by Aaron Hodges
“There’s nothing between us,” Alana insisted, chasing after him. “He hates me!”
“Ay, he travelled halfway across the world only to have you reject him. You can hardly blame the man for that.”
Alana fell silent, her mind turning back to the night Devon and Kellian had snuck into the citadel to rescue her. She’d been shocked by their appearance, but beyond that, there had been a warmth at seeing the two men again, and an urge to throw herself into Devon’s arms.
Unfortunately, her darker side had been stronger then.
“I betrayed him,” she whispered. “Even if he still loves me, I don’t deserve him.”
“Maybe not,” Joseph rumbled, “but life rarely gives us what we deserve. And the man is hurting.”
At that, the Baronian picked up his pace and strode ahead to walk alongside Devon. Trailing behind them, Alana found herself watching Devon, wondering if Joseph’s words were true, if there really still was something between them. Her heart twisted as Devon looked back. They shared a glance, but he quickly looked away, returning his attention to the road.
The day stretched out, the sky darkening as the sun fell below the mountain peaks. Finally a call went up from ahead, signalling a break for the night. Around her, men and women sighed and dropped their packs, sinking to the ground in relief.
People began to gather in groups, doffing packs and pulling out food. A familiar loneliness settled over Alana as she saw Devon sitting in conversation with Braidon and Joseph. She yearned to join them and ask what they were talking about, but as she watched, her brother glanced in her direction. The smile faded from his face as he turned back to the others.
Alana’s stomach knotted as a roar of laughter came from the three men. She found a boulder off near the cliff and seated herself so she could look back up the valley. The slope they’d spent the morning traversing stretched above her, empty now of movement. Shadows still slung around the top, and she wondered how long they had before Quinn and his Stalkers caught them.
Quinn.
A shiver swept through her at the thought of him. He’d been her companion since childhood, first as a friend, then as a teacher. Back then, she had never thought of him as anything more. But as they’d matured, she’d noticed the change in him, the yearning that had appeared in his eyes.
She had finally reciprocated his desires back in Ardath, thinking to satisfy her own cravings. Yet still he had wanted more, seeking to rule her, to make her his own. And that was one thing Alana would never allow.
His words from back in the inn whispered in her mind.
I will have my heart’s desire.
Alana’s stomach twisted in disgust, a chill raising the hackles on her neck. For a moment, she wished she’d destroyed him back in the throne room.
“Hungry?”
Alana looked up as a woman’s voice came from nearby. Her eyes widened as she saw the old innkeeper, Selina wandering towards her, a stale-looking loaf of bread in hand. Alana looked at the bread distastefully, but there was little enough to go around without being fussy, and she nodded.
Drawing a hunting knife from her belt, the old woman cut the bread in two and offered half to Alana. She sat on the next boulder over as Alana tore off a piece of bread and chewed it slowly.
Selina stretched her arms and lay back with a groan. “I tell you, this isn’t what I imagined doing in my retirement,” she said. “I’m getting a little old for so much adventure.”
Alana glanced at the woman, remembering how she’d lain dying on the floor of her own inn. “What are you doing here?” she asked, curious. “You could have gone anywhere. Quinn wouldn’t have come searching for you. Why come with us?”
“The Goddess touched me,” Selina murmured. Her eyes drifted out to the forested plains far below their mountain perch. “That means something, it has to. I owe her for saving my life.” She raised an eyebrow. “And what about you, miss? Why do you sit alone each day, instead of with your friends and brother?”
Alana shook her head. “It’s complicated.”
“Step on some toes, did you?”
“You might say that.” Despite herself, Alana chuckled at the woman’s wording.
“A shame. We need to stand together, us renegades. Tell me, what could you have done to turn even your own brother against you?”
Alana shivered as she ran over the endless list of mistakes that was her existence. “Oh, just destroyed his life,” she said finally.
The old woman’s cackling echoed from the cliffs. “Is that all?”
