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Fantasy Fiction
Chronicles of War III: Draven's Revenge
Earth's Bones
Chapter 21 Page 29
Chronicles of War III: Draven's Revenge
Earth's Bones
Chapter 21 Page 29
"Strange," he grunted, climbing out of the creek bed. "This structure is new to me." Ubar dusted himself off absently and tried to get a fix on their location by eyeing the surrounding hills. "We must have strayed south a bit."
Epsilon had already turned to approach the bridge. "Let us cross there, Ubar. I would admire the stonework."
"Perhaps we should...," hedged the youth uncertainly, though the swordsman seemed to have made his mind. It was either follow or be left behind.
From the hilltop at their backs, Helmcleaver whinnied nervously, stamping. Like Ubar, however, the stallion appeared to realize its options were limited. It, too, followed the Ritesman.
As he approached the span, Epsilon realized it was an ancient construction, older even than the Clog's works, perhaps. Its granite arches appeared cracked and pitted and crumbling in places, but they yet stood true. Once fantastically adorned with abstract embossments and sculptures, time had reduced the features of its artwork to lumpy, shapeless anonymity. Scarcely anything remained of its more detailed features, save for a deeply engraved sort of cartouche that was set into the bridge's base on either side.
Epsilon had already turned to approach the bridge. "Let us cross there, Ubar. I would admire the stonework."
"Perhaps we should...," hedged the youth uncertainly, though the swordsman seemed to have made his mind. It was either follow or be left behind.
From the hilltop at their backs, Helmcleaver whinnied nervously, stamping. Like Ubar, however, the stallion appeared to realize its options were limited. It, too, followed the Ritesman.
As he approached the span, Epsilon realized it was an ancient construction, older even than the Clog's works, perhaps. Its granite arches appeared cracked and pitted and crumbling in places, but they yet stood true. Once fantastically adorned with abstract embossments and sculptures, time had reduced the features of its artwork to lumpy, shapeless anonymity. Scarcely anything remained of its more detailed features, save for a deeply engraved sort of cartouche that was set into the bridge's base on either side.
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