“Let us go,” Desya protested angrily. “Borya and I can do it.” His yellow, catlike eyes flashed in the firelight.
Illarion drew himself up to his full height and straightened the tall hat he insisted on wearing. “You insult me.”
“No, we don’t want to see you get hurt,” Borya shot back. “Before we were caught in the magic storm, you could make any jump, scale any wall. You’ve never gotten over what the storm did to you.” His eyes, altered in that storm, glowed an eerie yellow.
Illarion turned away. “Then I am most expendable.”
“You are never expendable!” Zaryae protested, pushing forward. “This is a foolish risk to take, especially when my dreams have been dark.”
Illarion turned to her with a pained expression and reached out to touch his niece’s cheek. “No, Zaryae. This is exactly the risk to take when your dreams are dark. Because I have the least to offer the group, while Borya and Desya are young and strong. Let me do this. Please, indulge my pride.”
Zaryae looked as if she was holding back tears. She turned his palm and kissed it, then folded his fingers into a fist. “For luck,” she said, although the look in her eyes was sad.
“For luck,” Illarion replied. He gave a look of challenge to the twins, but Borya gave an audible sigh and shook his head.
“There’s no stopping you when you’re in a mood like this,” he conceded. “But be careful. We’ve got many roads to follow together.”
Desya’s expression made his objection plain. “If you do this and die, I will refuse to mourn you,” he threatened.
Illarion took the threat in stride. “Let’s hope that’s not necessary.” He eyed the darkening sky. “Let’s get moving. We’re nearly out of daylight.”
They had been cold all day, nearly frozen in the winter chill. But as they got closer to the split ground and the growing fire within, the canyon rapidly became uncomfortably hot. Connor insisted on walking near the front, in case another of Quintrel’s memories awakened. He walked along the wall, keeping a careful distance from the fissures.
“There!” he said, pointing. “You hardly see it as an opening, because there’s another seam offset from the first making it look as if the split goes all the way across. But there’s a gap.”
Illarion nodded, eyeing the space. “Aye. A bit tight, but there’s an opening for sure.” He looked back to the others. “Follow carefully. I’ll call out what I find as I go. You’ll excuse me if I’ve got no desire to make a return trip once I reach the other side.”
“Let’s get you into a harness,” Borya said, catching Illarion by the shoulder.
Illarion looked at the cracked landscape and the fiery glow. “A rope won’t hold in that. I’ll find my way.”
Zaryae tore a piece of fabric from her clothing and wet it in a pool of slush. She wrung it out and offered it to Illarion. “Put this across your nose and mouth. And be careful,” she said, stretching up to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“I’ll see you again,” he said, bending to kiss her forehead. Then he took the wet cloth and made his way amid the fissures. The air shimmered with the heat, making it difficult to see far ahead. The others, taking a cue from Zaryae, soaked scarves or kerchiefs and also covered their faces against the fumes and heat.
“I don’t think I can cross that.” Lowrey’s voice was barely audible. Blaine turned to the scholar, who was ashen with fear. “Leave me here. I’ll never make it.”
“Climb on my back,” Borya said. “I’ll carry you.”
Connor was just a few steps behind Illarion, followed by Borya and Desya, and then Blaine. Illarion seemed to disappear into the shimmering air, but when Connor ventured after him, he realized that the path between the fissures was wider than it looked. A good thing, or we’d be cooked before we made it out, Connor thought.
Once inside the first set of fissures, a large patch of cracked stone stretched several wagon-lengths across the floor of the canyon. From between the cracks, plumes of smoke rose from the burning seam. Past the cracked stone area, the canyon floor appeared to return to its normal appearance.
It was dangerously hot among the fissures, and the fumes from the burning coal made the air difficult to breathe. Illarion traced the six-star figure of the Vessa constellation in the air to remind himself, then peered at the field of cracked stone and finally nodded.
“I think I see the path,” he said. “It’s narrow. There are places where it widens a bit. My bet is that the wide places form the same figure as the constellation’s stars, and it’s the way to safely navigate the trap.”
“Are you certain?” Blaine asked, eyeing the burning cracks with concern. “If you’re wrong —”
“If I’m wrong, I die, and Borya or Desya takes my place,” Illarion said. “I respect the fire, but I’m not afraid.” He chuckled. “I don’t plan to die today. You watch. I will find the path.”
Illarion eyed the pattern of the burning coal seams one more time, then carefully began to make his way, surrounded by smoking fissures.
Illarion tottered, and Connor feared he might lose his balance, but he straightened and surveyed the ground in front of him. Vessa’s constellation was a zigzag of bright stars, which the ancient astronomers had fancied to be a woman with wild hair streaming behind her and flames flaring from a burning brand held in her right hand.
Illarion turned sharply to follow the narrow path to what would be the lowest point of the flames from Vessa’s burning brand. The rock ridge that was the path through the glowing cracks was as narrow as an acrobat’s balancing beam. Next, Illarion tacked in the other direction, to a point that made up the body of the astronomer’s fanciful figure. Borya followed, carrying Lowrey on his back, and Desya found safe footing.
