by Millie Burns
Joff smiled. “I’m sure you will, Brigan.” His eyes flicked about the room, “Are there any weapons in this village?”
Brigan pointed to a sword hanging above the mantle. “That belonged to my granddad. It saw many battles in the old days, and I’m sure it’ll clean up nicely. Old Pate, the blacksmith, knows a thing or two about making weapons. He’ll help. Zelera killed his boy.” Brigan’s eyes wandered to the window, staring out at Old Pate’s back as he pumped the bellows, the flames dancing before him.
“Then I leave you to enlisting him.” Joff said, draining his pint. He stood, slapping a tall sturdy soldier on the back, “Ferard, you stay and train Brigan and his men.” He looked at the other soldier, “Drain your pint Tom, you and I have many miles ahead of us.”
Ravyn and Blade continued struggling up the steep mountain. The days were monotonous struggling battles against the environment. At night Ravyn produced a pile of wood from the forest, and they warmed themselves up with a small fire and dried out their wet clothes.
On the fifth morning, they saw only one crest before them.
“We’re going to bag this peak,” Ravyn gasped, a radiant smile blossoming across her face.
“It looks like we’ll be heading down the other side this afternoon. I think we’re ahead of schedule.”
Ravyn took a step forward, sinking deep into the snow. She lost her balance and fell back into Blade. He caught her up in his arms, holding her just a moment longer than necessary before helping her right herself. With flushed cheeks, they both looked above them at the peak once more.
Blade cleared his throat, “Maybe, we should tie together today, Ravyn.” Producing a coil of rope from his pack, Blade tied the rope about his waist, giving Ravyn the other end to tie around herself. “I have an extra pair of socks; put them on your hands like mittens. We’ll need our hands on this steep slope.”
“What about your hands? They will be cold too.”
Feeling bold, he winked. “You can warm them for me at the top.”
Ravyn giggled, tossing a soft-packed snowball at him. “You are incorrigible.”
Zelera prowled her chambers, sulking and pondering and planning. She paused for a moment, eyes darting across the reports that littered her desk and spilled to the floor. Her spies reported movement throughout the country. Men were arming and gathering in groups. She hissed like a cornered cat.
She wandered to the window and looked out toward the mountains in the distance. Her plans to trap the old wizard Connor failed; he managed to evade her yet again. She slammed her hands against the window frame; the glass rattled angrily.
Turning her back to the world, she spied the accounting ledger lying open on the floor across the room. Taxes were drying up. People were refusing to pay her soldiers.
She turned toward her bed. The blankets lay in a twisted mass, coiled and ready to strike at her. Her feet took her away from the bed, away from the blasted dream. It haunted her and deprived her of a normal night’s sleep. Nothing could keep it at bay. Her feet took her to the gilded mirror.
She stopped pacing, glowering at the ghostly images of Lareina and Bryant. They seemed to be smiling, mocking her.
“I will prevail,” she spat at the glass, spittle running down the pane. “You were so perfect, but who wears the crown? I do! I rule! I will catch your little spawn and crush her like a bug. Then I will sacrifice you to the Darkness,” she ranted and railed, eyes wide in blood-rimmed sockets. She spun about, heading to the altar.
Calling upon Ravyn’s aura in the scrying bowl, she quickly spotted traces of magic creating a crumb trail up the mountain. She zeroed in on Ravyn and a young man climbing the last peak. A malicious grin pulled at the corners of her gaunt lips. A huge cornice lay at the crest above them. One jolt of power would do the trick. “I couldn’t have planned it better myself,” she purred.
Chapter 13
Nearly there. The peak opened her arms to them, embracing them, begging them to reach her crest. Glancing over her shoulder at Blade, Ravyn grinned, her black hair whipping like a pennant in the wind. “Lunch at the top; I’m buying.”
Blade’s green eyes widened as ominous black clouds formed. Purple streaks of energy crackled as they zipped across the sky. Zelera’s gaunt face leered down at them.
“What a nice day for a summit bid,” Zelera’s voice boomed like thunder. “But you really should choose your path more carefully,” she rumbled. Violet lightning streaked across the sky, followed by an immediate clap of thunder that dropped Ravyn to her knees.
