That announcement froze Jahrra’s blood, and suddenly, she wanted to fly up the trail with Phrym, the way she and Ellyesce had raced into Cahrdyarein.
As if hearing her thoughts, Ellyesce said, “We’ll keep our pace brisk, but not move so fast to risk danger. And another thing,” he called over his shoulder, “do not make any sudden movements or shout. We don’t want to cause an avalanche.”
Once everyone was resettled in their saddles, the elf led them onward through the thick snow. It was slow going at first, but fortunately, the trail was relatively flat, and the horses seemed undeterred by it. From the position of the sun in the sky, Jahrra surmised it wasn’t quite noon yet, which was a good sign. She figured it would take them a good three hours to reach the base of the city, if not longer.
An hour into their trek up the mountain, Rumble wedged his foot between two rocks hidden beneath the snow. Half hour after that, Erron became suddenly ill, and they had to stop while his mother attended to him.
“Altitude sickness,” Ellyesce said grimly.
Whinsey’s eyes grew wide. “But, Erron was born in Cahrdyarein. He is used to the thin mountain air.”
The elf shook his head. “Nimbronia is far higher in the mountains than Cahrdyarein.”
Pendric’s wife furrowed her brow at that. “If it is altitude sickness, then why aren’t the rest of us feeling ill?”
Ellyesce smiled. “I am an elf.”
That time, Jahrra gave him an incredulous look. As if that explained everything. Jahrra wondered why she wasn’t sick, after her fainting spell upon arriving in Cahrdyarein. Maybe because this time, you’re not running for your life with archers sending arrows your way, she mused.
“And,” Ellyesce continued, “the altitude doesn’t affect everyone the same way. And Erron is very young.”
“Won’t it get worse once we reach the city?” Whinsey pressed.
Ellyesce shook his head. “Nimbronia is saturated in magic. The dragons have made it so that all the people living there might do so in comfort. This is also why you’ll not feel the bitter cold of the ice once we are within the boundaries of the city.”
No one spoke after that, and as soon as Erron got over his bout of sickness, he was back in the saddle. Jahrra thought he still looked ill, but they could not afford to wait it out. She only hoped he didn’t grow worse before they reached Nimbronia.
As they drew closer to their final destination, the trail improved a great deal, and soon, became a wide road. The snow was still deep, and the thin air made it difficult to breathe, but the sky was clear and the bright sun was warm. Jahrra wondered how much longer their journey might have been had they taken the main road out of Cahrdyarein instead of the less exposed route through the mountain. But that didn’t matter now. They were practically on the doorstep of Nimbronia, and Ethoes willing, they would make it the rest of the way unscathed.
-Chapter Twenty-
A Painful Betrayal and a Desperate Escape
The small party of refugees rode ever upward, the massive city growing in size as the mountaintop drew near. When the shadows cast by the great frozen spires overtook them, Jahrra’s stomach roiled with both excitement and dread. It was obvious why she might be eager. The Creecemind were the largest kruel of dragons in all of Ethoes, and the most magical. To see them in person, and not merely as a sketch in one of Hroombra’s books or a tiny figure from a distance, was something she was greatly looking forward to. But with the anticipation also came unease. What if Jaax and Pendric weren’t there when they arrived? What if they never got out of Cahrdyarein? What if they had been taken prisoner, or worse, died in battle? Stop it, Jahrra! her subconscious scolded. Don’t think that way.
Despite their close proximity to Nimbronia, Ellyesce kept constantly alert, and Jahrra was beginning to wonder if his inability to use his magic was grating on him. Finally, they came around one more turn, and Ellyesce pulled his semequin to a halt. He lifted an arm and pointed across a great chasm that yawned before them.
“There,” he said, his voice low and breathy, “the gates to the border of the city of the Creecemind.”
