Read Angus Wells - The God Wars 03 for Free Online

mirror must surely reveal her for his creation.
                The night passed sJow and she was
glad when she saw the sky above begin to pale and the camp began to stir, the
questers readying for departure with the efficiency of long practice. The fire
was blown to fresh life and breakfast set to cooking, the horses saddled while
water boiled, Bracht and Calandryll drawing dirks across their stubbled cheeks
as the two women washed in the icy water of the river. Before the sun's light
had reached the lowermost deeps they were mounted, Cennaire again settled
behind Bracht's saddle, and riding for the promised ford.
                The crossing lay a good two leagues
to the west, its presence announced by sullen thunder, in a curve of the Kess
Imbrun where the great rift broadened, the beach widening before a loarrier of
tumbled stone high as the walls of a city.
                Calandryll, in the lead, halted,
staring awed at the natural dam, waiting for Bracht to come up. The hypabyssal
blockage rose skyward above him, the boulders at its foot transforming the
riverbed into a wild terracing of rocky cascades over which white water foamed,
ferocious as it gushed between the stones. Along the face, spreading in a haze
of silvery gold, a mist rose from the spray, glittering rainbows arcing as the
sun struck the great fountains jetting from high among the boulders.
                "The ford lies beyond."
Bracht shouted his opinion, leaning from his saddle to put his mouth close to
Calandryll's ear. "Above the rocks."
                They climbed awhile, through a
shimmering haze, cloaked against the watery fog that soon engulfed them, the
clatter of hooves on stone lost in the thunder of the cascade, the horses
fretting nervously at the sound. Calandryll remained in the lead, squinting
through the mist until he saw an opening between two enormous stones,
indicating the gap with an outflung arm: to speak in that dinning would be useless.
He urged the chestnut into the dim-lit pass, the way rising steep there,
tortuous and slippery.
                He emerged onto a broad shelf, its
edge overlapped by the great expanse of water pent behind the dam, the river
become more akin to a lake. Calandryll studied the ramparts of the dam with
uncertain eyes, waiting as the others aligned themselves beside him. The
topmost level of the barricade was wide and smooth as a made road: ten horses
might go easily abreast, no more than a finger's depth of water spilling over
the stones. But to the one side lay a drop that would send a rider tumbling
into the cascades below, and to the other . . . he studied the vast pool,
wondering at its depths, and the currents that must surely rage there beneath
the surface. The mist hung sparkling above, a spectrum of colors set to dancing
by the morning light, beautiful and at the same time eerie, as if spirits
pranced there, tempting the unwary. Cautiously, he urged his mount forward.
                The horse began to stamp and snort,
liking this ford no better than its rider, and Calandryll held a tight rein,
his eyes narrowed against the film of moisture that covered his face, dripping
from his hair, finding whatever openings his clothing offered to trickle
irritatingly down chest and back. The edges of the way were soon lost behind a
curtain of swirling colors, and he could see scant feet ahead. It seemed he
traversed a way akin to the magical road that had brought him to Tezin-dar, a
place where time was without meaning, distance become abstract, the morning
filled with the threatening rumble of the torrent below, the strange silence of
the lake beside, the aural contrast disorientating. It occurred to him that if
Rhythamun left some monstrous creation to ward his trail, here would be a fine place,
and thought then to draw his sword, and then thought better of it, deciding it
was the wiser course to hold the reins firm against the panicky fretting of