“I suppose I have a higher tolerance for cold weather than most,” he replied.
“It’s me,” whispered Myr.
He started slightly, surprised by her voice. Ria was already pushing forward, and Damon set a hand on his myrblade as he followed in her wake.
“You’ll never freeze to death,” whispered Myr. “You still might feel uncomfortable from intense cold, given how it can slow your muscles and body, but it’s no threat to your life as long as you’re wielding me.”
“Good to know,” he said.
Good… and a little unsettling. Damon couldn’t dispel the thought of what might happen to him if he were trapped in an avalanche, or frozen in ice. He would still die without breath, of course, but there were scenarios in which a normal person might die at certain temperatures which he could apparently survive. He’d rather give them consideration now than wait until they were at hand.
True to Ria’s prediction, the forest shifted into a series of woodsy hills. He could see the mountain range she’d spoken of in the distance. The mountains weren’t that high, but snow crested their peaks, and the craggy, rocky nature of their slopes didn’t look welcoming to travelers.
They pushed up a particularly steep slope that had them both climbing with their hands in places. Ria was ahead of Damon as they crested the top, and he saw her posture shift, head leaning sideways, fists clenching in frustration.
“Jad’s blood…” she muttered. “I thought we were somewhere else.”
He came alongside her and saw what she meant. They were atop a cliff, a ridge, really, that ran for a solid mile in either direction. Ahead of them, Damon could see the valley pass of which Ria had spoken in between the mountains ahead of them, but reaching it would either require several hours of backtracking or traversing a dangerous drop.
“Looks like we have to backtrack,” he said. “Come on. No sense in lingering here.”
Ria hissed through her teeth and folded her arms, her frustration written all over her expression.
“I believe we can make this climb,” she said. “It looks high, but if we go slow...”
“It doesn’t look high. It looks deadly,” he said. “A single fall, and that’s it.”
“Have more faith in yourself. You are capable, Damon. This is not as dangerous as it seems.”
He’d stopped listening to her and started peering down at the rocky terrain of the cliff wall. It was craggy with a fair number of handholds, but steep to the point where a few sections were hard to imagine as a route across. Descending would be far more of a challenge than an upward climb would have been.
“Ria…” he said uncertainly.
“I will be right there with you. We can even use this.”
She reached into her pack and pulled out a rope made from woven vines. It wasn’t long enough to get them all the way down, and trying to use it for such a descent would, of course, mean leaving the rope behind.
What Ria did instead was tie one end of it around her chest as a harness. She tossed the other end to Damon, who looked at it skeptically.
“I’m not in love with this idea,” he said.
“But you are in love with me,” said Ria. “And you trust me. This may even be fun for us, perhaps.”
She gave him a smile that he recognized from their childhood. As Damon thought about it, they’d essentially been in this exact same position once while exploring an area to the south of the farmstead they’d called the Sand Cliffs. Ria had convinced him to attempt a stupid climb, leading to him missing a handhold and a terrifying, though not life-threatening fall.
She’d made him promise not to tell aesta what they’d been doing afterward, and Damon had held to his word, though they’d still gotten a few stern words about the state of their dirty clothing.
“Fine,” he said. “But we go slow and do this as carefully as we possibly can.”
“That goes without saying, no?” Ria had a wild grin on her face. She helped him tie his harness, touching him freely with her hands in a manner that promised friskiness later if they managed the climb without any surprises.
“You go first,” said Damon. “You’re lighter than I am, so if you fall, chances are better I’ll be able to absorb your weight.”
“I am also a better climber than you,” she said, still smirking. “And husband?”
“Yeah?”
She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to her for an aggressive kiss.
“Be careful,” she said.
CHAPTER 11
Damon watched Ria get into position for their descent, sliding down on her stomach and slowly lowering herself onto the cliff. She still had her pack on, which on top of burdening her with extra weight, would also throw off the balance of her body. It was unavoidable, however. They couldn’t risk throwing their belongings down and potentially breaking valuable supplies.
The air was cold, and the wind’s strength seemed amplified by how high up they were. It blew constantly, shifting directions with no rhyme or reason in a manner which made it even harder to compensate for.
Damon watched Ria find the first few handholds along the rockface and start making progress downward. He put off following after her until he’d almost used up all the slack on their rope. If she did fall, he didn’t want to leave her with enough slack on the rope to build up speed before her harness pulled taut.
All the reservations he’d had about the climb immediately seemed justified. The rock was smoother than it had initially looked, and despite the availability of solid handholds, none felt secure against Damon’s fingers.
He had never been afraid of heights, but the act of descending a cliff face required him to look down constantly. He had to steel his nerves each time and focus on his breathing in the face of burgeoning vertigo. Ria seemed to be enjoying herself, which was more worrying to him than comforting.
“The handhold you are reaching for is not sturdy,” Ria called up to him, voice matter of fact.
“Alright. Where do I grab instead?”
“Shift sideways and—"
He heard a gasp and the sound of crumbling rock, and then felt the rope yank downward in nearly the same instant. Damon only had the fingers of his left hand in a grip against the cliff, but it was a solid grip.
