by Sean Hinn
Instinctively Kari turned and grasped frantically for her sergeant, barely managing to catch the leather strap of Jade’s pack. Jade clutched at Kari’s boot; Lux rushed forward, kicking stones down the hillside. He reached Jade just as Kari’s grip faltered. The strong dwarf pulled his sergeant to safety with a groan.
Kari’s heart pounded. Another howl reverberated nearby.
No one spoke; the scouts scrambled across the side of the mountain, caution giving way to fear. A turn later, they reached Jasper, standing at the opening of a cave of unknown size.
“Get in!” Jade whispered urgently.
They entered the pitch-black cavern. “Fire?” asked Nova.
Jade wasn’t sure. “Dunno.”
“Fire,” said Lux. “I’d rather see my death comin’.”
“Good point,” said Nova. She pulled a pouch from her pack and withdrew a pinch of tinder. She began striking a flint; after a moment, sparks ignited the small pile of dried flakes.
“Torch,” she said, cupping her hands around the tiny flame.
Lux had already pulled two from his pack. He unwrapped a layer of cloth from the head of one and set it to the flame. He used it to light the other, handing it to Nova.
Kari surveyed their shelter as her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. The cave was narrow where they stood, but grew enormous as it extended into the mountain. She could not tell how far back it went; the light of the torches failed to reach the far wall. Hundreds of flecks of some shiny material reflected dim light off the walls.
“What kind of cave is this?” she asked, awed by the sight.
“Adamantine, by me own guess,” replied Ferris.
“It’ll be a tomb if ye don’t gear up,” snapped Jade. “Crossbow,” she ordered. Jasper unhooked the contraption from Nova’s back, handing it and a bolt from her quiver to the sergeant. Jade stuck a foot into the bow’s stirrup. She heaved, cocking the weapon.
“We need wood. These torches won’t last.”
“Aye, Sarge.” Nova stood to explore the cave. Jasper joined her.
“What can I do?” offered Kari.
“Check your feet.”
“Now?”
“We’re stopped, ain’t we? Check your feet.”
Kari unlaced her boots frantically; if the dire wolf came, she did not want to be caught in bare feet. Her toes were not terrible. The blister on her heel had not improved, but neither had it gotten worse. She took the vial of moldpowder Jade had given her and quickly made another paste, mashing it into the small wound.
“Ye saved me skin back there, Kari Flint. Well done.”
Kari nodded, lacing a boot. “Lucky I got me fingers into that strap. Couldn’t see a thing.”
“Aye.”
Nova and Jasper returned.
“No wood,” Jasper said, shaken.
“How far back does it go?” Jade asked.
“Thirty paces. Looks bigger than it is. Nothin’ but bones back there.”
Kari shuddered. “What kind o’ bones?”
Nova answered. “Not human. Leastways not as far as we could tell.”
“Big or small?” asked Jade.
“Not small. And not very old.”
“Fury. Well, looks like we’re in for a fight, scouts.”
“How’s that?” asked Kari, fearing the answer.
“Well, unless there’s some other big predator roaming this mountain, I’d say we’re sittin’ smack dab in Mama’s lair.” Jade tied a cloth around the head of the bolt. “Who’s got pitch?”
“I do,” said Ferris. He offered a small tin to the sergeant. She opened it and dug the wrapped bolt into the sticky black substance. She loaded it into the barrel.
“Can a bolt kill a dire wolf?” Kari asked.
“Dunno. But a flaming bolt might scare it off, at least.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
Jade grunted. “Then ye better be ready to swing your uncle’s axe, Kari Flint.”
The sound of falling rocks just outside the cave entrance turned six heads.
“Quiet,” Jade whispered. “Don’t attack until I shoot.” She lit the bolt on Nova’s torch and turned to face the entrance.
A scrambling sound drew nearer. A silhouette appeared at the entrance. Jade fingered the trigger and took aim.
“Hello?” the silhouette said weakly. “Can yeh help us? Please?” The shadow split in two.
