The Ascending

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  And she did like him. A lot. That was why she was being so careless now. Sneaking out before dawn on the day she and her companions would depart for Nimbronia, with an army of soldiers waiting just outside Cahrdyarein’s walls. Waiting to capture her. But that was precisely the point. She might never get a chance like this again, so she must take advantage of what joys she could now.

  Jahrra took a deep breath, the air steaming around her in great puffs, and tried to shake off her sudden nervousness. Energetic birds, their bold spring colors of bright red, yellow and black on full display, despite the wintry weather, flitted around in the holly bushes. Somewhere far above, a raven argued with its mate. Jahrra reveled in the peace and solitude of the trail as she turned Phrym down the final path leading up to the circle of stones. The semequin whickered with boredom, adding his own voice to the mix of subtle sounds around them, and Jahrra reached down to pat him.

  “The Round isn’t much farther,” she said, that twinge of excitement and apprehension flushing through her once again.

  A scattering of snow tumbled unexpectedly from somewhere up the slope, forming a small mound in the trail ahead of them. Phrym twisted his ears back and rumbled a complaint.

  “Oh, Phrym, it’s probably just those birds from earlier disturbing the holly branches,” Jahrra reassured him.

  They walked a few more feet, but it wasn’t long before more snow started falling. This time, the loose powder was joined by several stones, one nearly the size of Jahrra’s head. The small avalanche tumbled from the hillside and came to rest some ten feet ahead. Phrym jerked his head back and whinnied in annoyance. He shuffle-stepped backwards, and Jahrra had to talk him out of bolting. Feeling frustrated and thinking that perhaps they weren’t as alone as she’d previously thought, Jahrra stood in the saddle and glanced up the steep canyon once again.

  “Who’s there?” she called out. No answer. “I’d appreciate it if you’d show yourself and stop sneaking around. You’re spooking my horse.”

  Some of the brush just ahead of them rustled, and Jahrra caught a flash of red. At first she was surprised, then she felt her face flush in anger.

  “Dervit!” she shouted, her fists clenched. “Get down here! I know you’re up there!”

  What was he doing out here? He had been asleep when she’d left earlier that morning. She was sure of it.

  “Dervit, stop trying to hide. I know you’re up there so you might as well come down. I won’t move an inch until you show yourself!”

  Jahrra crossed her arms and kicked her feet free of the stirrups. Phrym just turned and blinked at her, letting his weight shift more comfortably when he realized she meant to stay put for a while. There were a few more tiny avalanches of rock and snow rubble, but eventually Dervit peeked his head over the top of a boulder.

  “You promise not to maim me?” he asked with some trepidation.

  “I’m severely tempted to,” Jahrra grumbled in response.

  When Dervit didn’t answer, or move from his current location, she rolled her eyes to the canopy of pine branches above and sighed heavily.

  “Cross my heart,” she said while also doing the action.

  Jahrra eyed her friend with slight derision as he extricated himself from his hiding place to come stand a few feet in front of Phrym.

  “Why are you following me?”

  The limbit took off his hat and twisted it in his hands. “I saw you leave this morning,” he said, his eyes averted. “You were alone, and it was still dark. And you were moving around the room quietly. I had a bad feeling you were sneaking out to do something that could get you into trouble. Jaax made me promise to look after you, remember?”

  Jahrra snorted. “There is looking after me, and then there is intrusion of privacy. Guess which one you’re doing right now?”

  Dervit glanced up at her. “Well, I decided on my own to follow you this morning. I heard what Keiron said to you the other night and thought it best if you didn’t go to the Round alone.”

  Jahrra felt her face flush. Again. She shot her small friend a poisonous glare. “I think Keiron meant for our meeting to be private.”

  Dervit swallowed. “That’s what I don’t like. I mean, he could have just come to visit you in your cabin, or he could have asked you to meet him at a different time of day.”

  Jahrra glared at her friend. “I thought you liked Keiron, Dervit.”

  He placed his hat back atop his head, between his large ears, and continued, “I do, I mean, I did. But after last night? I don’t know, there was something different in the way he watched you that makes me reconsider my opinion. I never really noticed before during practice because your opponent is supposed to watch you carefully. But at the dance … It gave me a bad feeling.”

