by V. Holmes
Alea smiled and finished up before gathering her clothes. They hadn’t bathed often while on the road, and though it was winter, she welcomed swimming after hours in the saddle. The loamy ground dipped steeply to the river’s rocky edge. She piled her clothes on a dry stone and stripped down to her underclothes. The water was deep within the river’s sharp curve and she counted to three before steeling herself to jump. The freezing water forced a yelp from her as she surfaced.
“Milady?” Arman’s call was laced with worry.
“I’m fine—the water is frigid!” Her words tripped over her chattering teeth, but her skin grew numb within moments. She scrubbed herself quickly and ran her hands roughly through her hair. After a last dunk she scrambled out and dressed.
Bren laughed at her quick reappearance, “It must have been cold—I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman bathe that quickly!”
She glared at him with mock disdain as she wrung water from her hair. “You try washing a braid that reaches your rear. It takes time!” She tugged on her cloak. “Besides, frozen mountain streams are a far cry from desert oases!” Having repacked her clothes she glanced over at the fire. “May I help with dinner?”
“I think Captain Metters and I have it under control. You should rest if you can. We’ll ride most of the night.”
She arranged herself at the base of a large tree just inside the circle of firelight. She had been skirting the fathomless black power within her since their journey began, but war would require her to connect to it at will. I’ll need a modicum of control if I expect to ever win this. She closed her eyes and leaned back, stepping down into herself with her mind.
Φ
Arman watched Alea relax against the tree then turned to Raven. “I’m going to take a swim, keep your eyes on her, please?”
The commander’s gaze flicked from him to Alea then to Bren, but he nodded.
Arman dumped his pack beside the stream, unbuckling his various blades. His dagger he placed within easy reach before diving into the water naked. Alea was right! The cold drove the air from his lungs. He had grown up swimming in melt-water from the hills, and this was gloriously familiar. He skimmed the stony bottom, wondering if this was what flying felt like. He surfaced and floated on his back. The sky was dim above the tangled black branches of the trees. Shouts echoed from the campsite, punctuated by Alea’s terrified scream.
He jumped to the bank, grabbing his knives and crashed through the brush to the camp. The ground shook and their packs and belongings overturned. The horses shied and reared to get away from the erupting chaos. Arman lurched, trying to keep his balance. The forest was calm, but the earth beneath their camp rocked. It’s shivering. Arman’s gaze flew to Alea. She was not Alea anymore. Her skin was almost black with shadows and her hair whipped in a vicious wind. Black fog roiled across the ground. He could feel her salty cold crashing against his mind.
“Barracksborn, get the others back, beyond the circle!” The growl in his voice brokered no argument. His eyes never wavered from her face. He took a step forward and her power surged, black coils twisting like an injured snake. He reached his own mind out. “Milady.” There was no response, except the scream of wood straining as the trees bent under the pressure. Arman pushed farther, mentally touching his own power. This time he spoke only with his mind. Alea. The swell of pressure slowed, but did not stop.
Her eyes flickered open, freezing his chest better than any icy river. They were pure, glowing silver and shadows writhed across their surface. Arman? Her voice was faint and desperate.
It’s me. He risked another step towards her.
You’re glowing, all white and gold.
Arman glanced at his outstretched hand. She was right. So are you—silver and black. His tone grew firm, though still gentle. You need to come back to the surface. You’re drowning. There was a tremor in her power and he realized it was a sob.
I don’t know how.
Follow my voice. He continued to move towards her. Follow the strand of your soul blood—the silver—back to the surface.
How do you know what it looks like?
I can see it. The veins of your soul-blood are over your real ones. The black power wrapped around it. “It’s beautiful.” He felt her grow closer and her skin brightened, marbling with silver more than black. Suddenly one of the trees gave way, whipping into the air. It crashed into the picket line. A mount screamed, its blood flying. Alea dove back into the depths of her power. Ice coated everything around them, the smell of the sea overpowering as power exploded from her body.
