Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 693
knowledge. They didn't talk about it, and Galas was grateful
for that, as she was grateful not to talk about the mirrored seeds
that he occasionally tossed behind himself as they walked. He
didn't pull those seeds from any pocket or pouch. They
appeared in his hand as he walked, and he dropped them.
She had thought they might be alive and fertile, and was
proven right when the first transparent, silvery oval appeared
out of the woods, and came to hover over Armiger’s head. He
ignored it, and the six that followed it. They shimmered and
occasionally tinkled like tiny bells. If she looked back, she
could see bright spots on the path far behind them--things like
silver cacti were growing there. Way back, three kilometers
ago, she thought she glimpsed something glinting through the
branches of one of the tallest trees on the hillside.
When Armiger did talk, it was often not to her, but to
Jordan Mason. "Jordan, we are at the foot of the long slope
that leads to the Penitent's Stairs," he might say. Or, "Jordan,
meet us at the Titan's Gate Monastery. You must go there now.
There is no time to lose."
"Why are you talking to him?" she had asked. Armiger
had grimaced, and not replied for a while.
"I need him," was all he eventually said.
The trail had become too steep for the horses, and they
dismounted. Now travel became a true misery for Galas,
because the muscles of her inner thighs screamed loud protest
with every step, and climbing was even worse. She knew there
were thousands of steps ahead of them. The first hundred
meters, from the trail to the foot of the first of the stairways
carved in the nearly-vertical stone of the North Tower, nearly
did her in.
If she looked back the vagabond moons dominated her
view of the foothills. The moons were waiting on some signal