by JD Hart
He stepped closer, then absently tugged at another crease along the back of the queen’s waistline. “Tomorrow is Midsummer, my love. It is a time-honored Warstag tradition with the start of a new year to renew and strengthen our relationships with those who are close. I, at least, am willing to give the relationship another chance.”
But something was troubling him; she could hear the tension in his voice, see it in his stance. It had taken years to learn how to get past Jonath’s impassive expression to find his real feelings. She glanced up at Beggar, who had taken her usual perch near the balcony, noting the owl’s anxious expression. Her eyes furrowed at the man. “Are you going to tell me what is really bothering you, or do I have to rip it from your tongue?”
Jonath hesitated, considering how best to say what was troubling him. “Veressa is gone, Iza. She left this morning with Annabelle ... alone ... on her trek.”
Well, nothing like the out-with-it approach. It was so like Jonath to skip any finesse. Would he ever learn? Izadora fidgeted until she was ready to explode. “How can you just stand there when our daughter, our only daughter, is out there somewhere away from the castle with no protection?”
“Annabelle is with her, so I see no reason to get excited—” He stopped mid-sentence, wishing he could retrieve those words.
And well he should! “Annabelle? That Ranger can’t control our daughter, and you know it. Half the time, I think she helps get Veressa into trouble. Frankly, since we’re on that subject, I don’t know why you didn’t replace her as Veressa’s protector years ago.” Izadora’s finger wagged under his nose. “There is something afoot between those two. They have too many secrets between them.”
“And you didn’t have any secrets with your protector?” He waited long enough for her finger to stop wagging. “Veressa has no sibling to confide in, Iza.” Jonath looked suddenly pained. Izadora knew what he was thinking—he was the reason they did not have more children. So she was thankful when he charged ahead. “Annabelle is as close to a sister as Veressa ever had, an older sister. Veressa would have hated us both if I had replaced her. Besides, any anger you feel toward Annabelle is misplaced.”
Izadora turned her gaze from the steel-gray eyes. “You are right, of course. That girl has too much of her father’s crafty way and acute intellect. They will get her in trouble someday.”
Jonath’s hardy laugh drew her scathing gaze before he coughed to clear away the residual smile stuck to his face.
Izadora continued, wanting to get to the point, afraid of what her husband had decided. “I assume you sent companies of royal guard to find and continue with her on her trek, as we three agreed.” It was clearly not a question.
Jonath held up his hands in his defense. “Iza, it is quite possible that having thirty or forty jumpy royal guardsmen to draw attention to our daughter could be more of a risk to her ...” After further consideration, he concluded what was more likely: “And to everyone else around her.”
Jonath’s response told her everything. This time she did explode. “I can’t believe you are doing this! That is the future queen of Griffinrock, the only future queen,” she noted for the second time, “riding through the wilderness with nothing more than a Ranger to keep her safe. Jonath, if something were to happen to that girl, you would never forgive yourself. Now call out the guard and send them after her.”
Jonath stiffened. She had never seen him look so ... formal. And he responded with the same stiffness. “Is this what my queen demands?”
For once, Izadora was stunned, no words forming on her tongue.
The icy dragon’s breath she had expected earlier was now palpable. “On the night we wed, when we shared the royal bedchamber, do you recall what you told me?”
Izadora recalled that night as if it were yesterday, not twenty years before. And all the anger was sucked from her. It was the night she would cherish for a lifetime. “Of course I do.” The serf who would be king had knelt before her in this very chamber before their first embrace. Her hand in his, he pledged his heart and life to her. He promised his undying love. But more, he promised to obey her every wish. The love in his gray eyes had deeply moved her; her eyes filled with tears. But it was the serf who made that promise. She had gripped his hands tight in hers, then lifted him up until he stood tall before her, until she was forced to turn her gaze skyward, to be lost in the eyes she wanted to see each dawn. She told him she did not need a servant to share her bed, but a husband who would command respect as king, one who would willingly share the responsibilities of ruling their Realm. That night, the serf became king.
Izadora stepped closer, staring up into those same eyes, as she had that first night. A faint smile parted her lips. Her fingers lightly ran down the fire-ruby amulet hanging from his neck, signifying his position and authority as Griffinrock’s Champion of the Realm. Such symbols of rank were meaningless in this room. Her eyes never left his. “I believe and trust in you, my husband, for neither your heart nor head have ever failed me. You do what you believe is true.”
Then, slapping his chest firmly with her palm so he knew she was still upset, she turned back to the mirror. “Why are you standing there, Jonath? It won’t help your cause of getting into the duchess’s good graces if you show up for dinner late.”
