Starfall

by Jamie Sedgwick

  Chapter 19

  Micah kept an eye on the speck in the distance as they hurried across the plains, moving away from the tracks. They were walking at a good pace, even though the wind was blowing against them.

  “It’s easier to walk here,” Morgane observed. “The snow isn’t as deep.”

  “It’s because of the wind,” Micah said. “It blows the snow away before it can settle. See how it drifts up the hillsides... Look at the tracks.”

  Morgane turned back the way they had come. She sucked in a deep breath through her nostrils and shot him a frustrated look. “Micah, we’ve been walking all day in the deepest snow around. We’d have gone twice as far already, if we had just come down here from the very start.”

  “I know. I wish I’d realized it sooner. Doesn’t matter now, though. We’d better keep moving.”

  As they traveled, the sun sank towards the mountains in the west with disconcerting speed. It would set early, Micah realized. The northern latitude and the height of the mountains meant it would likely be dark by five o’clock. Hopefully, it wouldn’t matter. He was certain now that they had made the right decision in leaving the tracks. He could smell the smoke of fires, and he was sure that when the airship had vanished between the mountains, it had set down right in the area he had predicted.

  Unfortunately, this knowledge did little to fill their bellies or give them the energy they would need to finish the journey. As the sun set, they were still in the middle of the plains, just over halfway to their destination. Micah’s empty stomach had gone from rumbling to painful.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can go,” Morgane said. She swept up a handful of snow and put it in her mouth.

  “Don’t do that,” Micah warned.

  “It’s just water.”

  “Yes, frozen water. If you keep putting ice in your belly, it’ll cool your body temperature. You’ll freeze from the inside out.”

  Judging from the shocked look on Morgane’s face, this had never even occurred to her. She dropped to her knees, tilting her head back to feel the wind on her face. “I can’t go on, Micah. Just go ahead without me. Come back for me when you find the airship. I’ll wait for you here.”

  Micah hurried over to her. “No,” he said in a firm tone. “I am not going to leave you here to freeze. Get on your feet.”

  “Please,” she begged. “Please, just a few minutes.”

  The pained look on her face was more than he could take. “All right. We’ll rest. But when I say it’s time to go, I don’t want any argument.”

  “Fine. Just wake me up when you’re ready.” She leaned over, draping her body across the surface of the snow. Micah stared at her with a worried look.

  Micah gave Morgane fifteen minutes. By then, the sun had fully set and the wind had begun to pick up. It shifted, coming around at them from the east now. It was bitterly cold, and without the sun to warm them, Micah felt the chill working through his damp clothing.

  “All right,” he said at last. “We have to get moving.”

  Morgane moaned. Again, she tried to tell him to go on. Micah took her by the arm and forced her to her feet. “I said no argument,” he said. “Now, move.”

  Morgane made a sniffling noise, but she obeyed. Micah held her by the arm at first to make sure she kept moving, but soon decided she was okay on her own.

  For another hour, they pressed on in this fashion. Their movement became ever slower, and soon Morgane was begging for another rest. Micah refused, telling her that to stop now would be to freeze to death. It was then that a wolf’s howl came drifting to them on the wind. A chill went down Micah’s spine.

  “What was that?” Morgane said in a hushed voice. Her words were slurred with exhaustion, possibly even hypothermia.

  “Wolves,” he mumbled. “They’re behind us.”

  Her bright, silver eyes were wide, shimmering with starlight. The look of fear etched on her face gave Micah a sick feeling.

  “How do you know?” she said in a low voice.

  “The wind carries the noise. If they were upwind, we might not even hear them. We need to move. They’re following us.”

  This realization gave the two a burst of energy. They were nearly sprinting, moving just as fast as they could, falling forward with every step. Micah’s legs were numb, his fingers aching with cold. His nose and ears felt like they were on fire. Snowburn, he thought in the back of his mind. Just what I need is for my ears to fall off... Micah wasn’t particularly proud of his long crooked nose or his big ears, but he still preferred to keep them. He’d look even more strange without them.

