Delver Magic II: Throne of Vengeance, Jeff Inlo [graded readers .TXT] 📗

The Colad Mountains - rough travel, difficult terrain, even for a delver; from a distance, they stood as a wall. At their base, they shamed even the most prideful with their majesty. Each monument of rock boasted a snow-capped peak. The steep slopes ranged from jagged rock paths to sheer cliff faces adorned with sprawling waterfalls.

Though this range of powerful mountains could not stop a delver, they could hinder one. They forced Ryson to slow his pace, coerced him to consider many of his paths. He struggled with more than one climb. He often second-guessed his choices, especially when he found himself facing a sheer vertical slope, or on an isolated ledge with little options right or left, and no paths forward. During the first dark, he slowed his pace to a near crawl. His night vision allowed him to see as well as in the day, but the ground became moist, the rock slippery. He would have sought better terrain. Then again, he wouldn’t find the cliff behemoths in the valleys.

The delver felt only one true fear, not of falling but of taking too much time. His goals were not without deadlines. He wanted to save Burbon from the dwarves, he wanted to save Dunop from the shadow trees and the sand giants, and he wanted to stop the war before it intensified to a point of no end. Time for each of these remained limited. Each pause, each delay was like a pin prick in the back of his brain. Unfortunate but true, the mountains were not an adventure to him now, they were an obstacle.

He didn’t seek the peaks at first. He rounded the leading mountains only halfway up their side. As he continued northward, he pressed further and further up each slope he encountered. He walked above the tree line, climbed with mountain goats, touched snow for the first time this season. A cold wind blasted him like an unwelcome visitor. He was thankful for his thick wool coat. The footing became rocky, treacherous. At these heights, the air was thin. He adapted quickly, the blessing of a delver, but the first few climbs were not without rests. Soon, however, he was racing to the very heights of each mountain without pause.

He took to the peaks with only one hope, to find signs of the cliff behemoths. Still, as a delver, he could not ignore the staggering view. At these heights, the land opened up before him. Behind him, to the south, he could see all the way back to Dark Spruce Forest. To the west, he thought he could see signs of the ocean. A mist kept him from being sure. Taller, more striking mountains waited to the north. Ryson knew he would find cliff behemoths here. They would direct him to Dzeb.

He moved on instinct, listening to the wind, smelling the rock. His heightened delver senses would seek out the object of his pursuit. As he became more and more accustomed to the terrain, he moved with greater speed and certainty. His haste was rewarded.

Upon a lonely ledge, a single cliff behemoth eyed him with an apparent struggle between apathy and interest. It was not Dzeb, but it was certainly a cliff behemoth. His mammoth size was a simple testament to that. The rock-hard hide, the massive fingers, the simple rounded head, and most of all the innocence of expression; these traits endured unmistakably.

Ryson surged with joy upon sighting the behemoth, an exultation greater than simply meeting one of his objectives. The gentle giants were a blessing to this land. They were so simple in purpose, so pure in being. The word of Godson, that was all they lived for, that was what guided their every thought, their every action. The innocence which surrounded each behemoth shined beyond their simplicity. At the same time, no other creature in the land could boast of greater power. No army would stand a chance against a host of these giants. The land was theirs for the taking, yet no such desire existed within them. So much power, so much strength, yet all devoted to the simple word of Godson, devoted to peace. The sight of such a creature encouraged faith. Ryson’s own purpose strengthened.

The delver moved up quickly to the behemoth, feeling no fear in approaching a creature with the strength to make a shag envious. Ryson danced over the rocks, leapt from one ledge to another as if he could fly. In an instant, he shared the same ledge as the giant.

The cliff behemoth did little in the way of moving. He remained on his perch, a large boulder half-embedded in the cliff face. He sat comfortably with his legs hugging the front of the boulder. His hands were folded together in his lap. He would have appeared oblivious to the delver had it not been for his eyes which remained glued upon his visitor. He made no other acknowledgment.

Ryson beamed. He took no exception to the giant’s motionless response. He had already learned of the cliff behemoths’ apparent aloofness. It was simply their way. It was not out of arrogance. Instead, such reactions generated from their religion. Nothing short of an angel of Godson could stir them from their calm acceptance of the land and what if offered. Ryson, however, did notice the giant’s gaze. If nothing else, it was an honor simply to be recognized by the divine.

