Sorrow's Peak (Serpent of Time Book 2)

by Jennifer Melzer

  “They carried two banners,” the Grey Wolf spoke up, looking between the two of them as if he’d seen a ghost come to life right before his eyes. “Aelfric’s Crown of Flame and another I have never seen before.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “Blue and silver, a castle on the sea with three crested stars above each tower.”

  “Hofft,” Logren nodded.

  “Rhiorna’s warnings come to pass,” he lamented, remembering his final conversation with her before they were cast out. Guilt and self-loathing gripped him at his very core, making his stomach feel weak and nauseous. “Lorelei’s betrothed joined forces with Aelfric and marched into the Edgelands to take her back. If I only…”

  “What?” Logren turned a disbelieving glare upon him. “If you only stayed behind, you alone could have stopped the inevitable? You are one man, Vilnjar.”

  “Logren is right, Vilnjar,” Frigga’s hand on his arm was a conflict between warmth and bitter scolding. “If you stayed, this would still have happened, and you would be counted now among dead.”

  His guilt pained her almost as much as it did him, stoking the fire of her anger with him for thinking his death might have changed something.

  “Hofft and Leithe likely make the journey south, in search of my sister.” Logren crossed stiff arms over his chest. “Did you pass their encampment, old man?”

  “Aye. We skirted east around it, barely managing to escape the camp they set up in the empty fields outside of Drekne. We nearly ran into their sentries because the boy was so badly burned, we had to carry him between us and he slowed us down.” Nadon glanced toward the young man beneath the healer’s touch, a flash of guilt flaring in his eyes. “We did not linger, but made haste to Great Sontok, hoping to outrun them and find the city Rhiorna spoke of.”

  “The city you didn’t believe existed,” Vilnjar rolled his eyes.

  Ignoring his scorn, Logren promised, “We will take you to the city your seer spoke of.” His amber eyes flitted across the faces of the weary survivors. “We brought enough horses to make the journey back as quickly as possible, but the wounded will slow us. We should not linger here, but leave immediately and get everyone back to the city where it is safe.”

  “Safe?” Vilnjar nearly choked on that word.

  Logren did not disagree, but lowered his head as he mumbled, “For the time being. Rimian is a treacherous, untraveled land, my old friend. You have seen firsthand for yourself how difficult the terrain is to navigate if you do not know the way. Had we not met with you and led you through the mountain pass and to our city, you would not have lasted a fortnight in these lands.”

  “That is true,” he agreed, “but we were only three. We speak of an army, a well-practiced legion of men who will not stop until they find what they are looking for. And what if they have magic users of their own? Would you see them march straight into your city and destroy all you have built there because of a single girl?”

  Deep, rich laughter followed that question, Logren shaking his head. “If they can even find our city, I would love to see them try to get inside. We have the one thing King Aelfric fears above all others, the very thing you’ve mentioned: mages.”

  “We know nothing of what this prince from Hofft brings to Aelfric’s army. A handful of mages against…”

  “Magic has been outlawed in Aelfric’s kingdom since before you and I were born,” he reminded him. “And Hodon’s proposal for an alliance with the Alvarii went out the same time your letters were sent to the U’lfer.”

  “A proposed alliance will not save us. The elves must first agree, and why would they?”

  “We must have faith, Vilnjar,” Logren said. “I know the gods have not given us much, but the moment our faith in them wanes…”

  Vilnjar’s faith in the gods waned a long time ago in the face of so much suffering, but the people of Dunvarak had seen far worse. They managed to hold onto hope despite it. How was it even possible to maintain such vigilant courage? He couldn’t imagine.

  “My sister will find the horns,” he went on, “and she will wake our spirits so all our people might rise to fight together.”

  Frigga edged her way between them before Vilnjar could say another word about the snapped thread of his own faith. “Logren, you are right. You should lead these people to Dunvarak quickly, and let Hodon hear what they have to say so he can begin making sure our defenses are secure.”