  Just as they reached the foothills, Morgane collapsed face-first into the snow. The howls were still drifting on the wind, and seemed to grow closer with every passing minute. Micah knelt next to Morgane. He turned her over, wiping the snow from her face and gently slapping her cheeks.

  “Morgane!” he said. “You need to wake up. We need to keep moving!” Her eyes fluttered for a second and then closed. White flecks of powder dotted her lashes, her lips red against her pale skin. Her body was limp and shivering.

  Micah fumbled with his travel pack, digging out the torch he had made earlier. It took a few strikes to get it lit. Once it was burning, the wind snatched whatever little heat it could produce. Still, it was good for light, and Micah had a feeling he’d need it.

  Micah stuck the torch in the snow while he took the blankets out of their packs and draped them over Morgane. He borrowed her dagger while he was at it. It was only a little larger than his belt knife, but at least it had a sharp tip.

  As he worked, Micah heard a rustling sound coming from the darkness nearby. He raised the torch and held it high, squinting into the shadows. He saw a pair of yellow lupine eyes reflecting the light back at him. Nearby, a gray wolf trotted past and vanished in the darkness. He turned, holding the torch in the air. Here and there, he caught glimpses of others. His heart sank as he realized they had attracted an entire pack.

  Morgane stirred, and Micah gave her a sorrowful glance. “Just sleep,” he mumbled. “It’s better if you’re not awake for this.”

  Micah heard a noise behind him. He turned, knife at the ready, torch out in front of him. The creature backed off. Almost simultaneously, another lunged at him from the side. Micah swung the torch, waving the flames in the animal’s face. It snarled and leapt away. A third lunged in.

  They came closer with each attack, drawing his attention from side to side, turning him in circles until he couldn’t be sure which direction was which. Micah was exhausted. He had been exhausted before this started, and now he could hardly see straight. He caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye and turned to see a wolf tugging on Morgane’s leg. He threw the torch. There was a shower of sparks and the wolf let out a yelp as it struck the creature in the eye. It danced back.

  Micah snatched the torch back up. He stepped over Morgane, straddling her body, waving the torch in the air. Teeth flashed in the darkness. Powerful jaws snapped at him. Low rumbling growls and vicious snarls emanated out of the night. Another attacker came close enough to lock its jaws on his jacket. Micah struggled to turn. His right arm remained free, and he brought up the dagger, driving it through the soft flesh under the creature’s jaw. He felt the tip slide through bone and flesh, carving its way up into the wolf’s brain.

  The wolf instantly realized its mistake, but it was too late. The beast made an effort to pull away before it dropped into the snow next to him. The carcass twitched and then went still. The rest of the pack raised their voices in unison, howling into the night. The sound sent cold shivers crawling across Micah’s skin.

  Another lunged. As Micah brought the torch around, a second leapt over the fallen body and plowed into him from behind. Micah went sprawling, the torch flying in one direction, the dagger in another. He hit the snow hard, his face driving through the icy surface. The cold crystals cut like glass into the skin of his face and hands, and the cold powder rushed down the front of hi
s coat.

  The wolf landed on top of him. The creature was massive, and its weight drove the breath out of his lungs. He fought to get a breath of air, but couldn’t get free. He felt heat on the back of his neck and knew the wolf was about to go for his throat. Micah’s hands clawed at the snow, his legs thrashing wildly. He struggled for air, and found none. There was a sudden whooshing noise, and Micah heard a yelp. The weight vanished from his back. Suddenly, he could move.

  The halfling was on his hands and knees, sucking air into his lungs. The cold wind threw crystals of ice into his eyes, and tears streamed down his cheeks. He turned. In the flickering torchlight, Micah caught a glimpse of something that didn’t seem real.

