Chronicles of the Four: The Complete Series

by Marissa Farrar

  “These are my tribesmen, Aswor,” he nodded to the man on his left, “and Kolti.”

  Both men were similar to him in appearance. They had his deep skin tone, dark eyes, and black hair. Their hair wasn’t as long as Orergon’s, however. As leader of their tribe, he was the only one allowed to wear his hair past his shoulders. Should he ever lose his position of power, his hair would be hacked off at his nape to show everyone that he was no longer their leader.

  Vehel nodded in his direction, and then introduced his own men. “And these are my brethren—Ehlark, Folwin, Athtar, and Ivran.”

  Each of the men also appeared similar in appearance to the leader of the Elvish, but, like his own men, none of them had dismounted.

  If his knowledge of Elvish history was correct, Vehel was the youngest of three brothers, and was the son of the Elvish king and queen of their region. No one other than the Elvish recognized them as royalty, but he was royal among his people. That made Vehel an important person, though Orergon detected something in the other Elvish men’s eyes. What was that? Boredom? As though they couldn’t quite be bothered to be here. It seemed strange to him. Vehel was an important man, and yet something about the ones he traveled with made him think otherwise.

  “Shall we proceed?” he said.

  Vehel ducked his head. “Very well.”

  Orergon remounted his horse—a chestnut stallion called Corazon—and pulled Corazon around to face the mountains and the home of the Norcs ahead.

  Chapter Five

  Vehel

  AS FAR AS THE OTHER races went, Vehel could just about stomach the Moerians. The Norcs, however, were a different matter.

  As they approached their home of the Southern Trough, Vehel tried not to show his dismay at the way the Norcs lived. This was their main place of residence, but he would be excused from thinking it was a camp that had been erected during a long journey. Any kind of luxury—other than women, meat, and wine—was considered a weakness for the Norcs. The Moerians lived basically, too, but they didn’t display the uncouthness of the Norcs.

  The Elvish, however, like their home comforts. Blankets of silks and furs, comfortable clothing, homes filled with beautiful things. Where they resided in the Inverlands, the climate was substantially cooler than the Vast Plains of the Moerians, and so they needed these items to stay warm. Of course, it was cold at the foothills of the mountain range as well, but the Norcs were certainly big enough to withstand the cold climes. They looked as though their mothers had been mated to a bull, and the Norcs were the result of that coupling. Big, hairy, with no manners Vehel could appreciate.

  Still, he had to be nice for the moment. Their pescatarian diet was getting harder and harder to maintain, and they needed this exchange with the humans. He’d been alive for one hundred and fifty years, and, in that time, he’d witnessed the changes to the climate of their kingdom. On the Eastern coast where the humans reigned, they still had the sun and rain, but the weather on the Western coast was becoming more extreme. Both their lands down south, and the Moerian’s hotter climes in the north, were getting less and less rainfall every year that passed, making it even harder to grow crops in both the hotter and colder lands. On the coast, they foraged shellfish, but those, too, were growing fewer in number. They also sent their kind out on ships to catch fish, but they were losing more and more people and boats to the sea monsters that lurked in the depths. They claimed more victims until people were too frightened to fish. It was far from being an ideal way to live, but at least this exchange with the humans twice a year bought them a little more time. Vehel didn’t want to think of a time when he may need to move his people to different lands. Doing so would undoubtedly mean clashing with a different race, and they’d lived in peace for so long now, he didn’t want to give anyone a reason to start a new war.

  Vehel dug his heels into the side of his stag, and they picked up pace as they approached the Norcs’ home.

  They’d been noticed, people gathering from their homes to watch. The women were almost as big as the men, with thick thighs even larger than Vehel’s, and shoulders to match. With the brute strength of this clan, Vehel didn’t understand why they were content to live and roam in the foothills of the mountains, rather than try to cross and take far more habitable spots on the Eastern coast. Perhaps they simply weren’t clever enough to consider such a thing, or maybe they were afraid of the humans with their weapons and buildings and walls. The Norcs probably wondered the same sort of thing about the Elvish, with their propensity toward magic, but the Elvish part of the Treaty meant them signing a promise not to do magic, and over the years folks had not only forgotten how, but such a thing was now frowned upon.

  He couldn’t imagine the Moerians living in a different environment than where they currently resided. They rode for days across the Vast Plains, hunting and surveying their lands. To take them out of there and force them to live elsewhere would be like taking the fish from the sea and expecting them to thrive in a pool.

  As they got closer, the scent of meat roasting on a spit filtered through to his nose. The others could smell it, too, and his stomach growled. Even though he did not eat meat, he could appreciate the reason others did. No, they would make do with the dried fish and bread they’d brought for the journey.

  Movement came from the Norcs, people muttering and breaking away to create a clear path. A huge man with long, wavy brown hair and shoulders twice the width of Vehel’s broke through the crowd. A similar sized man followed him close behind.

  Vehel forced a smile to tweak his cheeks, and he jumped from the back of his stag and handed the rope harness to one of his men.

  Beside him, Orergon did the same, climbing from his horse’s back to stand beside the animal.

  “You’re late,” Warsgra growled as he came to a halt before the other two men.

