"Have you slept?" he asked.
"I've slept enough," she replied.
"Good. Pedustil is out searching again." The NiDemon shook his head. "He grew fond of the boy." He looked around as if lost for a moment. "I had, too," he added. He walked to Ilien's horse and inspected the sword strapped to its side. He ran a hand over the bulging saddle bag. "You've taken far more than needed."
Windy looked away. "We shouldn't stop unless we have to," she said.
"It's only a three-day ride to where we're going," said Bulcrist. "The traveling will be easy." He gauged Windy's reaction, then added, "But you're right. It's best to be prepared."
"Three days ride?" What can I learn in such a short time?she thought. "But you said the Witch Queen lives in King's Crown. That's at least a week's ride from here, if I haven't lost all my bearings on the flight to Ledge Hall."
"Your bearings are fine," said Bulcrist, "but we're not going to King's Crown. Our path lies east."
"East?"
"Yes. East. Events are in motion, princess. The Nephalim is proof that the forbidden Crossing has been opened, perhaps not for good, but at least for a time. The Witch Queen has not been idle up in King's Crown. She has taken possession of the Crossing, and the Crossing lies in the Eastland."
"Three days march from here?"
"It is close. It has lain hidden for centuries, unknown to but a few. But the map has shown the enemy where it is. It is there we must go."
"How do you know where it is?"
"Its location is no secret to the NiDemon. Or the Nomadin. We have always known where it lay hidden. As I said before, the one thing we hold in common is the belief that it should never be opened."
Windy and Bulcrist led the horses out into the warm morning sun. The sky above the hollow stretched blue and cloudless from horizon to horizon, and the air felt fresh and warm against her face after the dusky confines of the foodshare. But Windy's thoughts were once again of Ilien, and as she looked down the ravine in the direction of the raging river her heart sank.
Ilien. I wish you were here.
Bulcrist hitched the extra horse to the back of his saddle and mounted. "We must cross the river, Windy," he said, watching her face. "That means returning to the place where—"
"I know what it means," said Windy. It meant returning to the place where Ilien fell. She climbed upon her horse and snapped the reins to hide her trembling hands. "I'm ready."
As she followed Bulcrist's lead, her trembling grew worse. The frightful images of the night before returned. Soon, they passed the place where Anselm and the Nephalim had fought, the ground still scuffed and marred from their struggle, claw marks still visible in the hard earth. Windy's arm began to ache again, and she reached out to touch her Nihilic sword strapped to her saddle. On touching it, the pain ebbed away. A fire sprang up inside her, a spark of courage. She gripped the sword's hilt and drew it into her lap. The echoes of the night before passed away and a fierce determination spread through her, as if a strong but gentle voice whispered in her mind. You will be alright.
They came to the river, to the place where she'd driven her sword through the Nephalim's leg, to the very spot where the wutzit stone had beaten back the shadow's power.
The place where Ilien had fallen.
Bulcrist spurred his horse forward, and Windy's followed at a trot. They passed on without looking back.
They followed the river upstream for the remainder of the morning, riding along its steep and rocky bank. Windy kept glancing skyward for signs of Pedustil, but the Gorgul was nowhere to be seen. He's still out searching for Ilien, she thought. At that a pang of hope gripped her heart. What if he was still alive? He might still be alive! She stood in her stirrups and scanned the horizon downstream. The brilliant blue of the sky remained unbroken, not a cloud to be seen, no vapor trail. No Pedustil. She sat in her saddle and hung her head. Her hope was gone, but the pang in her heart remained.
Near noon, Bulcrist called for a halt. The river had narrowed and deepened and now raced madly between steep cliffs on either side. They dismounted and tied the horses to some scrub brush that grew nearby. Bulcrist rummaged in his saddlebag and brought out food for both of them, some dried fruit and jerky, and something that looked like very stale bread.
They ate in silence with Windy cradling her sword in her lap, and Bulcrist sitting nearby, now and then glancing skyward. As Windy chewed on a piece of jerky, a thought came to her and she swallowed loudly. Two and a half days. That was all the time she had left. Two and a half days until she confronted the Witch Queen. She gripped her sword, seeking the comfort and reassurance she'd felt before. None came. Two and a half days and I know nothing of Bulcrist's magic. What can I possibly learn in such a short time?
