Reign of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  This is it. Her boots sank deep into the snow, and she could sense different energy below where she now stood. This is the place.

  She glanced up at the slopes, the ridges, the unforgiving crags. If what Bleak said was true, then Henri was at risk of causing a snowslide. She fought to keep herself level-headed. This was a problem, but it could be solved. It had to be solved. She tucked her hands under her arms to trap her body heat as she paced. There was a way, she knew it.

  There was a sudden shimmer in the distance. And another, closer. And another, closer still. Before her eyes, Tailor and a dozen Ashai appeared from nowhere. With a gasp, Tailor staggered towards her, and collapsed in her arms. She hoisted him up.

  ‘I thought you said —’

  ‘Short distances. Managed it. Barely.’

  ‘Wish I could say the same.’ She gestured to the unchanged snow around them.

  ‘You have to.’

  ‘I can’t do it alone,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Don’t have to,’ Tailor said, still catching his breath. He gestured vaguely to the Ashai shivering before them.

  ‘I thought …?’

  ‘Eydis was right, damn her. Whatever they were treated with or ingested has mostly worn off. They’re weak but not void of power. One of them helped me get them here, I could feel it.’

  Henri turned to the Ashai. ‘Are any of you energy shifters? Anyone?’ She didn’t even try to keep the note of desperation from her voice. She was desperate.

  Two women, sisters, shuffled forward. ‘We are,’ the smaller one said.

  An older woman, perhaps sixty or so, stumbled to the front of the group after them. ‘As am I,’ she croaked.

  Relief soared in Henri’s chest. It wasn’t much, but it was something. She motioned for them to join her.

  ‘Then here’s what I need you to do …’ she began.

  The three Ashai stood at the base of the mountain, hands outstretched before them, forcing the energy of the mountains back, containing it as Henri worked.

  Feet apart, Henri’s stance was that of the warrior she was, but ready for a battle of a different kind. Eyes closed, she sank into the depths of her magic, raising her hands before her, sculpting the energy of the snow and the earth upon which she stood. She felt it shift. She felt it give way to her, felt it mould to her will. A bead of sweat trickled from her temple; however, she didn’t break her focus. She wouldn’t. Her arms strained beneath the weight of the energy she was moving. Her muscles quivered, but she didn’t stop.

  In the distance, the roar of conflict echoed through the valleys. She didn’t look back. Not all wars were fought with blades and shields. Not all courage was found in the heart of a battle. Bleak had taught her that.

  Henri steadied her stance, and shifted snow and earth.

  Chapter 43

  Bleak and Rion watched everything unfold from a ledge midway up the mountain. The realm and all its problems seemed so small from here, mere specks against the stark white sea of snow. For a moment, despite the bone-snapping cold, Bleak wished she could stay up here, wished she could simply take her place as a spectator in all the battles to come. But she wasn’t a spectator. She hadn’t let life pass her by in a long while now. She was a part of it, a moving player in a much larger game, where the stakes were as high as they came.

  She eyed the three teerah panthers positioned at the summit, awaiting the signal. Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward on Rion’s back and stroked his silken fur. ‘It’s time,’ she told him.

  They began their descent.

  Snow slid from beneath Rion’s giant paws, and Bleak held on for dear life. But Rion did not falter. He prowled down the mountainside with the surefootedness of a born predator.

  Bleak squinted, focusing on the group of people at the base. Henri was leading the Ashai. And in the distance, the kindred and Eydis’ forces were being drawn closer to them. Bleak’s stomach twisted at the sight of the churning mist sweeping in from the south. Its pace had quickened. They were running out of time.

  ‘Hurry, Rion,’ she urged.

  Bleak held on tight as Rion lurched forward, his powerful body sinking deep into the snow. When they reached the bottom, Bleak stared at Henri. The Valian was covered in blood, and a nasty gash on her lip was swollen and bruised. But more than that … Her hands were outstretched. She was shifting huge masses of snow and dirt with her magic. A massive hole in the ground gaped before her. Bleak could see a cave of crystals below.