“I’m serious!” Alana growled, sitting up on her rock. She jabbed a finger at the innkeeper. “Listen, you little—”
The woman’s laughter died away, and her eyes flashed as she looked at Alana. “Yes?” she asked, her voice suddenly dangerous.
Alana gulped back what she’d been about to say. She had faced down demons and Magickers and the leader of the Three Nations, but something about the woman’s tone brooked no argument. She tore off another piece of bread and chewed it slowly, seeking something else to say.
“I just mean…I earned this,” she said lamely. “I deserve this.”
“Pff, probably. But then, if my brother and I had stopped talking every time he ruined my life…well, I guess he’d only have destroyed my business once,” she chuckled. “But then, where would the fun have been? Besides, he always made up for it in the end. What about you? Is sitting here moping going to change things between you?”
Alana scowled. “Who says I’m moping?”
The old woman raised a spindly eyebrow, and Alana blushed and looked away. “Fine,” she muttered, then shook her head. “But you don’t understand, I’m not sure there’s anything I can do to fix things.”
“Whatever you did, you’re still family, that means something…”
Alana snorted. “Clearly you haven’t met my family.”
“Girl, I was dying on that floor, not dead,” Selina replied. “I know who your father is, who the old woman was to you.”
“Then you know family doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“It meant something to your grandmother,” Selina replied.
The words dried up in Alana’s throat. Suddenly she found herself struggling to breathe. Shooting to her feet, she gasped in the icy mountain air. “I didn’t ask for her to do that!” she shrieked finally, swinging on the innkeeper.
Selina only smiled. “No, but that is what family does, girl. Loves each other. Protects each other.”
Pain locked around Alana’s chest and she looked away. “Not my father,” she whispered.
“Not your father,” Selina agreed. “But it doesn’t have to be the same for you, or your brother.”
“Then what do you suggest I do?”
“Make peace with young Braidon,” the innkeeper murmured. “Protect him from your father.”
“I always have,” Alana whispered. “It’s where this all went wrong.”
“Then find a way to work with him,” Selina replied. “I think you’ll find he’s a resourceful young man.”
Alana swallowed, fear for her brother’s life already swirling within her. She had spent so much of her life protecting him from harm, from their father and his magic, that the thought of using him, of working with him to face the man…
“Glad to see you two lasses getting along!” Alana swung around as a voice called down to them from above. Joseph moved towards them, his footsteps crunching on the loose gravel. “Just don’t piss her off, Alana. Or you might wake up a few marbles short of a brain.”
“What do you want, Joseph?” Selina asked, fixing him with one of her scowls.
Joseph held up his hands in surrender. “Peace, woman, I come in peace.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “But Devon wants to see the girl,” he said. “You’d best get running, missy.”
Alana shared a glance with Selina and then rose to her feet. Her eyes dancing, she fixed a scowl of her own on her lips and stepped towards the giant Baronian. H
e towered over her, but Alana showed no hint of fear as she rested a hand on his chest.
“This girl is the Daughter of the Tsar,” she murmured, “and I go where I will.”
As she spoke, she allowed a trickle of her power to spread down her arm into his chest. Following the green glow of her magic, she swept through his consciousness. His fear rose before her, a knotted tangle of red and orange. With a few quick twists, she unlocked several threads, sending them spiralling out into the void of Joseph’s mind.
A scream echoed from the cliffs as Joseph staggered and dropped to his knees, his eyes wide with terror. Grinning, Alana released him and stepped back, allowing her power to fade.
Blinking, Joseph looked around, as though surprised to find himself back on the mountainside. He frowned, realising he was on his knees looking up at the two women. A scarlet blush touched his cheeks, and scrambling back to his feet, he muttered something incomprehensible and fled.
“That was cruel,” Selina commented archly.
Alana chuckled. “I could have left him like that for an hour. That would have been cruel.”
