She saw the creature’s jaws snap. Hruach dove to the side. The injured Hrevia was not as fast, or the creature had seen the move beforehand and anticipated it. It snapped not at where she had been but at where she was going. The jaws closed fast on her right leg as she dove in the opposite direction as her brother.
She screamed. Hruach screamed too. He charged back, and with all his might swung the blade down upon the creature’s head.
The Northland blade shattered with a loud crack. Hruach fell forward. And in the split second before he could recover his balance, the Daegmon let go its hold of Hrevia and finished her brother. Then it turned to finish Hrevia, who lay on the ground holding her crushed leg, while Elynna could only watch from a distance.
The creature didn’t get the chance to finish the job. Aram joined the battle an instant later, darting in and jabbing at the Daegmon’s exposed neck, with Cathros a second behind him, rushing to their aid. The battle strength was still upon him.
As the Daegmon snapped at him, he leapt upward six feet high and fifteen feet forward and caught his enemy by the neck just below the jaws. His arms barely reached two-thirds of the way around the massive neck, but it proved enough for him to swing himself up and hold on.
Enraged, the Daegmon threw its head forward to toss him off as another of its kind had done to Tienna in an earlier battle. But it did not dislodge Cathros so easily. Exerting all the power gifted him, he tightened his grip. The stranglehold would have crushed rocks or broken the neck of a lesser creature, but the Daegmon merely raged in terror and sought all the more violently to dislodge him.
While that battle raged, Lluach and Aram rushed in and pulled Hrevia away. Blood poured from her leg. The creature’s teeth had ripped her flesh clear to the bone. While Tienna attended her needs, the others attacked.
Outnumbered and without its comrades, the Daegmon rose on its hind legs and lifted its wings to fly. However, the extra weight of the passenger on its back slowed it down just enough. Bandor had already yanked a rope from his pack. Before the Daegmon could flee, he had a loop around a rear leg. He and Theo held on as it rose a few feet off the ground.
The rope went taut. Down came the creature crashing to the ground. Namha rushed in next. Dodging the deadly talons of its thrashing leg, he threw a leather strap around its right foreleg. An instant later, the creature was on its back. Cathros rolled free just in time to avoid being crushed.
Once more Lluach charged in, his spear leveled at the Daegmon’s belly. But the enemy was spawned of a time long ago and made of stuff as tough as the earth. Lluach’s spear shaft broke, and the iron head went flying. The Daegmon was up in an instant, as a horse might come to its feet after rolling in the grass.
One tug on its hind leg and the rope snapped. It bellowed a great roar of laughter. Then came the sound Elynna had expected but dreaded. An answering roar rang out from the edge of the wood. The other two Daegmons approached. She saw them and felt them. One stood at the edge of the wood with the Gaergaen beside him. The other, with the wounded leg, soared low over the treetops and landed on three legs near the edge of the trees.
“It’s over,” Lluach said.
The remaining companions had gathered together a few dozen yards from the nearest Daegmon. Hrevia stood among them, her leg healed. Elynna realized what Tienna had done. She had given up her own strength to heal Hrevia. What good would it do? Elynna wondered. Buy Hrevia another five minutes of life? Both Hrevia, who gazed at the broken body of her brother, and Tienna, who had expended herself to use her gift of healing, were pale.
“There is no place left to flee,” Hrevia said. “I will join my brother.”
“We did something, at least,” Aram said.
“Not enough,” Cathros replied. “Not enough. We have failed.”
40
URGENT PLEA
Thimeon awoke before dawn aware of Cathwain calling him from afar. Elynna, can you hear me? Thimeon. Cathros. Please . . . The thought-call was urgent, yet the words came muffled, as a voice through a thick wall. We need you. They’re here . . . falling . . . Gale Enebe can’t . . .
An instant later it was gone. For just a moment Thimeon stared up into the blackness of his tent roof, tears welling in his eyes. Then he rose, donned his boots, and stepped out. Without telling them what had woken him, he roused the others and urged them to depart. They broke camp and with only a little grumbling loaded the two packhorses, threw the rest of their gear on their mounts, and ended the night’s fast with bread and cheese as they started back up the trail.
