The Lost Princess

Chapter Forty-Seven: Taiman

Earwen sighed as her horse stumbled over the rocks. It had been several days since they had escaped the goblins and begun journeying again. The ground was increasingly rocky and uneven as they neared the Carnelian Mountains, with their high pointed peaks and bloodred stone. The horses slipped and tripped over the uneven terrain and piles of broken shale. She felt as if she had been thrown down a cliff with the battering she'd taken. Not only this, but the red dust of the rock coated everything. She already looked three shades darker in skin tone. Her sister's hair had taken on an orangey appearance.

Not that she saw her all that much. Eramire always seemed to be riding up in the clouds with Faleon. She hardly noticed Thorindir's growing pensiveness or the effect their feud had on the rest of the company. Faleon was the only one who seemed unruffled, and Earwen had a sneaking suspicion he enjoyed the upheaval his presence caused. Whether his motives were malicious or characteristic, she didn't know.

Her horse tripped again over the rough terrain, and she clung to the saddle. "Ugh," she groaned, pushing a lock of dust-laden hair over her shoulder. A soft chuckle caused her to look up. Amara was smirking.

"Tired of adventuring?"

Earwen grimaced. "Never," she replied stoically.

Amara rolled her eyes. A few moments passed, and the lost princess called to the elf woman, "Too bad. Here we are."

Earwen's head snapped up, and she stared in awe. Before them was a wide span of fields leading to the foot of the most astounding kingdom Earwen had ever laid eyes on. If clouds settled in the canyon below the high cliffs, she had no doubt the realm of Taiman would be claimed to float in the air.

Unlike her assumptions of the cliff city, there was no gradual climb of houses from ground to rock face. No, the city was placed perfectly in the middle of the mountain and was shaped like a staircase. On the right side, the solid mountains fell away to stone forests. Hundreds of pillars stretched endlessly, like blades stained scarlet. Blacks specks floated and darted in and out along cliff outcroppings. The feral essence of the land before her was palpable. These were a people of warfare and strength. They would find no peaceful gardens and quiet lantern vigils here. This was a place of barbarians.

Earwen felt her skin prickle. There were many legends about the great city, and they were said to be the most war-driven people in all of Rhovamben. Earwen felt her mouth gaping open, and she looked out of the corner of her eye at Amara. The lost princess looked amused.

Earwen pursed her lips, then swiped the back of her hand over her forehead and sighed dramatically. "Phew! Thank goodness. I couldn't go another step."

Amara laughed. The rest of the company had come to a halt on the hillside. Even Faleon had brought Tokka down from her preferred place in the clouds.

"Well, we've finally reached Taiman, realm of the gryphon riders," Thorindir said, pulling his horse to a stop.

"Emitherios," Nauro said with a sneer.

Earwen glanced at the red-haired soldier, surprised by his hostile tone.

Thorindir gave him a harsh glare. "There will be none of that. We don't have good relations with the Taimanian people as it is."

"What a surprise," Faleon commented, sitting on his drake's back. "You elves, always so proud of your heritage, making enemies at every turn. No wonder when threatened you stand alone."

Nauro glared at the man. "We don't need help from greedy warmongers."

"Enough," Thorindir snapped, glaring at the bickering men. "If we approach the city divided, our chances are slimmer than ever. We risk much on this journey."