"You can set him down now, girl," Selas grumbled, but I could hear amusement in his voice. I lowered Wyntan to the ground and he gave a shudder of relief.
"See?" Banning said.
Confused, I muttered, "I could have killed him!"
"But you didn't, even in your sleep," Wyntan pointed out reasonably, sheathing his dagger.
"I would have killed him," Selas added. "Without a thought. No offense, boy, but you couldn't sneak up on a warrior like that." Selas spoke without any sense of false pride, he was stating a cold fact and all of us knew it. It was difficult for me now to imagine this hard man as a simple picker of lant-root, even though I had seen it myself for years.
"I wouldn't even try," the younger man said wryly. "I don't seek out that experience."
Selas rolled over onto his bedroll. "Go to bed," he said curtly. "All days are busy days in this life, and tomorrow is no different."
The brothers and I exchanged an eye-rolling glance, but quickly did as the old soldier bid. "I agree," Banning said crisply, obviously trying to mimic the authority of Selas. He snuggled closer around my forearm, if a snake can be said to snuggle. He openly thought longingly of the warmth near my heart, and I openly thought my rejection of that idea. I had awoken suddenly one morning to find the cool,smooth creature wriggling around on my chest, under my tunic, trying to find the most comfortable position for himself. My instinctive reaction of pulling him out and flinging him in repugnance did much to persuade him not to try it again. As much as I was coming to love the little snake, there were clear limits to my physical comfort with his shape.
He managed to send a small "Hmmph!" before closing himself off and pretending to sleep. At least, I thought, I have never crushed you or squished you or pinched you in any fashion. I know he "heard" me.
In the evenings we often told stories or sang songs, almost as if we were in our own homes. Winter time in Dragon's Tooth was a long stretch of short, cold days and evenings spent near a hearth, finding what entertainments were to be had. Singing and storytelling were the most popular of these.
I had a wealth of stories to share. My mother had known so many, and we were often somewhat isolated from the rest of Berowalt due to wariness of my mother's fey skills, so on nights other families socialized, we tended to stay home and tell stories. Dera loved stories, so she was often the one to request a specific tale. Her favorite was the story of Eyeroe, a brave knight from several generations ago. Eyeroe had named himself champion of a witch, and the two spent many years adventuring before Eyeroe was called home to serve in the Inner Kingdom War. His stories could be spread over several nights.
Goskia owned a lap harp, which Samar liked to play. The first time she played, for just a moment I saw her whole, beautiful and unscarred, part of a traveling group of musicians and dancers, holding a tambourine and dancing in the sunlight. The vision was gone before I could grasp it. I shook my head to clear away my unshed tears, and the others looked in askance at me.
"Just a cobweb," I said.
"One of many," Selas needled, and I laughed.
"Who's going to sing?" I asked, changing the subject. Wyntan took up the challenge with his favorite song, a love song. The first time he mentioned it as his favorite, I was surprised. It was a tender song, while the young men I'd once known seemed mostly to prefer bloody battle songs; Daltorn's favorite was in this vein. Wyntan's song was about a jester who fell in love with his Lady, and all the long trials he went through to win her hand in marriage. The first verse ended with, "If I could, if I could, if you would just see me." Then the next ended, "If I could, if I could, if you would just kiss me." The third verse had the jester asking for her love, and the last verse, for her hand. Legend told us he wed his love at long last, after proving himself in many perilous adventures, only to be told she loved him best when he made her laugh.
The others all had favorite stories or songs, and the evenings generally passed companionably between us. Even Goskia joined in, though most nights she preferred to simply listen and work on homely crafts like knitting or sewing. The only story she shared with us was about a hero among the goat-footed mountain people, whom she claimed had even come to the aid of Laren, the first Chosen in Dragon's Tooth.
In the evenings, life almost felt normal.
