Bastion of Sun

CHAPTER SEVEN

Gray Led The Way

Gray led the way, entering Vaster, steering his silver-haired cormac through the sea of people. He'd named the beast Cloud. Unlike Ayva's cormac, his had a grayish tint to its long, fine coat, reminding Gray of the dawning sun shining on clouds and casting a silver outline. He was tired. They'd ridden hard to get there in such short time, and Gray's side was in pain for it, but his guilt was louder. Cloud panted, silken hair slick with sweat. I promise I'll let you rest soon, he said inwardly, just a little farther. Cloud twisted his thick neck, his orb-like silver eyes looked to him. He nickered, and as an Elvin mount, it had almost a musical quality.

Darius whistled through his teeth as they passed through the last marble gate. "By the gods, what is this place?"

Gray looked up and his breath was stolen as well. Neither Kirin's nor his past memories prepared him for the sight before him.

"There's enough gold to line every gambler's purse in Farhaven," Darius said, pointing to the gold that crusted fountains, pillars, staircases and even tiered balconies. "You sure this place was made by mortals?"

Darius was right. Soaring walls of beaten gold met them. Now inside, it was a sea of white marble, glass and gleaming mirrors. Most remarkable of all, however, a golden road sat before him. It reminded him of the golden walkway he created to save the villagers back in Daerval long ago. But this was different, not composed of wind, but sun. A burning gold light shone just beneath its clear surface as if the sun had been tricked, plucked from the sky and trapped here.

Even as dusk settled, life swarmed around them.

Carts carried bright yellow limfuns, boxes of citrus fruits and barrels of grapes imported from the Sevia countryside, pellets of iron ore from the shared Menalas and Esterian mines, wool bales from the Aster Plains, and even wheat bushels from the farmlands south of Cloudfell. Treading the gold road was an assortment of characters: travelers in dusty clothes, some refugees escaping the Aster Plain's bloodshed, some simple wanderers, and merchants in oiled leather or fine silks with caravans and single carts, each bearing the many different emblems of the Great Kingdoms.

ALL EMBLEMS/SYMBOLS

With each wagon wheel, fall of a foot or hoof, the road pulsed. Golden filaments beneath the road seemed to light up, racing away toward a thousand different alleys and side roads, like veins in the city.

It reminded Gray of a beating heart.

Gray felt a sudden, sharp pinch on his arm. He growled, twisting to look at Darius. "What in the light did you do that for?"

"Just seeing if we croaked and went to heaven. Guess not—sorry."

"Pinch yourself next time," he said, in a tad testier voice than he intended for, but he blamed his surroundings. Clattering carts rumbled by, a loud-mouthed town crier in the distance shouted the news of the day, cloth masked vendors hawked their wares and more stimuli jarred his senses. Gray pulled his hood forward, feeling a darkness settle on his heart. It was all too loud and chaotic.

"You all right?" Darius asked. "I didn't think I pinched that hard.

Gray opened his mouth then closed it. His skin felt clammy, his eyes sensitive, his hand trembling on the reins. He clenched his fist tighter, silencing it. He reached for the small dagger at his belt, a gift Indara had given him, and it seemed to dampen the voices and the agony to a dull thud. Still, was this what dying feels like? No, I still have two weeks. Then the bloodpact will kill me. He squinted. "Just a little bright for my eyes," he said, twisting the truth. It was partly true though—with the sickness inside him, the sun felt too bright, and the world too loud. As if the darkness were hissing out at the gleaming world of Vaster from within.