by Brian Fuller
“Make it so,” Chertanne commanded lamely.
Maewen brushed the wood shavings from her legs and sheathed her knife. “Let’s march.”
As early afternoon set in, Maewen’s predictions came true. A dark mass of cold gray clouds sped across the sky directly toward them, and for the first time in days they heard the percussive thumping of the Uyumaak. More disconcerting was the troubled, frustrated look on Maewen’s face. Increasingly, she ordered halts as she wandered about in search of some place to hole up for the night, returning with a scowl.
As evening fell, the wind rose in gusts and the clouds threw a blanket across the sun. “Stay here,” Maewen commanded, running ahead and returning after several minutes. “I have found a cave just ahead. If we hurry, we can reach it before the weather turns dangerous.”
They descended down the ridge a bit farther before the Chalaine could spot the cave through her obscuring veil. A wall of brown rock ran along a steep incline to their right. Between the sparse but ancient trees the Chalaine could just make out a dark hole worn into the rock-face by water and wind.
The ascent took effort and time, shards of loose rock beguiling their feet and sending nearly everyone to all fours to keep from slipping down the hill. By the time they reached the base of the rock wall, the storm whipped snowflakes around their faces with fury.
The entrance to the cave rose shoulder high and stretched several feet wide, the bulk of the cave lying below the entrance after a slight descent. The interior, to their amazement, was quite commodious, and the change from cold exposure to relative warmth and protection prompted a wave of relief.
“Won’t the Uyumaak trap us in here?” Athan asked worriedly.
“Unlikely,” Maewen answered. “If you didn’t notice, we haven’t heard them speaking for nearly two hours. If there is a brain among them, they are doing what we are right now. We will leave as soon as we can to keep the advantage of distance, though the difficult approach to the cave and the cover of the trees actually make this an excellent place to stand, if needed.”
“Can we light a fire?” Chertanne asked.
“A small one, but we have no wood,” Maewen answered. “I doubt anyone wants to retrieve any.”
“You two,” Chertanne ordered his two of his personal guards. “Fetch us firewood.”
“Yes, Ha’Ulrich.”
By the time they returned, they shook with cold and carried a paltry amount of wood and tinder.
“Is that all you could find?” Chertanne complained, displeased.
“Forgive us, Lord Khairn,” they begged, “but that is all we could gather before our hands were too numb to gather more.”
“Warm your hands and return for more.”
It required three trips before the obedient soldiers gathered enough fuel for the fire to satisfy their Lord. Once the small flame sprang to life, the Chalaine invited them to enjoy its warmth first, for which they thanked her. While the smoke rose gradually out of the hole, the cave filled with a smoky haze that burned their eyes. The relaxing warmth far outweighed these inconveniences, and soon they all lay back against the cave walls and listened to the wind howl outside.
“If we had some meat, I would almost be content,” Chertanne announced. His two soldiers cast terrified looks at each other, but to their relief their Lord did not command them out into the bitter dark in search of game.
The Chalaine regarded her husband, wondering at his new-found assertiveness. Athan sat nearby lost in thought, face careworn and drawn. The Chalaine could not like the man, but she could appreciate the burden he had shouldered. Counseling and shaping Chertanne was a daunting task, as doomed, she thought, as the foolish potter who threw a slab of granite on his wheel only to find his hands worn away well before the stone.
Night fell completely some while later, driven snow spraying into cave when the wind kicked up. A scrabbling outside pulled them from their pleasant rest, setting everyone at edge. Weapons quietly slid from discarded sheaths as the sound persisted, nearing. Something ascended the incline toward their camp, disturbing the gravel and rocks on the hill. Breathing shallowed and eyes sharpened, all attention riveted on the opening to the cave just above them. The scrabbling stopped, and several tense moments passed, imaginations spawning everything from a stray deer to an Uyumaak Hunter in the cave entrance.