Rain came again—a steady drizzle falling from a single cloud stretching low across the sky from horizon to horizon, and the air was cool. Nobody spoke. After thirty minutes of riding, they came to the first significant ascent.
Nine days. Thimeon had spent the morning counting them. Nine days since his last battle against the Daegmon in the Plains. Since Elynna had heard Cathwain’s call for help. Nine days, or maybe more, the village of Gale Enebe had been under siege from the Daegmon. He had seen the creature ravage a village in a hour. How could they survive? He had to bring them help. And yet, what help did he have? A few trained swords. They would mean nothing against this creature. And one sword that may have power, but no one to wield it. So why did he sense with such urgency that he was supposed to go there?
Did the All-Maker want him there? Would he find Elynna and Cane and Cathros waiting there for him? No, that couldn’t be. Cathwain was calling them also. But maybe he would meet them there. Deliver to one of the brothers the sword the prince now held. Maybe that was the hope.
A moment later he urged the company onward. With a clatter of hooves, the horses left the soft forest floor and trotted out where the road turned gravel, rock, and hard-packed clay. Soon the lower elevation hardwoods, already sparse, had fallen away behind them. Steep walls of blue and gray rock sparsely dotted with low bushes and stunted conifers now surrounded them. The place was desolate, inhabited only by small birds and a few black squirrels. A few larger cedars lined the river, but the road was open and offered no shelter from the rain or wind. The ground lay heavy with mud.
Thimeon did not slow the pace—not even when a chill gust blew down the gap into his face and yanked his hood off his head. “Cathwain,” he whispered. “We’re coming. Can you hear me?”
There was no reply. His stomach tightened in a knot, and he urged his mount with a jab of his heels. He was soon yards ahead of the others. Lilly and Clover, who probably had never been ridden so hard or over such mountainous terrain, fell behind, despite the obvious efforts of Corandra and Jhonna to keep up. Rammas and Lyn fared only a little better. Thimeon, dimly aware of the struggles, pressed on nonetheless. Only when Prince Dhan galloped up beside him and called him to halt did he pull in his reins.
“What is it?” he asked sharply.
“Friend,” the prince replied, meeting Thimeon’s gaze with a gentle reprimand. Thimeon took a deep breath and looked around as the others straggled up to them. Rammas looked like a drowned rat. Lyn’s teeth chattered. And Jhonna, though she did not complain, was hunched over her saddle trying to preserve what little warmth remained to her. Even the officers were pale. But Dhan had not come up to show him that. He held in his hands the sheathed blade that Borodruin had given him six days earlier. The hilt glowed blue, and the blade hummed with a strange vibration. “What is it?” the prince asked, “What is the meaning?”
Thimeon stared at the blade with a mixture of fear and awe, but did not know how to answer. “I do not know. I do not even know if it bodes well or evil.” He paused and thought back on Borodruin’s words. “It is some kind of power. Like the power running through Cane’s body when the Daegmon is near. The blade was meant for Cane. Or perhaps Cathros. We must get it to them.”
“That is my thought as well,” the prince said. “The sooner the better. Is it wise, then, to go first to this village? What can we do to help this girl who has
called you?”
Thimeon squeezed his eyes shut. “I do not know. I do not know if it is wise, and I do not know what we can do. Perhaps the voice I hear calling for help is a trick from the enemy. Perhaps my choices have been ill fated from the started.” But then he shook his head. “And yet I cannot leave Gale Enebe to the same destruction my own people faced. Not if there is any hope of helping them.”
The prince nodded. He lowered the blade back to his saddle but kept it in his hand. Thimeon took one more look at it, then turned his eyes back to the trail. They waited long enough for everybody to catch up with them and take a drink, and then they continued on.