"Come with me later," Wyntan said over breakfast one morning. "There's something you need to see." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Selas give him a measuring glare. The younger man bore the slightest flush at the look. Curious, I sized him up too. He was smaller and not as heavily muscled as the huge Daltorn, but of the two, I felt he would be the better to have at my back in a fight. Wyntan was smarter, and faster. His hazel eyes, mostly gold with shards of green, were clear and honest. Unlike Daltorn, Wyntan's mind was closed to me, but I could sense no harm in him. Whatever Selas may have been worried about, I couldn't see it.
"All right," I said. "If Banning allows it," I added, with an unladylike grimace.
Wyntan led the way over the deep, slickly crusted snow and up the mountain. My feet were not as sure as his, and after I slid back ten feet on my rear end in the direction we came from, Wyntan took to holding me by the upper arm in an attempt to keep me from falling. The day was clear and bright, but the air was so cold I felt the insides of my nose freeze. I fervently thanked the Goddess again for my boots and cloak and almost envied Banning, who had retreated to his warm cubby hole beneath the hearth for the day.
We walked for about two hours. Wyntan talked a bit about his village, the way it had been before the crow's army had swept through it. There had been a Seer of little skill, who had been unable to foresee the danger overshadowing the busy village in the mountain cleft. He had been wonderful with the children though, and Wyntan had learned his letters from him. Though Narwich was a smallish town, due to the amount of traffic going through to and from Vansheen there had usually been enough people in town to merit a permanent Priestess, who had been close friends with Wyntan's mother. Goskia, though shunned for her ancestry, had been where everyone turned for healing, and there had been those who had cared very much for the old binai woman. It was a normal, hard-working small town, preparing for the coming winter. I could hear the loneliness and grief in Wyntan's voice as he talked, and I wished to take his hand and comfort him. The gesture seemed far inadequate, but I placed my hand over his where he held my arm and held me upright. He gave me a grieving half-smile and a look of gratitude.
He mentioned that his and Daltorn's father had died when he was only five and Daltorn twelve, and Daltorn had taken upon himself the role of a somewhat-father after that. Their mother had come down with a wasting disease nearly a decade later, and passed away with her sons at her bedside. Wyntan was glad his parents had died before the crows army came, and were laid side by side in the catacombs.
We arrived at a well-worn pass thorough the mountains, the pass above Narwich, though we had not gone through the town to reach this spot. From our vantage point on a slab of rock overlooking the pass, we could see far along it in either direction. It led to the southeast, where Narwich lay, and had served as a trade and travel route before Iceblade. Though the snow was deep all around, the pass was tramped nearly clear. I looked up at Wyntan, puzzled.
"Just watch," he said. "It won't take long for you to see. Selas and I noticed it yesterday, while we were hunting. He told me I could mention it to you, but didn't think much could be done." He was right about how long we'd need to wait. Within a quarter of an hour, I saw what he had brought me here for. High up on the pass, a small black figure was making its way toward us. As he came nearer, I could see he was armed with a sword, dressed completely in black, and painted black as well. The man walked below us, never noticing us on our rock ledge.
"They come through often," Wyntan whispered. "A couple an hour, sometimes in groups. Your Iceblade has a steady stream of followers. Not even the season has stopped them. Selas and I killed about seven before we went home. Even seeing the bodies of their predece
ssors had no effect except to cause them to draw weapons. They didn't turn from their path to hunt us or go back home." As we watched, the soldier became smaller, moved farther into Dragon's Tooth. I was silent with astonishment that I had not seen or foreseen this, that I had not even known where or what to look for. "Selas believes there is little we can do about it at this point. But I thought you should see it." Wyntan pulled out his short bow, strung it and nocked an arrow. Spotting a second flicker of motion, I stopped him before he loosed.
A second small black shape was running up the trail to meet the first, swinging something that flashed silver in the white sunlight. I heard an expletive blow out of Wyntan's throat just under his breath, then we were sliding on our rears down the icy rock face, running to see the commotion, Wyntan's bow in his hand.
The crow soldier was already dead when we got there. Standing over him, pale eyes ferocious, exotic weapon gory, was an unpainted young man. He stood just taller than me, his hair was silvery blonde and hung loosely around his shoulders, curling back a bit from his face. His clothing was a brown suede jerkin with tied arms over a stone-colored shirt, brown tie-front pants, and a grey woolen cloak, all simple yet obviously of expensive make. Though he was somewhat shorter than Wyntan and leaner, he appeared to be nearly as strong. He stared at us with angry grey eyes and a thin mouth, chest heaving but demeanor calm as we approached.