Almost too solid, in fact. The pain that tore through his knuckles and hand as he tried to kick back into his previous footholds was enough to promise broken, if not severed, fingers. Ria shouted up at him, a mixture of words and terrified cries.
He set his right foot back against the cliff, letting out a deep, primal shout. If he slipped, they both would die, without question. His and Ria’s lives were both hanging on by the strength of his fingertips.
He grabbed the spot Ria had warned him about with his right hand. It immediately began to crumble, but it bought him a few invaluable seconds. He felt the rope slacken as Ria managed to find purchase on the cliff again and realized, sickeningly, that it was now his turn to fall.
The loose handhold gave away, and Damon’s foot slipped free of the crack he’d jammed it in. He was hanging by his fingers again for a terrifying instant, and then he was dropping like stone.
“Damon!” screamed Ria.
His harness snapped against his shoulders after a second of freefall, his head slamming into the side of the rock wall hard enough to make him feel confused and vacant for a moment. He heard Ria grunting with exertion above him and scraped his palms along the cliff, clinging on for dear life.
He found a handhold and a spot to set his feet, regaining his balance and shifting his weight off the rope. Ria was saying something he could hardly hear through the pounding in his skull. A trickle of blood ran from his forehead into his eye, and he winced as he tried to blink it away.
Compared to how it had begun, the rest of their descent was fairly straightforward. When Damon’s feet touched the ground, he made it three steps before his knees trembled and gave out beneath him. He fell down on all fours and vomited into the grass, not fr
om fear, but from the lingering vertigo that had nothing to do with heights and everything to do with his head injury.
“Sorry,” whispered Ria.
His head was in her lap. When had she caught up with him? She also had her waterskin out and brought it to his lips. Damon took a small sip, clearing his mouth of the foul taste.
“How about next time we just go around?” he asked.
“We saved a lot of time,” she said. “Hours, if not an entire day.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. Ria glanced away. She had a cloth in her hand which she dampened with water and used to gently clean the cut on his forehead.
“Sorry,” she said again.
“Let’s keep going,” he said. “There’s still at least an hour of daylight left.”
“You are not fit to travel right now.” Ria set a hand on his chest and shook her head. “The cliff offers a bit of protection from the wind, and the ground is flat here. We can rest for tonight and continue tomorrow.”
“What was the point of us attempting that climb if not to speed our journey forward?” he asked.
“I do not think it would be wise.” Ria held him in a protective embrace, still dabbing at the cut on his forehead.
“You should listen to her, Damon”
The new voice was unexpected, but instantly familiar. Damon groaned and looked toward the top of the cliff. A flash of azure blue light came from the tree line ahead of them, and he let his eyes settle on the woman with dark blue hair.
Wrath looked good, almost unchanged from his last encounter with her. She wore her impressive obsidian plate armor, curved wrathblade hanging from the scabbard at her waist. Her dark blue hair was twisted up into a warrior’s bun, though the masculine style did little to detract from the intense femininity of her eyes and lips.
She looked like one of the Forsaken, but there was more to her presence than that simple fact. Wrath managed to stride the line between dangerous and desirable, practically oozing seduction while simultaneously seeming to threaten the entire world with the weight of her gaze.
Damon could feel Ria tensing, caught between continuing to cradle his head in her lap and rising to ready herself for a potential threat. He gave her hand a squeeze. He could handle Wrath. He had before, in more ways than most.
“Clara,” he called to her. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Wrath’s eyes narrowed, azure blue light flickering within her pupils. “I see you’re still keen on pushing your luck as far as it will go, Damon Al-Kendras.”
He let out a small groan as he rose to his feet, ignoring the pounding in his head. He still had on his myrblade but resisted the urge to set a hand atop the hilt.
“I have quite a bit of luck, it seems,” he said. “Do you not care for your birth name?”
“It isn’t my name anymore,” said Wrath.
“That’s not what I asked,” he said. “I think it’s pretty, by the way.”
“Damon,” whispered Ria. “I think it would be wise to avoid antagonizing her.”
“You should listen to her,” said Wrath. “I’m not in the best mood right now.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that, Clara,” said Damon. “If there’s anything I can do to help you feel better, just—"
Wrath seemed to blink out of existence as she moved, drawing from her incredible speed. She was faster than anyone or anything Damon had ever encountered, but she was also predictable. Not to most people, but certainly to him.
He’d served her. He’d bedded her. He’d seen her cry.
Damon drew his myrblade and blocked in a single, practiced motion. He wasn’t as fast as Wrath, yet was faster than nearly any other swordsman alive. He blocked her strike, a simple overhead slash, with no margin for error. He took no satisfaction in it. She’d allowed him the parry. If she’d wanted him dead, she never would have revealed herself to begin with.
“You’ve kept your skills sharp, I see,” said Wrath. “I notice you still carry my standard as your weapon.”
“Hey!” hissed Myr.
“You know as well as I do that my sword is no wrathblade,” said Damon. “Not anymore. It’s far more powerful.”
Wrath scoffed. She drew back and sheathed her own weapon, holding Damon’s gaze with intense, unnerving eyes.
