Possn was pressed up to the curve of Rie’s neck, her wings trembling. The most timid of the pixies had somehow latched onto Rie and stayed there for the ride into the tunnel. Rie didn’t know when she had arrived or where she’d come from. Rie hadn’t even noticed her presence until she climbed up to her current seat. But she had survived, and right now that was what mattered most.
Niinka and Tiik . . . Rie couldn’t get the image of Niinka’s body being tossed through the air and into the snow out of her head. She didn’t want to think about it too hard, but neither Niinka nor Tiik had made it into the mountain with them. She couldn’t grieve. Not here, not now.
Rie swallowed down a hard lump of emotion. “They’re tough,” she finally responded.
“Good. They are loyal companions.”
“Yes. They are. And Bren? Where is she? Niinka said you took her to safety . . . ,” Rie trailed off, biting her lip to hold back the tears.
Judith, gaze seeming to read into Rie’s soul, nodded. “Yes, she is safe. Or as safe as I could make her. She’s with the barbegazi in the city, but they had plans to evacuate.”
Rie nodded, relieved. The baby was with her people and as safe as anyone could be. “So tell me then, what brought you here? Surely it wasn’t a vacation.” Rie’s lips lifted in a half-hearted effort to tease.
Judith pressed her lips together.
“I came to find you. I have new information about the lost souls, and I think it relates to our situation here.”
Rie lifted her eyebrow. “Oh?” she asked. She didn’t really want to talk about the lost souls or her mission from the Moirai, but maybe it would provide a distraction from the emotional pain that wracked her body.
“Have you ever heard of the Dual-Souled?”
Rie shook her head.
“Neither had I, until three days ago.” Judith went on to explain everything that had happened, up to and including her journey into the mountain pass with the barbegazi and frost sidhe.
“So you think General Maethor is one of these dual-souled?”
“Yes. His behavior is erratic, and according to Aegasson, it changed after they returned from the Battle of the Arches.”
“How do you know Aegasson isn’t a lost soul, misdirecting you?” Rie asked. If the general was a powerful lost soul, or dual-soul, then this quest had just gotten a lot more complicated. Though it would explain why Fenrir was suddenly set free.
Judith’s eyebrows dropped between wide gray eyes. “I hadn’t considered that.”
“You’re not used to devious fae.”
“I suppose not, but why would he have helped us in the battle? Why give us an escape route?”
“I wouldn’t put too much stock in the altruism of the greater fae. They usually keep their own interests front of mind.”
“It might not matter now. We don’t even know who survived that battle out there. What should we do?” Judith asked.
Rie shook her head. “First thing’s first. We have to heal. And we have to get out of this mountain.”
On those words, Vegard approached. He’d obviously been eavesdropping on their conversation. “The exit is easy enough. The healing? I’m afraid that’s going to be up to you. Our healers can’t remove the poison from your consort’s veins. We can only make him comfortable while his essence is drained away.”
“That’s giving Fenrir a little more credit than he deserves. The poison only attacks the victim’s magic.”
“But when your magic is an inextricable part of your being?”
Rie hadn’t considered that. She’d lived without magic—or at least without much of it—for most of her life. Daenor had produced an inferno as a toddler. It would be harder for him to compensate.
“If you can get the ingredients Garamaen used to heal Solvi, I think I can mimic his method.”
“Solvi will appreciate that as well, I’m sure, since Garamaen wasn’t able to finish the process.”
“Then take me to her. I will do what I can for both of them, and we’ll see where we end up.”
“First, let me help you with the chains,” Vegard offered.
Rie lifted her chin, exposing the metal ring that still wrapped her neck. “I don’t know if you can. There was no key.”
“Not to worry,” Vegard replied, his fingers gentle as they probed around the collar. “These are pretty standard livestock collars, just a bit bigger than what we use for our goats. No one wants to keep track of a key, so there should be . . . ,” Vegard’s gaze traveled up to the ceiling, his head cocked to the side. Both hands wrapped around the device. “Yes, there it is.”
Three clicks and a twist later and Rie was free of the restraint. She rubbed her neck. The skin was raw and sore, but it felt wonderful.
“What a relief. Thank you.” She looked down at Daenor. Still asleep, he hadn’t shifted once during Rie’s conversation. “However, I think we should let Daenor rest.”
“Yes, we all need time to rest. And grieve. The mountain has taken a toll on all of us today.”
Rie flinched. “How many?” Rie asked, her voice a whisper.
“Thirty-two unaccounted for,” Vegard replied, his voice equally hushed and grim, “though many may have survived the avalanche if they weren’t too badly injured before we called the slide. We are a tough species.”
“So the avalanche was your doing?”
“Of course! We know our land. We know its strengths, and its faults, and where to apply pressure when needed.”
“I thought you controlled the snow.”
“No, our magic is more in tune with the earth than the ice. A proper shaking of the rock beneath can move the side of the mountain. But we are built to survive the cold in a way the rest of you are not.”
“Well, I appreciate your efforts. We would not have escaped without you. And now that the general is gone, we can focus on getting Garamaen back.”
“Oh, I doubt he’s gone.” Vegard replied.