The mountain rumbled beneath her, the cornice above her broke free. Angry snow hurtled toward them, a rush of wind preceding it, ripping and tearing at them. Rocks and chunks of ice flew through the air, lobbed by an unseen hand.
Whipping the sock off her hand, Ravyn fumbled in her pocket for Medina’s feather. She held it out in front of her, both hands gripping the feather. Time seemed to stop as snow and rock careened past her, avoiding her with miraculous ease. The flow slowed, then ceased altogether.
“Blade, we made it,” Ravyn shouted. Silence greeted her, dead silence. Ravyn spun in a panic, her world was solid white. “No,” she screamed, scanning for some sign of life.
Zelera’s laughter rang in her ears, as snow began falling thick and fast, encasing her further in chilly white nothingness.
Her numb hands brushed at the rope around her waist. Ravyn turned, following the lead to where it disappeared beneath a blanket of snow. She clawed at the ice, tracing the rope deeper and deeper. Her fingers scraped something hard, and with renewed vigor, she uncovered Blade. A huge gash opened his scalp, blood staining the snow. She felt his neck for the beating pulse of his heart. Though her fingers were frozen, she still felt a tiny throb at his throat. ‘I’ll protect her till my dying breath’ rang through her mind. She placed her cheek close to his open mouth. No soft breath tickled her cheek.
Tears falling freely, she rolled him onto his back so that he was facing up. Pinching his nostrils, she covered his lips with her own. She exhaled, willing her life to his. The air came back out of his mouth, but he did not take a new breath on his own. She breathed into him again, watching his chest rise with her breath. The salt from her tears stung her dry cracked lips.
Blade moaned and he sucked in a small breath. Ravyn cried as he began breathing on his own.
The rapidly falling snow obliterated everything from view. Ravyn curled Blade up against her, wrapping his cloak and hers around them. The cold clung to her skin, setting her teeth to chattering. Numb hands fumbled in the pack looking for more layers. Silky dragon skin slipped between clumsy fingers. Tugging it out of the pack, she wriggled it around their shoulders. She felt warmth growing in their little cocoon. Pain pricked her fingers as the numbness faded. Fears of freezing to death subsided, but Blade lay still in her arms. She felt the rise and fall of his chest, and nothing more. She began humming songs from their childhood to chase away her fears.
Racing east, General Joff and his men stopped at every village and farm, spreading the news of the resistance. Everywhere he went, people rallied to the call to arms. Old swords and armor appeared, receiving a fresh polishing. Farmers sharpened their scythes and carried their pitchforks intent on stabbing more than hay.
As he emerged from the edge of the woods, General Joff spied a large contingent of elves armed for war. The men wore silvery chain mail and carried long elegant spears. Several elven archers readied their bows, pulling arrows from their quivers, as the men emerged from the thick trees. General Joff reined in his horse, skidding stones as he halted before them. He swung out of the saddle and dropped to the ground, hands open free before him. “You’re armed for battle. Where are you heading?”
A broad-shouldered elf stepped forward, lifting the visor on his helmet. The other elves stood ready, weapons poised for action. “I would know your name first,” he growled.
“I am General Joff of the resistance, loyal to King Bryant and Queen Lareina. These are my men.”
“They are dead these many years; but if you stand against Zelera, we consider you a friend. I am Grayvern, and these are my men.” The elves lowered their weapons and studied the general and his men.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” General Joff held out his hand. Grayvern accepted the greeting with a viselike squeeze.
"What are you doing in this neck of the woods?” Grayvern asked, pumping Joff’s hand a time or two before letting go.
“I’m rounding up support and arms. I‘m trying to get a message to Wanderer’s Forest. Princess Ravyn befriended the harpies and the unicorns. I hope to persuade them to join the fight.” He paused, rubbing his hand. “The King and Queen are not dead. Zelera trapped them in an evil spell, but they are not dead. Will the elves join the resistance? Sharp blades guided by expert hands, and accurate archers are sorely needed.”
Grayvern rubbed his whiskery chin, fingers sawing back and forth across the scruff. “We will join you. Zelera attacked our home a week past. She captured many elves, and many others went to the Light prematurely.” His gray eyes hardened like cold steel.
