by Tara West
FROM HER VANTAGE POINT atop Borg’s head, Dianna could see they’d reached the edge of the forest. There was a break in the trees up ahead, the rise of Ice Mountain to the north, and the ruins of an abandoned kingdom to the west. They would camp one final night in the forest and emerge onto the expansive grassy slope leading to Ice Mountain on the morrow.
Then what? Madhea would surely spot them with a giant among their party who was easily the height of ten men.
The trees were much smaller on the edge of the forest, the tallest ones barely coming to Borg’s head. Their trunks were not wide enough to carve out dwellings, and bushes and weeds were more plentiful, making the area look more like an overgrown garden than a woods. They made camp by a shallow stream in stoic silence, Ryne casting Zier accusatory looks while the dwarf leaned against a tree, downing his strong brew like ’twas medicine.
Camp was set up by the time he corked his bottle, slipping it back inside his vest. He stood, wobbling a bit before finally standing still, bent over as if he still carried that pack on his back.
“Come with me, lad.” He waved to Ryne. “I need to find some herbs. Dianna, you, too.”
Borg’s eyes widened as he stumbled to his knees. “Where fwiends go?”
“We’ll be right back, my boy.” Zier patted the giant’s grimy toe. “Simeon, stay with him.”
Simeon answered with a nod, turning his back to them. She cast a wary look at Simeon before following Zier, Ryne, and Tar, aggravated by the happy tune the dwarf whistled and the dog’s constantly wagging tail when there was strife all around them. She hated when Simeon pouted, something he’d been doing a lot recently. He’d refused to ride with her atop Borg’s head and wouldn’t even look her in the eyes when she spoke to him. At first she’d felt sorry for him, but soon pity turned to resentment. He had the attention and admiration of every other woman on the planet save for her. Why couldn’t he ease his heartbreak with someone else?
Is that what you want? Sindri’s voice echoed in her head. For Simeon to run into another woman’s arms?
She balled her hands, tension radiating down her spine as she followed behind Ryne through a thicket of bushes. Nosy stones were always spying on her thoughts. “Maybe,” she grumbled.
Sindri gasped. Truly?
She shrugged. “Maybe not.” She inwardly smiled at Sindri’s audible sigh.
Perhaps he wouldn’t be so glum if I told him you cared for him, Neriphene interrupted.
She stopped as if she’d run into a wall. “Don’t you dare!”
Tar nudged her hand with his cold snout.
Ryne spun on his heel, giving her a questioning look. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” She pushed forward, wincing as barbs in a thick patch of weeds cut her leg.
“We are almost to the end of the forest, Zier,” Ryne called as he hacked at the brush with a thick blade. “You said you’d come up with a plan.”
“Aye.” The dwarf stopped whistling long enough to agree. “I did.”
“Well,” Ryne huffed, “have you?”
Judging by Ryne’s tone, he wasn’t assured the dwarf had figured out a way to rid their party of the giant. Time was up, and they had yet to hear of Zier’s solution.
“I think I know something that will work,” Zier said in a sing-song voice as he hacked away at large dead bush. Then he stopped, eyeing a patch of blossoming flowers. The flowers were of different variety and color, nature’s wild garden in full bloom. “These might do.”
Little glowing winged creatures no bigger than Dianna’s thumb sprang from the flowers, hissing and buzzing about Zier’s head. He swatted them like flies, sending a few careening through the air with terrified screeches. “Be gone, fairies!”
The creatures hissed once more before flying off.
Ryne leaned against a pine, impatiently tapping his foot while his dog sat beside him, slapping the ground with his bushy tail. “What are you doing?”
“I told you, lad, searching for herbs.” Zier plucked flowers from one bush and then another. “There’s a particular herb that grows aplenty this time of year.” He lurched forward, grabbing the roots of a bush with blooms so deeply purple, they were almost black. “A-ha! Methinks this is the one.” He waved Ryne over. “Help me pull it up.”
Ryne’s face turned from blue to almost the same deep purple as the flower as he helped Zier pull the entire bush from the ground. “What’s it used for?”