Cosmic Luck
Just as the eastern sky began to lighten, Conner woke with a jolt, nearly tumbling from the branch he had worked so hard to get into. Sleep was not the word he would have used to describe what he had done, since most of the night had been filled with ghoulish dreams. So he had spent the early morning hours weighing his few options.
His ankle was throbbing again; his body would not sustain the pace he had kept the day before. He would have to change his tactic, relying on whatever cunning he could muster to keep from being captured. That meant breaking from the trail that continued west, letting the Calling direct his feet. Well, this was a good place to start.
After shaking stiffness from his legs, he packed his gear in the growing light, chewing on a thick chunk of ration while examining his leafy oak bed. One long, thick branch jutted to the north. After a quick test with his weight, he leaped to a tall boulder several paces away. With a fist of pebbles to scatter about, he stepped over a series of boulders, zigzagging up what remained of the mountain slope. From the summit, he descended the northern side the same way.
Where possible, he used trees to traverse long spans between boulders. He never moved in the same direction for more than ten minutes at a time, randomly adjusting his course but letting the Calling continue to draw him northward. Several times he was forced to alter his path, but when he did, he stepped lightly over gravel and sand, covering his tracks with a branch he had cut from a tree. On the occasions he was lucky enough to find a stream, he would take it for a mile or more, sometimes to his left, sometimes to his right, keeping his feet in the icy water as long as possible. On through the morning, Conner moved at the fastest pace he could muster, using whatever tricks he could contrive to hide his tracks along the way.
He was so focused on his feet and eliminating tracks behind that he forgot to pay attention to the northern skyline. Cresting a small, rocky cliff, Conner discovered he was standing at the foot of a behemoth of a mountain. The long, jagged snowy edges of the giant ran east to west for nearly his entire field of vision. It was so tall the tree line ended halfway up the steep slope, with snow covering the upper rocky section. He considered backtracking. But with Hemera nearing its zenith, he eliminated that idea as too risky. If his attempts to lose the trackers failed, he would be heading straight into their arms. He was here now. He would just have to do the best he could.
Conner thought he could discern a trail running from the mountain’s base up to the western end, so he forged ahead and down the cliff’s slope, choosing a northwesterly direction. But as he neared the mountain base, he saw the trail was actually a line of boulders that had rolled or slid from the summit. There was no possible way to negotiate that r
oute.
Desperation more than anything drove Conner to continue west along the base in hopes of finding a foothold to climb his way out of this current trap. It was near the western base that he stumbled upon the mouth of a cave and decided a closer inspection was needed. He squeezed past a number of boulders covering the entrance. Cool air wafted lightly across his face. If the cave offered him a way through the mountain, there was still a chance he could escape. One last nervous glance back toward the cliff he had crossed and he turned his attention to the hollowed mountain and stepped cautiously inside.
The ability to read signs left by a quarry is not what separates the excellent tracker from a good one. It is instead the ability to learn quickly about the quarry, to get into its head, understand how it thinks and reacts, then predict how it will behave with changing situations and environment. Morgas had been in good spirits when they broke camp, but his mood shifted when they came upon the tree Vault had used for the night and discovered the boy had bolted from the trail. The rhythm of the group was thrown off. And they lost valuable time before they discerned his new tactic.
The boy was not bad at his new approach; in fact, Morgas welcomed the challenge of the boy’s newfound spunk. He was even forced to occasionally use Valmer’s nose to find the way. But soon, Morgas had discerned the boy’s new pattern, one driven by pure exhaustion. Vault consistently chose to traverse larger, rougher rocks because they were safer to cross on tired legs. He only used trees with low horizontal branches easy to grip and swing from with weary arms. And he was careless in leaving slight impressions in the rocky stream beds.
By late morning, as expected, the boy’s exhaustion had forced him to make his mistake. A mountain-green townsman would have seen the giant mountain to the north for the snare that it was. Still, Morgas was learning not to underestimate the boy’s ability. He advanced on the short cliff more deliberately, checking for where the boy might have doubled back, leading them into an empty trap. But standing at the crest of the cliff near the rocky snowcapped beast ahead, Morgas knew he had the boy.
He skipped down the northern slope, eyes greedily scanning the length of the mountain’s base, but when his initial scan produced nothing living, he pulled up hard. He scanned along the base again, but again found no movement. Had the boy doubled back after all? He silently questioned the others with a glance. Each offered only a shrugged response.
It was Valmer that signaled the boy had gone west along the base of the mountain.
Morgas grinned, relishing the boy’s array of surprises.
A hundred paces into the cavern, everything was pitch-black. Once again, Conner invoked Night Vision in frustration. After further consideration, with the chance there could be large, hungry animals nearby, he added a Stealth spell. “Ora eftos kryptoichos.”