“But he’s buried in snow,” Rie said, shocked. How could he possibly live through the force and chaos of an avalanche?
“He’s a frost sidhe,” Vegard replied with a lifted brow, as if questioning Rie’s intelligence. “It would be easy enough for one of his skill to redirect the flow around his body. And even if he were buried, he could easily tunnel his way out.”
Rie rubbed a hand over her face. If the general still lived, he would come after them again. He couldn’t let them survive. Not after what he’d done and what they knew.
“That’s probably a good thing,” Judith said, her voice resigned. “At least we know who to target as dual-souled. If the body was killed, the souls might go on to possess another. I’ve already seen it once.”
Rie shook her head. Their problems were only getting more complicated.
Vegard patted Rie on the shoulder in sympathy. “Sleep now, if you can,” he said. “We will leave in half a turn.”
Rie wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but whatever time measurement a turn was, she felt sure it wouldn’t seem long enough.
“One more thing,” Judith said before returning to her own seat on the other side of the cave, “you are the only one who can successfully separate the dual-souled and return the wicked to their proper afterlife. You tore them from the Daemon Realm. You made the connection. It is you who must deal with the repercussions.”
“I understand that,” Rie replied, the exhaustion leaching into her voice. “The Moirai made that all very clear.”
“No, I don’t think you understand. I can help you identify them, and I can help you fight. I can even give the soul its final death, but only after it’s been untangled from the original occupant and separated from the body.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Rie demanded. “I’m still an apprentice. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You’re going to have to figure that out. But you’re the last remaining soul besides Garamaen to carry both soulspeech and soultouch. Use that to your advantage.”
Ri
e shook her head as Judith walked away on that ominous note. Heal Daenor and Solvi. Bring the pixies back from the brink of a frozen death. Free Garamaen. And now, send the wicked half of the dual-souled back to the Daemon Realm.
They asked too much.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
IT FELT LIKE they were traveling into the bowels of the earth. The tunnels and passages always descended. Not even a sliver of sunlight pierced the darkness. Only the flicker of torch fire and the shuffle of feet guided Rie down the tube.
She ran a hand along one wall, feeling the smooth but uneven edge. These tunnels had been built taller than the one she and Daenor had traveled through to exit the city, but not by much. She’d already bumped her head twice on a stalactite that hadn’t entirely been smoothed away. But at least she didn’t have to crawl or waddle through the interminable depths.
“Who built these passages?” Rie asked. Their construction was clearly designed by sentient touch, unnatural in the curve and switchback formation.
“As I said before,” Vegard replied, “we are creatures of the land and mountain. We live in the caves and tunnels, not on the open tundras.”
“Where Fenrir is?”
Vegard’s lip curled up in a scowl. “Fenrir is a predator, more adaptable to different landscapes so long as prey is abundant. We are goatherds and farmers, reliant on our livestock, which require the mountains’ peaks and valleys.”
Daenor tripped on a loose stone, his body lurching forward. Rie caught him at the waist, helping him upright.
“I feel so muddled,” he whispered. “My whole body aches.”
“Fenrir’s poison is an invader in your system,” Vegard glanced at the dark elf who had become so important to Rie in such a short period of time. “Your body is trying to fight it, but it will ultimately fail.”
“How much farther to the city?” Rie asked.
Vegard chuckled. “We are not going to the city. You are being given a rare glance into our true stronghold, our home within the mountain. We are nearly there.”
***
One final switchback in this seemingly endless journey. Rie gasped. The tunnel opened into a massive cavern larger even than the frost sidhe city aboveground. A steaming lake covered with the same bioluminescent algae as Fenrir’s prison lair filled the open space in the center. Small boats manned by pairs of fishermen tossed nets out on the surface, then reeled them back in before they had a chance to sink. Thick swirls of blue-green light curled along the ceiling and walls, moving with deliberate slowness like great worms in the stone.
Carved out of the mountain stone, the buildings were squat and flat, no need for pitched roofs in a space that would never see snow or rain. Smooth-worn steps carried pedestrians from one level to the next. Circular pens near the outer reaches of the buildings held a few bleating goats.
“Welcome to Stronghold,” Vegard grinned. “The last great outpost of the barbegazi. The frost sidhe do not know of this place, nor, I think, does your great-grandsire.”
“How have you kept this a secret?” Rie asked. “There are so many of you.”
“Not so many as you might think, though we have space to house our entire population if it became necessary,” Vegard replied. “But it is easy to remain unseen when others dismiss you for your smaller size.”
Rie knew a thing or two about that. It was why the pixies had made such great spies.
“But why keep the surface villages, if you have this? Why risk Fenrir’s wrath?”
“Our goats can’t remain underground for long. They must have the challenge of the mountain peaks and taste the sweet grasses of the sheltered summer valleys.”
“But Fenrir—”
“Was imprisoned for two thousand years. This stronghold was built centuries before the first elves arrived, when Fenrir’s grandfather led the pack and we were prey to all of the predators of the tundra and mountains.”
They walked the path to the city, the smooth stone easier to navigate than even the paved roads of the Human Realm. The road was a rounded wash, carved into the rock with the passing of thousands and thousands of feet.
