The snow had begun falling more heavily again, but the breeze inside the circle had died out. Her attention turned to a large group of soldiers standing in formation over by the horse corral. As she approached the group, Carol saw that both her father and Gaar were present. Gaar stood in front of the assembled officers, giving orders in a loud voice.
“And I want every bit of snow inside the perimeter shoveled into big piles,” Gaar thundered. “I expect to be able to walk back and forth between wagons and the cook fires without so much as having to shuffle through an inch of the damned stuff. I refuse to have the women and children feel that they cannot make it to the fires, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” The reply thundered through the camp.
The old warrior pivoted. Carol made her way to where they stood, her father turning toward her as she spoke.
“I don’t know how much longer Hawthorne is going to be able to maintain our protection from the storm. His physical condition is deteriorating, but I’m afraid that if I try to feed him some soup or even water, I’ll break his concentration. So I’ve got the cooks putting heat pots near him on a schedule. It’s not much, but it’s the best I can manage.”
Rafel pounded his fist into his open palm. “How could it come to this? Because I could not imagine Hawthorne overcome by a storm, I paid no attention to his needs. If he succumbs, I fear that the rest of us may follow him into the deep.”
“I do not mind dying in battle,” said Gaar, “but I don’t like the idea of freezing into an icicle.”
Unable to express her own feelings of guilt, Carol made her way back across the perimeter, passing a large number of soldiers working with shovels to clear paths through the snow. She turned onto one of the paths and followed it as close to Hawthorne’s wagon as she could before having to trudge back out into the deep snow again. Carol crawled silently between the flaps, pleased to find the interior warmer and Hawthorne looking less strained. He no longer had the frost in his beard and eyebrows, although there were still gray patches of skin on his face. She settled down on the mat beside him to wait and watch.
The night passed uneventfully. The heat kettles cut some of the chill, but the temperature was not what Carol would call comfortable. She looked down at her mentor without trying to stop the tears that trickled down her cheeks. For one who had been so full of herself only weeks before, to be struck so low felt both just and terrible. And now, all she could do was sit here and cry.
Hawthorne looked frail, presenting a cloudiness in his eyes that she had never before seen. She longed to take his hands between her own and warm them, but she didn’t. Instead, she sat close, watching, worrying, and hoping that the terrible storm would soon end.
But the storm raged on, and as the hours passed, the old wielder weakened. She continued to sit with him between excursions outside to ensure that the families were doing the work that would keep them from freezing.
Toward the end of the week, sickness began to spread through the camp. The sound of incessant coughing came from at least a quarter of the hundreds of wagons that formed the caravan. The surgeon informed Rafel that most of these were only bad colds, but he expressed concern that, if the cold spell lasted much longer, pneumonia could set in.
On the fourth day of the storm, Hawthorne’s protective shield began to falter. The first evidence was a gust of wind that howled through camp, driving a horizontal sheet of snow before it. Carol had just come out of her father’s tent when the wind hit her, almost knocking her down with its unexpected fury.
Alarmed at this breach of the wielder’s defenses, she ran toward Hawthorne’s wagon, slipping and plunging into a bank. She scrambled back to her feet, gasping as a wad of snow slid down her neck.
When her racing footsteps brought her to him, she found the wielder slumped over on his side, his breath coming in ragged gasps. A sudden severe fit of coughing doubled him over. At the same time, the wind whipped the canvas flap, lashing Carol across the face with the tie-down rope.
When she put a hand to her cheek, it came away bloody, but she ignored the wound. Climbing inside, she wrapped her arms around Hawthorne’s shoulders, laid his head on a pillow, and covered him with blankets. The wind howled, making the guard outside struggle to tie the flap back into place.
Carol was terrified. In desperation, she grabbed the wielder’s flint and tinderbox, and struck a flame to light his thick, white candle. Then she set it to Hawthorne’s side.
His eyes stared ahead in an unseeing stupor, his pupils mere pinpricks in the gathering darkness. His hands felt like ice between hers, and no amount of rubbing seemed to help. The old man’s chest heaved, and his eyelids fluttered.
“Carol?” Hawthorne rasped.
“I’m here,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Listen to me. I’ve done my best. Hopefully it will be enough to get our people through this storm. But from this point forward, the caravan is in your hands.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know that Rafel is as good a leader of men as there has ever been. But there are forces taking shape in this world against which he would be powerless. To battle those, he must rely on you.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “You’ll be around to take care of such matters as always.”
A smile flitted across the old man’s lips.
“Look at me with your eyes and not your heart. I’m afraid that you are now this caravan’s only wielder. Buried within you is a talent the like of which I had never imagined. You just have to find it again. I have faith in you.”
The eyes of the old wielder suddenly widened in fright, focused on something behind her. His look spun her around, certain that something evil had just snuck through the canvas. But all that confronted her was her own shadow dancing on the inside of the canvas. She turned back to Hawthorne to see him raise his right hand, palm outward, as if trying to fend off an attacker. When his hand dropped into his lap, Hawthorne shuddered. Then, with one last rattling breath, the wielder lay still.
Outside, the wind howled as Carol hugged the old man to her breast, cradling his head in her arms as she cried.
