REAPERS - Book Two: The Hunger and the Sickness

26

The area the Reapers' wounded captive led them through was crooked and treacherous. Precarious canyons cut into the craggy earth and steep arches and columns of pale rock ruptured the sky. The men moved quickly and quietly along the shallower crevices and came to a great canyon that stretched as far the eye could see to the north and south. The settlers who called this frontier home could thank this natural divide for their lives as it had until recently kept the greater hordes of hobgoblins and other threats at bay. There were no signs of encampments or activity but there was much terrain to scan.

"Where?" Nail asked their captive. The bandit weakly pointed down at their feet, toward the cliff's edge. He then staggered forward, closer to the precipice. Thirteen pointed his crossbow at the highwayman, ready for any surprises in store. Finally the bandit came to the very ledge and Blacwin thought he might leap from it and dash himself upon the rocks a thousand feet below. Perhaps the fool simply wanted to waste their time and was happy to martyr himself as the final master stroke in the punchline to his own absurd joke. Instead the unwitting guide dropped to the ground with his belly to the dirt and crawled to the cusp of the empty gulf before him and looked down from its edge and pointed to the space just below the ridge.

Blacwin had his crossbow out now as well. He crept closer but kept himself at safe distance from the wounded road agent. The half-ylf felt a sudden spike of headiness when he approached that edge where the world's floor abruptly ceased. It was a heart-stopping sight with the sun setting at the far horizon and splashing the canyon in all the colors of autumn and hell. Blacwin's boot kicked pebbles loose as he drew closer to the precipice and they clattered into the abyss. He then saw what the bandit had been trying to explain. There was some form of structure on the cliff's face directly below where they stood. Rickety ramps made their way down to openings in the sheer wall. The Reapers pulled back away from the ledge and took up a position where they could observe from afar. They used their spyglasses but saw no activity.

"Think those are Qoldah ruins," said Riddle. "They sometimes carved temples into the very cliffsides."

"Of course the birdkin had wings," said Jasha.

"So says the lore," remarked Nail. "Then again, perhaps they were always just assholes in feathers like our friend here."

"Regardless," said Riddle, "someone who had no wings built those ramps and made it their home."

"Our escort's old friends, I imagine," said Jasha. "And with luck, the missing ladies we seek are right beneath our feet."

They gave the bandit a stick and had him sketch the interior's layout in the dirt. The Reapers prepared their weapons and plotted. Nail and Jasha would stay back to cover the exits with their crossbows. Vulture would keep to the hills with the prisoner bound and gagged to prevent him from escaping or alerting his fellows. Blacwin and Thirteen and Riddle would go down into the cliffside caves. "Blacwin, you're point man," Nail said.

Rather than use the walkways which could be trapped or otherwise unsafe Blacwin and the other two Reapers assigned to him rappelled from the cliff's edge like black spiders in descent for prey. They softly landed on a platform and quickly ducked against a wall. They could hear drunken laughter and singing from within. A calmness washed over Blacwin and his senses sharpened. Time slowed. This is when he felt most alive, when life was on the line. The cool night air that gusted through those openings tickled his cheeks and brushed against his eyes. He did indeed feel inhuman at times like this.

The Reapers scanned the passage for traps or runery. The stone walls had carvings of beaked demigods and motifs of feathers and fearsome talons. Alcoves lined the passages and inside them were sculptures of large smooth eggs. Riddle had read that the Qoldah believed these stone vessels would hatch if they received enough adoration from their caretakers, spawning the next generation of paragons that would protect their feathered people. It seemed the vessels would never be hatching now. The Qoldah were said to be a dead race though there were rumors that small flocks of them, degenerate and flightless, still haunted the highest peaks in the farthest wastes. Their ancestors would likely be tormented at the thought of others nesting in these sacred confines. Good, thought Riddle. Perhaps the Reapers would get some help from their angry spirits.