  This is my plan … If it doesn’t work … She’d just signed the death warrant of thousands of people if it didn’t. Bleak looked at Henri again. She’d never seen the Valian under strain, until now. Beads of sweat ran from her face, and her brow was furrowed in concentration.

  ‘I don’t know how much longer she’ll last,’ Tailor said, appearing beside Rion.

  ‘I’ll go to the others.’ Bleak made to leave, but Tailor gripped her wrist.

  ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ he said, searching her face.

  Bleak studied him. She did remember him; he’d been the vagabond in Heathton who’d warned her not to go searching for a cure. Who’d told her she was drawing too much attention to herself. But … There was something else …

  Only there wasn’t time. She took off with Rion towards the battle.

  The metallic tang of blood was heavy in the air as they approached the rearguard of the Wildenhaven forces.

  ‘Luka,’ she called, spotting the redhead on horseback. Luka stood alongside Dash, cutting the fletching from one of two arrows through her shoulder.

  ‘Gods,’ Bleak gasped at the wounds.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ the Valian said, sawing through a shaft with a grimace.

  Her horse’s ears flicked nervously as Rion approached.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Luka asked.

  ‘We need to draw them in now …’ Bleak’s attention snagged on the two figures at the heart of the fray. Sahara and Athene, back to back, moved as a seamless unit, cutting men down with a single sweep of their swords. Any animosity between them had been replaced by their formidable Valian training, and the Ellestian soldiers surrounding them … They didn’t have a chance. But their numbers were greater, and Bleak blanched at the sight of the Havennesse recruits being gutted and trampled in the chaos. They had to move. Fast.

  ‘Get word to them?’ she said to Luka. ‘It has to be now.’

  Luka gave a single nod, and urged her horse into the field.

  Bleak turned to Dash. ‘Come on.’

  Her heart was in her throat as she and Dash rode back to Henri and the Ashai. She could hear Dash’s racing thoughts and confusion, but she didn’t have the energy or time to reassure him as they skidded to a stop at the base of the mountain.

  Henri stood with Tailor, wiping a trail of blood from her nose.

  ‘You alright?’ Bleak asked.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘You should get down there.’ Bleak nodded to the tunnel that was now revealed below the mountain.

  ‘I don’t go without Sahara,’ Henri said. ‘You sure about this?’

  Bleak swallowed and glanced up at the jagged peaks. ‘As sure as I can be.’

  ‘That’ll have to do, then.’

  Beneath her, Rion shifted restlessly. They needed to go.

  ‘Look after Bren?’

  Henri nodded.

  They didn’t say goodbye. Rion leaped forward and bounded up the mountain, the sheer power of him still leaving Bleak in awe. They clambered up the icy face, until they reached a ledge. Bleak watched as Queen Eydis’ forces drew the Ellestian army closer and closer to the base of the mountain, as the mist roiled inward, closing in on them.

  Bring down the mountain. Henri spoke into Bleak’s mind. Her voice as crystal clear as it would be if she was beside her. Bleak slid from Rion’s back, and cupped his face.

  ‘It’s your turn, Rion.’

  Rion stared deep into her eyes, and then turned to face the summit, where his three brothers waite
d. He gave an almighty roar, the sound blasting up the mountain, echoing through the glaciers and the valleys.

  Bleak closed her eyes, sending a silent prayer through the alps, to whatever gods were listening.

  The thunderous roar of the teerah panthers answered.

  The sound vibrated deep in Bleak’s chest. It shook the entire mountain. She saw it, felt it. The slide of white at the peak. A slight shift at first, then, devastating. The snow pummelled down the valley, a great, catastrophic cloud of white. It gained momentum as it tore down the mountain, obliterating everything in its path. Trees, rocks, cliff faces became nothing. It swallowed them whole.

  What have I done? Bleak could no longer see the specks of her friends at the bottom as the masses of ice and snow hurtled towards the base. She and Rion watched in horror from the safety of their ledge. Watched as the snowslide thundered past them, devouring everything before it.

  It hit the foot of the mountain with a furious crash, sending a wave of snow hammering into Arden’s soldiers. Thousands of men were wiped clean off the board, their existence flattened to nothing.