“It’s an herbal medicine.” He crossed to a small clearing of snake moss, dropping the bush at his feet and turning up his chin as if he was proudly displaying a prized pig. “It gives you a sense of joy, hence the name, euphoria root.” He plucked a dark petal from its stem, handing it to Ryne. “Try it.”
“Euphoria root?” Dianna wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never heard of it.” Her mother had taught her much about herbs and home remedies, and this was something she’d never run across.
“What’s the matter?” Ryne took the petal from Zier, then scowled at her. “Are you afraid of being happy, Dianna?” He flashed an impish grin and shoved the petal in his mouth. He chewed once, then swallowed with a triumphant grin. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell like a falling timber into a patch of bushes.
Tar barked, frantically licking his master.
“Zier!” She climbed over the shrubberies and knelt beside Ryne. “What have you done?” He still had a pulse. He let out a blubbery snort, a smile on his face, before rolling onto his side, snuggling the thorny bushes as if they were made of the softest wool.
“No worries.” Zier chuckled, rocking on his heels. “He’s only sleeping. It will wear off by morning.”
Ryne stuck a thumb in his mouth, suckling it like a newborn babe before letting out another loud snort. Tar showered his face with more slobbery kisses.
“Why would you do that?”
The dwarf chuckled. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted to knock this blue broot on his arse a time or two.”
She was unable to repress a smile. “A time or two.”
His smile faded. “I owed him a turn after he tried to convince you to let Borg die. We dwarves don’t forget slights to our kin, and he’s slighted us many times.”
She plucked a purple petal from its stem, examining it before sniffing. The smell was overpowering, almost enough to knock her out. She threw the petal down.
“So euphoria root is a sleeping shade?” she asked.
“’Tis no such thing as euphoria root.” Zier hefted the bushel into his stout arms. “This is Sirensong. It’s a sleeping herb. At least I wasn’t sure if it was until Ryne tried it.” He flashed a devilish grin. “Now I’m sure. There’s a whole bushel of it. Enough to put a giant to sleep for at least a day.”
Ah, now she saw where he was going with this, but there was just one problem. “What good will that do?” she asked as she stood, brushing pollen and dirt off her breeches. “He will catch us like last time.”
“This flower I hold in my other hand is the source of fairy dust.” The dwarf flashed a bright yellow flower that resembled a cross between a tulip and a rose. When he turned it upside-down, sparkling specks of pollen rained down on his leather boots.
“Fairy dust?” Sparkles tickled her nose. Fortunately, it didn’t make her sneeze. She was overwhelmed by an odd smell, unpleasantly strong at first, but then the scent morphed into something so sweet that it made her crave one of her mother’s berry pies. “Oh, it smells quite lovely.”
“Lovely enough to mask our scent,” Zier said with a wink.
She smiled. “I knew I liked you for a reason, Zier. Thank you.”
“No need to thank me now.” He pocketed several fairy dust flowers and then hefted the Sirensong bush over one shoulder. “Just remember how much you like me when you’re a goddess.”
“What do we do with Ryne?” A trail of ants marched over his boot. She hoped for Ryne’s sake, they didn’t take up residence in his sock. Fortunately, his mongrel was keeping watch over hi
m, so he was safe from bigger dangers.
Zier moved toward camp, saying over his shoulder, “Simeon can carry him.”
She raced up to the dwarf, grabbing his shoulder. “I’m not sure he’ll like that.”
“That boy would lick your feet clean if you asked him to,” Zier said with a snort.
She grimaced as Zier left, whistling some awful happy tune. She’d no wish for Simeon to lick her feet. Not only was it humiliating, but it was too personal. She was already bothered by his touch; she couldn’t imagine how much she’d be bothered by his tongue between her toes. “Well, I won’t ask him to,” she mumbled.
But you wish you could, don’t you? Sindri giggled.
“Shut up,” she hissed, annoyed when both stones broke into nauseating laughter. If Simeon didn’t drive her mad on this journey, her cousins surely would.
