“It’s the Wild Hunt,” Robin said; she felt it in her gut. “There must be a valley down there.”
“This is Shayari, the land of a hundred valleys and twice as many damned mountains. Of course, there’s a valley down there.”
A thin green line seemed to shoot out ahead of the disappearing Wild Hunt, but it remained arrow straight and pointed at the gold glow that must be Mount Eredren's peak. The thread around her wrist vibrated. Robin pulled her jacket sleeve up to confirm that it was still glowing a soft silver, not the green of that mysterious line. I’ll get you back, Rosalie. Just hold on. Mama’s coming.
Robin glanced at Strella out of the corner of her eye, but the tall woman’s attention had turned back to the sled. Robin breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She had no idea if Strella was a magic-hater or not, and now wasn’t the time to find out. She needed every advantage she could get.
Besides, whatever sympathetic magic the string possessed had nothing to do with her. But Robin tugged her sleeve down to cover it anyway. Because she definitely wasn’t magical.
Strella broke from her staring spell and shook out the remaining canvas from their tent to remove the snow then tucked it around Cat.
“Hurry. If we’re quick enough, we might catch them on the trail.”
Robin ran a hand over her bow case but stopped before she could flip open the latches holding it closed. The range was too far. She’d miss at this distance especially in the dark. Better to wait until she had them in her sights or Mount Eredren’s contingent of Rangers did. And that made her smile. Leave some for me, boys.
Chapter 6
“Come on, keep up. I don’t want to lose you in this whiteout,” Nolo said over the wind flinging ice pellets at them. He was a dark shadow gliding across the snowy meadow that extended outward from Mount Eredren’s rocky base.
Sarn envied Nolo’s effortless progress through this winter wonderland. That Ranger tread that powdery white stuff as lightly as a fabled elf, barely disturbing it. But he wasn't an elf. According to rumor, Nolo was just a skilled man who walked with Death and sometimes served as its Marksman and Chooser of the Slain.
Sarn struggled onward. He was more than a decade younger than Nolo and normally, far nimbler than this. But every step just sank him deeper into the knee-high snow because the earth underneath it attracted his magic. That power wanted to connect to the earth, but the worn leather of his boots and a lot of snow were in the way. That didn’t stop his magic from pooling in his feet and warming them as it strained to reach its goal.
His magic didn't care if its attraction was making this trek twice as difficult all because it hated water, even the frozen kind. It would have stopped Sarn if it could, but a promise bound him to the Ranger stealing across the meadow in front of him.
That promise was an invisible cord tugging Sarn along in Nolo’s wake despite his magic’s attempts to root him to the spot, and the tug-of-war between them annoyed Sarn. But there was nothing he could do about it until the sun rose. His magic was easier to control when he wasn’t dependent on its light.
“Sarn, I said to—”
“I'm doing the best I can,” Sarn snapped, hating how he’d just sounded like what he was—an angst-riddled teenager, not the competent man he yearned to be. His magic just had to get on his last nerve this morning when he had a real shot at proving his worth to the Rangers and Nolo in particular.
It wasn't fair. Sarn ground his teeth in frustration. His unique combination of gifts made him the ideal candidate for this early morning trek. Out of all the Rangers, he was the only one who had any magic.
Nolo wasn’t a mage. Whatever the whole ‘Death’s Marksman/Chooser of the Slain’ thing was, it had nothing to do with any kind of magic. It was more like a supernatural connection to a greater power that came with an alter ego Sarn could sometimes glimpse out of the corner of his eye.
When the Marksman peeked out, as it was doing right now, it took the form of a shadow and stood beside Nolo, separate from him but still somehow part of the man. The Marksman was barely visible in the pre-dawn gloom, but Sarn knew it was there, watching him. It probably didn’t know what to make of him. Neither did Nolo most of the time. Sarn suppressed a sigh. This morning he would change that.