  Bleak’s breath caught in her throat. The mist. The toxic weapon Ines had sought to ruin Havennesse with was gone. The snowslide had annihilated it. But along with it … She scanned the landscape, desperately searching for any sign of Henri and Eydis’ forces. Bleak saw no cavalry, no cluster of magic-wielding Ashai folk, no kindred five hundred strong.

  At the base of the mountain now, there was nothing but stark white.

  Chapter 44

  Bleak raced back to Wildenhaven atop Rion’s back, his powerful legs kicking up the snow behind them. They rode at breakneck speed across the hinterland, darting between the skeletons of trees and skidding across patches of ice. Bleak’s exposed cheeks burned as the icy wind whipped her skin, and her eyes streamed as they passed glaciers and mountains in a blur. The other panthers weren’t far behind, but Rion didn’t slow, not once.

  Bleak exhaled a shaky breath as the three formidable stone towers came into view from behind the gatehouse. The gates swung open and she leaped from Rion and sprinted into the courtyard.

  It was as they had left it. Empty.

  She ran through the doors of the middle tower and into the great hall. Fires flickered in the hearths, as did the torches that lined the walls. But there was no one there.

  The hours ticked by slowly as Bleak waited, waited to know the fate of her people, and the fate of her friends.

  Rion and his companions were spread out around the hall, warming themselves by the great hearths, but their presence did nought to ease Bleak’s churning mind. It had been her idea. Their blood would be on her hands, should they not return.

  She shuddered at the memory of the snow cascading down the mountain, swallowing everything in its path.

  Throughout the evening, castle porters came and tended to the fires, but she hardly noticed. Instead, she remained sitting on the steps of the dais, head in hands, heart in throat.

  Rion’s vicious snarling woke her. Scrambling to her feet, she saw that he and the other teerah panthers were prowling the hall, hackles raised.

  ‘What is it?’ she said quietly.

  Rion came to her side.

  ‘Rion …?’

  The great hall doors burst open.

  Bleak gasped as Henri and Sahara staggered in, Tilly’s limp body between them. Behind the three Valians was Eydis, her face flushed but seemingly unharmed. Bleak rushed forward as what remained of their forces trickled in.

  She threw her arms around Henri. ‘Are you alright? Is everyone alright?’

  Henri eased Bleak off her and squeezed her shoulder gently. ‘Not everyone.’

  Bleak’s gaze went to Tilly. ‘Is she …?’

  ‘Wounded, but she’ll be fine,’ Sahara said, helping Henri lay Tilly down on a nearby bench. ‘It’s not her …’

  Bleak froze.

  Henri wouldn’t look at her. Instead, the Valian queen shoved through the mass of people spilling into the hall and cleared a path.

  Athene and Marvel carried Petra between them. Her skin was pale, her body lifeless.

  Bleak’s breath caught in her throat.

  The Valians placed their fallen warrior on the dais.

  ‘May she rest well with Enovius,’ Bleak murmured.

  ‘May Rheyah keep her,’ Sahara said.

  Athene and Marvel repeated their prayers as they sat beside Petra’s body, exhausted and grief-stricken. Henri was quiet, and Bleak couldn’t find the words.

  They would never hear Petra’s warrior cry again.

  They had lost others. Three of the older Ashai hadn’t made it. Over three hundred of Eydis’ men had been killed in the battle or caught in the snowslide. And Kyden, Geraad’s son, was missing. They would lose more by the night’s end.

  Bleak couldn’t staunch the bleeding in her heart. The pain for these people, the pain for Henri. She had gained one sister, only to lose another.

  Casimir sat down beside her, following her gaze. ‘You saved us,’ he said.

  ‘Not all of us.’

  ‘No, not all of us. But more than we thought possible.’

  The next day, the great hall of Wildenhaven was converted into a makeshift medical wing for the wounded. Valians, rebels, Havennesse soldiers and Ashai alike all bled the same colour, side by side.

  Bleak wandered up and down the rows and rows of cots, filled with the injured. She had never seen such carnage. Arrow wounds, deep gashes from blades and spears, and bruising that matched the changing shades of the ocean. The air was thick with the smell of blood, and the sharp tang of cleansing alcohol, while shock and grief washed over what remained of their forces in waves.