The pressure was painful and forced Arman to his knees. He could see her skin hardening, cracking with the force of her power. She’ll kill herself. Thunder echoed that thought. Heat surged into his muscles and he dragged himself to his feet. The fire behind him roared, towering above their heads. The scent of metal and smoke cut through the cold. Stop. His voice held no question. Alea you have no control. Come back. He voice softened. You’re safe. You’re safe with me. Come back.
There was a breathless pause and then fog rolled back and sank into her skin. The silver of her consciousness eased to the surface and then faded too. She blinked, suddenly back to being simply Alea. She glanced about, disoriented, her gaze meeting Arman’s.
He rushed to her, gathering her into his arms and holding her tightly. “Never do that again! Do you hear?” His arms shook.
She drew a ragged breath, hard hands clinging to him. The campfire settled behind them and she relaxed. She was suddenly aware of how much skin she touched. “Arman… your clothes?”
He pulled back sheepishly. “I was swimming. Will you be all right?”
She ran a hand over her hair. “I think so.”
He waited until she met his eyes then backed away. Bren met him a few paces away with the guard’s pack. “Thank you.” Arman peered around the camp while hopping, one legged, into his breeches. “Where are my damned boots?”
“Wardyn, we need to leave.” Raven’s voice barked across the camp. “There’s not a patrol in Boda that didn’t see that mess.”
“Give her a minute. By the time everything’s collected she’ll be ready to go.” Arman took her hand. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure.” She shrugged. “I’ll figure it out later.”
“It’s important.” He frowned. “Why did you go into your power?”
“I wanted to see if I could control it. I need to understand it better.”
“Fates, Alea, this is not something to play with. It’s Creation and Destruction. You could have killed us all, killed yourself!” Seeing the fragile look on her face he stopped. “We’ll talk about it when you’re calm.” He drew her close again. “Are you well enough to ride?”
“Dhoah’ will you ride double with your guard or brother?” Raven had the horses ready and one of his men doused the fire. “My corporal’s horse...fell.”
She nodded weakly and allowed Arman to help her to her feet. Within a few minutes they were again moving north. Now the silence between them was pointed and for more than the need for secrecy.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The 14th Day of Vurgmord, 1251
The Mountains of the Orn de Galin
THE TREES THINNED AS the mountains grew closer, rocky outcroppings breaking through the vegetation. It was close to midnight when they stopped at one such boulder. None dared to light a fire. Raven dismounted beside Bren. “Lieutenant, how are they?”
“I’ll ride with Alea to give Arman’s horse a rest. Not that I’m terribly lighter than the two of them.” He bent to clean a hoof. “You said Fort Stone was just over those mountains, yes?”
“It’s not an easy ride. We shaved a day by traveling at night. We should make the Fort the day after tomorrow.” He glanced at Alea. “Assuming there are no unforeseen events.”
“She’ll be fine until Fort Stone, Commander. You forget she’s young.”
Raven fixed him with his usual thoughtful stare. “She’s unpredictable is w
hat. I’m not good with such things.”
“You’re better with orders that will be followed and men that know their duties. I understand that.” He sighed. “There were men in Mirik’s army who—despite their own devotion—got physically sick whenever the gods spoke through Azirik.” He ran a hand down his animal’s foreleg. “I guess there are some that cannot take the divine or powerful.”
Raven stared at him, as if determining whether there was insult in the words. Deciding there was none, he sighed. “I’ve never been good with the idea of the Laen or gods. Another being, deciding a man’s fate? Wielding power that we can’t? It’s not right.”
“The way I see it is I can do things you cannot, just as you can do things I cannot. Alea and Arman take that to a different extreme.”
Raven shuddered, “The feeling of fog on my skin, and the smell of the sea—I’m a navy man, born and raised on the waves. That felt like an abomination. And the way she made the fire rage—she’s dangerous.”
“The fire wasn’t her, commander.” When the man frowned at him, Bren glanced over to where Arman sat beside Alea. “Alea’s not the only one with power. We’ve a Rakos with us. When they learn their power, you’ll be glad they fight for us.”
