A brief pause at the entrance showed him that the cave interior had a light of its own—a dim, red glow from deeper within.
Yohan drew his sword and stepped inside. Favoring his left side, holding his slung arm close to the body, he walked slowly while his vision adjusted. This was his most vulnerable moment, when anyone inside could see him better than he could see back.
No attack came, and his eyes became accustomed to a darker world.
Tendrils of white mist swirled up and around his legs, his torso, his arms. Though it must be imagination, he felt the added cold and moisture seep through his skin and muscles in search of his bones. His palms felt slick, and he squeezed the leather grip of his weapon tighter.
Glancing left and right, he saw side rooms in abundance. Any one could contain enemies, biding their moment to spring.
He did not stop, however. His eyes found the source of the light—an unnaturally glowing head of a bird, carved from black rock. Beyond it, an immense flat dais. And on its surface, three unmoving bodies. Two of them lay together, bodies touching, light and dark hair commingled.
His cheeks twitched, then tightened. He forced them to relax, needing his eyes to be clear.
Tricks and deception at every turn, Soldier Yohan.
Someone, or something, was here. And it surely expected him to race to the corpses.
Holding back the impulse to do just that, he moved slowly toward the nearest doorway on the left. Prying his eyes from the altar, he began an unceasing scan of the mists, searching for any sign of movement or danger.
A few more steps and he glanced into the first side chamber. It was little more than an alcove or cell, filled wall-to-wall with wooden crates and burlap sacks. Nowhere for an enemy to hide.
He went on, a few more steps, and saw the second room was much as the first. Perhaps a little larger.
The mist was rising, and getting thicker. He could now only see the dais through ghostly clouds of white, and at times not at all.
There were two more doorways on this side of the room, another four on the far side, and one more behind the platform. This last was the most obscured, and the most obvious hiding place for an ambush.
Yohan stepped toward it, taking a moment to peek into the third room. More supplies.
If all the rooms were filled, this cave network carried stores enough to last a hundred people all winter. Or thousands for a tenday or more.
Now he knew what the parties returning to Threefork had been up to.
At least in part, he corrected himself, stopping to peer through the haze at the dark smudges now appearing. Stockpiling had not been the only thing going on.
He stepped over the body of a large man—or someone who once was. The corpse was now little more than a husk.
Yohan stepped over another, trusting his feet to find their way, unwilling to take his eyes off the swirling mists. They were growing thick as winter fog, and he moved deeper into them guided more by memory than sight.
He had no fear for himself, for life had become meaningless. He had been too late to save them.
The attack came from the left, as he had known it would.
Yohan’s arm slipped from the sling, his hand catching the staff in mid-swing. His sword was already in motion. The aim of the thrust was true, the blade entering the neck of the Chekik just beneath the chin.
For the first time, Yohan found himself face-to-face with his eternal enemy. Its gray eyes stared into his with pure disdain. Then, a split-second later, surprise. One heartbeat passed, and they went dim.
He let the body fall, giving himself over, at last, to grief. The warrior who had fought impossible odds to come this far lost control of his legs as he stumbled blindly toward the altar.
The darkness was nearly complete, for the glowing light had died with the Archon. Yohan kicked the side of the platform with his boot, steadied himself with both hands, and pressed his eyes shut.
When he opened them again, there was just enough light to see outlines. He stepped onto the dais and kneeled, then crawled toward the women.
He could now see their dying positions. One of Summer’s arms lay draped over Jena’s chest, the other tucked under. The harpa’s last living act had been to hug—or cradle, or simply touch—the princess.
At least they were friends at the end. That was not much, but it was something.
He took one hand in each of his own, noticing the long cuts across their wrists. Summer’s arm had far more blood, though both were as cold as the stone.
Yohan did not care about the blood, nor the cold. He wanted to stay with them as long as he could. A few minutes, at least. Beyond that, he had no idea what he would do.
The opportunity for his own death was not far away, should he seek that. Or, more likely, even if he did not seek it.
Jena, I will always love you. Summer, I don’t know how to go on without—
He felt a faint squeeze in his right hand. His heart stopped. His mind stopped.
He stared down at the curved perfection of Summer’s face.
“Soldier Yohan.” Her eyes did not open, but the thin lips curled into a smile.
He let go of her hand, just long enough to tear strips of cloth from his own undershirt, then hurriedly begin wrapping her wounded wrists. Then he grabbed her hand again, squeezing it as hard as he dared.
“Summer, can you hear me?”
Her voice was not much more than a whisper. “Aye.”
“Summer, I’m sorry, but I have to move you.”
She nodded weakly.
Yohan lifted her, surprised by how little she weighed.
Fatigue and injury be damned, he would carry her for as long as necessary.
The mist had receded to merely a thin veil, but the darkness remained an impediment to speed. Yohan felt out with booted foot before every step, not daring to risk anything that could make him drop his precious burden.
Her next words were stronger than the previous. “We’re going up.”
“Shh. Aye.”