The Chalaine, hearing muttering nearby, turned toward the sound, finding Athan incanting something under his breath. At first she thought he might be warding the cave against entry, but as she watched, Chertanne, who hugged the cave wall, face pale, grew more composed, color returning. A bold determination took hold of his features, and he scooted toward the edge of the cave where Maewen, Tolbrook, and Jaron awaited in readiness.
Slowly, the sickly yellow eye of a Throg drifted in, facing the cave wall. As it rotated downward, Maewen switched her knives to a throwing grip, but before she could launch her attack, the glistening eye fell from the sky as if the invisible force that infused it with buoyancy and motion had suddenly dropped it. It clanked once as it hit the rocks, its second bounce shattering it like glass, little shards clinking as they descended to the floor. Chertanne, face exultant, sunk to the ground exhausted.
“I did it!” he said quietly. “I changed it to glass! Did you see, Athan?”
“Well done, Lord Khairn!” Athan congratulated him heartily. “You see? I told you we would have need of your power before this journey is over! Do you see what you can accomplish?”
“Yes, but I am so tired!”
“It is often so with new Magicians, Milord. The ability to use magic is like a muscle that strengthens as it is used. You will grow in ability day by day and will soon have the ability to change twenty such eyes without so much as a thought.”
The Chalaine found her mother casting her a meaningful glance. The Chalaine rolled her eyes up into her head and quietly exhaled. “That was well done, Chertanne,” she said as sincerely as possible. “Such use of your power is exactly what we need in our dire circumstances.”
To her surprise, Chertanne’s brow furrowed. “I do not need you to tell me what is needed,” he rejoined testily. “I have a mind about me.”
“She wished to compliment you, your Highness,” Athan interjected, trying to recover the glow of the moment.
“Compliments and scorn are what women use to shape men into what they want them to be. I will achieve greatness, and I will do it without anyone’s assistance or interference.”
“Then how am I to express appreciation or gratitude? If I say nothing, then you might think me insensible or uncaring of your accomplishments.” The Chalaine tried to say this as meekly as possible, but from Chertanne’s expression, it appeared the obvious frustration in her voice had revealed her artifice.
“Your mistake, Lady Khairn, is assuming that I need your appreciation or your gratitude. I do not. Therefore I will view any such expressions as useless or as distasteful attempts to manipulate me.”
“As you wish,” the Chalaine returned, inclining her head, noticing Mirelle staring Jaron away from his sword hilt. The Chalaine felt annoyed at Chertanne’s arrogant independence, though she viewed Chertanne’s insistence that she never compliment him as an unintended act of beneficence that would preclude her from actually needing to vocalize several lies she had at hand to get her through her marriage.
“Let us rest now, Highness,” Athan encouraged his charge. “Mikkik’s servant is blinded, and we will all rest more easily now.”
Chertanne returned to his place near the fire and immediately dozed off. The Chalaine lay awake for nearly an hour, watching her companions drift off one by one. Fenna lay asleep, her head on Geoff’ shoulder and her arm on his chest, and the Chalaine smiled, remembering the night in the canyon when she slept in just the same fashion with Gen. By now, her addiction to the warmth of the animon had grown proportionate to her insecurity, and she hoped that the cold weather would keep the others from wondering why she thrust her hand into her pocket from
sunup to sundown.
They left the protection of the cave just as the sun paled the morning sky. The storm had blown through quickly, leaving the heavens clear and the sun bright in their eyes as they gradually turned west. The snow, while not deep, had drifted, though a short descent took them out of the snow onto a wet, grassy track.
Maewen led them down off of the mountain into a pleasant glade running with gurgling water as she scouted for a place to ascend the next line of high hills. The Uyumaak signals did not torment them that morning, but every snap of a twig set eyes to darting and hands flinching toward weapons.
At their midday rest, Maewen returned back along the trail to scout for any sign of their pursuers while the company ate and prepared for another uphill trudge. The Chalaine was sitting upon a fallen log absentmindedly gnawing on a leathery scrap of dried fruit when she found Geoff approaching her. The Chalaine smiled. A little bit of the energy of his step had returned, no doubt springing from a more confident heart.