Green light shined out of Sarn’s eyes and illuminated Nolo, and it dyed the snow around them green. Their glow had intensified to counteract the early morning’s darkness, but they’d back off when the sun rose. His eyes were the only outward mark of the power that lived inside Sarn. That m-word filled the space between them, but neither voiced it because that subject was taboo even out here where there was no one to hear it.
Sarn pulled his cloak more tightly about him in frustration. He couldn’t talk about the one thing he was any good at. The Marksman shook its matte-black head then lay down on the snow and became Nolo’s shadow again. Nolo’s other persona had had enough of the cold morning. It left the Black Ranger behind, a strong man who chose who went into the black and who went into the light. Nolo was the ideal Chooser of the Slain because of his deep morals.
At least that was how rumor claimed Nolo had come by that moniker. But it was still a culturally insensitive term because ‘black’ could also refer to Nolo’s skin color, so Sarn tried not to use it in conversation after another Ranger had pointed that out to him. She had a point, but Nolo was a Ranger who stood with one foot in the black, that unknown country beyond death, and one foot here in the physical world.
At moments like this, it was hard not to think of Nolo as the Black Ranger—the only man who could gaze deep into the black abyss of death and occasionally pull the Marksman’s persona out of it when he needed to wear its mantle. But Sarn didn't know Nolo that well and had no idea what the man liked to be called. Nor could he ask because of these stupid rules of etiquette that the other Rangers were constantly impressing on him.
So Sarn tagged along behind the most impressive Ranger on the roster and tried not to freeze. Every minute he spent out here, he earned double his usual pay. He could make a sizeable dent in the debt he owed and get one hour closer to ending his and his brother’s Indenture unless he’d grossly overestimated his hourly earnings. Which, unfortunately, was possible since he never saw any of it except on paper, and he still couldn't read that paper.
If they found a lost hiker, Sarn could earn a bonus and maybe even a tip. If there were any hikers out this early in the morning after a blizzard. For all those reasons, Sarn had agreed to start work at fourth bell instead of ninth.
“Sarn? Did you hear a word I just said?” Nolo gave Sarn an impatient glare as Sarn blinked stupidly at him.
“You said something? To me?” Sarn regretted those words the instant they’d left his mouth. He’d confirmed what all the Rangers already thought he was—mentally defective. All because he couldn’t lie.
“Yes, I asked if you were alright. You’ve been standing there staring for about five minutes now. I thought you were having a fit.”
“Why would you think that?” Sarn asked in surprise.
Nolo’s statement didn’t make any sense. Sarn didn’t have fits, just the occasional blackout if he worked too much magic for too long, but there was no chance of that happening this morning. Nolo had no use for most of his magical skills, and that was okay with Sarn because his magic didn’t always do what he wanted it to do.
A shiver ran up his spine, and Sarn spun to face due north—the direction his sixth sense said something was coming from. Enough snow was blowing around to reflect much of the glow of his eyes back at Sarn, reducing his visibility to about twenty paces in every direction.
Since his physical eyes couldn’t tell him what he needed to know, Sarn knelt in the snow and started to pull off his gloves until his magic tugged them back on. Sometimes, it would work through clothes, especially if they were made of minimally processed natural fibers, like his wool gloves. Apparently, this was one of those times.
Sarn took advantage of that and thrust his gloved hand int
o the snow and dug down until he could touch the ground under it. Then, he let go of the magic he kept tightly furled inside him. It cascaded out of him in shimmering green concentric rings of sensing, but only he could see them.
It felt so good to let go—like peeling off too-tight clothes. Out here, Sarn didn’t have to hide who and what he was. For a blessed moment, he could be one with the world and himself.
As his power radiated out of him, part of it dove into the tunnel system deep below. That splinter of power raced toward a cave under nearby Mount Eredren to where his younger brother slept.
But Sarn stopped his magic before it could dive into that cave. He didn’t need to check on his brother. His best friend, Shade, was supposed to watch over Miren and make sure he got to school safely and on time this morning, but was Shade there?
