Ilagon held up the chain and looked at the dangling symbol of a cross with a circle around the center.
“These are not beasts of shadow! They are men and women, healers, like E’enna! Perhaps they are under some dark spell, but they are people, nonetheless! And we slaughtered them like animals when we should have been trying to help them!”
“I told you no lies,” Ilagon said. “E’enna’s people are dead. The gentle healers that once inhabited those bodies died many years ago. Those creatures you fought were nothing more than empty vessels carrying Gregore’s evil blight.”
“I don’t believe that,” Kazen growled. “There must be a way to save them.”
Ilagon shook his head. “Gregore chose the healers for their unique abilities. As you can imagine, an army that is not slowed down by illness or injury has a clear advantage. When he first took the healers captive, he tortured them to the brink of death and used his dark magic to trap them in that state. Caught in the perpetual stage between life and death, they were driven insane. Only the potent magic of shadow can keep them under control. And only death can offer them freedom from his wicked spell.”
Kazen turned his back to them and let his head fall. “Then what justice is there? If the greater power is held by shadow, how can good ever prevail?”
Ilagon stared at the back of Kazen’s head and answered softly. “That is why you are here.”
Dragging his feet, Kazen walked away without another word. Plopping down beside a half-filled water trough, he gazed down at his own reflection. Bloodied and beaten already. Cupping the cool water in his hands, he washed the blood from his face. The coldness stung the fresh wounds and made his whole face ache. The scratches over his eyes and nose were shallow enough; they would heal in a few weeks. However, the deep gash on his cheek left by the creature’s lower teeth would definitely leave an impressive scar.
“It would only take a moment for me to heal you,” E’enna said, sitting down beside him.
Kazen smiled faintly. “You know, I have often wondered why some wounds scar and others fade away. I think, perhaps, it is because some things are worth being reminded of.” He looked back down at his reflection. “Cursed or not, I killed a man for the first time today . . . more than one. I think that’s a scar that I should keep.”
E’enna stared at him oddly for a moment. “Well, suit yourself. If you want to make yourself look more hideous than you already do, I’m not going to stand in your way.”
“Hideous, eh?” Kazen chuckled, splashing water at her face.
“All right, all right!” E’enna giggled. “Not completely hideous.”
“Let’s get back to the others. I don’t wish to linger in this dead village any longer than I need to.”
It took most of the afternoon, but the company stayed long enough to extinguish the persistent house fires. Ilagon even chanced a slightly stronger spell, opening a crater large enough to the give the deceased villagers as proper a burial as could be afforded. Shanks spoke a few solemn words over the shallow grave before they departed.
They were barely able to make it a few miles out of the village by the time the sun began to set. Not knowing if there were any other Hudak camps nearby, they were forced to risk the dark night without a fire. The changing seasons brought a cold wind from the north, and everyone was thankful that Valduron had insisted on packing so many extra blankets.
Kazen took the early watch, perching himself on the highest limb of a sparsely leafed Dogwood. He was grateful for the amber light of the moon, which loomed heavily over the towering peaks of the Pale Mountains. It would only be a few days before they reached the mountain pass, and he wondered how they would ever conquer such a foreboding obstacle.
Gazing out over the lasting plains, he no longer found comfort in the swaying meadows of ocher grass. Instead, he saw an ocean of shrouded alcoves and seclusions in which an army of shadowed atrocities could be concealed. The turning of the tide was near, he could feel it. The scent of evil was heavy in the air, and at times it seemed to permeate every pore of his body. Soon, he feared, there would be no tree tall enough to shelter him, or anyone else, from the coming darkness.
So far, the dark shadow sent out from Rassadoth had been unable to move beyond the borders of the Pale Mountains. But the mountains would not be able to contain the evil much longer. Already, the pestilence had begun to overflow into the surrounding valleys and hills. Once the darkness broke free and spread over the land, no one would be safe from Gregore’s wrath.