  Logren regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t you mean we?”

  “Vilnjar and I are not coming with you,” she declared, surprising even Viln, who stepped out to look at her with wide eyes. “We are going north, back into the Edgelands to search for other survivors. To find his sister and lead her south to Dunvarak.”

  “I don’t think so,” Logren started to protest, but the look she cast in his direction silently dared him to try and stop her. It was a look Vilnjar himself was becoming relatively familiar with, one in which Logren immediately recognized his own defeat. “And what am I supposed to tell your father, Frigga? He will never forgive me for letting you do this.”

  “Tell him I love him, and nothing more. He will understand.”

  “Frigga…”

  “He will understand,” she repeated. “We will only take one of the horses, and some of the supplies. Not much, a little food, some water, a tent.”

  “Of course,” he yielded with defeated sigh, his fingers itching through the hair of his beard.

  She was already walking away, her mind closed to anyone who might try and stop her from doing as she pleased.

  Vilnjar was conflicted, wanting to follow her with a newfound sense of vigor unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and battling the urge to grab hold of her and shake some sense into her. Had she ever even been in the Edgelands? She would have been a small child when her family was guided south. Surely she didn’t remember how vast that seemingly small strip of land truly was, how many places there were to hide within it? Looking for his sister would not mean combing the road for signs of her, but delving deep into the woods until he picked up her scent and was able to track her.

  Ruwena could be anywhere, and if she didn’t want to be found, not even her own brother would be able pick up her trail.

  “It would seem we go north,” he muttered, more to himself than Logren.

  “Frigga will make sure your life does not get boring,” he chuckled. “That much is for sure.”

  “My life has not been boring since I met your sister.”

  Logren laughed again, a hearty sound that momentarily lightened the tension. Turning into him, he extended a firm hand, which Vilnjar studied for a long time before reaching out to take it. Their fingers curled around each other’s forearms, squeezing in unspoken agreement. For a flickering moment they were six years old again, planning to take over the world. Logren pulled him into an unexpected embrace, his strong arms nearly crushing the life from Viln’s body before he finally withdrew.

  “If your sister has even half the fire she had when we were small, it will be her who finds you.”

  Remembering all the times he and Logren tried to hide from Rue and failed when they were children brought an appreciative smile to his lips. “No doubt she will still be furious with me for leaving her behind when she does.” he sighed.

  “Such fury fades from heart in times like this. She will be glad to know you are still alive. That you cared enough to come searching for her.”

  “I hope so.”

  His heavy hand lingered on Viln’s shoulder, his eyes sincere as he said, “May Llorveth keep your sister safe until she is returned to you, my old friend.”

  “And yours as well.”

  “Vilnjar,” Frigga called to him. “We have hours of daylight left, let us go.”

  Logren’s laughter followed him as he hurried to join her. Taking the reins of their horse, which she packed with their tent and a small satchel of food, Viln fell into step behind his mate.

  Following her down th
e other side of the mountain, he turned to look back over his shoulder at Logren and wondered sadly if he would ever see his old friend again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The seldom-used road from the southern coast took two and a half days to travel, the weather improving the further north they went, just as Brendolowyn assured them. It was a beautiful journey, the sea always within view, its smell growing so familiar to her senses as it mingled with the rich, evident decay of foliage, she took great pleasure in breathing in those delightful scents and committing them to memory.

  Vivid spikes of faded, golden grass grew on the sides of the tree-lined, dirt road, sprouting in some places right in the middle of the passage itself—a sign of how little it was actually used. Trees lined the road on their left, the nearly barren branches releasing red, orange and yellow leaves that fell in spirals to make a carpet across the path.

  Lorelei watched the port city grow closer as the day stretched longer. By mid-afternoon she glimpsed colorful sails rolling into the harbor, boats adrift on the calm waves and fading away as they departed to head north like tiny soldiers marching across the crisp, blue-green water.