The air turned colder as they made their way into the mountains. They had already gained several hundred feet of altitude. High up the slopes on each side, icicles clung to ledges. In the gusts blowing down the river, the chill rain stung like insects bites. The soldiers did not complain, nor did the prince and duke. Even Siyen steeled herself against the weather and kept on. She had endured worse during her earlier voyage. But Rammas, Lluanthro, Lyn, Corandra, and Jhonna did all they could to keep up. Their misery grew with each minute, and neither Rammas nor Lyn hesitated to make their state known through their grumbling.
Thimeon ignored them. Onward they rode. Dhan rode at his side, nervously glancing down at his lap every few seconds. About thirty minutes passed, and then the humming grew louder.
“Thimeon—” The prince started, then he let out a yell of pain and dropped the sword.
Thimeon pulled on his reins and leapt to the ground to pick up the talisman, as if it might disappear if left there for more than an instant. But the moment his hand closed on the blade, his eyes opened wide, and a silent shout of pain came to his lips.
He was surrounded by Daegmon. Three of them came straight toward him. It was an ambush. He had led them into a trap. All around, he could see the terrified faces of his companions as they stared in dismay. Elynna. Tienna. Hruach and Hrevia. They were paralyzed with fear, just as before.
“No!” Thimeon yelled. “Fight.” To his right, a bright flame leapt from Cane’s raised blade. Cathros also strode forward, the battle strength upon him. Thimeon could feel the Henetos stone pouring its power into them. Cane’s talisman roared with flame. Yet the Daegmons kept coming, and with them came another power as well—a power as evil and terrible as the Daegmons.
Thimeon yelled and dropped the sword as a searing pain shot up his hand. At once the vision disappeared. He was back in the Ana Notch with his new companions. Dhan was at his side, holding him. The others stared at him in fear.
“What is it?” Lluanthro asked.
“The blade,” Thimeon replied. “It’s hot.”
The prince’s question penetrated more. “What did you see? Did you see something?”
“I don’t—” Thimeon started.
He never finished. A bright blue flash of light shot from hilt of the sword into the sky as a deafening boom shook the air. Thimeon fell back as if struck. Dhan tumbled away on the other side. Siyen screamed. Others threw their arms over their faces as the boom echoed back and forth from cliff to cliff, growing in volume. The air crackled with loose power. One of the packhorses broke free and charged up the trail. Lyn and Rammas were thrown to the ground. The other horses tossed their heads as if getting ready to bolt.
And then, an instant later, all was quiet. As quickly as it started, the maelstrom ceased. The horses stopped bucking and fell back under control, docile. The runaway horse came to a stop seventy yards up the trail. For a moment, even the rain stopped, leaving several shaken travelers staring up, wondering if the mountains were about to fall.
As the ringing faded from his ears, Thimeon got up from the ground. He looked over at Dhan, who returned his gaze, dumbfounded. Together they stared at the blade lying on the ground by their feet. It no longer glowed. Tentatively—remembering both the pain and the vision when he had touched it—Thimeon reached down and tested the metal. It was cold.
“What—?” the prince started.
“I do not know,” Thimeon answered before the Dhan even finished the question. “But I fear it does not bode well.” He picked up the blade and handed it to the prince. “Put it away.”
The prince nodded. As he took the sword, he said in a low voice, “I saw something when I touched it—something that made me fear. I can see in your face that you saw too.”
“I did,” Thimeon whispered. “I saw my friends under attack by the Daegmon.”
“Yes. I saw many of the faces of those who were in the dungeon with you. I recognized them. Was it a dream?”
“It felt too real to be a dream. Too immediate.”
“What do we do?” Dhan wondered. “Can we help them?”
Thimeon shook his head. “I don’t know how. Wherever they are, I fear they are far beyond our reach.”
“Then the girl who called for help—that vision did not involve her?”
“We are all involved.” Thimeon replied sternly. “Every person in Gondisle.” Then he sighed and in a low voice intended only for the prince added, “She called me again this morning. Though we are nearer, her voice was faint. Either she is growing weak or some terrible power interferes with her call. I fear we may be too late to help her either. Too late or too weak.”