Jahrra could only stare in wide-eyed wonder. Their trail, which widened out onto a huge, flat ledge of rock several yards ahead, protruded from the edge of the mountain. Below, the land fell away and a canyon, far deeper than the one she and Jaax had traversed in their flight from Oescienne, gaped like the mouth of the earth itself. A broad bridge composed of stone and ice crossed the chasm, meeting up with the edge of the mountain on the other side. The bridge was at least half a mile long, if not more, and looked wide enough to leave room for three or four carriages to pass side by side. The summit on the other end, Jahrra couldn’t help but notice, was even more impressive. It rose above them like a giant among elves, neat tiers of stone buildings and turrets of ice beginning a few hundred feet above the place where the bridge ended.
“We must cross the bridge, then ask for admittance into the city,” Ellyesce said.
Jahrra blinked and drew her attention away from the crystalline structures climbing ever higher up the peak. Behind her, she heard Whinsey’s horse nicker. When she turned around, Jahrra noticed that both the Resai woman and her son had their eyes locked on the view of Nimbronia, their lips slightly parted. She felt herself grin. She must have looked the same way.
“Will they let us in?” she heard Dervit ask.
Ellyesce answered the limbit with a terse tone. “They must.”
Without waiting for an answer, he nudged Gliriant forward. Jahrra gave him some room, and then, encouraged Phrym to follow, assuming the others were just behind her. They gathered together once again in front of the bridge, its snow-coated surface white and pristine. A gust of wind, curling down the mountainside like the icy breath of the legendary dragons living there, whistled faintly past the bridge, blowing some of the snow loose. Like diamond dust, the frost particles drifted beyond the edge, floating down, down, down to the bottom of the abyss that was beyond Jahrra’s sight.
“I’ll go first,” Ellyesce announced. “Wait until I get halfway across before you follow after me.”
Jahrra opened her mouth to protest, but he gave his head one hard shake. “No. We do not know if the Tyrant’s soldiers have guessed our destination. They may be waiting just out of sight, preparing for an attack.”
He jerked his head toward the bridge. “That would be a perfect place for an ambush. Let me get to the midway point. If the Red Flange happens to be occupying these mountain peaks, perhaps one of them will make the mistake of shooting too soon.”
Jahrra clenched Phrym’s reins in her hands and scowled at the elf. For some reason, that only made him smile.
“They have shot me before,” he said, with dry amusement. “And I have survived. Do not worry about me.”
“You’ll not be so lucky a second time,” Jahrra insisted, more out of annoyance at his stubbornness than anything else.
“Yes, I will,” Ellyesce replied. “And it is you that must make it to the city unscathed. Not I.”
Before Jahrra could argue any further, Ellyesce dug his heels into his mount’s flanks, and Gliriant lurched forward.
“He is right, you know,” Dervit said, speaking up for the first time in several minutes. “You are more indispensable than him.”
“No,” Jahrra grated, “I am not. And before you go on,” she cast in the limbit’s direction, “I may be the person necessary to bring about the fall of the Crimson King, but that doesn’t detract from your worth.”
She turned a little in the saddle to include Whinsey and Erron in her statement. “You are all important to me. That must count for something.”
“Don’t worry, Jahrra,” Whinsey reassured, moving her horse closer. “You and Ellyesce are fretting for no reason. We will all make it to the city safely, and Jaax and Pendric will be waiting for us.”
Jahrra gave a small smile and nodded once, trying to encourage Whinsey’s positive attitude to infect her as well. She was right.
There was no point in arguing about it. Ellyesce was already ten yards down the bridge and shouting would only draw attention to them. Best just to wait as he’d instructed.
In the end, Jahrra and her companions waited a little bit longer than Ellyesce had asked before directing their horses out onto the strip of snow-blanketed stone. A pair of tall columns, natural granite that had been carved by some artist’s hands long ago to resemble a pair of dragons sitting at attention, faced each other across the entrance to the bridge. Jahrra held her hand up to her eyes and peered out over the expanse. The weather was freezing this high up, but that didn’t stop the bright sun from gleaming off all the snow.
