“Dragon’s fart!” Ash said. He turned away so he wouldn’t hit Elgir and stared up at the treeroom where Ember slept. Would she be happy about this, or sad? Pleased that her cousin would have the same rank? That the two domains would be tied closer together? That was the way Ember thought, he’d come to realize. As rulers did, or should. He called her “princess” half in affection and half teasingly, but it was true. Could Cedar become a—a prince? And what else would he become? Ash remembered the naked half-men of the Deep and his own distaste. He didn’t feel like that about Durst. True shapechanging was… purer, somehow. Not a rejection of humanity, but an expansion of who the person was. Or it could be, if they didn’t choose to stay an animal, as Durst had.
“Whatever you turn into,” he said to Cedar, his voice rough with tears held back, “promise me you’ll become human again.”
Cedar put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “I promise,” he said. The elk called Durst snorted and coughed, and Elgir laughed in response.
“Durst says don’t worry, Cedar’s like me, too stupid to understand that animal life is best.”
That was cold comfort to Ash, but it was comfort of a sort.
“Sleep,” he said to Cedar. “It’s my watch.”
His younger brother might be a warlord’s heir, but he still obeyed orders. Cedar said goodnight to Elgir and slid into his sleeping pocket. Ash looked at Elgir, who was standing next to Durst.
“If you don’t look after him…” he said.
“I swear to you and your family,” Elgir said, formal and solemn, “I will care for him as my own son. As my right arm.”
There didn’t seem to be anything left to say. He had lost his brother.
The Foothills of the Eye Teeth Mountains
The morning was full of fog. Ember looked out of her tree tower into a shifting mass of white. Every leaf was outlined with beads of water, and each step she took sent a shower down below. Her hair crinkled up and was hard to plait, as it always was in the damp. She cursed it under her breath and looked up to find Ash laughing at her from the entrance to the stairway, his eyes bright and his brown hair tousled.
Something clenched under her heart. So might a young husband laugh at his new wife. Osfrid… Osfrid would never laugh at her like that. A whisper in her mind said that Osfrid would never have laughed like that anyway; he had been a serious young man, far more serious than Ash. And although he loved her—had loved her—and had desired her, he had never looked at her with such simple affection.
Well, they had not known each other very well, after all. If they had had time together…
“What’s the matter, lass?” Ash said. He came up and began to roll his sleeping pocket ready for travel.
“Just thinking about Osfrid,” she said, tying a blue ribbon tightly onto the end of her plait. She put the brush away and began to roll her own pocket.
Ash was silent for a moment, and then asked, not looking at her, “Was it a warlord’s marriage, with him, or a real one?”
She paused. “I wanted to marry him. I was so happy…” She wanted to say that she had loved him, but it was as though Fire had seared that feeling out of her, leaving only pain and fear behind. The day when Osfrid had asked for her hand, eyes warm and hands gentle, seemed a long long time ago. “My father let me choose,” she concluded.
“From the warlords’ sons,” Ash said. She felt a flicker of irritation. What did he know of politics?
“I would have chosen Osfrid anyway,” she said, but even as she said it, she wondered if it were true. She had wanted everything that Osfrid was and had—the life as warlord’s lady, the move to the south, the promise of children and comfort, as well as Osfrid himself, handsome and straight and intelligent. If Osfrid had been a farmer’s son like Ash, would she have chosen him?
She was ashamed to realize that she didn’t know.
Ash didn’t comment further. They packed in silence then went up the stairs to the dining room. Sure enough, there was breakfast waiting for them: porridge with honey and berries, and some food to take with them, wrapped in neat packets of leaves. She could smell the dried apple and apricots through the leaves. There were enough packets for all of them.
Ash stowed them away after they had eaten, and they went down and used the privies, having to search for them through the mist, then looked for the others.
They were in the glade behind the elms, saddling up, the fog swirling around their feet and curling over the horses’ hooves. At least, Tern and Cedar were. Curlew was holding the horses’ reins slackly, not noticing anything. Ember hugged him and he looked at her with a spark of recognition. Perhaps away from here he would be better.