Together they turned back toward the path. Banthros and Kachtin had already caught the escaped packhorse and brought it back. They double-checked the saddlebags and were soon ready to go. At a word from Dhan, they were on the move again. Thimeon urged them on with words, and he willed them to move faster.
Yet travel was slow. The road grew steeper and rougher with each passing mile. Within an hour the rain changed to sleet. Slush dripped down their shoulders and arms. For an hour they traveled thus, silent and miserable. Then, as they continued to gain altitude through the later half of the morning, the sleet turned to snow. By midday it was collecting on their heads and arms and on the manes of their horses. The path grew more slippery still, and the horses began to have trouble. Still Thimeon pressed on, not stopping even to eat a meal.
“Thimeon,” the prince said, coming up beside him about two hours past noon. “We need to stop. We’re Southlanders. We’re not used to this cold.”
Thimeon glanced over his shoulder. He guessed the prince did not speak for himself but for the young women who had never traveled in the mountains. Jhonna shivered constantly and had again fallen to the back of the company. Their elegant wool sweaters and knit trousers were not made for such conditions as they now faced. Lluanthro and Rammas, dressed for the coastal weather of Aënport, fared little better. But they had delayed too long already.
Thimeon turned his face back toward the trail. “It’s going to get worse,” he replied sharply. “The sooner we can get to a village and get warm clothes, the better they will be.”
“Jhonna needs warmth now,” Dhan said. He reached over and pulled on Thimeon’s reins, forcing him to halt while the others caught up. Thimeon jerked his reins free from the prince. But he turned again and looked behind him. The young woman who the previous morning rode beside him asking questions about his earlier quest, trying to cheer him, now hunched low over her saddle. Her beautiful hair was wet and limp with snow. Tears streamed down her face. He thought again of Cathwain and of her village under siege by the Daegmon. And he thought of Tienna and his former companions and the vision he had seen of them.
He gritted his teeth. The others watched him now—those who could see him through the falling snow. He looked at their faces. Then he looked up at the sky and uttered a silent prayer. All-Maker, hear me. If ever you dwelt on the Holy Mountain.
There was no response. Or at least none he could hear—no more than when he had tried to call Cathwain. Instead of seeing a vision of Illengond, its holy triune peaks crowned in the glory of snow and clouds, he saw only the face of his younger sister, Siarah. He imagined her standing on a hill
side in the snow, drenched and cold. Waiting for something. And suddenly he began to cry.
He turned quickly, hiding his face from the others, and scanned the surrounding landscape. A hundred yards upstream stood a thick stand of spruce trees, one of the few they had seen since entering the gap. Thimeon turned his mount in that direction and spurred it forward. The prince let him go. Thimeon heard the others following behind. Nobody spoke. When he reached the stand of spruce, he reined his horse to a halt. Without a word, he slid to the ground, then threw his reins around a branch. He walked a dozen yards back to the trail to where Jhonna sat listless astride Clover. “We will camp here,” he announced in a quiet voice, while the others stared at him.
Thimeon took Jhonna’s reins and led her horse to the tree beside his. He reached up for her, and she fell into his arms. While Banthros took care of Clover, Thimeon carried Jhonna to a dryer patch of ground beneath a low thick spruce bow and set her down. He returned a few seconds later with a dry blanket from his own bag and wrapped her up, then he covered her with his spare waxed leather cloak. She lay there shivering but didn’t say a word.
Cursing himself for his callousness, Thimeon set about gathering dry twigs. He did not speak or ask for help. But Rhaan and Armas joined him at once, and a short time later they had a pair of fires going on the ground beneath the trees.
With the horses all tethered, the tired companions sat around the blazes warming their hands.
They said little. For several minutes, most of them were too cold even to speak. Thimeon, his heart heavy and numb, went to the horses and unloaded what remained of their food supplies. While the officers under Dhan’s orders set up shelters, and Lluanthro, Siyen, and Kayam gathered wood, he set to work preparing a hot meal. Snow continued to fall from a sky laden with heavy clouds. Though the sun had not set in the west, it had long since passed over the steep slopes above, and it was almost dark by the time the food was ready.
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