65

You continue your descent along the wildly winding path, and at last come fully off the plateau onto level ground. You emerge from the cover of gargantuan trees and begin walking between fields. Meanwhile the sun rises fully above the horizon, and you start to feel its warmth on your forehead. Less than half a mile into the valley you near a farm. You know it’s a farm because of where it is, right in the middle of the most fertile grounds and by a stream, but it looks nothing like your father’s or any others back in the village. The place is surrounded on all sides by a solid stone wall, and what you can see of the buildings beyond suggests equally robust construction. The entrance is strategically cut out right in front of the stream where the water is deepest, so that you have to cross a small draw-bridge. At the moment the bridge is down, and you can see a big iron gate, bristling with sharp spikes.

You walk by in awe, and look ahead to the rest of the valley, to behold an even more impressive view. The clouds are clearing and the sun has risen yet higher, and the stone monster that is the Citadel looms up above. It was already a profoundly memorable sight when last you looked at it, as then you were at a point much higher. But now, only seeing the shield wall, the harsh grey of its prismatic volcanic bricks defying all the daylight’s attempts to bleach it, and seeing the unreal, twisting stalk of the Watchtower stabbing the sky like some elongated claw, it begs a kind of dreading admiration.

You’ve only just turned your back on the first fortified farm when you hear the patter of running feet behind you, and soon a voice calling out to you. You turn as a young woman reaches you, quite out of breath. As she doubles over to rest her weight on her knees her hair falls forward in front of her head. It grows long, thick, and a very rich brown.

“Excuse me,” she says, straightening up, “I’m expecting my brother and father; they should have arrived last night. Have you seen a carriage coming from the plateau? Have they stopped somewhere?”

You think back to the wrecked carriage, and how you thought it must have crashed within the last few hours. That must be the one she is expecting. But you worry that you might get the blame if you reveal what you know. You are nobody, and it wouldn't cost anyone to make a scapegoat of you.

To tell the truth, turn to 122. If you wish to avoid getting involved and say you saw nothing, turn to 14.