The High Keep

Fantasy Author – David Lawrence

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Vingrom's stubbornly resilient faction of hopers was small indeed, but Elyas intended to keep himself in their dwindling ranks until his last breath. Elyas and Tamlan had true mettle. But they'd been bought to the quarrying settlement just four months ago. They had yet to endure a winter there.

The sharp crack of iron on iron assaulted their ears once again.

“Good hit. Keep em like that and we can get this one done before day's end, maybe,” said Tamlan.

Elyas was about to make some jibe about his compatriot's enthusiasm for Agros' relentless building schemes, but he espied a familiar taskmaster forty feet below, thumb tucked in his belt and face turned up towards the shelf the two men were working. Ever looking for an excuse to punish his charges, that one.

“Step in. Close the door behind you,” said the massive stranger.

Behind Arius loomed the open yard. A sprint back to the lodge, and a rapid return with his sword—and his companions—would be sensible. But a lot of damage could be wrought in mere moments. And there’d be more than moments for this brute to sow destruction: he’d most likely barricade the back door. He’d done a thorough job with the front one.

Arius walked forward, eyes fixed on the brigand. He did not close the door.

“The door, idiot! And fix the latch,” growled the giant, his blade levelled at Arius from an enormous fist with whitened knuckles.

Arius stared at him, weighing the options. There weren’t many. Securing the back door from inside would rule out an already slim one completely: the one where his companions turn up, having decided to follow Arius over from the lodge.

If only Jonas were not so reckless. So quick to offer his unwavering obedience. He could have stayed at home. He could have stayed safe and warm.

But he had opened his heart, which led to him opening his mouth, and saying things. Requests and promises... both ill-informed.

So now here he was, almost at the viper’s nest itself.

The sky was clear and the sun bright, but there was little warmth to the day. Jonas halted, looking ahead with squinting eyes, shading them with a hand to his brow. He wondered if he was truly reaching the end of the immense jutting plateau he’d been trying to skirt for the last hour.

The scree-strewn slope to his right seemed to be diminishing, giving up its advance out across the open plain in a last massive gasp of tumbled and splintered rock. But the young prophet didn’t count on it; this wide land had a way of taunting you with false hopes about the distances ahead.