“Have you seen Elgir this morning?” she asked Cedar.
“I am here,” the deep voice came, from above. She looked up. Elgir was leaning from a treeroom. He grinned and leaped down, landing lightly on all fours. He had never looked more like an animal. “I will guide you out,” he said. “There is a shorter way than the way you came.”
He looked at the horses. “It would be better,” he said, “if you did not ride until after you left our borders.”
“Why?” Tern demanded.
“My people do not like animals being kept as slaves,” Elgir said seriously. “Best not to anger them.”
Ember shivered. There was something about that tone…
They walked on in silence, with Elgir and Cedar striding together at the front, the dogs trotting one on each side.
“Elgir wants Cedar to be his heir,” Ash said.
It didn’t come as a surprise to Ember somehow. No doubt that had been the reason Elgir had needed to bring them here, the reason he hadn’t known at first. Well, it was good for Cedar, she supposed. And good for her own domain, to have the nearest warlord be kin. Not that Ash would see it like that.
“At least I won’t have to tell my parents,” he said gloomily.
She laughed a little, softly. “I know. It’s the only advantage to having a mother with Sight—you don’t have to break bad news! Of course, you can’t keep a secret either.”
He sighed. “I suppose inheriting a domain is a good thing,” he said.
“I don’t think Cedar is thinking of that,” Ember said. “He just wants to learn. And… Elgir is a good man, I think.”
“He’s not just a man, though, is he? What will Cedar become?” There was a real pain in his voice, real loss. She wondered what it would be like to have a sister, to lose that sister.
“That’s his choice, lad,” she said gently, and took his hand. He squeezed hers and continued to hold it firmly, as though he found it comforting. She tried to ignore the warmth that his touch started in her. The fog seemed to mute it a little, but still it was disconcerting how a simple contact could make her breath fast, her nipples tight. She hated it; hated the sense of being controlled by someone else, of having her affection for Ash twisted into something else.
Through the fog she could hear people working, laughing, talking in that bird-like language. As swirls of mist lifted and moved, they caught glimpses—the woman with blue hair smiled at her as she knelt, weeding turnips.
Swathed in fog, Elgir’s people were braver, perhaps. She wished they had time to stay and get to know them.
Elgir led them south and west, up the high ridge where the cedars swayed far above them. They climbed out of the fog halfway up, and turned to look back on the cream-filled bowl. Cedar sighed.
“You’ll be back, lad,” Elgir said. They went through the trees to the other side of the ridge, and there were the mountains. The Eye Teeth, raising their sharp spires to a blue spring sky. Snow on their summits, harsh gray stone bases covered by a thin, precarious film of green. Beautiful. Dangerous.
“The border of my domain is two ridges over, where the plateau starts,” Elgir said. “Beyond that, it is the Ice King’s land, and you must beware.” He hesitated. “There were spells laid on that area long ago, to protect us from the Ice King. Even I do not know them
all. If you have trouble, send a message and I will come.”
Ash came forward and confronted him.
“What about the wolves?” he said.
“Last night I heard a story about a lad who sang the moon down with my pack,” Elgir replied. “Do you think they will harm him?”
“That was your pack?” Ember demanded. “Your wolves?”
“Some of them, on the edges of the Forest,” Elgir said, half-smiling, half-wistful. He seemed to wish he had sung the moon down himself. “The one who sang to you was not mine. But mine will know you are pack, and protect you as they would each other.” He hesitated, looking at the dogs. Holdfast and Grip were standing on either side of him, their tails waving gently. “These wish to stay,” he said, “and they are welcome.”
“Holdfast is my dog,” Ash said. “Grip can wait here for Cedar to come back if he wants, but Holdfast comes with me.” He squatted in front of the elkhound and rubbed her ears. “Don’t you, girl?”
She rubbed against him with affection, but then she moved back and stood next to Elgir. Ash’s face hardened and he looked up at Cedar.