Kazen pulled his hood down over his ears as the cold wind whistled through the treetops. He watched over the huddled figures below for hours until his head grew weary. Finally, hopping from his perch, he woke Shanks with a nudge and rolled himself into a growth of soft reeds. He clenched his eyes tightly against the cold night air as he eased into a restless slumber.
Chapter 14
Kazen woke to the sounds of rumbling wagon wheels and shuffling feet. He hurried out from under his blankets to join Shanks and Ilagon, who were watching a parade of peasants pass by. The procession was made up of a hundred or so countrymen, most accompanied by some beaten-down pack mule or grizzled old mare.
All the people, even the smallest children with their dirtied, reddened faces, carried heavy bundles on their backs or heads. Their wagons were piled high with sacks and barrels and skins and farming tools. Iron pots and pans clanked and rattled loudly in the back of one of the carts, which also carried several of the more elderly folk.
Many of the peasants glared suspiciously at Kazen and the others as they passed by. A few of the smaller children stopped and smiled curiously at Kazen’s white hair, but were quickly ushered away by a scowling old woman.
“Who are they?” E’enna asked, yawning as she rolled out from under a thick layer of blankets.
“They’re mountaineers,” Shanks said. “They are a hearty people, capable of surviving in the most hostile environments of the high summits. I’ve never heard of them coming down from the mountains before.”
“What would bring them down now?” Kazen wondered.
“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it can’t be good news for us,” Shanks said.
“Well, this is ridiculous,” E’enna scoffed. “Why don’t we just ask them?”
Shanks shook his head. “Don’t waste your breath. They will not speak to flatlanders. They think we are all devils.”
“Why would they think that?”
“They don’t understand why any decent person would choose to live so far away from the heavens,” Shanks explained.
E’enna laughed. “Well, maybe it’s just because it’s freezing up there.”
“All right,” Ilagon interrupted. “There is no sense in us standing around, gawking at these people. Let us get packed and readied to move.”
Reluctantly, Kazen rolled his blanket and secured it tightly under his satchel. He shrugged his heavy pack over his shoulder and watched as the mountaineers made their way toward the western horizon. Shanks was right, he thought, the exodus of these people was an ominous sign.
“Oy!” a harsh voice hollered.
Kazen was surprised to see one of the mountain men stopped in his tracks and staring at him. The man was middle-aged, with thick, black hair and a rugged beard and clad in heavy furs and straps of hide from neck to toe. His skin was raw and leathered from his years living in the wind and cold. He gestured for Kazen to come to him.
After glancing back at Ilagon, who was busy packing his own bedroll, Kazen crept cautiously over to where the man was waiting. The mountain man eyed him warily while scratching nervously at his knotted beard.
“To path ye keep,” the man said, struggling with the flatlanders’ language.
Kazen wrinkled his brow. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
Slapping his knee in frustration, the mountain man babbled a long string of curses in his own tongue. He raised his hands to the heavens and exhaled slowly, regaining his composure. The man leaned in,
uncomfortably close to Kazen’s face. “Stray not from path, lest ye die,” he whispered hoarsely.
Kazen was taken aback. “What . . . what do you mean? What path?”
The rugged mountain man did not speak again. He turned and hurried to catch up to the rest of his flock.
“Wait!” Kazen called after him. “What does that mean? Is there something up there?”
Continuing on, the mountain man looked back long enough to point at his right eye and then at the mountain. He heaved his bulky sack over his shoulder and fell in line with the other mountaineers.
“Everything all right, Kazen?” Ilagon asked, still gathering the last of their supplies.
Kazen watched the mountain folk diminish into the vast fields of swaying reeds. The man’s cryptic message lay like a jagged stone in his gut. He looked up at the menacing walls of the Pale Mountains, the highest summits shrouded in clouds and ancient secrets. Kazen’s heart filled with fear and doubt.
“Kazen?” Ilagon called again.
“Everything is fine,” Kazen answered quietly. “Just getting some friendly advice from the locals.”