  Micah saw a familiar black shape, almost invisible in the darkness. It was the dragon. It snapped at a wolf, capturing the beast in powerful jaws that crushed its bones. The dragon hurled the wolf’s limp body through the air. The other wolves closed in, surrounding the dragon. They barked and nipped. The creature rose, black wings stretching across the snow as it sucked in a great breath.

  Micah’s eyes went wide as a fan of flames bellowed out. Wolves yelped and whined. Two dropped into the snow, their fur smoldering, their flesh sizzling. He caught a glimpse of another retreating into the darkness with its coat aflame. The scent of burning hair and flesh filled his nostrils.

  Micah pushed to his feet. He stood wavering, confused, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. He felt the warm gush of blood down his thigh but ignored it as he watched the magnificent black dragon unleash another torrent of flames. The wolves had already scattered, and the fiery discharge ended, leaving dozens of tiny flames burning across the surface of the snow.

  Satisfied that he had the enemy on the run, the dragon turned to face Micah. The halfling stretched his arm out, reaching for the creature. It stepped closer, and Micah’s cold fingers touched the hard scales on the dragon’s spine and slid down over the smooth leathery flesh of its neck. He heard that purring sound again, and couldn’t help himself. He took a step closer, putting his arms around the dragon’s head to embrace it.

  For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The beast snorted into his jacket, inhaling deeply of his scent. Huge flakes of snow swirled down around them, glowing in the light of the fires, a sharp contrast against the black backdrop of night.

  This lasted only a moment. Micah heard a whip-crack in the distance, and the dragon pulled away. It gave out a snort, exhausting a tiny trickle of flames, and then spread its wings and took flight. The gust of air threw Micah’s hair back and made his eyes water. As the creature vanished into the sky, he heard a voice shouting:

  “You there! Are you alive?”

  Micah was stunned. He barely even acknowledged the men who appeared out of the night, riding on sleighs guided by packs of dogs. The men lifted Morgane out of the snow and tucked her into one of the sleighs. They helped Micah onto the other. They stared in disbelief at the smoldering corpses of the wolves, and asked the halfling what had happened, but Micah had no words to answer them. Finally, they carted him and his unconscious companion away from the scene in their sleighs, speeding along the foothills into the night.

  In a matter of minutes, they reached the village. It was a spectacular view as they came across a ridge, and Micah saw the expanse of buildings and lights below. The place was lit up like a carnival, with bonfires burning here and there, and townsfolk wandering around with tankards of ale and horns full of wine. It appeared that some sort of festival was happening.

  Micah observed all of this with the detachment of a man in shock. He saw it, but didn’t really comprehend any of it. The only thing that made sense to him, in a remote, confused sort of way, was the airship he saw tethered to the ground at the edge of the village.

  “I know that airship,” he mumbled as the sleigh carried him down the hill. “That’s Rowena’s ship.”

  Chapter 20

  “W e’ll have to circle north,” Kynan said from the branches overhead. “There’s a Legion scouting party up ahead.” The young Tal’mar had been gone almost two hours this time, searching for the safest route for his human counterparts. He was breathless from the run, his chest rose and fell as he gazed down at his companion. His dark bangs fell over his eyes, and he flicked them out of the way. Kynan wore his hair shorter than most Tal’mar males, and the result was a childlike appearance that would have fooled most humans.

  Loren, the elder Tal’mar and leader of the Horse’s disbanded crew, tilted his head to the side, long silver hair cascading down over thin shoulders, his dark green cloak fluttering in the breeze. He stood at the base of the tree, which was located at the top of a hill. He gazed down at the ragtag group of humans waiting in the safety of the woods below.

  “They’re exhausted,” Loren said in a low voice. “Perhaps it would be better to wait.”

  “We can’t,” said Tasha. Her face appeared in the leaves of an elm a few yards off. “There are scouts behind us as well.” Her violet hair was almost black in the shadows, but her many piercings glittered in the sunlight.