“Good day,” Ryson stated with a broad smile.

“Good day to you, delver.” The behemoth’s voice was as gentle as his expression.

It was no surprise to Ryson that the behemoth knew of his race. He did nothing to hide it when he climbed to reach the giant. “Yes, I’m a delver. My name is Ryson Acumen.”

The giant’s eyes revealed only the slightest surprise. “That explains much. I sense Godson within you.”

“Thank you.

“I am known as Cyan. How may I help you, Ryson Acumen?”

“I need to find Dzeb. It is very urgent.”

Cyan did not respond immediately.

Ryson wondered if perhaps he did not know of the particular cliff behemoth. He offered a simple note of description. “Do you know who I speak of? He was with me on Sanctum Mountain. He helped saved the land.”

“Godson saved the land,” Cyan corrected. “Dzeb was simply the tool he chose.”

“Then you know of him?”

“I do.”

“I need to find him. I need his help again.” Ryson felt the need to explain, to give a reason as to why Cyan should reveal Dzeb’s whereabouts. “I’m afraid there’s great trouble in the land again. I’m trying to stop a war.”

Cyan’s eyes dropped from the delver. It appeared as if this small but powerful word had wounded him.

Ryson felt shame. He knew what the cliff behemoth was thinking, he could feel the regret. Here was a near perfect being, living simply for his peaceful beliefs. It was more than a shame that others could not live with such divinity, it was a tragedy. Again, he felt the need to explain, to reveal that some hoped to stop this evil.

“It’s all a misunderstanding. There’s just so much blind anger. Things are just kind of snowballing. A dwarf queen is angry about losing her son. She’s blinded herself to the truth and wants revenge. She’s already ordered attacks on many different people, the humans, the elves and the algors. It’s almost hard to believe that not too long ago, we all stood together to save the land.”

Cyan placed his eyes back on the delver. He opened his mouth to correct Ryson, but the delver did it for him.

“I’m sorry, to help Godson save the land,” the delver allowed. “We were together, and I know Godson was with us. I saw the angels. Maybe that’s a big reason why I’m here now. I just can’t believe we went through all of that to simply throw it away now. I know most of this must sound pretty silly to you, but I have to do whatever is necessary to stop this.”

Cyan replied with simple bliss. “I do not try to judge Godson’s will. If He deems it necessary to stop this war, rest assured He will. If not, you will be left to your own designs.”

Ryson did not know how to respond. He held to the belief that he had some control over what might happen. That was surely another reason why he was now upon this mountainside. “I have to try to do what I can.”

“If that is what you believe.” Cyan sounded less than certain and he showed very little curiosity to the delver’s problems. Still, he gave the needed information. “Dzeb normally seeks the word upon His twelfth mountain.”

At first, Ryson felt relief. He could find Dzeb. Unfortunately, he did not know which one was the twelfth mountain of Godson. He revealed as much with a tone of uncertainty. “I’m sorry, I don’t know which mountain that is.”

“Seek this peak,” Cyan advised. “Look first to the heart of Godson’s mountains, turn but one step to His ocean and count but two peaks away. That is His twelfth mountain.”

“Two peaks to the northwest,” Ryson declared. Happiness washed over him for being so close.

Cyan simply nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” Ryson offered his gratitude.

Cyan closed his eyes. He said nothing further. The behemoth’s focus, his very awareness settled upon his perfect memory of the word of Godson. He would meditate upon this event for many days, considering the implications of what had happened and what would come.

Ryson shrugged as he bid a simple farewell. He climbed with near ferocity to the peak. He followed Cyan’s instructions to the word. Instead of simply counting two peaks to the northwest, he looked first to the heart of the mountains before him. He turned only slightly toward the west, toward the ocean. Two obvious peaks stood directly in his path. The second became his final destination.

He plummeted down from his perch as if he were free-falling. He let the steep slopes do the work as he simply danced downward. His feet shuffled to keep balance. That was all that was needed of them. Gravity propelled him.

Upon reaching the base, his head swerved about and upwards to allow focus on his destination. The first mountain in his path was a mere obstacle. He rounded it with little effort toward climbing and with