He could not see her face in the tight blackness of the stairwell. But he knew she did not scare easily, so he told her the truth.
“We need to hide for a while.”
“I trust you, Soldier Yohan.”
He reached the top of the stairs, and saw the opening to the world outside. Heading toward it, he watched a ledge come into a view.
It was an overlook above the cave, peering out on the whole of this valley of Sea’s Pass and the frozen lake it contained.
He stepped out, glancing to each side. On the right, the ledge ended abruptly in just a few yards. To the left, it ran on for some distance along the side of the mountain.
It would have to do.
He started up, thankful that the moon and stars gave just enough light to guide his way.
“Patrik?” she asked quietly.
“In our hearts, now.”
She had strength enough to cry. He did not, instead forcing himself to a single purpose—getting her to safety. The grief would have to come later, for it would be overwhelming.
Another hundred steps and he set Summer down behind a rocky outcropping. Her wide eyes stared at him, alert and alarmed.
“Is it safe to talk?” she whispered.
“Quietly.”
“Is it what I fear?”
He nodded.
“Show me.”
“Are you certain?”
“It’s my homeland, too.”
He eased her into a position where she could see the valley, the frozen lake, and the hundreds of banners—representing thousands of soldiers, and myriad other things—march by in column like an enormous serpent of the mountains, its head nearing the western exit where it would soon disappear over the ridge line, its body stretching out to the eastern entrance and beyond. How long before its tail would appear was anyone’s guess, but the effort required to make this pass traversable to an army suggested a deployment of decisive proportions. Compared to this, the attack on Sky’
s Pass might only be a diversion.
Summer slipped her hand into Yohan’s, though neither could take their eyes off the procession below. Together, they watched the real invasion begin.
Epilogue
Cormona
The slightest of breezes wafted past the princess’ chambers, bearing the aromatic essence of salvia and periwinkle from the city gardens. All her life Leti had loved that fragrant mix, so long associated with a home she adored. Yet on this day, the second since the duel, it failed to ease her restless mind—a mind that needed easing, for though her homeland had achieved a tentative peace in the war between neighbors, that peace had come with a cost.
From where she stood on her balcony, she could see past the distant city walls. Just barely discernible was the field where Tobias and Nicolas fought, and beyond that the Akenberg camp.
Then she looked down, to the stone patio forty feet beneath her balcony. That was where they would find her, later today. For though she could just barely live with the death of her beloved—she was not the only person to ever experience this unimaginable anguish, as she reminded herself continuously—she could not live with the belief that he had done it for her.
A hundred times Toby had blamed himself, and a hundred times she had reassured him that, strong though his bond was with the fallen hero, it was nothing to her own.
Toby said he understood, just as she knew he would understand her decision. And he knew the responsibilities that were about to fall onto his shoulders, for their father was even now slipping away.
And Toby said one more thing, the lone reason she was still on this balcony and not on that stone. An hour earlier, the messenger informed them that the council would soon be forming in the meeting hall below, that the king-to-be’s presence was soon required. Toby had thanked the girl and sent her away, waiting until he and Leti were alone again to let the tears come. I can’t do it alone, sister. I need you there.
He had extended her suffering for a day.
The lone piece of furniture on the balcony, a luxurious settee, sat only a few steps away. But Leti desired no comfort, only blissful oblivion.
“Your pardons, My Princess. It’s time for the council.”
Leti nodded to the attendant, a lovely creature just blossoming from childhood to womanhood. An age that Leti remembered fondly, and regretfully. That was a time when all things had seemed possible, when dreams knew no bounds, and the reality had very nearly been even better than her hopeful imagination.
Leti had agreed to sit through this negotiation, just for her brother. She did not expect to talk, and doubted whether she would even follow the discussion. More than anything else, she simply hoped the sight of Akenberg uniforms would not force out the screams she had suppressed since hearing the cheers.
She rested trembling hands on the balcony’s high stone railing. She visualized them lifting her up and over. Her arms felt unnaturally weak, but her body still possessed a feverish compulsion so powerful she had to fight to resist it.
Instead of climbing, she cast one more glance at the patio below, then the sky above, wondering where the gods were.
Leti pulled her hands back, promising herself that the next time they touched the railing would be the last. Then she returned inside to prepare for her last official duty.
Though days had passed since the duel, the two sides still occupied the exact same positions, staring at one another, wondering what would come next. Not unlike the situation in this council room, at this moment.
The Akenbergers, all rigid shoulders and icy demeanors, had not asked for time to mourn their king. Naturally, for that was not the Akenberg way. Leti had only ever met one who showed any emotion at all. Perhaps that had been his downfall.
No, she suspected the delay was a simple matter of reorganizing command. Judging by the stoic indifference of the faces seated on the far side of the table, she assumed they had shifted from one leader to the next with the same detachment they might give to a change of cook or steward.
Many of the faces of their delegation Leti already recognized, and most of the names were familiar. The others she quickly learned.