“Our turn,” Blaine muttered. He motioned to Piran behind him, the signal for a few more of the group to cross over.
Illarion made another diagonal move to a point of the constellation that was Vessa’s long, unbound hair. There was just one final stretch to the last point in the constellation, Vessa’s head. From there, he had a short leap to unbroken stone. He turned to encourage Borya, who was close behind him.
The edge of the narrow ridge of stone began to crumble, and Borya lost his footing. Illarion caught him by the back of his cloak and hauled him upright. With Lowrey on his back, Borya lacked the agility that should have made the crossing simple.
They tottered for an instant, but the thin ridge of stone was too narrow for them both to secure a solid footing. Illarion twisted, giving Borya a shove toward the next wide place in the path. More rock crumbled from the narrow ridge and Illarion toppled backward, flailing, into the glowing fissure.
“Illarion!” Borya and Desya cried out.
“You’ve got to keep moving,” Connor grated. He could see the grief in the twins’ faces, and he was not immune to their sorrow, but intense heat, coupled with his heavy traveling clothes, was beginning to make him light-headed, and he was certain the same was true for the rest of the party. “We’ll lose everyone if we don’t keep moving.”
Trying not to think about the burning coal in the fissures all around him, Connor inched his way toward the first widening in the path. Even though he had watched Illarion and the twins closely, it was difficult in the fiery glow to spot the islands of safety. “We’d better move people through one island at a time!” he shouted back to Blaine. “It’s not easy to spot the path, and it can’t bear much weight.”
Blaine nodded. Connor had to heel-toe his feet to cross the narrow ridge.
“Keep your eyes on a focal point!” Desya shouted back to him. “Don’t look at the path, look at something on the wide place.”
Connor held his breath and fixed his gaze on a rock in the middle of the wide place. He moved with a combination of caution and panic, knowing that his delay was costing his companions endurance time. With a gasp of relief, he made it to the landing, and Blaine followed to the spot he had just vacated. Kestel was next in line, followed by Zarya
e.
Connor moved to step onto the next ridge and realized too late that he had eyed the wrong spot. He twisted mid-step, and for a horrible instant, saw nothing but the gaping stone fissure and a burning maw of coal. Regaining his balance, Connor took a deep breath and stepped again, this time making sure not to take his eyes from the spot Desya left.
It seemed to take forever for the group to cross. On the far side of the coal seam it was marginally cooler, although the burning coal was close enough that they all opened their cloaks and mopped their foreheads. Connor’s lungs ached from the smoke, and he longed to leave this area behind.
They moved a safe distance away from the flames and heat. Zaryae collapsed into Borya’s arms, sobbing, and Desya stood next to them, his entire form rigid with anger and grief. The others stood apart, unwilling to intrude on their mourning, but mindful that they were still not out of danger. Lowrey was bent over, wheezing and gasping for breath, looking pale and terrified. Dawe had unsheathed his crossbow, and Piran had drawn his bow. Both men eyed the dark ridges of the canyon walls. Night had fallen, and after the brilliance of the fire seam, their lanterns gave a paltry glow that seemed to be mocked by the darkness of the canyon.
“I don’t like this,” Connor muttered. Nothing about the journey had been hospitable, but in the darkness, the canyon seemed ominous.
“We’ve got to make camp,” Verran said. “For all we know, there could be a huge cliff in front of us, and we wouldn’t know it until we fell off it, it’s so dark.”
“We can’t stop here,” Blaine said, “it’s too exposed. We need to move farther back in the canyon, away from the fire.”
“Give them a little more time,” Kestel admonished. “Then we’ll worry about making camp.” She approached the huddled group and laid a hand on Zaryae’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
Zaryae drew a shuddering breath and nodded, unable to speak. Borya was weeping, but Desya remained dry-eyed, his expression filled with suppressed rage.
Blaine moved up behind Kestel. “We’re all sorry for your loss,” he said quietly. “And when we get through this, you and the twins are welcome to make Glenreith your home if you wish. But now, we need to move on.”
Zaryae nodded and linked arms with Borya, who seemed to be supporting her weight as they began to walk. The group drew closer together, watchful of the cliff sides as they started forward.
A crossbow thud echoed in the canyon, and a quarrel slammed into Desya’s shoulder hard enough to spin him to the side before he collapsed. Zaryae screamed and would have run to him, but Borya held her back as three more shots laid down a line not to be crossed.
“Show yourselves!” Blaine shouted, moving to the fore.
An instant later, lanterns were unshuttered, and they saw a force of at least fifteen armed men, crossbows nocked and ready, blocking the path. A tall man with an unpleasant expression stepped forward.
“You are trespassing. You do not belong here. Now, you will die.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
V
edran Pollard’s horse reared as he brought his sword down hard on the infantryman to his right, cleaving the man from the shoulder through the ribs. The night sky was filled with torchlight and smoke as two forces faced each other at the base of the Riven Mountains.