The company headed east again, into the sun, toward the rising peaks of the snow-topped mountains. The chilled air stayed with them as they traveled over the open plains. As quickly as dusk turns to dawn, the occasional trees, once full and green, were transformed into swaying rainbows of copper and crimson. Tiny sparrows and golden finches chirped and hopped merrily through the baring branches, reveling in the changing season.
As the days passed and they marched steadily on, the mountain peaks slowly vanished into swirling mists and looming white clouds. Soon, a bed of rocks and stones, tumbled smooth by some raging river that once flowed there centuries ago, replaced the gentle prairie. The crunch of shifting pebbles under their feet echoed loudly against the mountain walls.
Gray skies settled over the stark valley as Kazen and the others made an early camp at the base of the mountain. Biting wind whistled through towering stone pillars that jutted up from the valley floor. An icy stream of water trickled down the rocky mountainside, gathering in a deep basin at the foot of the cliff. Pine trees, of every variety, grew tall and wide from the side of the mountain wall, their exposed, twisted roots clinging desperately to the sheer rock face. Tufts of glistening moss dangled and sprawled over ledges and overhangs, which made for comfortable lodgings for the long-necked white birds circling overhead.
The smell of fresh snow drifted down from the lofty peaks as Kazen sipped on a cup of hot tea. He and the others spent most of the afternoon quietly busying themselves, resting before the next day’s trek up the steep mountain slope. They each took turns eyeing the seldom-used path, which wound haphazardly up the mountainside through narrow passages of trees and treacherous rocks, and gradually disappearing into the rising terrain. No one was looking forward to the coming dawn.
As the crisp autumn darkness encompassed their small camp, Kazen lay awake, gazing up at the few specks of glimmering stars that peeked through the thickening cover of hoary clouds. He strained to listen to the soft murmurs and whispers being exchanged between Ilagon and Shanks, who sat at the firelight’s edge, each huddled under their black hoods. Kazen could scarcely make out more than a word or two of their hushed conversation, just a few mutterings about Gregore and some guesses at the location of his stronghold.
Just as he was being lulled to sleep by their quiet mutterings, Kazen was most rudely jolted awake by an icy raindrop, which splattered right on his nose. He squinted through one eye at the brewing clouds above. Everyone groaned unanimously as the fat drops of rain turned into a chilling drizzle.
The fire hissed and flickered as Kazen slipped his head under his blanket. A frosty wind crept under the layers of cloth and leather, and grazed his bare neck, sending a shiver down his back. He grunted with annoyance and settled in for a long night.
The rain continued on through the morning as they rolled up their soggy blankets and started up the mountain path. The trail started off quite steep, leaving the group to cling precariously to rocks and roots as they climbed. Fingers numbed by stinging rain, the going was treacherous and miserable. Thankfully, by late afternoon, the path gradually began to level out. The rain too finally subsided, but always constant was the cold wind, stabbing at their shivering bodies.
Winding endlessly upward, the solitary path never branched off in any other direction. Impenetrable clusters of lofty pine trees occupied every possible clearing. Only the most brazen weeds and ivy survived under the dark thicket of looming trees. The dense forest trapped the dampness under its thick canopy, making the air heavy and sweet with the smell of decomposing vegetation.
The company’s footfalls fell silently on the cushioned floor of moss and weathered pine needles. Feisty brown birds ruffled their feathers and chirped indignantly at the trespassers as they made their way slowly up the mountainside.
“That’s it!” E’enna huffed, dropping her pack to the ground. “I can’t go another step! My clothes are soaked and my feet are frozen. It will be sunset in another hour. Can we please stop and get a fire going?”
Ilagon looked back at her. “It will be many times colder than this in a few days. You might as well get used to it now. If there is another hour of light left, I suggest we press on.”
“I think we should stop as well,” Kazen added eagerly, sliding his pack off his shoulder.
Ilagon sighed and looked to Shanks, who also slid his pack off with an apologetic shrug.
“Well,” grumbled Ilagon, “I suppose the majority has spoken.”
They made a very large fire that night, and warmed themselves with hot tea and boiled meat. Kazen sat down beside E’enna and stretched his bare toes out in front of the crackling flames.