  Jahrra didn’t welcome the dread that suddenly flooded her heart. The suspicions of Jaax and Ellyesce, she could brush off. Her guardian was already biased, and Ellyesce would always take his side over hers. But Dervit was her friend, and although she hadn’t known him long, he had always been straightforward and honest with her.

  Jahrra shook her head, trying to clear it. She decided to press the limbit for more information.

  “How exactly does he look at me?” she ventured.

  Dervit glanced up, his pale brown eyes holding some worry. “Like he’s just found a way to break into the henhouse.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jahrra asked wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers.

  “It means he’s up to something devious, Jahrra, something that involves you. I know Master Jaax asked me to keep an eye on you, but I made the choice to trail after you this morning because I think the regent’s son isn’t who you think he is.”

  Jahrra felt her face go pale. Had Ellyesce or Jaax discussed their theory of the presence of a spy within Cahrdyarein’s boundaries with Dervit? Surely not. But perhaps her guardian, or even Ellyesce, had dropped some hints knowing full well that Dervit would be likely to keep an extra eye on her if he thought she might be in danger. The thought stirred up Jahrra’s dormant anger. Would she ever be allowed to do anything based purely on her own judgment without Jaax interfering?

  “You worry too much, Dervit,” she breathed, keeping her irritation in check. “I’m meeting Keiron at the Round. It’s not as if I’m sneaking out of Cahrdyarein to some secret rendezvous. We’ll be leaving for Nimbronia very soon. Can’t I enjoy my last hours in Cahrdyarein in peace?”

  “But–” Dervit began to say.

  Jahrra cut him off.

  “Did Jaax say anything to you? Maybe not to you directly, but perhaps you happened to overhear him and Ellyesce discussing Keiron and how Jaax doesn’t trust him. Is that why you suddenly feel unsure about him?”

  Dervit turned his face away from her, but she didn’t miss the color rising to his cheeks. Just as she had suspected. The limbit had been set up.

  Snorting in mild disgust, Jahrra straightened in the saddle and picked up Phrym’s reins once more.

  “Thank you for your concern,” she said, her voice clipped, “but I’m not a child any longer. I can take care of myself.”

  She kicked Phrym forward, wanting to get to the Round now more than ever. Curse Jaax and Dervit and everyone else who thought she wasn’t old enough to make her own decisions.

  “Jahrra,” the limbit started, but she cut him off.

  “Go back to the village, Dervit. If you follow me, you’ll regret it.”

  Jahrra jogged Phrym the rest of the way up the snowy trail, not looking back to see if her small friend followed. She no longer cared. She really was tired of everyone trying to tell her what was best. Couldn’t they trust her to figure that out for herself, especially since it was her life that was in question?

  She and Phrym reached the circle of stones five minutes after leaving Dervit behind on the trail. Jahrra glanced around the clearing, taking note of the small waterfall half hidden behind the standing stones, the stream of water framed by sheets of frost. There was
no sign of anyone else, including the local wildlife.

  Jahrra shivered again and wondered where Keiron might be. It had to be well past sunrise by now. She shaded her eyes and glanced up at the sun breaking through the clouds and tree branches above. Perhaps the regent’s son had annoying friends holding him back as well. Or maybe, his father had caught wind of his plans to meet her here. She curled her lip. The regent most definitely wouldn’t approve of a secret meeting between his heir and the unworthy human girl.

  Jahrra waited perhaps five more minutes, sitting tensely upon Phrym and fearing that Dervit might have been correct in what he’d said to her. She shook the feeling of ill will off and glanced up. It was then that she saw them, creeping around the edges of the meadow. Figures dressed all in black, their heads shadowed by thick hoods, brilliant scarlet sashes covering much of their faces, all except their eyes. A spike of fear shot through Jahrra’s heart.

  “Jahrra! Run!” a familiar, muffled voice shouted.

  Jahrra whipped her head around to catch a glimpse of Keiron crouching between two of the boulders on the opposite side of the meadow. He had stumbled to the ground, his hands tied behind his back, blood seeping from a cut at his temple. Before she could respond, before Keiron could cry out again, one of the black-clad men cuffed him over the head with the hilt of his sword. Keiron slumped to the ground.

