“Those who submitted were said to be… bound?” Hamish glanced at Gordon as if seeking confirmation from his brother, relief relaxing his shoulders as the man nodded. “I dinnae ken how, though.”
“Nae one does,” Gordon added.
Darshan already had a suspicion there. Infitialis. The rare purple metal that had a reputation for exploding at the slightest miscalculation during its processing and also nullifying a spellster’s abilities, providing that person was encircled by it—a collar being the most foolproof method. He could think of nothing else capable of binding a spellster.
That spoke of Domian influence.
If the ancient, and now very much eradicated, empire had reached as far as Tirglas, then how much had it influenced the land? How he wished he knew the answer there, for it would certainly explain the lack of trust in spellsters. Not that the actions of his ancestors within Udynea would’ve soothed any minds.
His gaze slid back to the cloister. Perhaps the answers he sought lay within.
The road led up the foot of the cliff. Buildings sprawled around the base; stables, storerooms and what appeared to be a few huts sitting on the edge of the undergrowth. Darshan hadn’t expected to find much out here beyond the cloister, perhaps a few buildings to serve as a resting point for those bringing wares, but this almost amounted to a small hamlet.
Much of the cleared space was taken by carts and cargo. Whilst most of the men and women bustled around the carts, loading barrels and sacks, others stacked more of the same onto a wooden pallet sitting innocently enough on the ground.
Gordon jerked a chin at the workers. “They’ll nae doubt send up a missive with the cargo, letting the priest ken we’re coming.
A few of the men were lashing the barrels and sacks to the pallet, which seemed to be attached to a crossbeam via heavy ropes. Darshan followed the ropes up to where an even thicker one led straight up the cliff. A wooden structure jutted out from the edge like a laughing fisher bird over the southern end of the twin lakes. He almost expected it to swoop down after them. Any second now.
Behind him, Zurron grumbled. “That pulley system gives me the willies every time I see it.” Darshan caught the man visibly shudder. The elf shot a disapproving glance up at the structure, a worried frown creasing his forehead.
“Do you see something wrong?” Darshan asked. Perhaps there was a fault in the mechanism that superior elven vision could spot. “Dangerous, perhaps?”
“Nae more so than usual.” The man shrugged. “But what do I ken about how they work? Me dad just spends his days designing the sodding things.”
Darshan drew his pony in until he rode beside the elf. “You have expressed concern to them before?”
“Aye,” Zurron muttered. “Every time we come here, they’re overloading it. You can have all the muscle you like at the other end, but if the pulley’s nae built to take the strain, she’ll give. I can only pray that she doesnae take someone with her when it happens.”
They turned onto a narrow road winding up the mountainside. The necessity of keeping to a single file stalled all but the most important of conversations, lending Darshan’s mind far too much time to consider the unimpeded drop should his pony stumble. Not what he wished to think about—even if he’d little fear of heights—but once his thoughts latched onto the notion, it was somewhat reluctant to consider anything else. He could certainly see the merit behind why those in the buildings below preferred the pulley for carting their goods.
Their journey upward seemed to travel at a snail’s pace, but the path they trekked wasn’t eternal and the cloister entrance loomed over them in due time. The archway seemed to be made half from hewn blocks and half carved directly out of the cliff. Each man-made slab was pitted by the centuries of rain, the edges no longer sharply defined, if they ever had been.
His gaze slid to the building itself. It was like no cloister he had ever seen before. Seemingly a repurposed fortress, much of the structure was embedded in the mountain. And it carried on higher up than he’d imagined, too. The front had been carved splendidly, but all the effort seemed to halt several levels up and what he’d first thought to be cracks in the mountainside were actually windows.
An elderly man garbed in a simple willow-wood brown robe of the Tirglasian priesthood trotted over as they filed through the gate. “Your highnesses.” He bowed low to Gordon and Hamish in turn, seemingly flustered. “We were nae expecting your presence.”
Darshan couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow there. Such a thing was unheard of when he or his sisters travelled. Every man and his dog seemed to know precisely where the Mhanek’s children were at any given time, even throughout Darshan’s moments of spontaneity. But then, he supposed that getting word to this remote section of mountainside would be difficult without the magical technology the Udynean government had access to.
“We’re here to see our sister,” Gordon said, dismounting. A woman scurried up to take hold of the man’s reins and led the horse into what appeared to be a stable hewn into the bottom level of the cloister.
The rest of their group dismounted, Darshan following suit. He stood next to Warrior, patting the pony’s neck and attempting to decipher his next move. Both the princes had been relieved of their mounts, whereas the two guards were leading theirs into the stable.
Someone must’ve decided he was of some importance as a man scampered to his side with a cascade of apologies and relinquished the pony from his charge.
Darshan took the opportunity to stroll to Hamish’s side, casting an eye across the courtyard.
A massive wheel took up one side