XXXIV: THE GROVE
Pheonaris woke Aria before sunrise; had she not, Aria considered, she might have slept for a cycle. The princess was bone-tired, but a few sips of Spring tea brought her about. Pheonaris had laid appropriate travelling attire on Aria’s bed. She dressed, donning tight, thick grey leggings tucked into dark brown deerhide boots. Above the waist she wore a fine white tunic bearing the crest of the Evanti family embroidered in bright green thread: a solitary oak leaf. About her shoulders she tied the green mantle signifying her membership in the Society; her mistress had lain two on her bed, the one she now wore and another, a fine silver cloak, indicating her station as heir to the queen. The choice was simple to Aria; she would be embarking on this quest in service of her people and in equality with her peers, not as a princess to be revered.
She left the bedchamber to find Pheonaris standing just outside the door, wiping tears from her eyes.
“What’s wrong, Mistress?”
Pheonaris straightened herself. “Nothing. Well, not nothing. I suppose I just fear to see you go.” She appraised her friend and princess. “You look lovely. Green is your color.” Pheonaris’ lip quivered. Aria threw her arms around her mentor’s neck and pulled her close.
“I don’t know how I will do this without you, Mistress.”
“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Pheonaris said through a stifled sob, hugging her princess tightly. “Trellia will teach you all you need to learn.”
“You have already taught me much, Pheonaris.”
“I hope it will prove enough.”
“It will.”
Pheonaris broke the embrace and held Aria by the shoulders.
“You chose the right mantle, I believe. But you must also remember, you are a princess. Whether you feel like one or not. You must make decisions as one, even if it alienates you from your new friends.”
“I am in no position to lead this quest, Mistress.”
Pheonaris shook her head. “No. But neither are any of you. You must rely on Trellia, but you must also lead her. Same goes for Mikallis. If you lead them well, the others will follow you also.”
“I am not sure I want that,” Aria said.
“Aria, someone must lead. And I trust you more than anyone. You are good, and stronger than you know.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Aria conceded.
Pheonaris rolled her eyes. “Ugh! You need practice at this.”
“See what I mean?” Aria laughed. “Let us go. I do not want to be the last one ready to leave.”
“A moment. I have something for you.”
Pheonaris turned to the table behind her and retrieved a small item. She handed it to Aria.
“What is this?” Aria took the tiny round object, an opaque white stone.
“It is a Speechstone. I have been preparing it for you. For us.”
“What does it do?”
“It will allow us to communicate. I thought it up after Barris’ last meeting with Halsen. Do not use it often, for it has limited power, but it should work at least a few times, depending on the distance.”
“How does it work?”
“You only need to hold it, and think of me. It will send your thoughts to me; you need not say them aloud. I have its twin, and will keep it with me wherever I go. If you have a message for me, mine will glow, and I need only hold it to hear. Same in the reverse; if I have a message for you, yours will glow, and you need only hold it. The message will sound in your mind, as if I were there with you.”
Aria smiled. “Wondrous. Thank you, Mistress. I know what this must have cost you.”
“Never mind that. Do not overuse it; only when something of importance takes place. As I said, its power is not unlimited.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
Pheonaris nodded. “Alright then. Let us go.”
~
Aria and Pheonaris were the last to arrive at the stables, the very last. The entirety of the Grove had gathered around her traveling companions in the falling ash, wishing them well, offering food and other small gifts.
“Nice of you to join us, Mistress,” Trellia mocked. “Almost left without her.”
“Oh, shush,” Pheonaris scolded. “You’ll have plenty of opportunity to boss everyone around directly.”
“Hmph.” Trellia and Pheonaris shared a grin.
Brother Petahr and Sister Lani approached Aria. “We have something for you, Princess,” Lani said.
“Here,” said Petahr, handing her a skin.
“A waterskin?” Aria asked.
“A special one. It contains Spring water, and a lot of it,” Lani said proudly.
“More than a lot,” Petahr corrected. “A barrelful, at least.”
“Wait… how?” asked Aria, hefting the skin. “It’s so light.”
“Magic, obviously!” said Lani. She and Petahr shared a laugh.
Aria was confused. “But, this should not be possible, it violates the second law–”
“Bah! Laws are for wizards. We’re elves.”
