Gulda looked round reflectively. They were three days from Anderras Darion, and the plains of Orthlund were long behind them. Now they were standing on the wide jagged summit of a mountain that commanded an expansive view of nearby crags and valleys. A precipitous cliff face dropped away from them on one side, curving round in two sweeping ridges to join the peak to its lesser neighbours, as if it were resting its broad arms on them. In every direction mountains marched to the horizons. Loman and his chosen companions, Athyr, a veteran of the Morlider War, and Yrain, had anticipated a comparatively leisurely stroll as escort to an old woman and three young children. However, Gulda had confounded them by setting a relentless pace from the very start.
‘How does she do it?’ Athyr whispered a