Doubt assailed Sarn. By slow inches, his friend had been slipping away from him since the day Hadrovel had almost killed him. But Sarn didn’t want to think about that now when he had a chance to show the Rangers who’d saved him from that psycho that he wasn't the broken kid they'd rescued anymore. But that broken kid was still huddled inside him, bound by promises that shackled his will to three other men.
Today, Nolo held the chains of the many promises Sarn had sworn to provide for his little brother. Tomorrow, it might be another Ranger. Maybe he should send his magic into the cave just to check on his brother. But right now, his magic yearned to check on someone else—namely, the nine-month-old complication in his life.
No, he wouldn't check on them. Shade had promised, and that was that. Sarn needed one person in his life outside of his eleven-year-old brother that he could trust fully. Shade knew how much this favor meant to him. It was his chance to prove he was capable of so much more than the menial tasks the Rangers often set him.
So, he’d better prove that. Sarn called the part of his magic that had burrowed under Mount Eredren back, but it refused to return to him. It wanted to dive under that rickety door and play with the green-eyed toddler that might be his.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Sarn imagined his magic as a luminous green hound, grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and dragged it out of the tunnels under Mount Eredren. It fought him, but he kept pulling until it rose out of the ground then he hurled it northwards.
That magical construct hit the snow and split apart, raining glowing particles on the ground no larger than a snowflake. They merged together into a shining green wave front that barreled through the standing stones in front of Sarn into the sleeping forest. They sought what had triggered his sixth sense. But his magic didn’t have to go far before it collided with something and sent back a confusing barrage of information.
Sarn reeled from the deluge as Nolo seized him by his upper arms and pulled him to his feet, breaking his connection to the earth. His magic raced back to him like a pack of obedient hounds whose leashes had been pulled. They crashed into Sarn, and he swayed as his body reabsorbed the power he’d sent out.
When the world stilled, Nolo shook him. “What were you doing?”
There was real fear in Nolo’s voice, fear for him, a nobody. It was strange and gratifying at the same time, and Sarn didn’t know how to react to it except to answer Nolo’s question.
“They’re coming,” Sarn said, and their presence scraped a knife against his senses. They were raw from exposure and all sending the same message: trouble was fast-approaching, and it would irrevocably change things.
“What’s coming? A party of hikers?” Nolo shook him, but Sarn stared past him at the map unfolding inside his head. “Sarn? Answer me. Who’s coming?”
“Trouble and it’s riding a—” Sarn shook his head. He didn’t know what that trouble was riding because the creature’s icon on his map kept changing its shape. What manner of creature could do that?
Chapter 7
Robin leaned into the rope looped around her torso and trudged on beside a silent Strella. They’d been hiking for hours. Morning couldn’t be far off now. It might even have dawned somewhere above those clouds. “I wish I could see more than three feet in front of me.”
Because that was as far as the nimbus of silver light Robin's pinky-sized chunk of lumir could reach. Everything beyond that was lost in deep shadows, and her imagination kept populating it with all manner of creatures. Robin scrubbed her hands over her face. That didn’t help. Her eyes were dry and desperately needed a rest, so did the rest of her, but she trudged on.
“And I wish for a hot bath,” Strella said around a yawn. She didn’t bother to stifle it. They both stumbled over icy rocks in an exhausted daze while dragging that improvised sled.
Snow had covered the trail deeply in places, forcing them to blaze their own way through first one windy saddle between peaks, then another, because this mountain had three of them. By unspoken accord, they'd skipped the epic-looking rock scramble that would have taken them up and over those peaks in favor of a longer trail that had looped around them.
But it was still tiring work even at a slow plod. Now, they were staring at a long, snowy decline. Strella stared down that mountainside at the forested valley below. A speculative look crossed her face then she shook her head.