  As a child, she always thought Rivenn was the most beautiful place in the world. The changing of the seasons provided a colorful canvas to delight the senses all year long, but she had nothing else to compare it to before journeying to Rimian. Only then had she truly realized how little she knew about the world beyond Rivenn.

  There was far more to Leithe than she dreamed, and the rest of the world... She could no longer even imagine it.

  The world around her was a delight to her senses, and she nearly forgot at times she was not out sightseeing, but traveling a dark and terrifying road. Port Felar, as enticing as it was—even from a distance—was not a place she could simply walk through with an uncollared, Alvarii mage and an U’lfer with a chip on his shoulder.

  And there was no mistaking the chip on Finn’s shoulder since the orcs attacked her on the beach. Glancing over at him, she wished he’d just turn his head and look at her, smile at her in that carefree way she’d come to know and love since she met him. It was a look that never failed to reassure and calm her, a gesture that made her feel comforted and safe. Because of Finn’s good humor, she often believed they really could get through anything, as long as they stuck together.

  That humor was gone, replaced by a tight-lipped scowl that made his resemblance to his older brother so undeniable. He didn’t look at her, and the worst part about it was he knew what she needed from him. He felt her emotions, was more aware of her feelings than even she was most of the time. He’d chosen to ignore her needs for the moment, and she wasn’t sure if he was just angry at her for being so reckless and stupid, or if he was holding a grudge because she’d walked away from him after he kissed her.

  Thoughts of it being the latter made her silently rage inside. Just because she didn’t feel everything with the same intensity didn’t mean she didn’t feel the undeniable bond growing between them. Over the last few weeks, she’d come to rely on their closeness, and she knew she was falling for him. It was only a matter of time before she gave in and let him love her, but she was terrified. If she let go of her inhibitions, and then lost him, how would she live out the rest of her days without him? She’d been stupid with her heart before, a mistake she didn’t want to make again.

  Nearly every part of her ached with longing for him, but that didn’t mean she was just going to tear off her clothes and offer herself to him to make him stop sulking.

  If what was meant to happen between them was inevitable, surely there had to be a right time for it. As much as she missed snuggling into his warmth and taking comfort in his presence while she slept, she didn’t miss it enough to give into a lifelong commitment of the soul.

  On some level, she already knew it was inevitable. Finn’s emotions were blending with her own, she could feel him in her soul, but the time just wasn’t right.

  Too much was at stake, too many lives on the line. If she let him love her, if she gave him her heart and one of them died, what kind of punishment would it be to live the rest of their lives without the other?

  And sulking certainly wasn’t going to win her over.

  Without conversation to distract her she was forced to sit with her thoughts. And she thought long and hard about the things Finn said to her. Embarrassment ached inside her as she realized how right he’d been about most of them.

  She thought she took the task she’d been charged with seriously. After all, she was there, wasn’t she? She accepted her role, promised to do what the people of Dunvarak asked her to do because Yovenna said she’d already done it—time and time and time again. But she should have asked more questions, better questions. She should have demanded answers from the seer before it was too late. Yovenna could have told her so much more, but Lorelei was so overwhelmed and inundated, she hadn’t asked the right things.

  She hadn’t known what was important and what was not, so she’d asked basic questions that didn’t bring her much in the way of understanding. Where to find the horns, how to get there, what kind of monster they might face there. Yovenna didn’t even tell her about the monster at Great Sorrow’s Peak. She only said they could learn more about it from the Alvarii seer in the city below Port Felar.

  After that, everything happened so quickly there was no time to come to terms with all that was being asked of her. Yovenna died and the next morning the three of them mounted up and rode into the tundra. She departed from Dunvarak on the day Yovenna said she should go, even though she hadn’t felt ready at the time.

  She was so naive. Her trust too easily given.

  Before her betrothal to Trystay, she’d questioned and challenged everything. Her inability to just accept her fate was the bane of Aelfric’s existence.

  I am your father. You will do as you’re told and not ask questions.