“When you’re through patting yourselves on the back, you two…” Trellia didn’t bother finishing the sentence.
“Thank you, Brother. Thank you, Sister. Nü glahr ni.”
The two smiled broadly. “Come back to us, Princess, and we’ll tell you how it was done,” said Petahr, his eyes beginning to water.
“None of that, now,” Trellia said. “We’ll be here all day if you all start bawling.”
Captain Mikallis approached on Triumph, Sera’s reins in hand.
“Your horse, my lady.”
“Thank you, Captain.” As Aria mounted Sera, she surveyed her companions. Each horse bore a pair of large saddlebags. Prince J’arn sat behind Shyla on Spirit, the two sharing a specially altered saddle. Odd, she thought. She would not have expected J’arn to sit in back. Lucan sat upon Hope, grinning, wearing clothing she recognized as belonging to Barris’ wardrobe and a violet mantle emblazoned with the letter “T”. She could not help but notice that he cut a noble figure astride the magnificent steed, though she allowed that part of the effect was owing to the fine clothing. Trellia presently mounted Haste, the fine brown aptly named stallion. The horse had been a gift from her niece, Queen Evanti, celebrating her two-hundredth year nearly two decades prior. Like Trellia, Haste was not young, but also like the Vicaris, neither was he feeble. Among the horses that kept stable at the Grove, only Barris’ Phantom was known to be faster. She turned to Mikallis.
“How does Triumph fare?”
“Well, thank you. He and I have mended our differences, for the most part.”
“I am glad to hear it. And you? How is your leg?”
“Better. A deep bruise only.”
“I will not leave you behind again, Captain,” Aria said quietly.
Mikallis smiled wanly. “You will if you must, Princess. All is at it must be.”
As Mikallis and Aria spoke, Boot and the rest of the dwarves approached J’arn and Shyla.
“Ye keep that head o’ yours straight, me Prince,” Boot said, “and I know ye’ll do fine.”
J’arn nodded. “Take care of these your kin, Kelgarr. And get that axe back to Belgorne.”
“I will. Soon as we do what’s needed in Thornwood.”
“Take care of ’im, Shyla,” said Garlan.
“Oh, I will,” the little gnome said. “Never had me own prince before, I ain’t gonna break ’im.”
“And take care of yerself,” Narl added.
“She’s got Wolf for that,” said Fannor.
Rocks laughed. “Well, looks like all ye need to do is sit back and enjoy the ride, me prince!”
Prince J’arn nodded. “Seems like. Ye all answer to Boot while I’m gone, else he’ll whine I didn’t put him in charge.”
“Ye damned right,” Boot agreed.
“Garlan, ye be next in line. In case that mouth o’ his gets him thrown in the Thornwood stocks.”
“Bah,” Boot grunted.
“Alright, time to go.” Trellia interrupted the good-byes. “Barris?”
Barris nodded, untying Redemption’s sheath from his belt.
“As you go, I would remind you.” The knight’s voice resounded loudly. “You bear a great responsibility.” He walked among the six travelers, regarding them each in turn as he spoke. “For centuries, the Knights of Thornwood have lived our lives in preparation for this day. For you, this is likely all a bit surreal. But know this: the fate of those you love is subject to your success. You must not fail.” He paused, wishing to ensure that the gravity of the assertion was duly conveyed. “Be true to one another. Protect one another.” He glanced to Mikallis, then to Lucan. “Put aside your differences. Trust in Trellia, she is wise and will teach you much. But above all, be true to yourselves. For whatever reason, this quest has fallen on you to fulfill. Perhaps the First Father has chosen you. Perhaps it is fate. Perhaps it is no more than chance that has plucked you four from among the races of Tahr. But together you are bound, and together you must find the fifth. When you do, return here in haste, for here the next stage of your journey will begin.” He stopped beside Lucan, placing a hand on Hope’s neck. He handed the gilded sheath to the young man. “I am given to know that you must carry Redemption, Lucan not-Thorne.”
Lucan took the sword from Sir Barris, shocked. “Me? Why?”
Barris shook his head. “Perhaps because you lack a sword. Perhaps it is more. I do not know. But keep it near you, always. It will serve you and your companions well, if you wield it in righteousness.”
