table.
Tristan, the letter read, I thank you for your thorough update. It pleases me to hear that your trainees are excelling – “Excelling? You told the High Commander we’re excelling?”
“Don’t let it get to your head,” Tristan growled. Sam smirked and resumed reading.
As much as I would like to comment on your trainees’ progress in more detail, this letter must focus on more pressing matters. The Uriel are a very serious problem, Tristan. I should have warned you about them, told you what I had uncovered, but I dismissed them as an idle threat. I can only hope that it is not too late to put a stop to them.
Tristan, the time to act against the Uriel is now – here the high commander had underscored “now” three times – before they can undermine everything we have worked towards over the past hundred years. The future of the Paladins is at stake, and I am putting all my trust in you to save us.
You wrote that Sander Branimir has invited you to dinner. The gods have gifted us this moment – we must seize this opportunity. Sander is a man of unspeakable evil, a bigger threat to our kingdom than a thousand demons. You are the Paladins’ greatest hope, Tristan, and so it is with a heavy heart that I leave this task to you.
Capture Sander, at whatever the cost, and bring him to me. That is an order.
Together, you and I will bring the Uriel to their knees. We will end their reign of terror.
I will await you at the Diamond Coast. Godspeed.
The three of them sat in silence for several minutes. Surprisingly, it was Tristan who spoke first. “I have never before been asked to mete out justice on a man,” he said quietly.
“What will you do?” Braeden asked, like he thought there was a choice to be made.
Tristan closed his eyes and blew out a low breath. “I will obey my High Commander, as I always have.”
“You’re really going to take Sander as prisoner?” Sam asked. She hadn’t trusted the Uriel from the start, but the severity of the High Commander’s order made her uneasy.
“Aye,” said Tristan. “And you’re going to help.”