  No, never. Not until I know why.

  Hand instinctively rising to the pendant around her neck, her fingers rolled along the smooth moonstone before following the bronze, knotwork wolf head below it. Over the last week it became something of a habit, fingering Rognar’s pendant and silently praying for guidance from her father. Had he even known he’d sparked life in her mother’s womb before he was executed? If he knew, would it have changed anything? His own sister, Rhiorna, was a seer. Hadn’t the woman even told him he needed to stay alive for the sake of his own children?

  She was so tired of seers, and it enraged her they were on their way to seek the counsel of yet another one, who would probably tell her absolutely nothing of any use or value.

  Those were the types of things she’d been thinking about when she left Brendolowyn at camp to walk along the peaceful, rolling sea. She wanted clarity, absent everyone else’s expectations and input, a few silent moments to herself so she could reach out to the god who allegedly chose her to walk that ridiculous path. She convinced herself the reason Llorveth wouldn’t answer was because her thoughts were always clouded by the presence of her companions, but if sending orcs to attack her was Llorveth’s answer to her prayers, maybe she was on the wrong path altogether.

  She felt so stupid. So helpless and inexperienced. Everything worked out okay in the end, sure. No one was badly hurt, but the whole thing drove a wedge between the three of them she wasn’t sure could be mended.

  Finn seemed to dislike Brendolowyn even more than he had before they left Dunvarak, and Bren was so ashamed he could barely even look at her at all.

  How were they supposed to take back the Horns of Llorveth together, if they couldn’t even make the journey peacefully? Clearly the gods wanted the three of them to work together, so why couldn’t they just do it?

  Both of her companions were individually focused. Their wary eyes scanned every shadow and nook lining the empty road, but that was just it: the road was empty. There were no miners. No more orcs. They’d passed an empty boat mid-morning on the day after the attack. Finn claimed it belonged
to the orcs, but how he knew, she couldn’t guess and he never elaborated.

  They dismounted to inspect it, taking what few supplies inside worth scavenging, but when Lorelei made the naïve suggestion to use that boat to make their way up the coast, Brendolowyn pointed out a vessel so small would never carry the three of them and their mounts, and navigating the icy waters was not something an amateur sailor could achieve.

  “We’re like to wind up shipwrecked half a mile off the coast,” he told her. “And it wouldn’t be right to leave the horses behind. We will have need of them again in the Valley of Sorrows.” His voice trailed off, gaze drawn to a series of fading stains on the rocks at the edge of the water. Lorelei followed his eye toward the dark black and brown spatters painting the shoreline, and she knew it was blood.

  She found herself glancing back at Finn, who’d come raging into battle to save her. She wondered if he knew how that blood was spilled.

  Finn didn’t even meet her eye, and he said nothing. He never even got off his horse, but remained an ample distance away, watching with narrowed eyes she swore were filled with an inhuman anger that made her blood run cold in her veins.

  After taking what they could carry from the boat, they remounted and returned to the road, but she stared over her shoulder at that place until it was out of sight. She tried not to think about the hideous beings it carried to shore, or the things they would have done to her if Finn hadn’t slaughtered them like a mad beast.

  The things that attacked her were almost like men, though much larger. Their ash-green skin and large under-teeth were two of the few things that set them apart. They were tall and strong, every inch of their dark bodies thick with scarred muscle and slick with stinking, brown oil that allowed her not once, but twice, to slip away and start to run to safety. Despite their size they’d been fast runners, catching up with her quickly and driving her to the ground.

  They communicated with each other in a guttural, brash language close enough to the common tongue she’d understood they’d been bickering over who should have her first. She shuddered at the thought of their thick, dirty hands on her body, tearing and groping at her clothes while tugging her back and forth between them as she kicked and screamed. One grunted that she was fire; he liked fire, but when he yanked her into him in a final show of strength that nearly tore her arm from its socket the other two charged in to try and wrench her away for themselves.