She had possessed the ability to save Hawthorne but had failed in her attempts to use her powers. Because she had been unable to conquer her fears, she had allowed Blalock to kill her mentor.
The wind howled through the canvas, but as she slowly rocked Hawthorne’s body back and forth, Carol barely felt the cold.
28
Endar Pass—Northern Glacier Mountains
YOR 413, Mid-Autumn
As autumn advanced on the high plains northwest of the Mogev Desert, thunderheads filled the afternoon sky. They swept by with a drenching downpour, swirling winds, and cascades of lightning and thunder, leaving a chill that raised the gooseflesh on Arn’s arms.
“That’s it!” Kim’s exclamation brought the other three riders to a halt. “Endar Pass!”
Arn stared hard in the direction Kim pointed. At first, he could see only the rolling plains disappearing in the blue haze to the north. Then he became aware of a subtle difference in the distant sky. He began to see how the plains became rougher country that gave way to twin peaks that towered over the silhouette of mountains.
“I never thought that I’d be so glad to see mountains,” said John.
“To us, it is nothing less than sacred ground. You will have the privilege of being the first humans since the Vorg War to be allowed to set foot inside the valley.” With a toss of her head, Kim urged her horse to a trot.
Despite the increased pace at which they traveled, the mountains remained an elusive goal. The plains gave way to foothills and steep valleys that blocked the travelers’ view of the high country. Periodically, the riders would crest a rise to see the mountains change from pale blue to purple, and finally to dark green. The scrub gave way to juniper and then pine, which scented the cool, thinning air.
Ty trotted up beside Arn. “Have you noticed that we’re being wa
tched?”
“We have been since we entered the foothills,” Arn said. “It’s odd that I haven’t seen who’s watching us. That’s never happened to me before.”
“Don’t worry,” said Kim. “It is my brother and some of the Endarian scouts. They have been observing us to see if I am in any danger. If they had decided that I was, you would have all been dead by now.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” said Ty, resting a hand on the carved handle of his ax.
“Word will have reached my mother of our presence,” said Kim, ignoring Ty’s remark. “She will send a party to greet us. You will have to excuse them if they are a bit gruff. It is rare that we welcome humans into our lands.”
“It will be a real pleasure to be able to meet others of a race that could produce one such as you,” said John, who over the months of travel had never stopped complimenting the Endarian princess.
By afternoon the mountainous terrain had become more rugged. Kim led them along a rocky but well-traveled trail. It wound along through the mountains, rising steadily and, at times, steeply up the mountainside. Arn began to feel closed in by the forest. The dense woods suddenly opened into a clearing, through which a rushing stream cut a path. Kim held up her hand to signal that this was the place she had selected to camp for the night.
As they dismounted, a group of Endarians rounded a bend in the canyon and strode rapidly toward them. They were tall, slender, and dark-skinned, with ebony hair that hung almost to their waists. They moved with a fluid grace that Arn remembered from his previous encounters with their kin. All of the Endarians were clad in garments of a light color that seemed to shimmer and change as they moved.
Kim ran to the nearest of the Endarians, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him fondly on the cheek. Arn noted that she was the only brown-haired Endarian in the bunch. That, combined with the lighter shade of brown of her skin and eyes, highlighted her heritage.
She released her grip on the Endarian and began a conversation, the nature of which Arn could not quite make out. After several minutes, she stopped talking and led the Endarians to her companions, holding tightly to the leader’s hand as she came.
Arn glanced at John, noting the pained expression etched into his face despite an obvious effort to hide it.
“Galad,” said Kim, “I would like you to meet my good friends and saviors, John, Ty, and Arn. My friends, this is my brother, Galad.”
Arn heard a barely audible sigh of relief from John. “We’re so glad to meet you,” he said, stepping forward and extending his hand.
The tall Endarian stood still for several moments, examining his sister’s traveling companion with eyes almost as dark as John’s.
John lowered his hand.
When Galad spoke, his voice carried none of the warmth he had just shown his sister.
“Our mother, Queen Elan, sends her greetings and offers her most profound thanks for the rescue of her daughter. For tonight, you will camp here under the protection of my scouts.”
Galad gestured toward another grim-faced Endarian. “Tomorrow, Jalal will escort you into Endar Pass. But my mother would have me bring Kim to her side tonight. Until tomorrow.”
Galad inclined his head slightly, then turned. He and Kim ran back the way he had come. The grace with which they moved reminded Arn of deer running along a mountainside. In seconds, they rounded the bend in the trail and were gone, leaving the three humans staring after them in amazement. Arn realized that they weren’t actually running faster than speedy humans or vorgs, but far more effortlessly. Now that he thought about it, Arn realized he had not, until now, seen Kim run.
The Endarians who remained behind began preparations to camp for the night. They lit a fire, although Arn could not quite make out how they completed the task. Flames seemed to leap from rocks without any sign of fuel. The Endarians spread food and drink before them and then departed, leaving the small company to themselves.
“Why don’t they eat with us?” Ty asked.
“Odd reception, all the way around,” said Arn.
“Kim didn’t even say good-bye,” said John.
