Sorrow's Peak (Serpent of Time Book 2)

by Jennifer Melzer

  “Vilnjar,” the scuff of her whisper edged at his unconscious being, drawing him from the depths of sleep so quickly he would have bolted upright had it not been for the pressure of her body weighing down on him.

  It was dark, the night around them black as pitch, and for a moment he didn’t know where he was. Was he a boy, hidden amongst the trees with his little sister cradled safe in his arms? He listened for the sound of Rue’s hitching sobs, rising with every sleeping breath, but instead he only heard the racing pulse of another’s heartbeat. Frigga’s heartbeat.

  The tremulous fear thundering through her battled with the strangled puffs of her stifled breath, which she fought desperately to keep quiet. Why was so it dark? What happened to their fire?

  The smoke of an abruptly extinguished fire choked his senses and instantly burned his eyes. Beyond that, he smelled only their horse at first, and then the distant odor of a thousand equine beasts carrying the smoke-dusted soldiers who’d burned the Edgelands to the ground. Rising through the acrid smell was the fresh scent of new fire, wood smoke, burning pine sap making his eyes itch and water.

  “I heard them coming from more than a mile off, felt the ground shaking like a great earthquake,” she muttered breathlessly, “so I made my way through the trees to see what I could see.”

  He jolted upward, cradling her body against his and straining his ears. The sound was coming from miles away, but it rang clear through the silent night. Bootsteps, hoof-fall, an army marching southward with determination and purpose.

  “Are you mad?” he hissed, the tips of his fingers curling almost harshly into the flesh of her arms. “If they saw you… You could have been…”

  “No one saw me,” she insisted, writhing painfully against his bruising grip. “But I saw them. Thousands of soldiers marching toward the mountains, toward Rimian.”

  His throat tightened anxiously. The dryness in his mouth coupled with the rising nausea clenching in his gut and made him feel sick. Loosening his fingers, he could feel the pain of them against her skin, and guilt mingled with the unspoken tremors of fear that gripped him.

  “And fire, Vilnjar,” the whisper of her voice trembled with terror. “Fire as far as the eye could see, a great golden blaze on the road behind them.” She paused only to allow those words to sink in, and then she said aloud to ensure he understood, “They are burning the woodlands as they go, throwing torches into the trees to burn out any survivors who might have escaped in hopes of heading south.”

  The urgency surging through him was more intense than any he’d ever felt before. The horse on its tether restlessly scraped her hooves on the ground, pacing and snorting with untold fear.

  “We must go.” He was already standing, Frigga rising with him. “Find a way through the fires in the north.”

  Wordlessly, they packed up camp in the dark. They wouldn’t know until later whether or not they’d forgotten anything, but for the moment all that mattered was leaving that place before the coming flames blazed through the dry pines where they’d made their camp. It took every bit of Frigga’s stern gentleness to steady their mount so they could climb abreast and ride north. She nestled in tight at his back, and he steered their mount toward coming fires.

  They road northward, far enough from the road so as not to be seen, but still close enough they could hear the thundering boots and hoofs of King Aelfric’s army laying waste to the Edgelands as they made their way south in search of Lorelei. They could see the distant silhouette of marching soldiers through the orange glow of the burning trees, cracking in great hefts as they crumbled and fell into one another, spreading the malevolent flame.

  Lifting the stifling fur of his cloak over his face, Vilnjar drove the skittish mare northward, less than a mile from the flames consuming the only land he’d ever called home. The smoke was so thick it blotted out the sky, but through the blackness Vilnjar thought he could see the pale, silver light of Madra, the mother moon, shimmering like a beacon.

  He followed that light in hopes it would see them to safety, and prayed silently to Llorveth that Logren and the people of Dunvarak were truly prepared for the storm heading their way.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Hrafn did not return the next day. Brendolowyn was awake and pacing the perimeter of their encampment at first light, but by mid-morning there was no sign of the raven at all. Finn tended to the horses while Lorelei sat near the fire sipping at bland, clumpy porridge and watching the half-elf wear out the ground beneath his boots.