She turned to Bulcrist. He stood staring at her as if she'd spoken her fears out loud. His sword was in his hand.
"Rise and hold your sword at the ready," he commanded.
Windy's heart quickened but she did as he asked. She jumped to her feet, body turned sideways to him, her left hand at her waist, her left elbow held out. She leaned neatly forward, her sword held before her.
Bulcrist raised an eyebrow. "You've wielded a sword before."
"I am the daughter of a king who never had a son," she replied. "I am more prince than princess."
Bulcrist smiled, then lunged forward, bringing the tip of his blade upward like a snapping whip.
Windy held her stance as she parried the NiDemon's thrust amid a shower of sparks. Bulcrist stepped back and inspected his blade. A smoking notch had been cut along its surface, halfway from the hilt to the tip. He frowned and looked at Windy, who still held her position, ready for more.
"You have some skill," said Bulcrist, "but you wield a Nihilic sword now. Your skill will come from your mind as well as your body."
He held up his damaged blade for her to see. "This is a training exercise, not combat. Restrain yourself. A Nihilic sword's magic will rise to your aid, but you must first make it clear what you need."
Windy relaxed and took a breath. "Are you saying that I can communicate with my sword?" She looked at it like it might suddenly speak to her.
"Yes, but not like that. It's a feeling that you must share, a feeling of just what you want. Have you felt nothing from your sword since you've had it?"
Of course she had. It had comforted her, had given her courage, had even made her angry. But she had assumed those feelings were her own. "It can tell what I'm feeling?"
"Yes, and it will react accordingly, as it just did. It read your excitement as danger." Bulcrist ran a hand along the length of his blade and whispered a few inaudible words. When his fingers passed over the notch, it disappeared.
"And when will I learn to do that?" asked Windy.
Bulcrist raised his sword into ready position. "You will learn that and much more when you master your sword. Now, let's try it again, shall we?"
After a few tries, and several more mended notches in Bulcrist's sword, Windy learned to spar without calling forth the sword's magic. Communicating with the sword was difficult. At times it felt much like trying to ride a horse without reins, using verbal commands only to guide it where she wanted to go. But there was more to controlling a mount than using the reins. A skilled horse rider could direct a steed without reins, using leg pressure and posture only. She found it was the same with her sword. Its reaction had more to do with her intentions than her actions. Fencing with Bulcrist quickened her heartbeat. Her natural anxiety had at first been misread as danger. But her apprehension lay only on the surface. Deeper within, she knew Bulcrist was not out to hurt her. Windy soon learned how to impress this upon her sword so that it behaved as an ordinary blade.
Yet it wasn't really an ordinary blade. Windy had trained with ordinary swords, and though she could best all the boys her age back home, she couldn't fence for long without tiring. Swords were heavy, even the sword she used back home, though it was smaller and lighter than usual. But her Nihilic sword
seemed to grow lighter the longer she wielded it. It filled her with such an energy that she felt as if she could duel forever. She danced around the NiDemon, parrying his calculated swings, leaping back lightly from sudden lunges. It wasn't long before Bulcrist called a halt to their lessons and sat sweating upon the ground. For good measure, Windy curtsied before him, then flicked dirt at him with the tip of her sword. She laughed.
"Well done, princess. Well done indeed. I'm not sure Ilien himself could have done any better."
Windy's smile slipped away, and she looked to the horizon. "When will Pedustil return, I wonder," she said.
Bulcrist stood and pointed behind her. "There he is now," he said. Windy spun about to see a streaking white cloud hurtling across the sky ahead of them. "He seems to be in a hurry."
"I wonder why he's coming from that direction? What's he doing ahead of us, when he's supposed to be searching for Ilien behind us?" She eyed Bulcrist to gauge his reaction.
The NiDemon merely sheathed his sword and dusted himself off. If Windy expected answers, she'd have to wait until Pedustil arrived, which wouldn't take long by the looks of it.