“You’re a hard girl,” the innkeeper replied. “Guess it’s me that should be watching where I step.”
Remembering the glare Selina had given her earlier, Alana flashed a grin. “Oh no, you’re terrifying enough as it is without any magic. Now I’d best go see what Devon wants. I wouldn’t want to keep the leader of the Baronians waiting now, would I?”
Chapter 28
Exhaustion pressed on Merydith as she forced herself to take a step, then another. Desperately she fought her way up the winding slope, while around her the harsh winds swirled, the sleeting rain whipping at her exposed face. Despite her thick woollen clothing and boots, she had long since lost all feeling in her extremities. But there was no more time to stop and warm themselves, to set camp and cast back the icy chill of winter. The Tsar was coming, and there was no more time for anything.
Her scouts had spotted his forces scrambling up the gullies nearby, seeking to overtake them. If any of his people reached the upper passes first, Merydith and her people would be trapped. While the outriders’ numbers were few, they only needed to hold the northern army a day for the Tsar and the bulk of his force to catch them.
Watching her people make their slow way up towards the next pass, Merydith found herself longing for the gentle valleys of the lower foothills. At least there they had been able to ride their horses. Now, the way was so steep that her people had been forced to dismount and lead their mounts on foot.
And even riderless, the horses were struggling. While the mountain clans around Erachill were acclimatised to the thin mountain air, their horses came from the lowland steeps. Despite their massive lungs, the beasts were falling by the dozen now. If they did not escape the freezing mountain peaks soon, more would die, and the northern army would lose their only advantage against the foot soldiers of the Tsar.
At least they had bloodied the man’s nose over the last few days. With the way unclear, Merydith had sent her scouts ahead to map out the passes, while she continued to fight a delaying tactic against the southerners. They had barricaded every pass, set ambushes wherever they could, ensuring the Tsar’s advance slowed to a snail’s pace. Every inch of ground the southerners gained was paid for with their blood.
But now their stock of arrows was running short, as was their food and other supplies. If they didn’t find the pass through to Trola soon, her people would starve.
If the Tsar did not catch them first.
She shuddered as an image of Damyn flickered into her mind. He still had not woken, though his condition had improved slightly. With the worst of his injuries healed by Helen, the camp doctors had taken over his care; but it was the scars left on his mind that still haunted him.
Merydith had moved him into her tent, and often she would wake to him screaming in the night, though he never regained consciousness. The Tsar’s cruelty had torn apart the bold, humorous man she had known half her life, leaving only a husk in his place. In her darkest moments, Merydith found herself wondering whether she should end his suffering, to offer him the final peace of death.
Yet even as he lay sobbing in her lap, his eyes flickering in the grip of some unknown nightmare, she knew she could never do it. Even if seeing him like this reminded her of the fate the Tsar had promised her, of the fate he had promised all of her people, should they continue to defy him.
Shaking her head, Merydith forced the thought from her mind. Damyn would recover. Her people would reach the pass through the Sandstone Mountains, and descend into Trola. She would raise the people there to rebellion, and together they would wipe the darkness of the Tsar from the history books.
Merydith looked up as footsteps came from above. Through the swirling sleet, she glimpsed a figure take shape. As he neared, she recognised Mokyre’s sharp features. He had proven himself on the day Damyn had returned, fighting hard in the frontlines to see off the Tsar’s attacks. Under his guidance, her people had inflicted heavy losses to the enemy. She had sent him ahead with several others to scout out the way. Now as he staggered to a stop in front of her, she found herself holding her breath, barely able to bring herself to hear his news.
“Your Majesty!” he burst out, a grin splitting his face. “I’ve found it!”
“The pass?” she yelled over the wind, her heart clenched with sudden hope.
“The pass!” Mokyre nodded. “It’s close. I’ve sent Tremyl ahead to scout the way.”