  But they had made it. The bulk of their people had made it into the tunnels beneath the mountain, the passage sealed off just as the snowslide had barrelled into the mist, and into Arden’s forces. It didn’t make their losses any easier to bear, but it was some comfort in the face of the war still to come.

  There was a featherlight tap on Bleak’s shoulder.

  She couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘Lyse!’ she cried, pulling the groundling healer into a tight embrace. ‘You came.’

  ‘Of course we did.’ She squeezed Bleak back.

  ‘We?’

  Lyse smiled. ‘See for yourself.’

  Bleak followed her friend’s gaze to the entrance of the hall. The graceful form of Mother Matriarch Allehra in the doorway was unmistakable. Her face was badly scarred with burn marks, the silver-streaked hair on one side of her head singed away.

  A quiet cry sounded from nearby. Sahara raced forward and threw her arms around her mother.

  ‘She survived,’ Bleak breathed.

  ‘She survived.’

  Bleak wasn’t the only one staring. Around the hall, wounded Valians were struggling to their feet and craning their necks to get a glimpse of their Mother Matriarch. Those who could, bowed. But Henri hadn’t moved from where she stood in the corner of the hall. She simply stared. Stared hard at her mother and her sister, her expression unreadable.

  The day wore on and Bleak spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Two.

  Tilly and Bren.

  Tilly rested on one of the cots with her arm in a sling, her foot bandaged and elevated. Bruises marred the right side of her face in violent shades of blue and green. Bren sat at her bedside. He had regained some of his weight, his fair hair had been washed and cut, and he looked better, healthier. He was holding Tilly’s good hand.

  Bleak swallowed the lump in her throat. The thoughts of the wounded were starting to take their toll on her, overpowering her own and making her head spin. Her magic rippled beneath her skin, its beat growing stronger, more insistent.

  Someone took hold of her elbow and led her from the great hall. The blast of icy air outside wrenched her back from the brink.

  ‘Gets a bit much in there, I find,’ Casimir said, waiting for her to catch her breath.

  ‘It does. What were you doing there?�
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  ‘Looking for you.’

  ‘Oh. Why?’

  Bleak crossed her arms over her chest, bracing herself against the cold. Casimir handed her a pelt.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, pulling his own cloak tight around himself. ‘I want to face him.’

  They began walking through the grounds. As they had done before everything had changed. Snow fell in a steady sheet, catching in their eyelashes and Casimir’s stubble.

  ‘Face who?’ she asked.

  ‘Langdon.’

  The name squeezed Bleak’s insides. She had done her best not to think of him, locked away in the cells beneath the Wildenhaven towers. The man responsible for so much of her pain, and so much of Bren’s. Who’d helped Ines nearly exterminate the reigning families of Oremere.

  ‘Why?’ she asked, her hands already clammy.

  ‘I want to confront him. After everything he’s done to me. To us. I think it’ll help me move on.’

  ‘If you think it’ll help, then you should.’

  Casimir stopped. ‘Will you come with me?’ he asked. ‘I don’t think I can do it alone.’

  She froze. ‘I … I can’t,’ she stammered. The very thought made her nauseous.

  ‘Alarise, please.’

  She stared at him. It was the first time she’d heard the Ashai leader, the Ashai prince, ask for anything. He waited. She knew if she refused, he would not press her further.

  She felt herself nod. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll go with you.’

  As Bleak and Casimir made their way into the cold depths of the Wildenhaven dungeons, she vowed she wouldn’t visit a cell again for a long while after this. The enclosed space smelled like every other prison she’d encountered: rotten, damp and heavy with despair.

  He was in the furthest cell from the entrance. The darkest, iciest chamber of them all.

  Good, Bleak thought as she approached. No cell could ever be too dark or cold for this bastard.

  Casimir stiffened beside her; she knew he felt the same way.

  Langdon was curled up on the stone floor, wearing a thin tunic and pants, which was more than he deserved. His lips were blue from the cold, and he bore the bruises of someone who had pissed off a number of guards. He looked up as they stopped at the bars of his prison.