  “No!” Jahrra cried out, but there was nothing she could do. She watched helplessly as her unconscious friend was gagged and dragged back behind the boulder. She didn’t want to think about what they would do to him.

  Knowing she couldn’t help Keiron if she was captured too, Jahrra jerked Phrym’s reins, forcing him to turn quickly and face the gap in the rocks where they had entered. Too late. A tall, menacing figure, dressed like the others slinking around the tall rocks surrounding them, stood blocking the exit, a wicked sword held in front of him. The weapon was long and curved slightly like the horns of the unicorns she had once seen in the Wreing Florenn. It was dark in color, almost black, and the edge that bowed outward was serrated. She didn’t want to imagine what this stranger might do with that sword.

  Phrym snorted in fear and irritation, and Jahrra turned him again to search for another exit, but there were none. On foot she might be able to squeeze through the gaps between the standing stones, or even climb over the boulders framing the waterfall, but she had Phrym to consider as well. She would never leave her semequin behind. They were trapped.

  The dark figures approached slowly, their own swords and knives drawn. Jahrra tamped down her fear and panic, reminding herself she would not freeze up like she did at the crossroads. Drawing in a quick breath to calm her nerves, Jahrra focused on her enemy, taking a moment to count them. Six she could see, including the one who blocked her exit, and an unknown number waiting beyond the rocks with Keiron. Were they hoping to kidnap the regent’s son, and her as well? If they wanted to kill him, why would they bother to bind and gag him? Did they plan to do the same to her? Jahrra shook her head. Over thinking would only sap her energy. It was time for action.

  She slid from Phrym’s back, grabbing the hilt of her own sword and drawing it from its scabbard as she did so. Jahrra sent up a quiet thanks to Ethoes for giving her the sense to bring it along this morning.

  Remain calm, she told herself. Remember your training and trust in your fighting skills.

  For a split second, her mind wandered back to the day Jaax had watched her defeat Pendric in the ring. The Tanaan dragon believed so strongly in her ability that he’d wagered a month’s salary in favor of her win over the captain of the guard. Despite her recent anger and irritation at Jaax, the memory of his pride and confidence gave her strength.

  In a move meant to take her by surprise, the first figure in black darted forward. Using her many years of training to guide her, Jahrra parried the first attack that came her way, and then the second. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and soon, the lingering fear and anxiety gave way to determination and speed. The third attack came a little more slowly, from a man using a dagger. She took a quick, but subtle, step to the side, employing a rapid twist of her wrists to dramatically change the direction of her sword, catching her assailant’s hand with the tip of the blade. He cried out, dropping his dagger and grabbing his wrist, stepping away before she could do any more damage. The tallest assassin, the one standing in the gap they had come through, merely watched as if he found the entire display amusing.

  Gritting her teeth, Jahrra met the next few assaults, blocking their strikes in quick succession. At one point, Phrym grew tired of these annoying creatures in red and black and reared up, punching one in the chest with his front hoof and snapping his teeth dangerously close to another. The attacker he kicked was thrown against a nearby rock, sliding to the ground in an undignified heap. Jahrra didn’t wait to see if he stirred again. A garbled command came from the one holding the wicked sword. Phrym’s act seemed to have garnered his attention.

  More figures climbed over the rocks like oversized ants on the charge, each of them carrying a sword similar to the one their leader brandished. Jahrra paled, but held her ground. They began closing the circle, now ten of them, moving in toward her and her semequin. She had the advantage of being next to Phrym, who was pivoting around the point where she stood, kicking and biting and using his body to knock away their attackers and miraculously avoiding her.

  Despite his fierce efforts, the semequin could only hold off so many at a time. Every few seconds, someone would move in while Phrym was preoccupied and try to get at Jahrra. She figured out early on they weren’t trying to kill her. A kidnapping then. She ground her teeth together. She would not let them take her. She kept pace with Phrym, blocking and striking at the attacks that came her way, but never able to get in a good strike. The space was just too small, Phrym too much of an obstacle. And, the kidnappers moved too swiftly. They were trying to tire her out, and she was beginning to grow weary. Perhaps, if she could get back up on Phrym, he could shove his way through the opening in the stones and make a run for it.