  Bren hadn’t lowered the barrier. They were too close to the city, and it wasn’t safe to expose themselves in broad daylight until they absolutely had to. Shrouded within the tall pines, they were far enough away from Port Felar to remain unseen, but the smoke of their fire would draw attention if allowed to climb skyward. The watch on the city walls might wave it off and excuse it as a miner’s camp, but it seemed foolish to take that chance. So the barrier remained in place, and would until Hrafn reappeared.

  She didn’t mind the magical perimeter. She felt safe inside its confines, but she could tell it was making both of her companions stir-crazy, and for once it wasn’t just Finn.

  City smells still permeated the air around them, mingling with the pungent sea. Apart from the distinct aroma of salt and fish, the familiarity of the nearby city made her feel homesick, not for the first time.

  The odd thing about homesickness was it wasn’t Rivenn she longed for, but Dunvarak. Her brother and his little family, the safety and comfort of the community there. She still missed her sister and Pahjah, even her mother, but she’d never felt at home in Rivenn. Yovenna told her in one of their earliest meetings for the rest of her life, home would be wherever her heart was, and though her heart was firmly wrapped around both of the people she was with at the moment, it was also with her brother, her nephew Roggi, her sister-in-law Viina. She even missed Vilnjar, who she was quite sure hated her guts, and found herself imagining from time to time how he might react to some of the situations they’d gotten themselves in since they’d departed from Dunvarak to attend to what he firmly believed to be a fool’s errand.

  Resting by the fire, she wished they were all there with her, but knew in her heart she would never wish the dangers she must face on anyone else she loved. It was bad enough she had to drag Finn and Brendolowyn with her, knowing one of them wasn’t supposed to come back.

  It was an easy thing to say she wouldn’t let anything happen to either of them, but the keeping of that promise was impossible. Time was a fickle thing, and at some point along the way they were meant to alter it and change its outcome. They had no insight into the moment they were meant to change, but sometimes she got the odd feeling she’d been there before, spoken the same words in another life and time, walked the same road.

  Déjà vu.

  Pahjah told her when she was a girl the experience of déjà vu was proof from the gods there was a seer inside each and every man, woman and child on Vennakrand. That sometimes when those odd moments of clarity made themselves known, it was reassurance they were on the right path because the body, mind and spirit recognized a road it traveled once before.

  As a young woman, she thought the recognition was symbolic.

  Now she knew better.

  And every time those familiar feelings washed over her, the hair on her arms tingled and rose, a series of strange shivers rolling the full length of her spine before crawling back toward her neck again and sneaking into her hair until the very roots tingled. Déjà vu was proof she’d been there before, lived through that moment already and vaguely remembered its significance.

  Over her shoulder one of the horses huffed, the swishing of three tails announcing their discomfort with Finn’s care. Hooves scraped and dropped in tense warning, and when she glanced toward them she saw her own mount drew back its ears. Even after traveling so far together, the horses were still nervous around Finn, and didn’t like it when he tended to them. His own mount took the entire journey to begrudg
ingly accept the wolf on its back, but the gelding still didn’t like the U’lfer much—even though he was attentive and gentle with the beast. Trapped in so small a space with the wolf beneath his skin, they were clearly unnerved.

  Rising from her place beside the fire, she left her half-empty bowl where sat and went to take over the task, insisting Finn eat something.

  “Let me,” she said. Holding up both hands in concession, Finn backed away and she moved in to soothe them all with affectionate cooing and gentle scratches along their noses.

  From the corner of her eye, she watched Bren continue to pace while she brushed them out. She began to wonder how much of the horses’ discomfort was direct result of the mage’s agitation. His nervous energy made her feel edgy too.

  “You’ve got to try to relax, Bren,” Lorelei finally suggested. “We all need to relax until we actually know something. You’ve said before your connection to Hrafn is strong. You would know if something was amiss, wouldn’t you?”