  Loren sighed. If it weren’t for the humans, he and the other Tal’mar would have been halfway to Sanctuary by now. When he had volunteered to lead the crewmembers back to Astatia, he’d forgotten how slow and clumsy humans were. “North it is,” he said at last. “I’ll tell them. You two go ahead and find us a clear path.” With a rustle of branches, they were gone. Loren went down the hill to inform his group of the bad news.

  “It will take longer,” he warned the humans a few minutes later. “The landscape is more rugged in this direction, and rather than skirting around the southern slopes as I had hoped, this path will lead us directly into the mountains.”

  “Will it be safe?” That was Vann, the crew’s chef. He stood off to the side, his meaty forearms folded over his chest, balding head glistening with sweat.

  “It will be safer than the path we are on,” Loren said. “I am unwilling to promise any more than that.”

  There were some sighs and grumbling, but the humans understood. They were dependent on the Tal’mar to get them to safety, and Loren was doing his very best. Already, he had helped them fight off a small party of ghouls, and had also managed to find edible berries and enough small game for two meals a day. They hadn’t been feasting by any stretch of the imagination, but they hadn’t been starving, either. They were almost halfway to Astatia, and if it took a few extra days to arrive, at least they would be safe.

  The group took a few minutes to reorganize their gear and check their weapons, and then they were off.

  Loren led them on a wandering northwesterly path, seeking out the easiest course through the ridges and ravines. Tasha and Kynan reported back to him at regular intervals with information about the path ahead as well as the movement of the ghouls in the foothills below. The woods thinned as they climbed, and it became increasingly difficult to keep the humans hidden. Loren would have preferred to keep the humans in the lowlands for this reason alone, but he had little choice.

  It was late afternoon, several hours after turning north, that the wind changed. A gust came up from the south, carrying with it the almost imperceptible tinge of sulfur and something else that caused Loren to stop in his tracks. He spun, staring out over the group of humans towards the south. The wind tugged at his silver hair and shook his long cloak, but he said nothing and stood as if frozen.

  The chef came forward. “What is it?”

  Loren gave slight tilt of his head. “There,” he said in a whisper. They watched the hills to the south. After a moment, they saw a glint of silver among the trees.

  “What’s that?” someone said.

  “Ghouls,” Loren answered with grim look. “There is a detachment moving up from the south.”

  “Here?” said the cook. “Why are they coming this way? The Legion’ll never get to Astatia or Danaise through these mountains.”

  “We have to go,” Loren said. “Hurry. Follow me!”

  They broke into a run
with Loren at the head of the group. The humans made a lot of noise, at least from the Tal’mar’s perspective. They ran like bison, their boots thundering against the ground, their clothing rustling, their belts and bags making clinking noises, their heavy breathing like an animal in its dying throes. Fortunately, they were far enough ahead of the detachment that it was unlikely the ghouls saw or heard them. The trick now was finding out why the ghouls were here, and where they were going. Without this information, it would be impossible to keep the humans safe.

  A short while later, as they were descending the northern slope of a small mountain, Kynan and Tasha returned. Loren explained what had happened. “We need to keep moving,” he said. “I don’t know why the ghouls are coming this direction. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I think I know,” Kynan said.

  Loren frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Follow me. It’s just down the other side of this mountain.” Loren called for the humans to resume their trek.

  The grumbling was louder this time. The run had worn them out, and the hike over the mountain seemed almost enough to kill them, at least if he were to judge by their complaints. Though the walk down the other side was easier, it presented its own hazards. Footing was less stable, and though they encountered patchy snow in the shady places here and there, the sun was hot on their skin and it seemed to melt away the last of their resolve.

  Loren reminded them more than once that the ghouls weren’t far behind, and that their choice was simple: “If you can’t walk anymore, stay here and wait for the Legion.”

  He didn’t mean it, of course. Loren wasn’t about to let any of these people die if he could help it. Unfortunately, that meant he must keep them motivated, even through fear if necessary. If they thought he’d leave them behind, maybe that would help them keep moving.