  “Apologies,” Orergon said, lifting his hand, palm facing Warsgra in a greeting. “We had some unexpected delays.”

  Warsgra lifted his bushy eyebrows at Vehel. “You, too?”

  “Yes. The lands are getting wild. The Gods don’t like us passing through them so easily.”

  “Let’s hope the Gods are more favorable on this leg of the journey,” Warsgra said. “I know the mountain Gods always favor my kind, so perhaps they will look kindly on you if you’re traveling with us.”

  Orergon’s smile appeared frozen on his face. “We have our own Gods who I’m sure will watch over us. We have a gift for them, too.”

  Warsgra snorted. “Sure.”

  Vehel bit down on his anger. There was no need for Warsgra to be so dismissive of other cultures. It wasn’t as though his own was the leader in anything, even if he liked to think it was.

  Warsgra turned and strode away, heading deeper into the compound, and assuming the others would follow. “We will eat and allow you an hour to rest, and then start the journey through the Southern Pass. The weather looks fair, and it should only take us a couple of days to reach the point where we are due to meet the human convoy.” He glanced back over his shoulder at them, sweeping aside his thick hair. “Assuming they’re not running as late as both of you, of course.”

  Vehel scowled at his back, and then exchanged a glance with Orergon. Though they were opposite in looks, Vehel thought they both were most likely wearing identical expressions of frustration right now. He wasn’t sure how he’d get through the next few days without wanting to send a lightning ball into the middle of the Norc’s chest.

  A large fire pit was burning in the middle of what appeared to be the compound’s main square. Above the pit, a massive headless boar had been spiked and was now turning on a spit. The fat from the beast dripped into the flames, causing it to sizzle and smoke. Vehel wasn’t interested in the meat, but he appreciated the warmth. The temperature would continue to drop, the deeper they headed into the mountains, and while he was used to a cooler climate, that of the great mountains could prove to be deadly on occasion. The weather could turn in a moment, and what
was previously a fine day could easily turn bad.

  But it wasn’t always the turn in the weather that caused the deaths, but what was held within the weather that should be feared. Creatures existed in the Great Dividing Range that couldn’t be killed by normal methods, and even brute strength and bravado like Warsgra was displaying wouldn’t be enough to defeat them.

  The Norc might believe the mountain Gods looked kindly upon his race, but sometimes the dangers came from the underworld, and those dangers had little to do with the Gods.

  Chapter Six

  Dela

  THEY’D ONLY BEEN ON the road for two days and one night, and not yet reached the most arduous part of their journey, and already they had lost people. The first to collapse had been an older woman Ellyn Rudge, who’d begun to complain about her hips within the first hour of the walk, until finally she’d given in and collapsed on the side of the road. There was no space on the carts filled with sacks of grain, and though they’d tried to convince the older woman to ride on top of the sacks, she’d cried that she was frightened she’d fall off, and refused.

  They’d left her with some supplies and a blanket for warmth, and promised to bring her back on their return.

  Dela still felt awful leaving her there, however. Who knew what kind of dangers might approach her in that time.

  The next to fall on the wayside had been a middle-aged man, who’d tripped and done something bad to his left leg. They’d tried to fashion a walking stick for him, but his progress had been impossibly slow, and they couldn’t slow down to match his pace. Again, they’d offered the ride on the bags of grain, but they couldn’t keep doing that for everyone who was struggling. The weight the oxen were pulling was already huge, and they couldn’t keep adding extra people to the top. They’d exhaust the beasts and never make it to their destination, and that would never do.

  It seemed incredible to Dela how a place of such beauty could hold such dangers. Between here and the Great Dividing Range which cut through the middle of their lands, the ground was flat and offered them incredible views of the jagged, snow-topped mountains. The sky was a brilliant blue, with only a few clouds gathering near the peaks. The climate of their kingdom meant green grass sprouted in every direction, and clear blue streams ran by, glacial water that was clean enough to drink right from where it flowed. Ever since she was a small child, she’d been warned of the dangers outside the city walls, of the haunted forests whose trees pulled up their roots and moved when you weren’t looking, and the ancient swamps that housed fearsome creatures in its murky depths, just waiting for an opportunity to pull an innocent rider down under the mud, but so far everything had been perfect. She almost didn’t want to have to endure the busy, smelly streets of Anthoinia again, preferring the fresh air and open spaces.

  She was grateful to have Layla with her, and she’d formed some friendships with a number of the other Chosen as well. They sang songs together to pass the time, or told jokes or funny stories to lighten the mood and take their minds off their blistered feet and aching muscles.

  Her mind was never far from her brother as she trod the same path he’d taken three years earlier. She knew he’d been lost at some point in the Southern Pass, though she wasn’t sure exactly where, which meant he’d definitely traveled the same road she was on now. She imagined her feet stepping in the exact same footprints he would have left, and the idea brought him closer in her heart.

  “Whoa!”

  The male voice came from the front of the procession. It had sounded as though it belonged to the older man, Wayneguard Norton. Norton had elected himself as leader of the troop, and no one had put up much of a fight to stop him from doing so. It wasn’t a job any of them wanted.

