by David Rice
Galen gauged the speed of the light’s fading. “I don’t think this young man has quite the same concerns. He is setting a torrid pace.”
“Perhaps to outrun his master,” Dorak quipped.
“Yes.” Galen’s agreement was tinged with sadness. “This will be the bitterest surprise of all for poor Alvilas.”
“I don’t see him yet,” Dorak commented.
Galen shrugged. “It may take him some time but he will come. He always does.”
***
Dria stumbled from the final steps and hoisted her backpack of medicinals. She felt torn. Should she wait for Eko or wait for Siandros? Would Siandros even respond when Longwood was under threat or would he stay behind with his Wardens? A part of her hoped he would. Would Eko be able to walk with her or would he be stuck with his cranky mentor for the entire journey? She clenched her jaw. It was not fair to be stuck between two men, one who she wanted, and one who wanted her. She knew that, soon, she would have to make a difficult choice.
A few of her kin smiled at her when they passed. She hurried to match their pace.
“Who has been called this time? Was it Dorak? Galen?”
“No,” the elf responded. “I’m not sure who it is but I don’t think Dorak or Galen can walk that quickly.”
“Be relieved that it wasn’t Alvilas or our journey to the coast would take until next winter,” the other elf quipped.
Dria giggled briefly but her pleasant face soon morphed into a scowl. If not one of the eldest, then who? She looked around again to spot Eko or Siandros but saw neither.
“Thanks,” she said, and turned to look for some other friendly faces that could make the journey more pleasant. When Reshae had been Called, she had travelled with the other young woodmothers. She felt older now, and less content with the company of smiling sycophants who lived for nothing more than Woodmother Vendete’s vain approval.
She dodged past a few more of her kin and sighed with relief when she finally saw Kirsten and Besra. Yes, she reassured herself, their company was exactly what she needed to bolster her spirits.
***
Cinn jogged up to the three young ladies and bowed ever so briefly. “You’re following?” he asked Kirsten.
“Why not?” she said.
“Galen will be pleased,” Cinn stated. “This Calling couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
Kirsten paled with realization. “The weave,” she said, then reflexively touched her pendant. It was warmer than usual. “It could attract a drake.”
Cinn nodded. “Galen thinks this Calling could call to the drake that flew over Longwood. So it’s good that you are with us.”
“It’s good my sword is with you, he means,” Kirsten corrected.
Cinn shrugged. “I’m glad you’re here. But I can’t go. I have to stay with my Wardens to safeguard Longwood.”
“What? How can you?” Kirsten’s face twisted with concern.
“We all have duties,” Cinn stated. “You do yours and I’ll do mine.”
“Nothing had better happen to you. You promised me that you’d take me to the Salt Isles to see my mother. Your aunt.”
Cinn smiled unexpectedly and he tapped Kirsten on the forehead with his finger. “Everyone born with Salt Isles blood in them can find their way home,” he said. “It’s part of your nature.”
Kirsten’s face wrinkled with a new idea. “I need to get to Graniteside,” she exclaimed.
Cinn and Dria exchanged shocked looks. “You can’t leave us,” Dria said.
“Impossible,” Cinn added. “Graniteside is our enemy.”
“But my Papa’s there.”
Cinn shook his head. “You don’t know that.”
Kirsten stiffened. “I have to believe it.”
“We’ll talk about that later.” Cinn looked west towards the dwindling glow of the calling. “He is moving faster than most would like,” he announced.
“He?” Dria asked. “Who is it?”
“You don’t know?” Cinn’s expression softened. “It’s your friend who has been called. The sage.”
“What?” Dria’s heart skipped a beat. “No. It couldn’t be. Not—”
“It’s Eko,” Cinn stated. “I’m sure of it. I had a good look on the way here.” “But he was going to—”
Dria’s mind spun.
Cinn lowered his voice. “I’m sorry. We need to be happy for him.”
Dria was silent.
Cinn patted Dria on the shoulder. “I can’t stay any longer. I have to co-ordinate our defence with Siandros and Jiror.” He turned to face Kirsten. “Stay with the group. It’s dangerous out there. Drakes can attack at any time, even in the mountain passes.”
“I’m still going to Graniteside,” Kirsten grumbled. “Somehow.”
“Graniteside,” Besra chimed in. “Sounds like a stout dwarven name.”
Kirsten’s eyes dropped. “My Papa and Helba told me Graniteside and The Crossroads were both built on dwarven ruins.”
Besra smiled. “Well, now I definitely have to see these places.”
Kirsten looked across at Dria who was standing aloof, her expression consumed with worry. “What is it?”
The elf maiden stepped closer and whispered in a rush of guilt. “Eko. He told me that he had some plan to save us from the drakes. To get us all out of Longwood.”
“What? When?”
“A while ago,” Dria confessed. “It doesn’t matter. He said he had a trick planned but— this couldn’t possibly be what he meant?”