  Jahrra met the next assault with an attack of her own, kicking out with her leg and striking the man in the chest, sending him flying backward. She reached up with her left hand and grabbed Phrym’s mane, pulling herself up onto his back while using her blade as a makeshift shield.

  One of the attackers managed to move in close and quick, his short, serrated sword coming down and raking across Jahrra’s calf. She screamed out in pain as the blade cut through fabric, skin and muscle. Her vision blurred, and her grip on Phrym slipped. Someone took advantage of her shock and knocked her sword from her hand with their own. Realizing his master had been injured, Phrym tried to rear in order to keep Jahrra from being cut once again from the front. As he moved, another one of those terrible black swords came down upon his shoulder, cutting a jagged gash in his skin. He whinnied in rage and pain and lost his footing on some lose stones hidden under the snow. Phrym went down, taking Jahrra with him, the bulk of his weight crashing down on Jahrra’s injured leg.

  A dull pop sounded in her ear and a white-hot pain pulsed through her knee. Jahrra opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Phrym rolled away from her and regained his feet. Despite the pain, she was relieved to see he hadn’t injured himself in the fall. Jahrra, on the other hand, was suddenly having trouble seeing straight. She gave her left leg a quick glance and nearly became sick. The lower half was covered in blood and the pain in her knee was so great, she could not bend it. Not good.

  Her attackers swarmed in, doing their best to get to her and avoid the angry semequin at the same time. A slice on the arm, a kick to the ribs, a lash of pain along her jaw, a punch barely missing her face and connecting with her neck ... She fought back, as fiercely as she could, but the feat was nearly impossible since she couldn’t stand up. They would not take her without a fight, but these soldiers were well-trained and they outnumbered her. And she was currently crippled.

  A rough, garbled voice sho
uted something at the others, and the attacks abruptly stopped. Someone grabbed a huge chunk of her hair, close to her skull, dragging her up so that she was in a sitting position. Jahrra protested, trying to punch at the man; trying to wrench her hair free, but her leg hurt too much, the pain washing over her in black waves that threatened unconsciousness at any moment. Too bad the dagger she usually kept tucked in her boot was stored safely in her pack back in the cabin. Stupid. Why had she thought only to bring her sword? It did her no good now, tossed aside in the snow somewhere. Her eyes darted around, frantically looking for something, anything, to use as a weapon. All she caught sight of was a blur of black, shapeless figures dancing about and a long, red streak staining the pale snow. Jahrra felt herself pale. Blood. Her blood.

  Without warning, Jahrra’s head was wrenched back with a painful jerk. The leader of this squadron had exposed her throat, and he was lifting that terrifying sword of his high above his head. So, not a kidnapping after all. This was it, she thought, the panic overwhelming her thoughts, he is going to kill me.

  Vaguely, Jahrra could hear Phrym crying out, and she wondered what would become of him. How had she ended up here? What would they do to Keiron? He was the son of a regent, a regent whose goal it was to become king. Would they kill him too or take him for ransom, somehow use him as a pawn in this deadly game she had been born into? What would happen after she died in this meadow surrounded by standing stones? Would Jaax be able to continue the fight against the Tyrant without her? Jahrra swallowed back a sudden surge of emotion. Jaax. He would be so disappointed in her. Gods and goddesses, she would die and leave him to face the Crimson King alone. This, above everything else, pained her the most.

  Jaax had been right in his opinion of Keiron being dangerous, but for an entirely different purpose than he had thought. Whoever had betrayed them to the Red Flange had betrayed the regent’s son as well. But it was too late, it was all too late.

  Her captor tensed to make the cut, and just as the sword began its descent, something the size of Jahrra’s fist came flying through the air, catching the mercenary on the jaw with a loud CRACK. The jolt of the strike threw him off balance and he fell back, dragging Jahrra with him. The pain of having some of her hair ripped out along with the shock to her damaged leg caused her head to swim again. But before she blacked out, she noticed several things at once: a red blur pelting large rocks down onto the black-clad attackers; Phrym, biting and kicking and chasing some of them away as blood poured from the slash in his shoulder; a tall menacing figure in black, red staining his chin as he held his hand there, cursing in rage; and lastly, a dark shadow hovering overhead, a roar that contained all the terror and rage of a menace far greater than all of these men combined, and a stream of blue and green fire that would surely incinerate them all.