I almost remember, she had said before, when I first found her looking at it.
But remembered what?
We left the shop soon after, and two months later we returned for the spear. Mag carried it ever afterwards, and it became part of her legend.
She never told me what she had almost remembered—not for many, many long years, anyway.
After leaving Northwood, we rode into the Greatrocks together, traveling up the same path I had used to come down out of them. It had taken me six days when I rode with Loren. Now, we took the journey more slowly, for I was still tender from the battle. I slept long each night, setting camp as soon as night fell and often rising hours after the sun. It was ten days before Mag and I got very deep into the mountains.
It surprised me how easily we both fell into old routines. There are little tricks one learns after years spent on campaign trails—the best way to unfurl and repack a bedroll, the tricks of choosing a campsite, the skill of falling asleep quickly and waking up with speed. It came somewhat more easily to me, for I had ridden a long trail just a few weeks ago, guiding Loren through the mountains. But though Mag had not left Northwood in years, she picked up our routine just as quickly as I had.
Though we rode as fast as we could with my tender condition, we kept a wary eye out in case of attack. Yet we saw no sign of the Shades, nor of any other creature, save for an occasional rabbit or game bird fit for hunting. The satyrs and harpies avoided us entirely—until we entered their territory at last.
In the middle of the tenth day, we came to the Shade stronghold in the mountains. Then, for the first time, I ordered Mag to slow. We approached the fortress slowly and with stealth. If the Shades were to stop anywhere in the Greatrocks, it would be here.
Leaving the horses behind us, we crawled up a steep slope that brought us to a lesser peak overlooking the fortress. We crawled on our bellies for the last few paces, poking our heads over the edge of the land to peer down.
There it sat: the stronghold about which I now had so many evil memories. It crouched on a rock platform like a lurking, malicious spider. There was a chasm below its eastern wall, and a stone bridge reached across the gap. It was mayhap seven paces wide and had only low stone walls for railings. It was from that bridge that Jordel had fallen to his doom, though he brought a great foe into the darkness with him. Barely visible from where we lay in the grass, I could see the long stone ramp that led down from the stronghold’s west wall, falling away to the valley far below.
The stronghold itself, however, looked empty. I saw no signs of motion within, nor was there any indication that anyone had been there recently. From what I could see, it looked as though the Shades had passed straight through the fortress without stopping.
“No one there,” said Mag.
“Not that we can see,” I said. “We must still be cautious.”
“When have I ever been incautious?”
“Always. Every time, everywhere.”
“They had too many soldiers for them all to be hiding within those walls,” she said, ignoring my answer. “Not even if all of them were clustered together and standing as close as lovers.”
“Yet they may have left behind a rearguard,” I said. “I do not mean to say we have to inspect the whole fortress. But when we pass through it, let us be careful.”
She crawled back down the slope and away from the ridge. I followed her back to the horses, and together we rode out across the narrow stone bridge towards the stronghold. I paused for a moment in the middle of the span, looking at the low stone wall that rimmed it. Xain had used fire to burn words into the stone there, a eulogy for Jordel. But Mag did not notice, and she pressed on without stopping. I hurried to catch up with her.
The eastern gate stood open, as did the western gate on the other side. The wide courtyard within the walls was just as empty as it had appeared from the outside. The only thing to be found was some hay scattered about the place, floating and scraping along the ground in the mountain wind. Mag stopped in the middle of the yard and dismounted. I did the same. She looked about, brows raised.
“A good fortress,” she said. “The walls are strong.”
“Yet not infallible,” I said.
“Hm,” she said. “No walls are infallible. No enemy beyond reach.”
I grinned. “Do you speak of the Shades, or the weremage?”
Mag smirked. “There appears to be no one here. We should ride on. But hold a moment. You have a loose strap.”
She stepped up, fiddling with my saddle. I stared at her. My straps were tight, and we both knew it. Once she drew close, she spoke in a low voice.
“There are satyrs watching us. On the rocky slopes above the walls. Fetch something from my saddlebags. It will give you an excuse to look.”
I went to the other side of her horse and unbuckled one of the pouches hanging from the saddle. My eyes slid up the side of the mountain that towered over us. Tiny flashes of movement caught my gaze as satyrs ducked back out of sight. I took out a waterskin and brought it back to Mag.
“There are several of them,” I said, handing her the water skin. “But they do not seem interested in troubling us. Likely they are only keeping watch. We are past the border of their homeland, after