General Joff sighed and bowed his head in honor of the dead. “Blessings of the Light upon your kith and kin,” he whispered.
Grayvern bowed his head for a moment of silence. He whispered softly in the elven tongue, hard eyes clouding in pain. He straightened his broad shoulders, shaking away the sadness. “I can contact the harpies and the unicorn.”
Grayvern turned to a young elf lad. A beautiful peregrine falcon perched on the boy’s shoulder, preening its feathers. Grayvern chattered and screeched while scribbling out a note on a small slip of parchment. He tied it to the bird’s leg with a leather cord. The lad scratched the bird’s neck with affection before she launched herself up over the young lad’s head and flew off over the mountains.
Ravyn woke with a start, covered in sweat. She felt heat radiating from Blade’s body like a furnace. She sat upright cradling his head in her lap. He moaned softly but didn’t wake. She rocked back and forth trying to soothe her frayed nerves, and she gently sponged his forehead with the sleeve of her blouse.
The stark white landscape glared at her, causing her to squint against the morning sun. Blade’s pack poked her side reminding her she had tools at her disposal. She opened the pack wide and pushed aside the food. Her fingers brushed crinkly parchment paper; she’d located the packet of medicinal herbs. She sprinkled some into a cup of water.
She murmured in his ear, “Drink this; it’ll help.” She put the cup to his lips, and he managed to swallow some. She kept putting a little in his mouth, and he kept swallowing. Finally the glass was empty.
Ravyn tore an extra shirt into strips. She dabbed at the gash on his scalp, and dabbed some of the ointment from his pack on the cut. She covered the wound with her makeshift bandages. Her stomach rumbled reminding her to eat. She began nibbling on some dried fruit and nuts, and she gazed with longing at the peak above her.
The magic transportation spell would be so useful, but it had disastrous effects before. That was not the answer. Ena was too far away to come and help her. She sat rocking and thinking, no clever solutions coming to mind.
She sighed. There was only one way to do it. Rising, she unwrapped the cocoon of cloaks and dragon skin. She gasped as the chilly air snatched her warmth away. She wrapped the dragon skin around Blade, tucking it snug about him. She uncoiled the rope, moving as quick as possible against the biting chill. With clumsy fingers she tied one end securely around his chest. She then fastened the other end around her waist.
She put a sock on her right hand like a mitten. Her left hand was bare to the elements, as the other sock had disappeared the day before in the avalanche. She closed her eyes, looking for strength, and then began putting one foot in front of the other to begin her final ascent.
It was a couple hundred feet to the top. She didn’t know how long she’d been clawing her way through the deep snow, dragging along Blade’s dead weigh. When she felt she could go no further, she collapsed on the top. Great puffs of steam escaped into the thin air as she clutched her sides, gasping for breath.
She noticed a rock jutting out of the snow. Crawling across the snow on her hands and knees, she pushed forward with urgency. The rope rubbed a raw line across her abdomen branding her with fiery pain. She pulled up enough rope to get some slack. Ravyn looped the rope behind the rock and sat to the side bracing her legs against it. She began pulling, hand over hand, inching Blade upwards.
Blisters erupted on her fingers and palms from the friction of the rope against her soft skin. She shoved her cramping legs hard into the rock, her back and shoulders aching and screaming for her to stop. Determination coursing through her, she hauled on the rope again and again. Her breathing came in ragged gasps as altitude robbed her of valuable oxygen.
She lost herself in her need, concentrating on each pull of the rope. Blade should near the top soon, maybe with the next pull. Then she could rest.
A low growling broke her silent reverie. Glancing over her left shoulder, she saw three enormous wolves, fangs bared, tense and ready to lunge.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she started shaking. She turned her head, averting her eyes, submitting to the wolves. Warmth and Light surged in her soul, and instinctively she grabbed at the wave of Light. She prayed to the Light, and the panic ebbed. Finding the calm she sought, she wove a communication spell.