MARKUS BERATED HIMSELF for wasting time, for none of their crew were at the festival, which meant they were all at the river, finishing up the boats. He could have gone with Ura, and they’d be sailing downriver. The festival was held in the largest of the dining caverns, a wintery hall with thousands of glowing spikes hanging from the ceiling. The fur rugs that normally lined the floor had been used to transform makeshift cottages made to represent the fallen town of Shadolan. There was music, merriment, and roasted fish, which he was sure was contrary to the atmosphere of the fateful day Lydra had attacked their descendants.
He pushed his way through the crowd as they prepared to reenact the gruesome scene when Madhea sent Lydra down to terrorize the village. They had created a smaller version of the dragon out of painted gnull hides, and every year they picked a village matron to play Madhea. Ura had explained that in this celebration, the reenactment ended differently. Instead of the villagers fleeing the dragon’s wrath, the beast turned on her mistress, imprisoning her in a curtain of ice. Markus thought it odd how the Ice People were so determined to rewrite their past while paying such little heed to their future, for Madhea would descend upon them soon—he could feel it in the marrow of his bones.
“Thief! Thief! Stop him! He has my stone!”
Markus froze, then bolted through the crowd at the sound of Dame Eryll’s shrill voice. Before he could reach the only exit, a dark tunnel at the far end of the cavern, the music came to a screeching halt and the crowd closed in on him.
“Stop that land-dwelling scum!” someone bellowed.
His breaths came in shallow gasps, his heart a dull hammer in his ears as he fought off the men who’d latched onto his arms, but ’twas no use. The crush was too powerful, a wave of people suffocating him as they pushed him to the ground. He cried out when more weight pressed upon his back, and he felt the agonizing snap of a rib.
“Release him!” a woman screamed.
He rolled onto his side, clutching the broken rib, a silent scream on his lips and his eyes watering.
Chieftain Ingred pressed a boot on his chest, knocking him flat against the ground. He gasped, pain lancing through him like venomous barbs of fire.
“Land dweller?” She folded her long arms as she looked down at him, her hawkish eyes narrowing like a predator honing in on its prey. “Why does this not surprise me?”
Chapter Eleven
“Father!” Ura called over the din of the rushing water as she barreled into the cavern where the underground river flowed and dropped her heavy packs to the ground.
She stopped to catch her breath, chest heaving while she clutched her knees. That’s when she noticed three of the boats were in the water now, bobbing in the current, their hulls banging against the icy embankment. Surely this was a good sign. Now all she needed was Markus, and they could make their escape.
“Child!” Jon dropped his hammer and quickly bridged the distance between them. He grabbed her by the shoulders, the lines around his bright blue eyes crinkling. “What has happened?”
She wasn’t prepared to tell him of her foiled theft, but she had no choice if they were to escape. “Dame Eryll caught me as I was stealing her clan stone,” she said on a rush of air.
He stepped back. “What?” His blue face paled. “Why would you steal her stone?”
She searched her father’s eyes with urgency, hoping to see a familiar kindness and understanding. “Markus needs it if he’s to defeat Madhea. He demanded she not tell, but I’m afraid she will. He said we have to leave now. He went to round up the others.” She looked over her father’s shoulder, nervously chewing her lower lip. The builders appeared to be finishing up the last boat, which meant Markus had gone to the festival for nothing.
“The others are already here.” Jon nodded at another man as he passed them with Ura’s bags. He was loading the boats. Were they prepared to escape immediately? Had Odu seen something in the mists?
“Then he shouldn’t be long.” She looked over her shoulder, hoping to see Markus spring from the tunnel.
“I fear you’re right. Dame Eryll will tell.”
Her heart quickened. “What do we do?”
“Listen.” He held a hand to his ear. “I hear a mob approaching. Where is the stone?”
Even though panic fought to rob her brain of reason, she had enough wits to pull the stone out of her pocket. “Here it is.” She handed it to her father.
He dragged her toward Odu, who was sitting on a fur rug beside the embankment. Before Jon could speak, Odu lifted the rug, pointing to a hole in the ice. “In here,” the old man said.
Jon shoved the stone into the hole. She watched with wonder as water filled the hole, then quickly turned to ice, completely obscuring the stone.