“See, that’s what I like most about you,” she said. “It’s often hard to tell whether you’re justifiably confident, or an arrogant fool.”
“I’m still alive. That should tell you all you need to know.”
The wind whipped through the cliffs above, creating a distinct whistling noise against the crevices in the rocks. Ria drew close to Damon, never taking her eyes off Wrath.
“Remember why we are here,” she whispered. “You must ask her about Velanor.”
“My hearing is far better than I think you realize,” said Wrath. “What happened to your sister?”
He scratched his chin for a second. He’d been hoping to get Wrath to tell him what she wanted, first. She did, of course, want something. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d spoken without coming to terms of some sort.
“Vel is unwell,” he said. “She suffered an injury while dreamspelling, and we haven’t been able to wake her.”
Wrath furrowed her brow. “Is that all?”
Damon and Ria both nodded.
“No doubt, Famine would have some means of pulling her from her sleep,” said Wrath. “A potion or perhaps a smelling smoke that could satisfy your needs. I could ask her about it during our next encounter.”
“You could,” said Damon, waiting for what he knew was next.
“Of course, I would require a small favor from you in return,” said Wrath. “A reasonable favor. Nothing outlandish.”
“I’m listening,” he said.
Wrath smiled and paused, letting the brief silence lend weight to her words. “The Remenai Quorum of Clans has chosen a new Athlatak.”
Damon flicked his gaze toward Ria, who kept her mouth shut and all but shouted with her eyes for him to do the same.
“Go on,” he said.
“I wish for you to seek an audience with him,” said Wrath. “As luck would have it, I’ve heard he’s taken an interest in Ria. I’m half inclined to assume that’s already what you were on your way to do.”
She was sharp, which Damon should have expected. He nodded slowly, seeing no real chance of attempting to bluff her about their objective.
“You want an alliance with the Remenai for your war, then?” asked Damon. “Wasn’t this always a part of the plan?”
“Not quite,” said Wrath. “The Athlatak… Famine and I suspect that he may be one of us.”
Damon stared at her, knowing that she was serious, but half expecting it to be some kind of mocking joke or qualifier that it was a miniscule possibility. Nothing of the sort came. Famine let her words sink in over the span of a few silent, meaningful seconds.
“That cannot be possible,” said Ria, shaking her head. “My people loathe the Venmalani. They would never—"
“They don’t know,” interrupted Famine. “We’ve heard only a few reports of disconcerting behavior that would mark the Athlatak as one of us. Claims that he can best any man in combat, survive wounds that would have killed his rivals. Your people might assume he’s simply a warrior of rare prowess as long as they never see him use his magic in person.”
“Have the Forsaken always been able to reincarnate as the Remenai?” asked Damon.
“That’s a telling question,” said Wrath. “There is no actual difference, no true line between the Remenai and the Merinians. You could remark on ear shape, or hair and eye color, but the two peoples can breed without mishap. I have, in fact, been reborn among the Remenai, far in the past.”
“You have?” he asked. “I… assume it turned out poorly?”
“Put to death before my tenth birthday,” said Wrath. “It is as your sister says. The Remenai loathe my brethren. Famine and I must know the truth of this situation if we are t
o plan for the future of Veridan’s Curve with certainty.”
“You want us to figure it out for you?” asked Damon. “How are we supposed to do that?”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt you’ll think of something,” said Wrath. “Do this for me, and I will find a way to awaken your sleeping sister. Unless… there’s something else you’d prefer from me as a reward?”
Wrath’s crest. Damon was ashamed by how much her words tempted him. Not to disregard Vel’s needs, of course, but he briefly thought about trying to argue that he deserved both as a reward. The power available to him with both a crest and his myrblade would lift him to a new level. He’d be able to keep his family safe against almost anything.
Ria reached over to him and gave his arm a deliberate squeeze. “Velanor comes first.”
“I know that!” He pulled his arm away and nodded at Wrath. “I accept your terms. We’ll continue onward to Yvvestrosai and attempt to discover the Athlatak’s true identity.”
Wrath smirked at him, and in a flash of azure light, disappeared from sight.
“Did you really think I’d choose a crest over Vel?” Damon asked Ria.
“Not of your own accord,” she replied. “But Wrath… She is maneuvering you, husband. She is a creature of duplicity and plotting.”
“Not unlike a few other women in my life,” he muttered.
Ria glared at him and punched him in the shoulder.
“Relax,” he said. “I was talking about Kastet.”
CHAPTER 12
Damon and Ria continued their journey without interruption for the next few days. Traveling through the mountain pass was relatively smooth, with only the wind and the chill of the late season posing minor obstacles.
It was a time that Damon cherished in his heart. He and Ria joked and flirted and made love, picking beautiful campsites overlooking scenic valley views. Their pace was swift, but almost leisurely in comparison to some of their other journeys, and they grew as close to one another as they’d ever been.
The terrain shifted abruptly as they left the mountains. The ground sloped downward into a flat basin that might once have been a lake or inland sea. It was a desert now, a barren expanse of sand and dunes extending for at least a few dozen miles. Probably farther. It was hard to judge distance with so little to use for scale.
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