Jahrra encouraged Phrym forward, and like always, he obeyed her without question. His feet dragged a little in the deep snow, but from the way he stepped, she could tell the surface of the road was flat and even. A stone railing, probably as high as her hip if she were standing on the ground, ran along the edges of the bridge, giving her a minute sense of security. To distract herself from the seemingly bottomless drop on either side of their path, Jahrra glanced up to study their surroundings. The mountains, lavender-hued teeth of granite, schist and slate, stretched on for miles around her. Unsurprisingly, their summits were dusted with snow, and Jahrra was reminded of amethyst crystals coating the inside of a geode. She smiled, despite her ever present unease. It was as if she and Phrym and the others were suspended in space, far above the world. Nothing, save for a few nearby peaks and Nimbronia’s own mountain, reached higher than them.
Up ahead, Jahrra noticed Ellyesce had brought Gliriant to a stop. Semequin and rider now stood a short distance from the two columns, twins of those they’d passed through mere minutes ago, marking the entrance into Nimbronia. Jahrra lifted a hand to shade her eyes once again. The first white-blue buildings of the ice city were still a ways up the mountain, but there was a fortress of sorts just on the other side of the gate. A flash of movement caught Jahrra’s attention as she studied the building. She furrowed her brow. Was someone up there?
By the time she reached Ellyesce, more figures had emerged from the small fort, and she noted archers making ready with their bows and arrows at the top of the tower beside it.
Upon seeing the arrows aimed at them, Jahrra stilled in the saddle, not daring to move. One of the soldiers standing along the portcullis of ice lifted a gauntleted hand. He was armored in a suit made of silver metal that gleamed in the blinding sunlight, and the pale blue cape around his shoulders was lined with fleece. Those soldiers standing around him were dressed in the same fashion. For a moment, Jahrra’s concentration was thrown. They reminded her of the guard in Cahrdyarein. Images of Pendric and his trainees flashed through her mind, and before she could shake them free, Keiron’s face pushed to the front of her memories. His captivating ice blue eyes, his charming smile, his long, pale blond hair. Jahrra gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. For one small moment, worry and regret surged forth. And guilt. She had asked Jaax to make sure Pendric escaped the city with him, but not Keiron. Nobody knew his whereabouts when you left. You couldn’t have helped him even if you wanted to, her conscience reminded her.
A strong, masculine voice rang out over the great expanse, and Jahrra had to leave her regrets for another time.
“Forfeit your name and state your purpose.”
It was the one with the most elaborate suit of armor. Jahrra tilted her head and considered him. She couldn’t see all that well from where she stood, but she could tell this person was most likely the captain of the guard.
Ellyesce, who didn’t seem fazed at all, lifted his eyes to the elf who had spoken.
“I am Ellyesce of Dhonoara, and I seek sanctuary for myself and my traveling companions, Dervit, a limbit from a small village in Felldreim, Jahrraneh Drisihn of Oescienne, and Whinsey and Erron of Cahrdyarein.” Ellyesce paused to take a breath before continuing. “We are seeking refuge from the Tyrant’s army, who have overrun Cahrdyarein.”
As Ellyesce spoke, Jahrra’s grip on Phrym’s reins tightened. Behind her, Whinsey and her son were as silent as mice, not so much as drawing in a deep breath or sniffling against the cold weather.
Jahrra kept her eyes trained on the soldiers above. She surmised they were of elvin descent, most likely pure-blooded elf or Resai. She could tell by their lean, graceful builds and by the way they held themselves. Ellyesce, as well as her elvin friend Dathian, had that same naturally balanced posture. After Ellyesce finished his small speech, the guards relaxed but didn’t lower their bows and weapons. They simply eased their bowstrings, the arrows still in place but not primed to shoot.
Some glanced beyond Ellyesce and Jahrra, trying to study those the elf had introduced. Most likely sizing them up to decide if he was telling the truth or not.
Jahrra would have continued her scrutiny of the Nimbronian soldiers, but a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye distracted her. She jerked her head toward a spot further up the mountainside, just beyond the small fortress and behind an outcropping of snow-dusted rocks. All was still for a few seconds, then– There it was again! A flare of color momentarily brightening the grey and white world surrounding them. Jahrra narrowed her eyes and focused on the spot more intently. Again, a streak of red, almost like fresh blood, leapt between the white and grey granite boulders.