Arn heard the worry in his voice.
After finishing their meal of dried fruit and a surprisingly good flatbread, the three men settled down to sleep. Arn woke before sunrise to find that breakfast had already been laid out for them. He awakened the others, and the company ate as heartily as the night before.
Arn finished his portion just as a group of Endarians walked from the woods with Jalal in the lead.
“Come with us,” he said.
The trio packed their things, mounted their horses, and followed Jalal around the bend in the canyon as the rest of the Endarian warriors fell in behind them. The trail climbed rapidly, exiting the forest to carve its way along the face of rocky cliffs. As they climbed, Arn could see that they were moving up toward a pass between the twin peaks that appeared to have once formed a single mountain. The peaks looked as if they had been split asunder by a giant sword slicing through naked stone. Only a lonely, gnarled pine had managed to maintain its purchase on the bare rock.
The trail curled around the side of the cliff, barely wide enough for two horses to walk abreast. Arn glanced over the edge to his right and was rewarded by the sight of a winding stream in the canyon far below. He could not be certain how far down the drop went because of the mist that shrouded the canyon bottom.
The group continued along the rock wall for several hours, climbing steadily. As they rounded a final bend, a sheer cliff closed off the canyon. The river leapt over the edge of the precipice to fall several thousand feet to the floor of the canyon below, creating the veil of mist. The trail disappeared behind this plume of water.
Arn leaned forward in his saddle. He could not make out where the trail emerged on the other side of the falls. The sight pulled forth an eerie feeling that he failed to shake, as if he were approaching the edge of the world. The feeling grew stronger as he got closer to the falls. The Endarians led the way forward, pausing as they entered the mist so that Arn and his companions had to pull their mounts to a stop lest they run them over. As he caught a querying look and a “What is this?” glare from Ty, their guides disappeared into the thick fog. So Arn urged Ax forward.
Suddenly, he was aware of something pressing against his entire body, almost as if the mist did not want to allow him entry. Ax continued forward, but for a moment the horse seemed to have slowed considerably. But then the feeling passed, and rider and mount were moving naturally again.
The mist swirled so thickly in the air that Arn could no longer see the trail beneath him. Only the steady clip-clop of Ax’s hooves on stone assured him that they remained in contact with the earth.
The journey through the mist lasted much longer than Arn had anticipated. He began to wonder whether the passage of time was real or a distortion caused by the feelings that engulfed him.
As the riders emerged from the mist, a valley descended before them, dropping between forested ridges until it came to the edge of an azure lake. Mountains surrounded the lake on all sides, sending tree-covered fingers of land out into the water. Sandy beaches also stretched along the shore. Flowered meadows spread out between ancient groves of pine. High up on the slopes above, groves of white aspen replaced pine. These, in turn, gave way to snow-covered peaks.
Yielding to a sudden impulse, Arn glanced back, catching his breath as he did so. The terrain rose toward more snowcapped peaks, but there was no sign of the mist from which he and his group had just emerged.
The country grew ever lovelier as they approached the lake. The color of the pines was unlike any that Arn had seen before. The trees had a strange mixture of blue and green needles, along with a hint of yellow near the heath. Wildflowers bloomed wherever the sun’s rays could force their way through the trees to the ground, an odd occurrence for that time of year.
As the riders descended the ridge, the valley curved north and widened to reveal a stunning close-up view of the
lake. Endarian forms dotted the southern lakeshore. He was surprised to see some of them standing several hundred feet out in the lake with water rising only to their knees. Several boats glided across the surface farther out, their gossamer sails billowing in the gentle breeze. And then Arn noticed the ivory fortress that rose up in the lake’s center.
The structure was a thing of wonder, with gleaming white walls that rose hundreds of feet into the sky and brilliantly-colored pennants that flapped from the tops of four towers.
A single bridge, also of the same white stone, crossed a wide expanse of water, connecting the south shore to the Endarian castle and the city that spread out to the north. Endarian warriors lined this span, standing erect along both sides of the bridge. Others moved along the tops of the outer castle walls, staring down at the approaching formation from their elevated vantage point. Arn could just make out other figures watching from windows in the high inner towers.
Arn’s study of the fortress was interrupted by the sight of a large group of Endarians emerging from the trees near the lake and making their way toward the riders at a rapid jog, several hundred strong. They poured from the forested ridges on both sides, many with long swords slung across their backs, while others carried bows and quivers full of arrows. The Endarians guiding the group of riders signaled for them to stop and wait where they were. Then the guards moved forward to meet the advancing warriors.
“I don’t like the look of that,” Ty said. As he fingered the handle of his ax, his palomino stallion snorted and pawed the ground.
“Sit tight,” Arn said.
“If they’d wanted to kill us, they could have done it long ago,” John said.
“Unless they wanted to keep the meat fresh for tonight’s barbecue,” Ty said.
“Endarians don’t eat humans,” John said.
“Did you ever think that Kim might have left something out?”
“Kim has been a loyal companion, and you denigrate her at the first chance, you dog. I ought to—”
“Perhaps you two should tone down the hostilities,” Arn said.
Mark of Fire (The Endarian Prophecy Book 1) Page 24