“I swear it, I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again,” she moaned, shivering under her heaviest blanket.
Kazen shrugged his own blanket off his back and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders. E’enna smiled girlishly and caught Kazen’s gaze with her soft eyes, making him feel suddenly very uneasy. “Thank you,” she said, smiling grandly.
Kazen cleared his throat uncomfortably. “It’s just a blanket,” he mumbled as he grabbed a stick and poked at the fire.
E’enna rolled her eyes. “Goodnight, Kazen,” she huffed sharply.
“Goodnight.”
Kazen got up and pulled another blanket from his pack. As he settled down on a dry patch of ground, he peeked over the fire at E’enna, who lay huddled under her blankets. He was not entirely sure what had happened, but he was fairly certain he had made an idiot of himself. With a quiet groan, he tucked his rough blanket under his chin and flopped to the ground.
The following day their journey continued onward and upward, as it did the day after that and the day after that. The trodden path zigged and zagged its way up the face of the mountain. With every turn the air became colder and more still, until eventually they found themselves surrounded by an icy mist of clouds and the first snowfall.
Kazen had never seen snow before, for in the southern lands it had never been cold, at least not cold enough for rain to freeze. So there he stood, completely breathless at the sight before him. Fragile flurries of snow drifted gracefully down from the heavens, twisting and swirling to the whims of the subtle wind, each crystal so delicate that it melted the moment it touched a cheek or a blade of grass. Like hundreds of soft, satin rose petals, the silvery flakes rested tenderly on Kazen’s hair and lashes, but were quickly swept away by a blustery breeze.
“Come on, then!” Shanks hollered. “If you’re done marveling at all that is cold and dreary, we do have a quest to complete!”
Kazen laughed with excitement. “Coming!”
By that afternoon, there was little left to laugh about. The snow and wind had gained in strength and ferocity. Soft puffs of snow had turned to vicious daggers of ice, stinging bare cheeks and noses. The number of pine trees thinned to near nothing, as even they, with their rugged b
ark and sturdy trunks, conceded to the wrath of the wicked cold.
No longer tamed by the thick of the woods, the savage wind howled over the naked rocks. Clouds of dusted snow skidded across the bare mountain, blinding the poor travelers. Ice and snow crunched under their feet as they struggled against wind and slope. The thick mittens they wore on their hands and fur pelts they had stuffed into their boots did little to hold back the bitter cold. Fingers still ached and toes were still numbed.
After only a few hours they could go on no more. Exhausted and shivering, they dug in as best they could. Trying to keep a fire in the violent wind was hopeless, so they huddled together under every blanket and scrap of cloth they had. Shrieking winds and chattering teeth made sleep impossible.
Kazen crammed his hands under his arms and wiggled his fingers continuously, fearful that they would freeze into twisted knots should they stay idle too long. The bitter cold stabbed his lungs with every painful breath. His lips cracked and swelled under the covering of brittle ice that had settled on his face. Even his teeth had begun to ache between each arduous inhale.
After what seemed a thousand years of frigid darkness, morning finally came. With daylight came little change in the severe weather. The blizzard of snow still remained, and the wind still whipped and flailed in every direction. Wearily, the company gathered themselves from their nest of blankets and snow. Every muscle and joint screamed in agony.
“We can’t survive many nights like this!” Shanks yelled over the whistling wind, his arms wrapped tightly around E’enna’s trembling frame.
“Those mountain folk did not live on the open rock!” Ilagon hollered back. “They must have left some sort of shelter behind!”
Shanks nodded in agreement. “It would be higher up the summit, on more level ground!”
Ilagon squinted into the blinding blizzard. “Let us hope it is not more than a day’s travel!”
Onward they went. They followed the narrow path, which was now little more than an indent in the building snow. The trek was becoming more perilous with every step. Waist-high drifts of powdered snow concealed dangerous crevasses and loose rock footings, which could easily send one tumbling down the mountainside or into a bottomless hollow.
The Flame Weaver Page 17
