City of Spires - David Alan Webb

Like a chipmunk from its hole, we popped out of the narrow mountain pass. I was watching though the carriage window as the dark cliff wall drew back like a curtain in a play, and there it was--finally--across a blessedly flat plain--the City of Spires.

Next to me, Mother sighed wearily. I heard the horses whinny and the Driver call back, "That's right, m'lads! Warm beds for us all this night!"

Mother said we lived here when I was a little girl, and the glorious sight brought back confused memories--swimming, dim and tangled, too far down for me to catch.

I needed to see more.

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