“P-p-please,” she stammered, exhausted, still clutching the rope tightly, “I am a friend of Medina the harpy. She gave me a feather so you would know me for a friend and allow safe passage. The feather is in my left trouser pocket. I can’t retrieve it; my best friend hangs from the end of this rope. I will not let go of him.”
The largest wolf, beautiful grey with sky blue eyes, stepped to her side and sniffed at her pocket. “She speaks the truth. Oakley, Filliu, help her pull the other human up.”
Stepping to her side, the two wolves clamped their teeth down on the rope. “One, two, three, pull,” the large wolf howled.
A few feet of rope came over the edge. Ravyn took up the slack. The wolves found new purchase on the rope, digging their paws into the crusty snow, they heaved again. On the fourth pull, Blade’s head and shoulders crested the top. The large grey wolf bit gently into the dragon skin, careful not to nip tender flesh, and hauled Blade completely over the edge to safety.
Ravyn crawled to Blade’s side, brushing her forehead across his. His skin felt hot and sweat beaded his brow, but he seemed no worse than before.
The wolf leader growled, “What are you doing on Hidden Pass? We have no tolerance for man. For years man has hunted us for our skins, blamed us for the death of their livestock, and at times has killed us for no reason other than the sport of the hunt.”
Ravyn met his piercing sky blue eyes, then glanced away. “I will tell you my story, but it’s a long one. Blade needs shelter; I must find a place to stop and care for him.”
Stepping up to Ravyn, the smaller brown wolf, Filliu, sniffed her. “She is with the Light; she is good. We can shelter her and her mate until he can travel.” Filliu glanced up at the cloudy sky and shivered. Her brown fur bristled with unease. “The snow came early; it smells unnatural, filled with the Darkness.” She sneezed as if to clear the taint from her senses. “I sense a great destiny lies with this woman; she needs our help.”
The large grey wolf growled low in his throat, towering over Filliu. She averted her gaze, whining softly. “Do not let motherly intuitions overcome you, Filliu. We owe these humans nothing.”
The other grey wolf, Oakley, nudged Ravyn with his snout, sniffing long and deep. “Filliu is right, Kialgyn. Light fills this woman.” He sniffed Blade, “The man is of the Light as well.” Oakley sauntered over to a large pine tree and hiked his leg. “I have never been, nor will I ever be, a mother. Let’s take them to the den and hear their story at least.”
“I must do what is good for the pack,” Kialgyn stated firmly. He advance
d a step toward the younger male. Oakley flopped down in the snow, laying his head on his paws. He looked at Ravyn with sadness in his eyes.
“Then let the pack decide,” interrupted Filliu, daring to peek at Kialgyn. “Surely one woman and a man at death’s door can bring no harm.”
Kialgyn stared hard at Filliu; she looked up, her steely gaze boring back into his blue eyes. He let out a whuff of air. “Very well, you two drag the Blade.”
Offering a prayer of thanks to the Light, Ravyn followed silently behind the great grey wolf. Her numb feet shuffled through snowdrifts, and her growling stomach complained that she hadn’t eaten in some time. Glancing back, she saw the two wolves dragging Blade on the dragon skin litter. She smiled, turning forward once again to put one foot in front of the other.
Connor changed his appearance again. Taking up the guise of a bard, he travelled from inn to inn, aiming toward Hidden Pass. His voice was passable, nothing spectacular. His fingers danced over the lute strings, though he hadn’t played in years.
A shocking red mop of hair topped his head, and he’d tinted his eyes emerald green. A touch more magic plumped out his wrinkles and trimmed his waist. He looked to be in his late thirties, not the centuries old wizard he really was.
He’d been hired at three inns so far, earning his room and board in exchange for night-time revelry and news. Few bards were traveling the roads anymore, and the villagers flocked to the inns, filling every available nook and cranny. He was packing the house.
He used the opportunity to spread information about the resistance and the return of Princess Ravyn. It was risky business, as Zelera had spies everywhere. But the benefits outweighed the risks.
It was heartening, the ready reception of his information. Men and women alike asking how they could help. Everywhere his response was the same, “Pass on this information to any who are willing to stand up to Zelera, and be ready to leave when General Joff or his men come. Sharpen your weapons, and practice your skills.”