“Do not worry.” Odu winked at Ura. “They won’t find it.” He smoothed the fur over the stone just as the lights from the mob’s torches came into view.
Her heart fell into the pit of her stomach. Chieftain Ingred was at the helm with a scowling Dame Eryll by her side. Two burly guardians followed, dragging Ura’s husband, whose face was so bloody and battered, he was barely recognizable, save for his wild mop of hair.
“Oh, Markus,” she cried.
Ingred lifted a long arm, pointing a crooked finger at Ura’s chest. “Arrest her!”
BORG LOOKED AT DIANNA and Zier with wide, innocent eyes when they returned to camp. “Where blue fwiend and doggie go?”
“Ryne was exhausted from the trip,” Zier said, swinging the bush onto a flat slab of rock and pulling out a large blade. “He fell asleep. Don’t you worry.” He winked at Borg before chopping the heads off their stems in one blow. “His doggie is looking after him.”
“Simeon, I need you to help me carry Ryne.” Dianna struggled to keep eye contact with Simeon as she waved him over. Something about the accusation in his big golden eyes made her feel like she had a blade lodged in her chest, and Simeon could twist and turn it with one baleful look.
“Why?” He stood after tossing several sticks onto the fire. “What’s the matter with him?”
“I will explain, if you’d just please do this for me.” She spared a quick glance at Borg, then gave Simeon a knowing look.
Realization flashed in the sand dweller’s eyes as he jumped to his feet and hurried after her.
“Fwiends no be gone wong,” Borg said to her back. “Borg worry about fwiends.”
As she side-stepped prickly plants and pushed leaves out of the way, she felt like ten shades of dirt for what they were about to do. He was such a kind, gentle giant. He deserved friends who treated him well. But it couldn’t be helped. He was jeopardizing their lives by following them, and the weather was getting colder. She couldn’t exactly lend her goddess stones to the giant and risk him losing them. For the last two nights, despite the roaring fire, Borg had shivered uncontrollably, making it hard for anyone to sleep with the ground shaking under them. Despite Simeon’s heavy sighs and Ryne’s swearing, she did nothing to ease the giant’s misery. She’d been hoping he’d finally tire of the cold and turn back. After tomorrow, he’d have no choice, and everyone would be better off.
; Despite the thick vegetation, it wasn’t hard to locate Ryne. All she had to do was follow the sounds of Tar’s low howls and frantic whimpers. The hound sitting by his master, on high alert as he shifted from paw to paw.
“What happened?” Simeon frowned at Ryne.
She leaned over him, swatting ants off his leg, grimacing as she lifted the hem of his breeches and saw large red welts on his calf. “Zier gave him Sirensong, a sleeping shade.”
Simeon was close enough to make her aware of his broad chest. “Why?”
She was unable to hold back a smile. “To see if it works.”
He laughed. “It obviously works.” Simeon knelt beside the mutt, scratching behind his ears. “It’s okay, boy. Your master will live.”
“Zier’s going to brew a tea tomorrow morning and give it to Borg,” she said. “He says Borg should sleep for a day. We will mask our trail with fairy dust.”
He stood. “So tomorrow we’ll be rid of him?”
“Yes,” she answered.
The faint lines around his drawn mouth made him look far more serious than she’d ever seen him. Come to think of it, he was looking more somber than ever, smiling and laughing far less. She wondered if it was because he was dreading the confrontation with Madhea or if something else was bothering him.
“I imagine Ryne won’t wake up in a good mood,” he said.
A bitter laugh escaped her throat. “When is he ever in a good mood?”
He arched a brow. “So you’ve noticed, too?”
She shrugged. “I’d be a fool not to.”
“Does this mean you don’t have feelings for the blue broot?”
She was taken aback. What had given Simeon the impression she cared for Ryne? “When did I ever say I had feelings for him?”
“I thought that since you....” His dark face turned a soft shade of crimson. “Never mind.” He looked away, leaning over Ryne, swatting ants off his legs. “He’ll be blaming us for his itchy shins.”