The leader was a general named Freilenn, whose stony exterior no doubt concealed a brilliant mind, for he was the one who had driven Asturia’s army all the way back to Cormona. His aide, Captain Piveto, was a handsome man halfway between the age of the commander to his right and the woman to his left.
Seeing Lima, King Nicolas’ former aide, made Leti’s heart skip a beat. She remembered the one-armed soldier from the time before, though the two had never spoken until now.
Captain Mickens, too, had been a part of the prince’s fateful expedition to Cormona. As had Pim, the silent guard standing protectively behind Lima.
None of them looked happy, to be sure. But then their kingdom had just suffered an unexpected defeat.
Leti devoted her attentions to them, rather than the dozen representatives of her own side, for the Akenbergers still had the power to make or break these negotiations. The city was still technically under siege, and one look at the opposing general gave no indication that the advantage was likely to be surrendered soon. If at all.
The man of the hour was Tobias, and he had thus far passed through the rehearsed stage of the meeting with better grace than she expected, welcoming the visitors and offering his condolences for their loss.
But he had quickly faltered after that, the weight of so many stares bearing him down to his seat. Ever since, the one large exchange had devolved into any number of whispered side conversations. Those on the other side were brief, in stark contrast to her kinsmen’s. Now the enemy general and his colleagues sat quietly, waiting. They might wait all day, from the looks of it.
Someone with a voice of authority needed to take charge. Lord Jacinto was notably absent, a fact that both pleased and worried Leti. She knew it was not disinterest that kept him away. He was somewhere nearby, plotting.
Yet without his guidance, the discussion had gone off the track. The fate of two kingdoms, and the empire entire, was at stake. And no one led.
She looked at Toby. Allowing so many advisors had been a mistake, that much was clear. One of them whispered into his ear, and he nodded. Then a second achieved the same response. Her brother was not even looking at the opposing delegation any longer, though they all stared at him.
Ostensibly, General Moroles was in charge of the defenders. But he had never done more than take orders from Jacinto. Without that voice telling him what to do, he simply sat and watched the stalled proceedings as a child might watch a puppet show.
She wanted this meeting to be over as soon as possible, but instead it was going nowhere.
Without thinking it through, Leti stood from her chair and felt many eyes swing toward her. “General Freilenn, honored guests, please forgive the delay. You catch us in a time of transition, as you are no doubt aware. Akenberg is not alone in losing its ruler, for my father is not expected to live past this tenday.
“Please know that when Asturia expresses her sympathy for your king, she means it.”
She watched those quiet heads nod, giving her the fortitude to continue.
“I hope we can all set grief aside for a few hours and resolve our current situation. For the good of both our kingdoms.”
All the whispers had stopped, and she had the attention of her own people as well as the visitors.
Leti nodded, reassuring herself. “General Freilenn, we are aware that you are reluctant to surrender your position of strength—”
He raised a hand, stopping her in mid-sentence. She watched him nod not toward his own aide, but to the one-armed woman beyond.
Lima cleared her throat. Sliding a sheaf of papers to the center of the table, she began to speak. “I was tasked with writing these a few days ago,” she said, staring at the top page.
“The Third—King Nicolas, that is—wanted orders drawn up for the integration of our two kingdoms, following the duel.” She looked around at
both factions. “Regardless of the results of the duel, that is.”
She lowered her voice. “He was like that, prepared for everything. He would have been a great emperor.”
“The best,” General Freilenn said.
Leti looked at those stoic faces in a new light. They were not indifferent at all. Though too professional to let their shoulders slump, the taut expressions now appeared to stem from something other than iciness. They were trying not to cry. Wanting to get through this ordeal—to carry out their king’s final orders—before giving themselves over to grief.
And so she realized that Nico had affected others the way he had her. She was not the only one who suffered.
What followed was a reading of the documents and a discussion of their technicalities. Leti tuned the details out, for she needed to speak to her brother. To make sure he understood, and to not lose this opportunity.
She pulled him away from the table, then waved aside those who attempted to follow. “General Moroles, see to the orders,” she said firmly. He blinked, then turned his attention to the Akenbergers.
“Leti, I can’t lead one kingdom, let alone two,” Toby whispered in distress. “I’ve never led a squad, much less an army.”
“That’s why you will appoint Freilenn to overall command,” she replied.
“I can do that?”
“You will do that.”
He stared back, then nodded. “You’ll stay with me, right?”
“I…” She did not know what to tell him.
Then she was saved by a disruption in the chamber. A stranger had arrived, and was stopped by one of the castle guards.
Leti did not recognize the stranger, and he certainly did not look like he belonged. His clothing was plain and unwashed, his beard long and unkept and still insufficient to hide his youth.
“Let him in,” Lima demanded. She turned to address the Asturians, introducing the strange man. “This is the Reacher Henrikson, a scholar that King Nicolas chose to trust. He is also known as the Earththane Jak.”
A thane, with a thrall’s name? Leti wondered why he would be here, now of all times. What could he possibly add to a confluence of kingdoms?
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