Some of the residents looked up as they passed, their eyes going wide at the sight of a human, a dark elf, and an angel. But Vegard nodded at each in turn and they returned to their work. Meanwhile, the barbegazi warriors who had survived the battle split off to find their homes and families.
Rie swallowed. Who would share the news of the dead?
“Vegard . . . ,” Rie began, but the words stuck in her throat.
The barbegazi leader turned to face her, his face grim. “News will travel. We will hold a grieving.”
“Why did you risk so many, just to save me?”
Vegard shook his head, his gaze returning to the fields and buildings before them. “We didn’t fight to save you. We fought to reclaim our place in this realm. It was time to make a stand and make a point. Lord Garamaen Sanyaro should never have been forced to deal with the wolves in the first place. We are strong enough to handle our own problems and make up for the weaknesses of our past leaders.”
“And your grandfather? Why did he call on Garamaen to once more solve the barbegazi problems in the first place?”
“Felman is of the old guard. Popular opinion has shifted.”
Vegard fell silent, and Rie let it drop. She wouldn’t dishonor the sacrifices these people made by further questioning their motives. She would find a way to thank them, once they figured out a way to rescue Garamaen, destroy the dual-souled, and end Fenrir’s threat.
A field of glowing blue mushrooms spread out to their left. Mushrooms were one of the ingredients necessary in Garamaen’s healing salve. Which reminded Rie of her task.
“The ingredients for the potion,” she said. “Do you have them here?”
“Yes. My wife gathered them for Solvi’s salve. We’ve brought them with us in hopes that Garamaen would have an opportunity to finish his work.”
Vegard led them around the edge of the lake, the blue-green reflection bouncing off of the companions as they traveled.
“Is Bren here?” Judith suddenly asked.
Rie’s gaze locked with the angel. It would only make sense for Bren to have been brought here if they were evacuating the city. Would they be allowed to see the child?
“She’s with a nursemaid, building up her strength and her weight. She will be fostered into a family with other children soon.”
“May I see her?” Judith asked.
“Of course. My wife can take you to her after you’re all done here.”
“Thank you,” Judith replied. She hesitated. “Is there any chance I could see her sooner? I feel responsible for her, especially after the rough trip into the city.”
Rie’s eyebrows lifted. “Rough trip?” Judith hadn’t mentioned that before.
The angel frowned. “It’s a long story, but Maethor took us prisoner when I was trying to take Bren to her people. It was a traumatic experience.”
Vegard nodded. “She nearly died, but Inghrit was able to nurse her back to health. She is still quite hungry. I will ask when it would be good to visit.”
“I’d like to check on her too,” Rie said. “After the healing.”
Vegard dipped his chin in acknowledgment, then led the way up a wide set of stairs, their treads curved in the center from frequent use. Three flights later, he pushed open a small wooden door.
Glancing up at Daenor and Judith, who were even taller than Rie, Vegard paused. “I think you’d better wait here. I’ll set you up in a common space to work and bring the baby there after you’re done.”
Rie nodded, nerves roiling in her stomach. It all became real. She was expected to perform a magic she’d only seen once to save the man she loved and an innocent woman caught in the crosshairs of Fenrir’s wrath.
Vegard pushed his way inside his home, the soft murmur of voices rising out of the open windows.
Rie turned to scan their surroundings once more. From this height, she could se
e all of the workings in the city, the farmers in the mushroom fields, the fishermen—or whatever you called people in boats harvesting algae on a lake inside a cave—on the water, the pens with a few mother goats and what looked like newborn kids, and the craftsmen in their open workshops spinning and weaving the thick white goat wool into bolts of fabric of varying quality.
Maybe someday she’d have the time to peruse their wares. Lhéwen—Rie’s warden and foster mother—would probably love to have some of the fabric for winter cloaks for the ladies of the high court. If she didn’t like the color, Rie bet she could have it dyed to fit the specifications of each client. The pure white would be a perfect base for the pastels preferred by the noblewomen.
Daenor, standing with his back straight and hands clasped at his back, swayed a bit from side to side. His skin had grown ashy and his eyes held a glazed look that had Rie worried.
“Daenor,” she said, trying to draw his attention, but his eyes remained fixed forward into an unseeable distance. “Daenor,” she said again. She touched his sleeve. His head turned slowly and his eyes took several heartbeats to focus on her face.
Rie reached a hand to his cheek. His temperature had dropped considerably, his skin clammy and cold. Rie swallowed down her fear. They needed to fix him, and fast.
“Vegard!” she called into the stone entry.
“Yes, we’re coming.” A few moments later and the barbegazi heir appeared, a woman with bright blue eyes and a ready smile close behind him.
“We need to hurry,” Rie said, taking some of the baskets from the woman’s arms. She glanced once more at Daenor, hoping they would understand her meaning. “Where do we go?”
Vegard nodded, and hustled up the stairs a few more levels to a flat open space where a few children were playing some kind of game with colored rocks. At the sight of Vegard and his companions, they all dashed away, but peered around the corners of nearby buildings to watch the proceedings.
Sanyare: The Winter Warrior (The Sanyare Chronicles Book 4) Page 20
