They rode past the last buildings and a small, dirty urchin waved at them. Javo waved back, wondering if the child were grown too large now to be a target for the gryphon’s abduction. It seemed the nocturnal kidnapper preferred only children still too young to walk or speak.

“I think the Cemarites waxed arrogant with the gryphon to watch over them,” Turgar said, sweeping one hand across the landscape. “This must be the only city in all the world without a wall. Do they imagine no enemy could ever grow powerful enough to march against them?”

“I warrant,” Javo agreed, frowning. “There are those like my father and uncles who spoke against this carelessness, and tried to get a wall built. But others of the same ilk that so fervently sold the Transition to my countrymen found manifold excuses to undermine their efforts.”

They passed cultivated fields, framed by canals. Farmers worked amidst the crops, just as they had over many generations, diligently building the surpluses that made the nearby city thrive. Only now, the farmer’s youngest children, and treasures, had been stolen from them night by night, just like the city dwellers — what treasures were left after the ever-ballooning tax burden.

“These fields are still a wonder,” Javo said, admiring the efficiency of the modern agricultural engineering. “You won’t see any as productive the world over.”

Beyond the last farm, they rode past a mining camp, then reached the base of Mount Tirshal.

Krag looked up the steep slope. About halfway up, the mountain disappeared behind a veil of mist. “You are certain it is up this mountain?”

Javo nodded. He found the mouth of the trail and nudged his mount forward with no delay.

The trail wound up the mountain at a grade navigable for horse and rider. The blue sun sank lower as the small caravan climbed. Darkness crept in from the far horizon, growing until it swallowed the last vestiges of daylight.

Turgar moved to the front, pupils thickening in the darkness, so he could pick out the trail. When the first moon finally arose, his companions were able to see almost as well as the Gabomite archer. The trail led them to a flat outcropping where the mist thickened around the mountain. There seemed to be no way beyond this spot, save that whence they had come.

Javo reined in his charger behind Turgar and dismounted. “From here we must progress on foot,” he said.

“Why?” demanded Krag, his huge mount halting behind.

“The slope is too steep from here up,” Javo replied. “And the fog too thick.”

“You’ve climbed Tirshal before?” Turgar asked, dismounting.

“Aye, when but a lad seeking adventure,” Javo replied. “But I got no farther than this.”

Krag swung down from the saddle, gazing up into the fog. “Will you remove your armor for the climb?”

“No,” Javo said. “We came to do battle with the gryphon, and I shall remain prepared for such.”

They all kept their armor on. With Turgar’s feline eyes picking out handholds and footholds, they continued their ascent, leaving their dogs of war to guard the horses.

Conversation ceased. All three were stout hearted and strong, but needed all their energy and concentration for the climb. Moss-covered rock was slick with the moisture of the swirling vapors which limited even Turgar’s vision to only a spear-length in the night.

Grunting and sweating with the effort, Javo reconsidered, too late, keeping his armor on, lightweight though it was.

“What is that?” Krag asked, suddenly.

“What is what?” Javo replied.

“Don’t you hear it? Don’t you feel it?” the giant asked, a fearful tone to his voice.

Turgar’s keen yellow eyes swept through the misty shroud. “I hear nothing but the wind, my friend.”

“We are not alone,” Krag said. “Something moves nearby; swiftly but stealthily.”

They paused to listen, then Turgar shook his head. “The dark, the mist, and the whistling wind play tricks on a man’s mind.”

Javo nodded agreement. “If a man hears nothing but this wind for long enough, he begins to imagine things. One can go mad. Next ledge we reach, Turgar, let us rest and eat something before climbing farther.”

Not long thereafter, Turgar found a ledge large enough for a much larger party of men. They shared a flagon of ale, a loaf of bread, and round of cheese.

“Reminds me of the mountain fortress, yes?” Turgar suggested, catching his breath.

“I warrant this slope is far steeper than that mountain,” Javo said.

The dark and fog seemed heavier than what should be normal. The ledge was covered with something loose and jagged, like a layer of gravel. Krag lifted himself up to sweep a spot smooth under him before sitting back down. “I sense something out there. We have not been alone since we entered this accursed fog.”