"Who are you?" Wyntan blurted out. The stranger didn't answer, he continued to assess us. I allowed him his time.
"My name is Ada," I spoke up finally. "I am from Berowalt, which was destroyed by the crows army. This is my friend, Wyntan. His village is just down the pass."
The stranger nodded at us. Pulling an oiled cloth out of a pouch on his belt, he began to clean his weapon. The weapon itself was as strange to me as anything I'd seen. There was a shaft about a foot and a half long, balanced at one end with an etched steel ball. The other end was like a double sided pick, with one side much longer than the other, both ends wickedly sharp. The whole thing was topped off with yet another spike and decorated along the pick part with etched runes. This weapon was made to puncture armor.
He looked back up at us. "My name is Nefen of Bendwillow. And this," he said, noting our attention to his weapon, "is Raven's Beak, my father's weapon and his father's before that, both dead in the destruction done by these people." And he spat on the body. Finishing with his weapon, he stood up to face us, not too close, but not so far he appeared suspicious of us.
I turned and looked back up the pass. "We need to block this pass," I said to Wyntan. "What do you think?"
"I'd rest easier if we did. Or you did." He smiled at me. "I suspect I'll be little help."
Nefen moved to stand closer to us. "It would take months to block it with stones, and an avalanche could well bury us." My eyes caught the rocky outcropping Wyntan and I had watched the pass from. Wyntan looked at me, his face sober but hopeful.
"Do you think you can do it?" he asked.
"No. But I'm going to do it anyway," I said, my resolve grim. Nefen looked me up and down. I know what he saw – a woman, tall for a woman but still smaller than a man, and I could see in his thoughts he presumed I was soft and womanly-weak. That image made me smile with amusement. With a lifted eyebrow I glanced at him, then turned my attention back to the overlook spot. My eyes drifted closed as I searched out with my mind to find some weakness in the outcropping I could use to bring the entire mass down, blocking the passageway.
Deep in the cliffside were weaknesses and breaks. If I pushed on them, pushed the breaks even farther apart, I could send the rock face tumbling down, but these cracks were so far in I feared the rockfall would be too much, and doom us. Instead I began to pull at the outcropping with only the force of my will, hoping to cause new breaks closer to where I wanted them or simply force the overlook down. My awareness of the world receded as I struggled. Something was trembling, but I could not tell if it was the ground or me. Through the whistling in my ears I heard a sound like bones cracking. I heaved at the rock with all my energy, pulled at it, felt myself stretching out like a rawhide strip pulled taut. Wyntan's voice buzzed around me, but I couldn't understand him, neither his words or the words of the stranger. The mountain held its flesh tightly against my grip, my teeth ground with the effort. A sudden blackness overwhelmed me.
My eyes opened to the concerned faces of the two men, and behind them, the clear sky. The snow was cold and hard against the back of my head. They both reached down as one to help me up.
Disappointment was a bitter taste. I had pulled the outcropping down, but it was not enough to block passage. It would make crossing more difficult, but only that. The stones had fallen mostly to one side, narrowing the passage and covering the floor of the pass only enough to require a bit of a climb. I hung my head.
"It's a start," Wyntan said, as if to console me.
"How did you do that?" Nefen asked. He was staring at me with a combination of awe and a elemental, if mostly concealed, fear. "I've never seen the like."
I shrugged as if it would knock his gaze off me. "I'm a witch," I muttered. "Or so I'm told."
"She is Galiena's Chosen," Wyntan said fiercely. I looked up at him. He had his hand on the hilt of his weapon. He was worried that Nefen might be some kind of spy for Iceblade after all, planted here to kill me.
"He will do us no harm," I told him, placing my hand on his arm to stay his weapon, his tenseness transmitted from his muscles to my fingertips. "He has had plenty of opportunity."