“What were you just thinking?” Robin sat beside her on that outcropping. She estimated the distance to the ground was about eight times the height of the tallest tree down below. If that tree was five-hundred-feet-tall, which was about the norm for an enchanted tree, then she was staring at a four-thousand-foot drop, possibly more if her mental math was off.
“It’s too bad we can’t just jump. It would be faster than slogging down that.”
“If you can think of a way we can do that and survive the experience, I’ll try it.” Robin rubbed her eyes. “This is taking way too long.”
“On that, we agree. How far is Mount Eredren once we reach the bottom?”
Robin grimaced. “At least twenty miles I think, perhaps more.”
“Maybe the snow won’t be so deep down there. That valley is heavily forested. Maybe the bulk of it got caught in their branches.”
“Maybe.” But Robin doubted it as she gazed out at the forest. Some of their crowns were white with snow, but many more were black claws scratching at the leaden sky. The going didn't look any easier down there. “It’s too bad we can’t just slide down the mountain.” Robin couldn't believe she'd just said that, but the idea was growing on her.
“Couldn’t we? The snow is pretty deep in places thanks to the wind.”
“Yeah, but it’s also thin in a few places too.” Robin stretched her back and winced as a dull ache erupted between her shoulders. “Ouch.”
The cold had numbed it, but that angry bruise was still there. At least her head wasn’t hurting anymore. If only her thoughts would stop congealing. They oozed like molasses through her tired mind at a time when she needed to be at her sharpest.
A downhill hike could easily turn deadly if they weren’t careful. One false step, and one or both of them could fall to their deaths or start an avalanche. The word ‘avalanche’ conjured up a wall of white sweeping away everything in front of it. Robin imagined the sled riding that wave before banishing that image. But the idea stuck in her tired mind, and she seriously considered it.
Why not slide down the mountain? They had a sled of sorts, didn’t they? But could they control it? Robin regarded the sharp decline in front of her. There were a few scrub trees dotting the slope. Could they avoid them?
If they could, they could save hours of hiking. Strella was right. Why not let their makeshift sled carry them down the mountain?
Robin glanced at Strella, and they smiled because they were both thinking the same thing.
“What are you looking at?” Robin gave Strella a playful shove.
The warrior woman laughed displaying a set of perfect white teeth. Not even one was missing or even stained. Either she was that good of a fighter no one had ever landed a hit to her face, or she’d just recently taken up the whole warrior thing.
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Robin cast that curiosity aside. None of that mattered because she and Strella would part ways once they reached Mount Eredren. But part of her still hoped it didn’t have to be that way. She liked Strella and what she'd seen of Cat too.
“Come on, admit it. You were thinking about it.” Strella elbowed her in the side and startled a laugh out of Robin.
“So what if I was. Do you really think it’ll work?” Robin cast a glance at her creation. It had held together remarkably well despite the rigors of the trail thus far.
“What do we have to lose but time?” Strella hopped off the boulder and headed up the slope to where they’d parked the sled.
Cat lay motionless on it, covered from neck to feet by the remains of their tent. They’d both sacrificed several trousers and a couple of soft shirts to secure her to the sled before attempting the mountain. The bonds were tied just tight enough to hold Cat in place, not cut off her blood flow. Strella checked them and the haphazard net of ropes that held the gear they'd refused to leave behind.
Robin slid her bow case under that crude webbing. She’d been using it as a walking stick all night, but her bow should be fine in there. The case had been made to be used and abused by a busy warrior, so one trek through a small corner of Shayari shouldn’t harm it. But just to be safe, Robin tugged her bow case to make sure it was secure.
The bow had been a gift from her father before she’d left home to make her way in the world. If only she’d stayed put. If she had, she wouldn’t have Rosalie, but her daughter wouldn’t be missing. A hard knot of grief pulsed in her chest and for a moment, Robin couldn’t breathe.
“I’ll get her back,” she told herself, and the grief backed off. Robin took an untroubled breath.
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