Φ
Alea watched the quiet exchange between her brother and the commander curiously. Her body was still humming and weak. Mostly she wanted to crawl into a cave from embarrassment. Who’ll ally with a Laen who almost kills everything? It’s like a young girl with moody tantrums!
“Milady, could we talk?” Arman nudged her with his elbow. “What made you lose control?”
“I was scared. I just wanted to touch it, so I sank into it a bit. I don't know if it was the firelight or the sound of horses or the smell of the food. It reminded me of Cehn. I thought of the attack and somehow I was suddenly surrounded by my power. It was like swimming in honey. Then I smelled the horse’s blood and it just broke me.”
“You sank into it? Did you think of drawing it up in a thread? It can’t surround you that way.”
Alea frowned. “You think it’ll work?”
Arman looked down. “When I get angry or worried for you, heat hits me. It’s never overwhelmed me, perhaps because it’s inside me, not the other way about. If I sank into it I think I’d go mad.”
“I think I started to. I didn’t even recognize you, Arman.” She hung her head. “I’m scared to try again. What if it doesn’t come when we need it or, worse, it does and I lose control?”
He rested an arm around her shoulders. “You need to try again, just perhaps next time we should be alone. Somewhere you can’t hurt anyone.” He glanced up, hearing Raven’s order to pack up and helped her to her feet. “When we reach Fort Stone, perhaps you can try again there.”
She wordlessly followed him to the horses. She had not been strictly honest. Her power had not subsided. Her whole being tingled with the cold touch of Destruction and there was nothing she could do.
Φ
The 15th Day of Vurgmord, 1251
Raven crawled to the edge of the rise, spyglass trained on the entrance to the pass ahead. The dawn light was a welcome change. The rising sun forced mist off the hills. Bren and Arman dismounted, scouting the road behind them. Alea watched the Athrolani soldiers beside her.
The younger man glanced at her sidelong, fidgeted a bit then finally turned to her. “May I help you, Dhoah’ Lyne’alea?”
“Forgive me, I was wondering what you thought of us.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I can tell Commander Dorcal has no love for me, or my power, and yet your queen was eager to join us. The gallant we met, Sir Elian, was kind. I’m rather unsure where we stand, actually.”
The man tried to hide a smile. “I’m not sure I know either. The commander is a tough man, but a good one. He knows Her Majesty is making the right choice. Honestly you and your guard give me the twitches, but I’m quite certain I’d rather be on your side of things.”
Alea raised her brows questioningly.
“Mirik’s vermillion would look terrible on me.”
Her laugh sounded strange and soft in the air. Seeing the man’s proffered hand, she gripped his forearm, like Arman would.
“I’m Lieutenant Narier.” He nudged the other soldier, “Metters.” The older man tossed the hood of his cloak back and looked at the other officer. Narier jerked his head towards Alea pointedly, “This is Dhoah’ Lyne’alea.”
Metters offered his hand warily across Narier’s horse. “Captain Metters.” He turned back and pulled his hood up again. “I think we would be better off going into the pass now. There’s light enough, but not too much.”
Narier snorted. “I think the ocean would dry before Commander Dorcal went into anything without analyzing it eight ways.”
A scream cut through the quiet—not human, but not bird either. A moment later Arman sprinted up the hill, his face grim. Birds startled from the trees not far behind. “Berrin!” He let out the unearthly warning cry again. “No time!”
Bren pounded up after him, spinning to face the road behind them. He leveled his broadsword. “Toar, how does that man run so fast?”
Raven was on his feet and tugging a sword from his sheath. He grabbed Arman’s arm as the man rushed past. “We cannot outrun them now.”
“I know.” Arman raced across the clearing and grabbed Alea’s reins. “Ride. Now. Fast as you can.”
“I won’t leave you all here, and I don’t know the road!”
"We won't outpace them and there aren't enough of us to go with you without dooming the others." A slap on her horse’s rump sent the animal racing along the ridge before her words died.
Arman’s stomach clenched and heat rushed into his body. He unsheathed two knives. He assessed the nine Berrin, noting the better riders and what weapons they carried. He lowered his stance, leaning to put weight on his back leg. His muscles burned, but were ready and loose.