  The carts all came to a halt, and the oxen snorted their displeasure at the change in momentum.

  “What’s going on?” Layla asked Dela.

  Dela shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  The young man who’d been at school with Ridley, Brer, was also walking with them. Those of a similar age group had automatically banded together. “I think there’s something up ahead. I guess we’ll find out.”

  The last of the carts drew to a halt, the oxen scraping at the dirt road with their hooves. Dela left her spot near the back of the group and moved closer to the front to see what was holding things up.

  Norton stood at the front, stroking his beard like it was a cat, a frown causing the lines on his forehead to deepen. Ahead, a river rushed across the road, but a curved stone bridge ran across it, allowing them access to the other side. She still couldn’t see what the problem was.

  “Why have we stopped? Is the bridge down?” She stood on tiptoes to try to see if she’d missed something.

  “You don’t know what that is,” he replied, not looking at her.

  “A bridge?” She felt like she was pointing out the obvious.

  “It’s a Devil’s Bridge. The Devil helped to build it, so he takes one soul of every party trying to cross.”

  Dela wasn’t even sure she believed in devils. Seemed to her, the Gods caused enough problems without them needing to worry about devils as well.

  “It’s just an old wives’ tale. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “Are you going to be the first one to try it?” he asked. “All tales stem from something, however much the truth may have been bent in the telling. No good thing comes from crossing that bridge.”

  “Do we have any other options?” She viewed the river, which churned and foamed against its banks. It was too fast moving to try to get the oxen and carts through, and if the force of the water turned the carts over, they’d lose all the grain as well.

  Their words were picked up and passed back through the convoy.

  “What is it?” someone called from the back.

  A second shout. “Why have we stopped?”

  “Devil’s bridge,” a different person shouted back.

  A female voice this time. “A what?”

  “Cursed ...” came the hushed whisper in return.

  “This is crazy,” Dela said out loud. It was just a bridge, and in the bright sunshine, it was hard to imagine there was anything bad going on with it.

  Leaving the convoy, she trotted down to the side of the bridge. The ground grew sodden beneath her boots, and she turned side on, her arms stretched to keep her balance. She wanted to get a good look under the arch, where shadows swallowed the bright sunlight.

  “Dela!” a male voice called out to her, but she ignored it. They could come down with her if they wanted. No one was stopping them, but so far she was still alone. Only inches from the tips of her toes, the rocky riverbank lay. Water rushed by, passing her to continue beneath the bridge and vanishing into the distance.

  Dela leaned out, trying to get a better view. She didn’t know what she thought she was going to see, but she knew she needed to check.

  Though the underside of the bridge, particularly the part where the stone met the riverbank, was shrouded in shadows, there was nothing she could see that would make her think something would try to snatch them if they crossed.

  “There’s nothing here,” she shouted up. “It just looks like a regular bridge.”

  “You can’t see a curse,” one of the older women called back.

  Dela sighed and rolled her eyes. She turned and stomped her way back up to the road and jammed her hands onto her hips. “Do you have any better suggestions? It’s not as though we can just turn around and go home.”

  “She’s right,” Norton said. “We have to go across. We don’t have any choice.”

  Layla looked at her, chewing her lower lip anxiously. “It’ll be okay, won’t it, Dela? You definitely didn’t see anything?”

  Dela shrugged. “I didn’t see anything, but my knowledge of such things is no better than anyone else’s here.”

  Norton stepped forward, taking charge. “Okay. We have to go across.”

  One of the older women burst into tears.

  He
continued, “If you choose not to cross, we can leave you here, but you’ll be alone and without shelter for many days to come. That’s your choice, of course, but you can’t blame anyone but yourself if something happens to you.”

  Worried mutters went about the group. A few moments of bravery, versus days and nights on end alone. Dela knew she was going to be crossing. Not only was there no way she’d want to be left behind, but she wasn’t completely sure there was even anything to be afraid of. The sun warmed her shoulders, birds tweeted in the surrounding trees, and the water gurgled by. It was a beautiful day and felt as far from the devil as possible.

  No one volunteered to stay behind.

  “Right.” Norton nodded. “I suggest we keep moving, then.”

  The drivers of the carts yelled, “Yah!” at the oxen to get them moving again. The carts wheels creaked, the weight crunching stones and dirt beneath them. The oxen snorted and stamped their hooves, but reluctantly started forward.

  A hand slipped into Dela’s, and she looked over to see Layla’s pale face. “It’ll be okay.” Dela squeezed her friend’s hand in reassurance.

  Layla nodded, but her expression was tense, her lips a thin line.

  Dela’s chest tightened. She shouldn’t feel responsible for her friend—they’d ended up in this situation in exactly the same way, and they were the same age—but she couldn’t help it.

  “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  Norton had led the way, taking the first steps across the bridge, while the carts filled with the bags of grain began to follow. They were a good number, and it would take time to cross. Dela figured she’d rather go quickly than wait until the very end.

  She gave Layla’s hand a tug. “Come on.”

  They exchanged a smile then started forward. The bridge was wide enough to allow them to walk side by side with the grain carts, meaning they didn’t have to wait. Others were doing the same, no one apparently wanting to be the last to cross.