“Highness.” He bowed. “May I?”
“Please,” she said, signaling for him to sit next to her.
“I haven’t had the chance to thank you for healing the Throg’s bite, so I do so now. Yours, by far, has proved the most useful magic on our adventure.”
“You are most welcome, and I am happy to see you better in body and spirit.”
He grinned. “Yes, my soul seems to be finding its way back to a bit of the rejoicing it once knew. I think it will not sing as proudly as before, but innocence cannot but give way to wisdom, and I have lost something in this venture that I cannot quite place, but perhaps it will come to me when I have a little more peace and solitude to reflect upon it.”
“I feel it, too. If you do find words for it, then share them.”
“I will, Highness.”
“I am also gratified to see that Fenna has lost her temperamental prejudice against you.”
Geoff sighed, but not altogether unhappily. “It is a bit strange that she loved Gen for his force of arms and she only found her love for me when I demonstrated the complete opposite.”
The Chalaine laughed. “As I recall, it was Gen’s devastating injury against the demon that boosted her affections for him. So it is a similar case.”
“Then to keep her faithful, I will have to make sure that none of the men in Blackshire attempt anything that might incapacitate them, lest sympathy for their plight spin her affections in another direction.”
The Chalaine chuckled. “I think our dear Fenna is done spinning. I hope to come visit you when this is over. With you two the Lord and Lady of Blackshire, I cannot imagine there will be a merrier place for a heart ready to forget Throgs, Uyumaak, and other . . . unpleasantness.”
“You will always be most welcome,” Geoff said, now lowering his voice to a whisper. “As will a certain disenfranchised young gentleman. If you come together, we shall throw a party such as you will never forget.”
“Thank you,” the Chalaine returned, emotion rising. “You are a good man. Do not worry for us. Think on Fenna, treat her well, and you will never want for anything in matters of the heart. I cannot promise you that there will not be future vexations, but I think they will be short in comparison to the last one.”
“Maewen!” Jaron yelled.
All eyes followed his voice. Along the swollen stream bank Maewen sprinted, bloody daggers in her hands. “Get up!” she yelled. “We must leave!” As they hefted their packs, a single Hunter broke from the trees, charging Maewen with frightening speed. If it noticed the rest of the party, it did not acknowledge it, eyes riveted on its prey. Hands fumbled for bows as the Uyumaak closed on the half-elf.
“It’s going to catch her!” Geoff said, exclaiming what everyone left unspoken. Just as the first bows raised to take aim on the creature, Chertanne stepped forward, eyes fixed and face serene. The Chalaine looked to Athan whose eyes had closed as he worked his fortifying magic, saying the spell quietly. Without expression, Chertanne concentrated, and just as Maewen turned to face the Hunter, it grabbed its throat and fell to the ground, spasming as it struggled to pull air through a clogged airway. Maewen finished it quickly.
“Let’s move,” Chertanne commanded to everyone’s surprise. “The Dark Guard to the rear. Dason, stay with the Chalaine. Maewen, lead us forward. My guard, to me.”
Shocked but silent, the party complied and moved as quickly as they could, Maewen scanning about for a way up and over the next rise. After a brutal, swift climb, sides pinched in pain and breath came in ragged gasps. Maewen called a halt on a gentle slope shadowed by lofty pines. They leaned against trees and rocks to regain their strength, all ears nervously attuned to the noises around them. Maewen returned down the line to find the Chalaine, Athan leaving Chertanne to follow her.
“Chalaine,” Maewen gasped, face pained, “I will not be so proud this time.” A gash in her side bled enough to soak her shirt, cloak, and the hand she had used to cover the wound while they walked. “Do you have the strength for it?”
“Of course.”
“What happened back there?” Athan asked the half-elven ranger while the Chalaine concentrated.
“I found a group of them. Just three Hunters and a handful of Warriors. No more than a scouting party. I killed two of the Hunters and a couple of the Warriors.”
“I thought you had learned your lesson about attacking Uyumaak by yourself after your misadventure with Gen,” Athan remonstrated.