“They’ll be happy here,” Cedar said, but his face was troubled.
“She wasn’t happy with me?”
Elgir interrupted. “She says you won’t need her, anymore.”
Exasperated, Ember exclaimed, “So now the dog is a seer? How does that work?”
Elgir said nothing. Holdfast whined and gave a single bark, staring up at Ash as he rose to his feet.
Cedar put his hand out to Grip and the dog came to him and stood for a pat. Cedar’s eyes were full of Sight. “She is right, however she knows. Ash will have no more use for her.”
“That’s reassuring!” Ash said. “Because I’ll be dead?”
Ember felt her gut clench at the thought, but Cedar shook his head.
“I don’t think so…” he said slowly.
“Go well,” Elgir said formally, putting an end to a discussion, Ember thought, which could have gone on all day. Who knew what a dog could know, here in Starkling? Perhaps Holdfast was a dog seer—or perhaps she had just sensed that Ash, no matter what happened, was not the same as he had been, and would probably not return to the life he had left behind.
Elgir clasped forearms with Cedar and offered the same gesture to Ash, who hesitated. Elgir misunderstood—Ember knew that the movement was not natural to a bowyer. It was an officer’s gesture.
“We will be family, lad,” Elgir said. “As much family as Martine and Arvid are to you.”
Ember laughed. “Martine changed his clouts when he was a baby,” she said. “I doubt you’ll ever be quite as close!”
“Better not be,” Ash growled, but he was smiling, and he took Elgir’s forearm firmly.
Elgir bowed to her and she bowed in return.
“Travel well, my lady,” he said, as formal as any warlord.
“Stay well, my lord,” she said.
He turned and strode back down the ridge without another word, and only a nod to Curlew and Tern. Ember felt curiously vulnerable without him.
“Let’s go, princess,” Ash said.
The dogs watched them go, waving their tails, and then trotted down the trail after Elgir. Ash’s face was somber; he would miss Holdfast a great deal, Ember thought, and felt savage toward Elgir. Even if he hadn’t bespelled the dogs, it was his influence which had led to their decision. And she thought how insane it was, to accept that two hunting dogs could not only make a decision, but had the right to do so. Starkling was a place which turned your assumptions upside down.
The sun gradually warmed Ember as they left the shadow of the cedars. Ash turned and shaded his eyes to gaze back up to the high platforms, but he turned away almost immediately.
“Looking for your friend?” Cedar said wickedly. “Blow her a kiss.”
Ember felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. Grus was a woman? You have no right to care, she told herself fiercely. You have no rights over him at all. But her guts were clenched and she had to stop herself staring at Ash.
He ignored Cedar and walked on, not looking back. She drew breath once and then again. She knew nothing about this Grus, who might be eighty and hare-lipped, for all she knew. She would not ask. The warlord’s fort taught dignity and restraint. She knew how to control herself, and she would, even if her chest was tight with the desire to blurt out question after question. She would not let Fire degrade her and Ash, both, with ridiculous false jealousy. Not now. Not ever.
“It’s pretty country,” she managed to say. “But harsh.”
Ash nodded. “It breeds a hard people, too.”
The Ice King’s men… raiders and looters and stealers of women. Her father was gone almost every summer to lead the defense against them. Further north than this, of course, where the Last Domain curved around the Northern Mountains Domain to reach the mountains. That was where Tern came from, one of the villages that had been attacked. He’d followed her father home to take service, wanting to learn better how to protect himself and his family. A big ambition for a young lad.
He was quiet today, taking care of Curlew like a son. She smiled back at him and he bobbed his head to her, not quite meeting her eyes. She would talk to him later and make sure he was coping with all this oddity.
Two ridges took most of the morning—the going was steep and rough, and they wouldn’t have been able to ride the horses, anyway. Four times they had to stop to get loose stones from their hooves, and Curlew’s Blackie went lame for half the morning.
They toiled to the top of the second ridge just before noon, and found the ghost guards waiting for them, spears crossed.