Kirsten took a step closer. “Shh. You don’t think he’s done all this himself?”
Besra leaned in. “Done what? This Calling ritual? It’s not something you do?”
Dria’s eyes were lost in the past. “He was hard to understand sometimes. He said a lot of strange things to me. Spoke about going to Xlaesin and waking The One. Said the lifebane and our people were once the same. Said what we did never really affected prophecy.”
“That’s a lot to absorb,” Kirsten replied.
“Sounds like he needs to spend less time by himself,” Besra added. “My kin get squirrely sometimes, too. Like when there’s cave ins an’ we can’t get to ‘em fer a cycle or so.”
Kirsten took a deep breath. “So this could be his trick? But using the weave attracts drakes. How is that safe for anyone?”
Dria slowly nodded. “It doesn’t make sense. That’s why I think it’s real. No one has the power to do this except the One. But I’m going to catch up to him anyway. Those who are
Called can sometimes still make conversation. It’s considered ill-luck to bother them but I don’t care.”
Kirsten nodded. “And if it’s real then the drakes might never find you in the mountains where the weave is weak.”
“The weave is slow in the mountains,” Besra corrected. “But not weak.”
Kirsten’s eyes hardened. “The calling is a walk to the coast, right? Could take a season or so to go there and come back.”
Dria nodded. “Even if he keeps this pace, it’s a long journey and we like to rest, reflect, and celebrate the life of the one who is called. It’s our way.”
“I could make it to Graniteside and back in that time, easy.”
“Not alone,” Besra stated.
Kirsten looked at Besra with growing fondness. “You’re just as good a friend as Grumm.”
“Well, where’s he now?” Besra smirked.
Dria interrupted. “Be safe and I will see you soon.”
“I will.”
“Longwood needs you. Don’t forget us,” the elf maiden added and then raced away to join the Calling.
Kirsten watched her leave and then squared her shoulders. “We’ll need supplies,” she said. “And I remember a town to the south, the other side of the escarpment. It had a bridge.”
Besra swung her runehammer over her shoulder. “Lead on,” she said.
***
Plax found flying as a raven exhausting. His world view was entirely s
kewed and his eyes burned with the effort of constant refocusing. He almost crashed into several trees trying to land, and once on the ground, his upper body burned with fatigue. He was about to curl into the bough of a tree when the shadow of the drake crossed the moon and like all noise in the forest, his heart stopped.
A surge of energy thrust him to his feet and he almost fell. Climbing carefully from the tree, he decided against using a shadowcharm, and he watched, hardly breathing, as the largest drake he had ever imagined curved south and then east before fading into high distant storm clouds.
“I have to warn Longwood,” he told himself. Something in his heart stirred like a hook in a fish. “But my father,” he said. “I have to tell Kirsten. No. Wait,” he continued to ramble. “She has the sword. She doesn’t need me.” Then his eyes brightened. “I’ll find Dria. She’ll appreciate my help.”
Panic had made all fatigue evaporate and he rushed south through the forest, a drunken smile plastered across his face.
***
The small town ahead was cluttered with small tents and a hodge-podge of milling people. Soldiers in remnants of uniforms laboured alongside their kin to break camp, barter for goods, and join the thin parade of survivors trickling away on each of the King’s Roads. The bridge was a bent collection of dubious repairs, and the buildings on the north side were already looted, broken, and abandoned.
“Pull your hoods up,” Balinor instructed. “We’ll stick to the shore and make directly for the bridge.”
“Of course,” Olaf replied cheerily from atop his goat.
“And don’t make eye contact with anyone,” Balinor added.
They were just entering the town when they heard the screaming. Vargas hunkered down beside a shack and Balinor’s horse whinnied and jumped sideways. The goats flicked their ears and bleated horribly.
Pell scanned the sky and swore the sky a deeper shade of blue. “Don’t move. Biggest drake I’ve ever seen. North of the escarpment. Very high. Heading east. Fast.”
Balinor won control of his horse near the water’s edge and turned that direction. There was no way anyone could miss it.
“Saw one like that before,” Grumm hissed. “Along the eastern mountains with Alain.” He took a deep breath. “It’s looking for something that isn’t us.”
The crowded camp near the bridge was consumed with panicked cries and shouts for order. Their exodus from the town was rapidly transforming into a stampede.
“When the drake’s gone, we’ll cross,” Balinor stated. “I don’t think anyone will give us a second glance now.”
“Never thought I’d see the day when I’d be happy for a drake sighting,” Olaf chuckled.
“Oh, shut it, you,” Grumm chided. “Just mind yer step. That bridge has more holes than ripe cheese.”
Naturally, Balinor went first, guiding his horse on foot. The dwarves followed, trusting the nimble balance of their goats to negotiate the rickety structure, and Olaf came last, copying Balinor’s approach as best he could.
Birds burst from the heaps of trash littered along the north side of the river. Coyotes circled warily as Vargas glared and growled. Balinor only halted when they were at the edges of a paltry tree line below the pine shrouded escarpment.