The others fanned out, Metters retreating until he had better range for his crossbow. The Berrin crested the rise and paused in surprise. Arman was not certain which side acted first, but suddenly there was chaos. His arm whipped, snapping at the hand as he released his blade. He raised the second before the first struck home in the throat of the lead rider.
Bren charged forward, his ferocity bear-like. He twisted, broadsword hamstringing a horse in the upswing and the rider in the reverse. His third blow ended the man. Raven’s approach was twisting, methodical, his blade whirling in arching loops.
Arman tried to haul himself up behind a rider, but succeeded only in pulling the man halfway from the saddle. He slashed across the Berrin’s throat and shoved him into another rider. Bren dragged the second man from the saddle and drove his sword through his ribs.
It was over quickly. Sticky blood covered Arman and there was a gash on his cheek he didn’t remember getting. Burning pain told him an arrow had passed through the flesh of his right shoulder. He dusted himself off and began searching through the bodies for his blades. He preferred close combat so his weapons never left his hands, but mounted attackers were another tale.
“Well, at least we have more horses now,” Bren remarked. The others were silent as they checked wounds and cleaned weapons. Bren’s victims looked closer to having been cleaved in parts and Raven’s kills were clean as were Metters. Narier seemed to have a penchant for beheading.
The man at Arman’s feet—shot with one of Metters’ bolts—was still alive. He tried his best to hide it, his eyes vacant, but the trembling in his hands gave him away. Arman crouched beside him. “Commander!” Grabbing a fistful of the man’s stained uniform, he pulled him up. His hands shook with sudden fury. “Tell me what I need to know or you’ll wish that arrow flew truer.” The Berrin’s eyes widened at the fangs framing the guard’s words. “How many are you? Where are you headed? Are there patrols ahead? Traps?”
Raven crouched at Arman’s shoulder. “I’ll do that.” He reached for the man.
<
br /> “These men are the reason she's riding alone!” Arman whirled on the soldier.
The man was sputtering. “None! The rest joined the army. Nothing lies ahead.” Desperate defiance in the man’s eyes doomed him.
The air around Arman roiled and heat exploded from him in waves. The boiling air tipped his equilibrium. White fire filled his skin and poured into the man. He convulsed and his eyes rolled back. As quickly as it had risen, Arman’s power faded. He dropped the man in the dirt and strode towards their horses.
Raven checked the Berrin soldier. “He’s dead.” He turned to Arman. “We cannot get anything from a dead man!”
“I already know what he hid.” Arman cleaned his weapons before buckling his pack on the horse.
Raven glanced between guard and dead man. “How could you know that?”
Narier fixed Arman with a narrow stare before pulling himself onto his mount. “I think he saw his thoughts, sir.”
Arman ignored Raven’s shudder and swung into the saddle. “We’ve lost enough time. There’s something waiting for us, before Athrolan. Something about a storm.”
Φ
Noise carried farther through the thin air. Alea’s horse clattered between the steeply sloping walls of the notch. Panic subsided to bubble faintly under her other thoughts. Mainly, she was tired and sore. Cold chafed at her cheeks and stiffened her hands. The midafternoon light was faint in the overcast sky, and the entire landscape echoed the gray clouds. She left the trees behind an hour ago.
She patted her horse’s neck thoughtfully. “I thought if there were fewer trees I would feel more at home.” She spoke softly, watching her mount’s ears flick toward her. “The similarities between the desert and a rocky mountainside aren’t enough, apparently. In Vielrona I would have bled to see this—to see anything remotely close to home. Perhaps something else has changed.”
She realized faintly that it was well past lunch, but did not stop. Her stomach was too tight to eat. How could I just leave them there? She ignored the fact that Arman’s slap to her horse had given her little choice. I fought those men in Vielrona, and the soldier in that inn. What’s a Berrin patrol? Her laugh pierced the still air. I would have killed my allies if I’d tried. She urged her horse faster through the notch. The walls leaned in, the gray stone looking ancient and decrepit. Raven said that Fort Stone lay beyond this mountain and a single rider traveled faster than six.