  At first Brendolowyn didn’t seem to hear her. She cleared her throat, rather loudly, drawing him from his tense reverie and registering her question in his mind.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “It’s just an odd thing he hasn’t returned, is all. I’ve been to the city below countless times over the years. It never takes this long for them to acknowledge my approach and send one of their own to guide me. They almost always know I am coming.”

  “They are probably expecting us.”

  “Exactly,” he nodded. Tension twisted his mouth into a tight scowl, the expression wrought with worry as he pivoted and headed back in the direction he’d just come from. “They know we are coming, and should have sent someone to meet us on the road. It worries me they’ve kept us waiting this long.”

  “They’ll come when they come.” Finn grabbed the bowl Lorelei used instead of dirtying another and ladled porridge from the pot before dropping into the dirt by the fire. A small cloud of dust stirred with his movement, and one of the horses sneezed out of spite.

  But they didn’t come that afternoon, nor did they arrive in the evening. Brendolowyn’s nervousness began to spread like a plague, and Lorelei felt its tension tightening in her own stomach. She tried to distract herself by reading through the ancient Alvarii text Finn reminded her about the night before, but after reading the same convoluted and pretentious sentence no less than twelve times, she closed the book with a huff and stuffed it back into her pack. She barely slept that second night outside the gates of Port Felar, tossing and turning beside an equally agitated Finn. She was relatively sure Brendolowyn hadn’t slept at all.

  By morning, everyone was on edge. Annoyed by the mage’s constant distress and pacing, Finn finally suggested, “Maybe one of us should have a look around the city.”

  “Out of the question.” The words left Lorelei’s mouth before he’d even finish speaking, but when Brendolowyn lifted an eyebrow at Finn, she saw something she’d never thought to see: they were finally in agreement on something.

  “Perhaps Finn is right,” Bren said without even the slightest hint of chagrin. “If…”

  “If one of us goes, that means lowering the barrier. Finn is U’lfer. He is not supposed to be outside the Edgelands, so him going is out of the question.”

  “Most humans can’t tell the difference,” Brendolowyn pointed out.

  Ignoring him, she went on, “There is a strong possibility the king’s men will be on the lookout for me, specifically, so it’s not a good idea for me to attempt entering the city. If you go, that leaves the two of us here without the protection of the barrier or the aid of your magic if something does happen. Not to mention, you are an uncollared, half-blood Alvarii. If that doesn’t raise suspicion…”

  They both knew she was right, but neither of them wanted to accept it. The only thing Bren seemed to agree with was the risk for her and Finn was far greater than the risk for himself.

  “I know this city,” he interjected. “I have been here before, made contacts within the walls that work hand and hand with the Underground Resistance. If something happened to Hrafn, they can at least carry word to the city below the city and announce that we are here and waiting to meet with their seer.”

  “What if it’s a trap?” she asked. “Trystay claimed he was working with the Alvarii Underground the night I overheard him plotting to kill me.”

  “Perhaps you misheard him,” he shrugged. “I know for a fact the Underground would never lower itself to conspire with their human oppressors. And besides, Yovenna would not have sent you to meet with Gwendoliir if she knew you would come to harm here. She would have seen it. You are far too important to put at risk…”

  “This whole journey is one big risk,” she protested. “And I barely knew Yovenna, beyond a single afternoon in her company, during which she spoke volumes of madness about visitations from a future version of myself that drove her from the Isle of Dorayne, across Leithe and into the tundra, where she then proceeded to gather all that remained of a group of people I allegedly spared without reason while I allowed the rest of my father’s people to die out. I’ve centered so much of my present and future around her visions, but for all I know, she was making it up…”

  “The city of Dunvarak itself is reason enough to prove her visions were not imagination.” Fierceness edged his tone, the light of conviction gleaming in his widened, lavender eyes. “She knew of you, Lorelei. She knew everything about you. You know that. She sent your brother to meet with you at Great Sontok on the very day you and the U’lfer arrived, and she knew things about both your past and your future no one else could know without keen sight.”