“I can see why the elves were so angry,” he commented, “and why Muren wanted to run away.”
Olaf appeared at his side, his goat tearing chunks of bark from young trees like it was a smorgasboard. “Where to, boss?”
Balinor took a moment to consider the best direction. It’s been a very long time since I chanced this north shore. Before Harlan started the lumber camps on this side. But I remember there being a path up the escarpment a little ways to the west.”
“Did you go up the path?” Olaf asked. “Weren’t you scared with this all being Longwood territory?”
“Yeah,” Balinor reminisced. “I was scared. And I was also dumb enough to take a dare.”
Olaf chuckled. “Got in trouble a few times myself in Halnn just the same way.”
Balinor smiled at the gnome. “Times sure have changed.”
Olaf looked away. “Yeah,” he replied quietly.
Balinor nudged his horse into motion. “There’s still bound to be sentries.”
Pell spurred his goat into a reluctant trot until he was beside Balinor. “Let me lead. Elves will likely shoot you as soon as they see you.”
Balinor acknowledged Pell’s point and fell back to ride between Olaf and Grumm.
***
Kirsten stood a pebble’s toss from the scattered rock and moss of the escarpment’s edge and noted that it was a longer drop than she expected. She imagined what her Papa might have felt cycles ago, barely older than she was now, running for his life in the dark. She flinched as she remembered another escarpment where a tower had exploded and she had been thrown towards oblivion. Her pendant flared with warmth and she pushed those memories away.
Besra held up her hand and took a few steps ahead, her footfalls far softer and more precise than usual. “Do you hear that?” she whispered.
Kirsten concentrated. A breeze. A jay’s cry. Squirrels calling a warning. She hunkered down and crept forward. “Something’s coming up the trail?”
Besra nodded. “Hear that?”
A short jingle of harness. Some hooves on stone. Very light. More than a bowshot away.
“We should hide,” Besra said.
“Going to get a look first,” Kirsten responded and took cover behind a scraggly pine that allowed her a view over the edge. Then she pulled back carefully. “Four,” she whispered. “They don’t look like lumbermen. More like traders. One horse and three ponies. And I think I saw a dog.”
Besra sniffed the air and made a face. “Ugh,” she said. “I think those ponies are goats.”
“You’ve got a sharp nose,” Kirsten grinned.
Besra shrugged. “It’s my thing. So whatta we do?”
Kirsten’s eyes narrowed. “I’d like to know what they’re doing sneaking into my forest.”
Besra chuckled. “Well, we do have the high ground, and surprise.”
Kirsten allowed herself a trickle of a shadowcharm and took position behind a thicker tree, her bow ready.
“Girl’s got stones,” Besra chuckled to herself and took out a sling. “I hope I remember how to use this.”
***
Pell raised his hand and everyone stopped. He sniffed the breeze and listened to the woods. With so many scents and so much noise, he felt himself wishing for the dark tunnels of the Yarrol Maze once more. Scouting there had fewer distractions.
A challenge came from someone unseen near the crest. “Halt.”
Everyone ducked in their saddles. If elf wardens had their bows trained on them there would be no escape.
Balinor noticed that Vargas was wagging his tail and barely restraining an excited whine. He cleared his throat and shouted, “We are travellers who mean no harm.”
“These are elven lands. Leave now.”
The hair on Balinor’s neck stood on end but not because of fright. Vargas looked at him, his tail a windmill against the dirt, and whined once more. The voice sounded like a ghost in his unwanted dreams. What would he say?
“We’re looking for someone who has been—lost.”
***
Kirsten’s eyes widened. That voice. She leaned beyond the tree for a clear view and let the weave augment her sight. Tears flooded from her eyes. Two stubby dwarves, a smirk that could only belong to one gnome, a gangly hunter atop a horse that’s never been treated better, and a crazy shepherd who was no longer a pup.
Kirsten stumbled from cover and only Besra’s steadying hand kept her from falling.
“Watch out, girl. No need to take a short cut.”
“Balinor!” Kirsten cried out. “It’s me!”
“It’s Kirsten!” Olaf cheered.
Vargas tore up the path yipping and barking. Balinor jumped from his horse and followed at a lope.
Pell laughed
and waved. “Twice met is twice as lucky!”
Grumm slumped in his saddle and pulled up his hood.
“What’s with you?” Olaf teased. “We found her.”
“I know,” Grumm stated uncomfortably. “I recognized the voice.’
“You not happy to see Kirsten?”
“It’s the other voice I’m talking about,” Grumm hissed.
Olaf looked up and caught sight of Balinor and Kirsten hugging one another for dear life, Vargas dancing about and barking happily. Then he noticed a non-chalant dwarf he’d seen before in Thunderwall, a woman who had been a Lowgate guard, one who now stood with casual swagger, a runehammer across her shoulder. He looked back at his blushing companion and started to laugh.