Forgetting all protocol, Merydith threw herself forward and dragged the man into a hug. The rest of her advance guard let out a cheer that carried on down the canyon, the noise growing as the news passed down through the ranks. Releasing Mokyre, Merydith beamed at her followers.
“The way lies open!” she called out. “One last push! For Northland!”
“For Northland!” The words echoed from the canyon walls as her people shouted their agreement. Merydith turned back and clapped Mokyre on the shoulder. “Are you strong enough to show us the way?”
Despite the ice frosting his beard, Mokyre nodded, and they began the long slog up towards the distant pass. Her limbs filled with a newfound strength, Merydith followed close behind him, the pain in her feet forgotten. She no longer noticed the weight of her sword or buckler; her mind was already far ahead, planning her next move.
Once they took the pass, she would continue into Trola with the bulk of her army, while a rearguard held their rear against the Tsar. If they could pin his forces in the mountains, it would give them time to organise. She already had contacts in Trola, readying themselves for the final battle. Hope warmed Merydith’s heart at the thought of fighting alongside the western nation. While few in number, they were ferocious fighters. With them on her side, they might just stand a chance.
Merydith was so lost in thought she didn’t notice the second man emerge from the swirling fog on the slopes ahead. A shout from her guards alerted her to his presence, but by then he was almost on top of them. Swords in hand, two guards moved to intercept the newcomer.
A second later they stepped back again as the scout Tremyl stopped before them. Face pale, he stood on the uneven rocks gasping for breath, as though he had run all the way from the pass. Looking into his eyes, Merydith knew what he was going to say before he ever opened his mouth.
“What is it?” she whispered, the wild winds whipping away her words.
“They’re ahead of us.”
Blood thumped in Merydith’s ears, drowning out the words of her guards, the shouts of the other scout, everything but the words he had spoken.
They’re ahead of us.
It couldn’t be true. The Gods would not allow it. If the Tsar had cut off their escape, all hope was lost. The Northland army would be trapped in this barren canyon, unable to advance, while behind them the unstoppable forces of the Tsar drew ever closer. He would reach them by morning. The weight of his numbers would crush them within a day.
A
high-pitched whinny rose above the hiss of rain as a nearby horse toppled to the ground. Merydith stared at the fallen animal, watching as the rapid rise and fall of its chest began to slow, listening to the harsh shuddering of its breath as it tried to stand. But its strength was gone. It slumped back to the earth and lay still.
Merydith’s throat contracted as she looked around and saw the eyes of her people on her. She clenched her jaw, struggling to hide her own terror. Death called to them all, but they could not simply lie down and wait for it to take them. If her people were to die here in these barren mountains, they would die as lions, their voices raised in defiance.
“Onwards!” she roared. “Let them try and stop us.”
Merydith didn’t wait for her people to reply. Pushing past her scouts, she started up the slope. In the swirling winds, she could not hear whether her people followed and she did not risk glancing back. They needed her to be strong now, for their Queen to lead them. After a moment, Mokyre pulled alongside her. She exchanged a glance with the man, remembering his rage back in Erachill, when he had called her a fool. Yet whatever had been said then, he marched with her now, undaunted by the challenge ahead, and she nodded her thanks.
As her guards closed around them, she finally risked a look back. Her people followed below, their faces determined as they marched up through the valley. Tears stung her eyes, and Merydith quickly looked back at the trail.
An hour passed before Mokyre edged alongside her. “Not far now,” he whispered, “just over that ridge.”
“Front ranks, form lines!” she shouted.
The rattle of steel followed as her guards and the rest of the vanguard formed up around her. She waited a moment, allowing the hundred men and women a chance to catch their breath, and then shouted the order to advance.
As one, the line surged forward. A hundred paces still separated them from the lip of the slope, but as they advanced the pass slowly came into view. To either side the cliffs of the canyon drew closer, narrowing until only half a dozen men could walk abreast. Merydith scanned the fog and shadows that clung to the pass, seeking the first sign of the Tsar’s forces.