“I greet you, men of Northern Mountains Domain,” Ember said to the ghost warriors, as she had said before. She was every inch a warlord’s daughter, Ash thought, with a mixture of pride and gloom.
They turned and bowed to her, swinging the spears wide like an opening gate, but instead of vanishing, fog came roiling up out of them, as though the ghosts had grown vast and formless. The fog engulfed them, a white soup that blinded Ash instantly.
The horses shied wildly and for a few moments Ash had no attention to give to anything else.
“Don’t blame them,” Cedar said breathlessly. “It spooks me.”
Ash agreed. The fog was much worse than it had been this morning, as deep as a snow blizzard, chilling their faces and curling into their lungs, making breathing harder. He could only just see his own feet. Sound from the outside was dampened but their own breaths and the horses’ seemed harsh and loud.
“What’s happening, lady?” Tern asked. He was trying to sound brave, but his voice squeaked a little.
Ash moved around his bay and clasped Ember’s hand, trying to comfort. He felt a twitch in his belly at the contact, but she wasn’t even looking at him.
“Keep together,” he ordered. “I’ve got some rope in my pack. We’ll tie the horses together and keep hold of them as we move. Keep hold of someone at all times.”
Ash extricated the rope from his pack and moved from horse to horse, tying it to the saddle ring which all Last Domain horses had, for linking together in a blizzard. Above the ring was a strap for the human to hold onto, and as their horses were tied each of them dutifully took hold of the strap and waited for the order to move off. The familiar ritual of being tied quietened the horses, allowed them to fall back into a routine.
Ash tied Ember’s horse just behind his and took her hand again to guide it to the strap. It brought him very close to her, and he cursed the desire that struck through him. He looked down to the ground so she wouldn’t notice anything, but looking up again he saw that her green eyes were huge with worry.
“Don’t worry, little one,” he said gently, touching her cheek, playing the big brother. “We’ll get out of this.”
Startled, she looked up into his eyes. Her mouth trembled and he wanted to kiss her, to shelter her and make sure nothing would ever scare her again. He forced himself to l
ook away.
“Should we send to Elgir?” she asked.
“Let’s just see what’s ahead first,” he answered, his eyes trying to pierce the fog.
“Because we’d look stupid asking him for help if it’s just a narrow belt of mist?” she asked wryly. “Of course we can’t have that.”
He laughed, and tousled her hair, restored to normality.
“That’s my girl,” he said.
He followed his own rope to Thatch and then went beyond, taking the poler’s position. Although there were no snow drifts now, he still pulled the jointed pole out of his pack and screwed it together. Essential for winter travel, they had brought one each because the Eye Teeth kept their snows year round, and who knew if they would need to cross drifts?
With a poler out front, a train of horses could travel safely, the poler checking for deep drifts or sudden drops in the trail. Ash did so now, using the long pole to search out the flattest, safest route he could.
Travelling in blizzards was ear-splitting. The wind always howled away any chance of hearing. Fog was eerily quiet. It gave the familiar process of walking, waiting for the poler and walking again, a dream-like quality. Ash let himself fall into the rhythm of pole, step, pole, step.
Gradually, he became aware of some other noise apart from the horses’ hoof-falls and breathing. Something other than the tapping of the pole. He slowed his progress.
An odd sound. A combination of sounds, perhaps. Scratching, slapping, slithering… above them, behind them, no, in front—a harsh shriek pierced him, and then another. High, sharp, it hurt his ears, and yet it was curiously exciting. One, and then another, sometimes with a second lower shriek following. Thatch reared, whinnying with pain as his more sensitive ears were attacked. Ash hung onto the strap, pulling him down, calming him, until he stood trembling. By the pull and slack of the ropes, the others were doing the same, but he couldn’t hear them. The world was full of the shrieks. A hundred times louder, his ears were needled, his eyes were burning. Looking back, he saw that Ember had wrapped one hand around her head and buried her face in Merry’s side, but at least she hadn’t let go of the saddle strap.
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