  The ferocity of his defense animated him in a way she’d not yet seen. He wasn’t angry, but forceful in his conviction, and there was a fierce glimmer in his eye that frightened her a little. Generally, he was passive, reasonable, but for the briefest moment he reminded her of her brother, who was often so headstrong in his own opinions he refused to listen to anyone else’s reason if it conflicted with his own beliefs. She understood now why the two of them got on so well.

  “I hate to say it, Princess, but the elf is right.” Finn shocked her once again by siding against her. “Yovenna’s visions have proved solid so far.”

  “But there’s only so much the visions allow, and you both know it. She told us one of us wouldn’t come back from this journey, and I refuse to believe that. What if walking through the gates of Port Felar is the thing that makes it happen? Why would we risk it if we don’t have to?”

  “It isn’t.” Brendolowyn’s certainty was more startling than the prior edge of his tone as he was preaching Yovenna’s worth as a seer. “All three of us will make it to Sorrow’s Peak, my lady. I can promise you that.”

  “So, she told you things, then?” She tilted her head, both curious and disgruntled by the fact that he knew something of their journey she did not. “Things she did not share with me?”

  “No, she did not. I came into awareness of certain matters on my own. There are things I know which I should not, and my knowledge of those things could put everything in jeopardy if I’m not very careful.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “I’m sorry, Lorelei, but I am not at liberty to say. By all rights, I should not know the things I do…”

  “Then how did you come to learn them, if you were never meant to know them?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he insisted.

  Before she could press him further, Finn surprised her once again by intervening on Brendolowyn’s behalf and steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. “He’s right, it doesn’t matter what we know or don’t know. All that matters is we keep moving forward, and we can’t move forward if we don’t make contact with this Alvarii seer she sent us to find.”

  Feeling just about as sick of seers as one could possibly feel, she threw up her hands, startling Finn’s gelding so it backed up and gnashed its teeth in dramatic dismay. Instantly sorry, she reached out to soothe the horse
again, lowering her forehead to rest against its neck and trying to calm both the gelding and herself.

  “We don’t need any more seers,” she sighed.

  “Lorelei, we don’t know what guardian hides in the bowels of Great Sorrow. It could be a dragon for all we know.” Tilting her head to look at Brendolowyn, she could see even he didn’t believe his own statement.

  “Drakiiri are gone from this world,” she reminded him.

  “What if there is one left? And that’s what guards this treasure hoard where the Horns of Llorveth are kept?”

  “There are no dragons,” she insisted. “And besides, even if there were, and that was what awaited us there, what good does it do us to know about it beforehand anyway?”

  “Um,” Finn held his bowl, suspended halfway to his lips. “I’d like to know.”

  “As would I,” Bren agreed.

  Exasperated, she withdrew from the gelding and took two steps back. Not facing them, she lowered her arms to her sides and shook her head. “So you’re willing to risk being discovered here, or worse, captured inside the city, just to find out something we all already know? Dragons are extinct.”

  “Even so, there are worse things than Drakiiri in this world,” Bren pointed out. “Yovenna wouldn’t have told us to come to this place, to seek out the seer here if she didn’t think it was important to the outcome of our task.”

  She spun around quickly, a startled gasp catching in the back of her throat.

  While they were arguing, no one seemed to notice the small child who’d silently appeared just steps from their encampment. It was Lorelei who spotted him first, lingering on the other side of the barrier. He was Alvarii, maybe only nine or ten years old, and around his neck he wore a worn slave collar with a chipped, red moonstone in the setting. The bare skin of his chest and dirt-smudged face were covered in a primitive pattern of dots that trailed across both cheeks, as well as along the span of his shoulders. He had wide, wild eyes, brilliant in color and as vibrant as the blue-green waters of the sea. Charcoal darkened his lids, making those eyes so vivid and feral, she nearly let out of a scream.