"Do you know that or do you just think so?" Wyntan asked. Though he spoke to me, he kept his eyes on Nefen.
"I'm not foreseeing," I said wryly.
"I mean no harm to either of you," Nefen said gravely. "If you are indeed Galiena's Chosen, then I swear myself to your service. I will be faithful and strong, and gladly give my life if it serves the Chosen of the Good Queen." He went down on one knee before me. Wyntan nodded in approval, his arm relaxing.
"Oh, get up," I hissed, my hand dropping off of Wyntan's arm. "I am not the High Queen, and we still need to deal with this pass." Nefen stood, and the three of us surveyed the pass for a few minutes.
"The next enemy will be coming very shortly," Nefen warned. "They come twice an hour or so. Sometimes in small groups." Wyntan gave me a look to remind me that he had already told me that. I had a sudden urge to roll my eyes.
"Can we bring that snow down into the pass?" I asked, pointing at the mountain side.
"An avalanche could take us with it," Wyntan said. "I've never seen anyone make one a' purpose. Though I've certainly seen some brainless fools cause them and pay for it." I shot him a look out of the side of my eyes. "I'm not commenting on the present company," he clarified quickly. "If that is your plan, though, I think it dangerous."
"We should climb. If we can get above the path of the avalanche..." Nefen began.
"We can't risk Ada's life," Wyntan said, his voice sharp. "She is too-"
"It sounds good to me," I interrupted. "Something must be done. And for Galiena's sake, I am not the High Queen!" Wyntan gave me a meaningful glare but nodded reluctantly.
Nefen retrieved his pack from behind a massive boulder pile on the pass, where he had lain in wait for crow soldiers. He'd killed four since setting up here in the pass, hiding their bodies in a low, shallow cave. We left the last where he lay, stripped of weapons. Wyntan had taken them, a short sword and a wood handled dagger. We'd also stripped the other four of their weapons, to add to Selas' stockpile. It could be the old man would be angry with me for fussing about the pass when he'd already declared nothing could be done, but at least he'd get some weapons out of it.
Wyntan led us to another overlook, just west of where the painted soldier's body lay. I surveyed the pass from our new vantage point. We weren't as high as we would have been on the last overlook, but I felt pretty confident we were high enough to avoid being hit by any rolling snow. Of course, I had never seen an avalanche, but I'd heard several sto
ries about them.
"What do I look for?" I asked Wyntan.
"There will be a place where the snow is in layers, and one of the layers is ready to break off and come down the mountain. It shouldn't take much." I could see he was angry with me, apparently for risking my life in any way, but he would help me if I asked it of him.
I thanked him and stared up the pass. Over the small obstacle caused by the outcropping I had pulled down, there was a bulbous mass of snow, on the opposite side of the pass and farther up the mountainside. I closed my eyes and felt around in it. I could see what Wyntan meant, there were definite weaknesses that sheeted through the whole mass. There were several of these sheets stacked up on each other, with sheets of firmer snow in between. Wanting to make the largest possible blockage, I chose the deepest weak layer. Humming to myself so I could feel the vibration of my throat, I used the feeling of that vibration to shake the weak layer. I could feel the snow loosen and begin to rumble. There was a violence to it I hadn't expected from snow, those gentle flakes that had fallen so softly onto the fields at Berowalt. This snow was something wholly different.
"By the Mother!" Wyntan swore, and I opened my eyes. There was a roiling, churning cloud of solid white storming toward us. We weren't high enough to avoid it. Nefen turned to the cliffside and started to climb. I reached out and grabbed him by the belt, and grabbed for Wyntan too. Wyntan wrapped his burly arms around me, securing me against him, and I threw up a bubble of shielding around us all. The world blacked out. I felt Nefen of Bendwillow grab my arm. We were bouncing and slamming around in the darkness. I struggled to hold my concentration, to keep that churning mass from closing its fist on us and pulverizing us like grain in a flour mill. Then just as suddenly, everything was quiet and still, and the three of us crashed together one last time, settling in heap at the bottom of my bubble.
Iceblade Page 7