Lucan swallowed. Righteousness was not a term he would readily assign to himself. “I will try, sir.”
The knight eyed Lucan meaningfully. “See that you do.” Barris nodded to Aria. She knew what to say.
“Kar enna spen ai den bestu Nü glahr ai blei.”
“Glahr ai blei,” the elves replied as one.
“Luck in Mor, Bear,” said Aria.
“Luck to you, Songbird.”
Trellia led the companions west as Wolf darted happily among them.
“Hey Aria!” Shyla called. “Did yeh know I can talk to Wolf now?”
~
The company made fair time throughout the chilly morning, riding at a fast walk, and by noon the winds had shifted and the falling ash had subsided. They were all in good spirits, despite the chill, and despite the ill-omened nature of their journey. A few times Shyla and J’arn had struggled keeping Spirit on the trail, but Aria, Mikallis, and Trellia were experienced enough with the Bond to assist. Wolf came and went; he alternated between sprinting ahead, falling behind, and taking to the woods on either side of the trail to explore an errant scent. The young animal never seemed to tire, though Shyla sensed that he was becoming quite annoyed with the ash.
Trellia called a halt as they approached a clearing; beyond it lay a fork in the trail, and they would need to discuss their route. She could also sense that everyone was hungry, but none wished to be the first to say as much.
“Let’s break to eat,” Trellia said, dismounting Haste. “Captain, would you tend to the horses, please?”
“With pleasure,” Mikallis said respectfully.
Lucan helped Shyla and J’arn from the saddle. J’arn felt embarrassed by his need for assistance, but said nothing of it. Shyla didn’t mind a bit.
“Thanks, Luc!” she said cheerfully. Wolf ran to greet his pink-eyed friend. He nearly knocked her over. “Yer gettin’ big, Wolf!” She wrestled with the animal. “Who’s a big Wolf? Who’s a big Wolf?”
“Ya know, Shyla,” Lucan said. “He’s not–”
J’arn p
unched Lucan in a kidney. Lucan coughed as Shyla looked up.
“He’s not what?”
“Ah, he’s not as big as he’ll get. Look at those paws. Gonna be a big ol’ Wolf, that one.”
“That so? ’Cause o’ his paws?”
Lucan nodded. “Oh, yeah. That’s how you can tell. He’s gonna be a killer one day.”
Shyla beamed. “Yeh hear that, Wolf? Yer gonna be a killer! Rawwwrrr!” She rolled in the ash with her friend.
J’arn shot Lucan a look.
“Yeah, yeah. Big scary Wolf.”
“Don’t forget it,” J’arn cautioned.
Lucan rubbed his sore back. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The elves had packed enough food for the company to last two trips to Eyreloch and back. Aria insisted on preparing lunch; she recalled what J’arn had said his first night at the Grove, that it was his turn to cook and it did not matter that he was the Firstson of Belgorne. She admired the sentiment, and saw how J’arn’s dwarves respected him. Mikallis glanced at her sidelong, clearly disapproving, but she would explain her reasoning later. Or perhaps I won’t, she thought.
She decided to make cheesepouches, an elven snack that variously contained bread, cheese, meats, and freshly picked vegetables. The ones she put together contained cow cheese, mushrooms, sprouts, and dried apples, stuffed in the center of small loaves of bread. A hint of magic warmed the loaves and melted the cheese within; another rehydrated the apples. The recipe made for a soft, gooey pocket of goodness. One by one she passed them out.
“Fury, Aria, this is delicious!” said Lucan. “Especially the apples. Gives the whole thing a nice tartness.”
“Hftagree,” J’arn said with a half-full mouth. “Dlishish.”
Shyla slapped J’arn’s knee. “Ain’t yer mother teach ye any manners, Prince o’ Belgorne?”
J’arn swallowed. He chose not to discuss the subject of his mother. “Sorry. Good though, Princess.” He wiped his mouth.
Aria smiled, sincerely pleased. “Glad you all like them. And Prince J’arn,” she added, “perhaps we might call one another by our given names, if you approve. I do not think titles are necessary at this point.”