"There's always something with that one,"commented Bulcrist, shaking his head. "I wonder what it is this time."
Pedustil soon alighted before them in a rush of wings and billowing steam, his tail twitching back and forth.
"There's trouble ahead!" he cried. "An army of men! And they're marching this way!"
At that, Bulcrist did react. He peered ahead of them, his brows furrowed, his legs stiff. Windy clutched her sword.
"What do you mean, an army? How many?" asked Bulcrist.
"A thousand men, maybe more," replied Pedustil. "Everyone of them is armed."
"How far?"
Pedustil stared at the ground and seemed to be calculating.
"How far?" repeated Bulcrist.
Pedustil looked up. His gills flexed, but no steam came out. "Two miles. Maybe three."
Bulcrist narrowed his eyes in thought. "Did they see you?"
"I don't think so. No."
"Whose army?" asked Windy. "We're in the Eastland, right?"
Pedustil glanced at Bulcrist, then closed his gill flaps and turned away.
"Whose army is it?" repeated Windy. "If we're in the Eastland, they must be friendly. Right?"
Bulcrist strode to his horse. "Gather your things. We must go."
Pedustil's eyes grew wide. "But master, we can't turn back! The bridge across the river is ahead of us."
Bulcrist leapt astride his steed. "We're not turning back. We're riding to meet them." He turned to Windy. "We may be in the Eastland, but I am a NiDemon. There is no safe land for my kind. Now mount up."
Windy did as she was told, strapping her sword back to her saddle. She kept a tight rein on her horse. "Ride to meet them?" she asked.
"Our goal lies ahead of us, not behind," said Bulcrist. "There's no turning back, and to wait here will only waste time. It's best to be seen as unsuspecting travelers rather than fearful eluders caught off guard, which is what we look like at the moment."
Pedustil laid his ears back and lowered his head. "A company of soldiers rides ahead of the rest. They're not far away."
Bulcrist started. "A company? Why didn't you say so at the start? How many?"
"A dozen perhaps, on horseback."
Windy placed a hand on her Nihilic sword. This time her fear was real, and the sword thrummed at her touch. She drew the blade.
"I was hoping to avoid the scrutiny of small numbers," said Bulcrist. He turned to Windy. "Hide your sword."
"But I may need it."
"You may indeed if you don't hide it. Eastern soldiers will not take kindly to outlawed Nihilic swords in their land."
Windy searched for a place to conceal it. It was too long to tuck under her saddle. She might be able to stash it among the saddlebags, but the pommel would stick out. Where else? Under her cloak? Again too long.
"Quickly!" snapped Bulcrist.
As Windy searched in vain, she grew flustered. The sword warmed in her grasp, as if flustered, too. Then suddenly it jumped from her hand. She fumbled to catch it. As she clutched it tight, she gasped. The sword was gone. She held a gnarled wooden walking stick in its place.
"Nice touch," said Bulcrist, smiling. "Now if only you were a wizened old man." He spurred his horse forward.
Windy strapped the walking stick to her saddle, still amazed at what she'd done, or more likely what it had done. What else could the sword do? she wondered.
"I'm not sure even Ilien could have done that," said Pedustil. With that he leapt up, flapped his wings twice, and flew off over the hills behind them.
Windy followed Bulcrist. "Where is he going?" she asked as she pulled even with the NiDemon.
"If we want to draw as little attention as possible, it would be best not to have a mystical creature in our midst, wouldn't you say?"
Windy nodded. She'd gotten so used to the Gorgul's company that she'd nearly forgotten he wasn't human.
"If asked, here's our story," said Bulcrist. "We are father and daughter traveling to the lowlands to purchase supplies for our home in the mountains. Let me do the talking should anyone question us."
Why is the Eastland army marching this way? wondered Windy. The question had been on the tip of her tongue, only now didn't seem the appropriate time to ask it.
"Keep your head down. Don't draw attention to yourself," added Bulcrist. "Act like an obedient daughter."
Windy gave a humph but settled into her new role in silence.