“I will keep my own counsel on when to fight and when to withdraw. If Gen were here, they would all be dead and we could move with more security.”
“As it is,” Athan said, “they know exactly where we are. If you had left them alone they might be ignorant of our whereabouts.”
“Keep to your books, Padra,” Maewen chastised, face relaxing as the Chalaine’s magic mended her side. “They had our trail. Without the Hunters, they are blind. They will be able to follow us for a time, but I can lose them before nightfall. But I warn you, they are merely pushing us somewhere. We should have had more trouble with them. Thank you, Chalaine.”
Maewen returned to the head of the party and started their ascent again, though at a much more relaxed pace.
“Can magic turn a coward into a conqueror?” the Chalaine asked the nearby Athan quietly, hoping to avoid the prying ears of Dason, who followed behind her at a few paces.
“No, but it can help one emerge,” he answered with equal discretion.
“Do you think your magic enough to see him through his confrontation with Mikkik?” the Chalaine asked, striving to keep a mocking tone out of her voice.
“I know you have little faith in him,” Athan said, “but what I do is no different than what any father might do to a young son facing new dangers and experiences. When I was barely as tall as my father’s waist, a neighboring farmer came into possession of a bull mastiff to help protect his flock against winter wolves. I was terrified of the beast and refused to walk to town to do the little errands my father always sent me on.
“So one day my father carried me in his arms and, despite my wailing protestations, walked me past the giant dog. Eventually—by which I mean some weeks—I only needed his hand as the dog rubbed against us and barked. In time, I felt comfortable if he only watched over me. Before the year was out, the mastiff and I became the fondest of friends. So you see, by holding Chertanne’s hand a little, by helping him experience success, his confidence may grow so that he can master his fears and start to lead a little.”
“There is little time.”
“I know, but I will try. I thank you for trying to help with your compliment last evening. It helped, whatever his reaction. You may try to talk to him about how he uses his magic. If you don’t seem to be manipulating him, he may be more amenable to your conversation. Now I must continue my instruction, if you’ll excuse me.”
Athan returned to his charge, speaking with him intermittently as they hiked.
Three days later they caught their first vi
ew of the Dunnach River Canyon from atop a high ridge. From their lofty standpoint, it kinked through the forest, a gray crack that seemed as if a giant had plunged its hands into the valley and ripped it apart. The distant roar of the rocky river and the proximity of familiar—if unpleasantly remembered—places provided a sense of orientation and progress that buoyed them.
“By my estimation,” Maewen informed them, “we are about two days from the meadow where the Uyumaak massacred the caravan. We will stay out of view of the canyon and the road on the other side of this ridge, but we must have care, now. The bulk of the Uyumaak once encamped somewhere near here, and I doubt not that we have just as many before us as behind. I will scout more frequently now, and we must move more cautiously.”
Cautiously, as Maewen made perfectly plain in the following minutes, meant no talking and required expending some effort not to step on every brittle stick and pine cone that littered the ground in abundance. The Chalaine found she had little difficulty doing so, though the rest of her party, Maewen excluded, raised enough of a ruckus to permanently affix a frown on Maewen’s face.
They stopped early that evening, Maewen informing them that she would scout ahead farther than usual and would not return until near midnight.
“Don’t attack a camp full of Uyumaak, Maewen,” Athan cautioned her. “Our survival is more important than any pleasure or revenge you may want to exact.”
The tracker did not acknowledge his words and ran into the night, leaving her company in a dense, rocky thicket that provided shelter and protection from prying eyes.
No one slept or spoke much until she returned. When she did, she said, “It is as I feared. There is a Portal a few miles from here, and several companies of Uyumaak are nearby. I would guess that the Portal is where they resupply and reinforce. They densely patrol a line from the shard’s edge to the canyon wall. I suspect that if the rearward element hunting us gets word ahead, we will find ourselves in a thick of the creatures within two hours.”
Hearts sank in unison, a silence ensuing as they all waited for Maewen to proffer some clever way out of the situation.