Memories from long ago, memories of a stranger clad in a red hooded cloak haunting her dreams, danced across her mind. Jahrra shook her head. But this was no dream; this was reality. And that spot of red wasn’t some random stranger in a cloak. Cold dread pooled in her stomach as the realization slowly dawned upon her. She shot her eyes back to the soldiers along the wall, the men and women of Nimbronia who were now asking Ellyesce for more details about their journey.
“How did you come about this road you now travel? We have the main highways watched. There was no sign of any party traveling up from Nimbronia in the past week.”
The elf hesitated to answer them, and Jahrra was glad of it. The soldiers, dressed in the pale, icy colors of the towers and buildings of Nimbronia, were missing something. Something about them was off. They were too tense, but fidgety as well.
And then, Jahrra saw it. Not just that sliver of red in the outcropping, but the movement just below the bridge where it met up with the mountainside on the north end. Fifty yards from where Ellyesce held his semequin still, like spiders creeping around in the dark, she spied the black and scarlet uniforms.
Without giving it another single thought, Jahrra drew in a great breath and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Ellyesce! It’s a trap!”
Before the final words even left her throat, a volley of well-placed arrows struck the ground surrounding her and Phrym. Her semequin balked, side-stepping to get out of the way. Jahrra yanked hard on his reins. “No, Phrym! We’ll go over the edge!”
He stopped just before reaching the balustrade, but he didn’t stop his nervous dancing. Jahrra whipped her head around to survey the crossing and to take account of what was going on. Mercenaries clad in the black and crimson colors of the Tyrant swarmed the bridge on both ends. Behind the rocks and stunted pines growing up the mountainside, archers emerged, their longbows and crossbows trained on Ellyesce, Jahrra, Dervit, Whinsey and Erron.
A group of twenty or more men moved in, quickly circling Jahrra and Dervit as they tried to move closer to Ellyesce. The troupe closed off all exits, save for one. Jahrra glanced over her shoulder and felt her stomach drop to her toes. She could escape these brigands, if she wished to, but it would mean plummeting to her death over the side of the bridge. She couldn’t think of a more terrifying way to die. Better to have these enemies stab her through the heart than plunge thousands upon thousands of feet with plenty of time to think about your own demise and all your life’s regrets on the way down.
Two enemy soldiers stepped forward, their movements swift and fluid. Phrym kicked out with one hoof, nearly clubbing the closest man in the head.
“Control that animal or he dies
!” someone snarled.
Several of the archers shifted their aim onto Phrym.
“Phrym!” Jahrra cried out. “Don’t fight them! They’ll kill you!”
Heeding his master’s warning, Phrym stopped lashing out with hooves and teeth, but he kept his ears pinned flat against his skull, his nostrils flaring as someone grabbed hold of his reins.
“Down,” one of the mercenaries growled, leveling a sword at Jahrra’s heart.
Swallowing back her fear, Jahrra managed to climb down from the saddle, wincing a little when her bad leg brushed over Phrym’s back. Once on solid ground, she put all her weight on her good side and employed her balancing skills to keep from falling over. One of the brigands led a very reluctant Phrym to where her companions stood, closer to the mountain side of the bridge. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one forced to dismount. Ellyesce, Dervit, Whinsey and Erron stood mostly surrounded by enemy soldiers, blades and bows pointed at them. They cast grim expressions her way, but they had clearly been told not to speak. She tried to read Ellyesce’s face, to gauge what he might want her to do, but her view was soon obstructed by a small team of crimson and black soldiers moving in to form a ring around her.
“I had hoped that when we met again,” a familiar voice called out from behind her, “it would be under more pleasant circumstances.”
Boots crunched in the snow as the people at her back shifted to make way for the newcomer. But Jahrra didn’t need to see him to know who it was. His voice, in that confident, appealing tone she had grown so fond of, would be forever familiar to her. Fighting against an onslaught of emotions, she turned slowly, her heart beating so fast she could feel its pulse in her fingertips as a similar wave of shock did its best to numb her senses completely. Through the gap in the circle of soldiers strode Keiron, whole and healthy and radiating pure arrogant confidence.
The Ascending Page 34