Pollard’s mood was darker than usual. He lay about with his sword, slicing his way through the motley assembly of army survivors who had followed Niklas Theilsson home from the Meroven front. They stood little chance against Pollard’s contingent of nearly two hundred men, even if Lanyon Penhallow had brought a dozen or more talishte with him.
The battleground stank of blood and offal. Few of Theilsson’s men were mounted, which meant that Pollard’s small cavalry was at a distinct advantage. Pollard led the charge against the foot soldiers, with his own infantry closing ranks behind him. Thanks to Reese, Pollard had talishte of his own in the field, moving with deadly swiftness among the poorly armed soldiers.
Hoofbeats sounded, coming hard and fast. Pollard’s attention snapped to the man on horseback riding toward him with single-minded focus, sword raised in challenge. His mood, already grim, grew blacker as he recognized Lanyon Penhallow.
While Penhallow lost the advantage of talishte speed for his attack astride a horse, he forfeited none of that edge in the series of sword blows he rained down on Pollard. “I’ve been looking forward to this,” Penhallow said, bringing his sword down hard against Pollard’s blade. “You’ve made yourself extremely inconvenient.”
“So now you’re McFadden’s bodyguard?” Pollard returned, parrying the blow although it took his full strength to do so. Sparring with Reese had conditioned him to fighting a talishte, but it still required exceptional focus to track the faster-than-mortal movements, and despite his own skill as a swordsman, it put the odds against him.
“More like his vermin killer,” Penhallow said, scoring a nasty gash in Pollard’s shoulder. “Call your troops off. You won’t win.”
Pollard laughed and blocked another strike. “That outcome is very much up for debate.”
Penhallow prepared for another onslaught, but just as he was about to strike, two of Reese’s talishte warriors appeared behind Penhallow astride war steeds. They attacked in tandem, drawing off Penhallow, as Pollard carefully backed his horse away from the skirmish.
“I’ll leave you to my friends, Lanyon. Of course, it’s not too late to change sides,” he added with a laugh.
Penhallow cursed, but whether it was intended for Pollard or for his new assailants, Pollard did not know and did not care. He spurred his horse in the other direction, intent on rejoining the fight.
Pollard spotted Nilo across the field and fought his way through the tangle of soldiers and horses to reach him. Nilo and a small contingent were battling a nearly equal number of Theilsson’s soldiers. What the enemy soldiers lacked in armor or supplies, they made up for with sheer determination, and they were giving Nilo and his men a fair fight. Pollard rode in, taking out his frustration at Penhallow on the soldiers in his way. Within minutes, the enemy soldiers had been killed or had fled for their lives. Nilo directed his men toward a new target and turned toward Pollard.
“Where in Raka are the additional troops?” Pollard demanded. “They should have been here before this.”
Nilo shook his head. “Not here, that’s for certain.”
Pollard cursed. “I want to break through the line and get men into the pass. They can still pick up McFadden’s trail.”
Nilo looked at him askance. “You believe McFadden is actually going to find Valshoa?”
Pollard glowered. “I believe McFadden is going to find a place of power where he’ll make an attempt to bring back magic, as he did at Mirdalur. And when he does, I want our men in place to capture him or kill him, if necessary. Whoever controls McFadden holds the fate of magic. That’s the kind of bargaining chip I like.”
Nilo’s eyes narrowed as he looked out across the battlefield. For now, the fighting had shifted west. “We’ve got the advantage in numbers,” he said. “I think we can break the enemy line if we use a wedge formation, drive at the center of the line, and use our talishte fighters on each flank. They don’t have the resources to withstand that kind of concentrated assault.”
“I like that,” Pollard said, nodding. “Make it happen.”
Nilo mustered his commanders and shouted orders, rallying his men. The enemy troops sensed a change, and Pollard could hear the sound of distant voices preparing for an assault. From his vantage point on a small rise, Pollard could see across the plain toward the mountains, where Theilsson massed his soldiers. Pollard had made certain to have enough talishte fighters to eliminate the danger that Penhallow’s men would try their firebombing trick again.
Penhallow will be lucky to survive the battle, Pollard thought. We’ll sweep McFadden’s pathetic little army out of the way and end this farce. Lord Reese will be very pleased, and we will be one step closer to our goal.
>
Theilsson’s army formed a line blocking the entrance to the mountain pass. Trumpets blared, and Pollard’s army surged forward, hammering that line with brute force. Outnumbered, the enemy held firm, but even at a distance, Pollard could see that Theilsson’s position was becoming untenable. When the line broke, Nilo’s men ran for the pass and the trumpeters sounded their horns in victory as the enemy army retreated in disarray.
We’ll have McFadden before the night is over, Pollard thought, smiling. And when I’m through here, I’ll make sure the backbone of any resistance movement McFadden was planning to lead is utterly broken.
“Lord Pollard! Sir!” A voice shouted from behind him. Pollard turned his horse to see a runner coming from the direction of their camp.
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