It wasn't long before they spotted riders ahead of them, ten black dots in tight formation against the flat grey rock in the distance. Bulcrist hunkered down in his saddle. Windy cast a distressed look skyward. There was no sign of Pedustil.
"Why do they send riders ahead like that?" asked Windy.
"I would suppose they were scouts," replied Bulcrist, "except that scouts never ride in formation. The best scouts are never seen."
"Perhaps they're emissaries," said Windy.
The dots up ahead broke rank and picked up speed.
"We will soon find out," said Bulcrist. "We've been spotted." He pulled the cowl of his cloak up around his ears. "Remember—obedient daughter."
The first of the riders, two men garbed in the dirty brown attire of soldiers, reined in their horses while they were still a hundred feet away. They didn't draw steel, but their swords were highly visible at their sides.
Bulcrist slowed his horse and gave a curt wave of his hand. But he did not stop. Soon, the remaining riders reined in behind the first two, and a tall, lean man wearing a red-brown cloak rode forward, one hand on the hilt of his sword.
Still Bulcrist did not stop. As the man drew nearer, Windy saw that he wasn't wearing a red-brown cloak at all, but rather a well-rusted shirt of mail.
"Hold there, travelers," said the man as he stopped before them, his horse pawing the stony ground. "I am Fikus, Captain of the Guard of the kingdom of Asheverry." He paused to gauge their reactions and study them more closely.
Bulcrist stopped then, and so did Windy. Fikus was rather old and grizzled to be captain of any guard, thought Windy, let alone Captain of the Guard of the kingdom of Asheverry. The Captain of the Guard of her father's kingdom was easily thirty years his junior. And that rusted chain mail! She glanced at the other riders. They, too, appeared a bit wizened for fighting men. Only the two men who had first ridden out to meet them looked in fighting form.
Fikus passed a leathery hand over his weather-beaten face. "Who would you be, and where are you traveling?"
Bulcrist motioned toward Windy. "This is my daughter. We are traveling to the lowland for supplies."
"You live in the mountains, then?" Fikus regarded the extra horse tied to Bulcrist's saddle.
"Yes."
"Your names?"
The NiDemon nodded. "I am Tannon. My daughter Windy."
"Windy," grunted Fikus, easing his horse closer. "Where in the
mountains do you live, Windy?"
Bulcrist moved his horse to intercept the other. "Far to the west," he replied. "May I ask why the Captain of the Guard of the kingdom of Asheverry is traveling these mountains? Is there trouble afoot?"
"You could say that," replied Fikus, still eyeing Windy.
The two younger soldiers gripped their swords and drew them forth.
"Do not be alarmed," said Fikus, raising a hand. "You have nothing to fear if you are indeed who you say you are."
Bulcrist remained impassive, but Windy saw how his right hand clenched the reins, draining the color from his knuckles. "Who else would we be?" he asked.
Fikus steered his horse around Bulcrist's and approached Windy. His hand had dropped to his sword, a fact not unnoticed by both of them. Windy felt the presence of her own sword, still disguised as a walking stick strapped to the saddle beside her. A sense of alarm spread though her as she felt an urging from the sword to draw it forth.
Fikus circled around, stopping behind her. Windy looked to Bulcrist. "Father? Is everything alright?" she asked, her eyes wide.
Fikus moved in closer. "I must apologize, young Windy. There is trouble where you are headed. But I suppose you wouldn't know it, being up in the mountains these past weeks."
"What trouble?" asked Bulcrist.
"Trouble with witches," replied Fikus, studying Windy's reaction.
Windy stiffened. They think I'm a witch! she thought. Again the urge to pick up her sword coursed through her, stronger this time. She dared not move.
"Witches?" said Bulcrist, feigning alarm. "But there are no witches in the Eastland."
"That's what we thought."
Windy spun about to face Fikus. "I am no witch," she said, "if that's what you're saying."
Fikus's hand twitched upon the hilt of his sword, and he slowly drew it forth. "Then tell me who you are, and be truthful this time. It's obvious you're not mountain folk. At least you are not, judging by your shoes. And besides the lack of resemblance, it's not possible for this man to be your father. No father would let me so close to his daughter, armed as I am."
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