The size of the cavern was stunning. Conner had not traversed a quarter of the distance, and the walls to either side were at least as far away as he had come. The ceiling two paces above his head was as smooth and level as the floor. The air here was fresh and dry rather than stale and damp like that in Cravenrock’s undercity. Not wanting to dither, he followed the light breeze deeper into the cavern.
Along the back wall, a portion of the rough surface had broken away near the cavern floor. On hands and knees, he worked vigorously to clear loose rubble at the opening. It took several minutes for him to enlarge the gap enough for his thin body to fit through. He had no clue what awaited on the other side, but it no longer mattered. He tied the shoulder straps of his backpack to his ankle and attacked the hole.
After several paces, he exited into a long, straight tunnel running left and right as far as his vision allowed. The tunnel floor was flat and made of the same rock as the cavern. But unlike the cavern, here the walls and ceiling had been crudely cut away. Down the middle of the floor ran two iron rods about a pace apart, while overhead, makeshift arches constructed from rough-hewn logs sagged from the weight of the ceiling. The scene bolstered little confidence that the whole thing would not come crashing down on his head if he sneezed. He wasted no time donning his backpack once again and sprinted upwind to the right, taking care to stay between the two rods.
A half dozen times Conner had to slow to carefully traverse piles of rotted logs and rock where the ceiling and walls had given way, heightening his concern that he had made a mistake taking this route. If his Night Vision spell dissolved before he reached the end of the tunnel, he would be trapped inside, stumbling about in the dark until he could invoke the spell again.
After half an hour, Conner emerged into the back of another cavern, smaller than the first. On the far side, fresh, warm air flowed through a large gaping hole, caressing his clammy cheeks. He inhaled deeply. The soft rustle of leaves on a summer breeze was music for his liberation. He had found a way through the mountain. The sudden release of the stress made his eyes well with joy. Hardly able to refrain from skipping, he eagerly began moving toward the entrance, skirting a large boulder that filled the middle of the cavern.
Hemera was nearly overhead when Valmer led the trackers to a large cavern. Finally, they had their quarry. Morgas reached back over his shoulder, pulling the longsword from the scabbard strapped to his back. Adjusting his grip, he turned to the brothers. “Pallia and I will go after the boy. Stay here in case he slips past us.” Turning to Pallia, who also held her longsword, he nodded his readiness.
In mountain battle stance, the two stepped into the cavern and fanned out wide, signaling their bonds to find the path their quarry had taken. Mountain raised, the two knew how to use all their senses. Auditory, touch, and olfactory perceptions heightened as vision faded. Though Morgas could not see the sword he held steady before him, he could sense the size of the cavern, as well as the location of Pallia and their bonds. It took but a few moments to realize their quarry had exited through a small gap feeding the cavern with fresh air. Morgas snarled at the crawlway. He could not believe the boy’s continued good fortune.
Dropping pack and scabbard, he followed Valmer through the tight space, with Pallia ushering Galven into the gap behind them. After exiting into an abandoned mineshaft, Valmer picked up the quarry’s scent and led the way to the right. Down the long shaft, he caught a faint glow of light. Morgas snarled again, then followed quickly, Pallia and Galven on his heels. He began to wonder whether the boy was as green as he’d thought. Could he have known the cavern was here, and planned to use it to help make good his escape? Morgas doubted it, but he was starting to think this elusive Vault possessed the golden luck of the Cosmos.
Departure
Veressa twisted in her saddle and scanned the late morning horizon to the west. By Annabelle’s calculations, it was the fifth time she’d done so since they broke camp, beginning their second day east out of Graystone. And the girl wore the same resentful expression she’d assumed when she learned that Annabelle had left a letter for the king.
“If the king had sent a company of royal guardsmen after us, we would be hip deep in them by now,” Annabelle stated.
Veressa only responded with a harsh look. But a moment later, the girl visibly relaxed.
Annabelle urged her horse forward, deciding it safe to ride a bit closer. “As much as I cherish being your preceptor, I do have responsibilities as your protector. Besides, you put me in a tenuous situation yesterday.”
The expression on Veressa’s face beneath the Rangers hood softened.
Now that Annabelle was getting through, she added, “Did you consider that informing your father what we are doing may work in your favor?”
“No,” the princess responded quietly. For the first time in a day, Veressa smiled at her mentor. After several minutes, she continued. “I know you have my best interest at heart, Annabelle. I should trust you.”
Annabelle bit her lip, though it did little to stop an irritable grunt from escaping. She wanted to add that maybe the princess should then occasionally listen to her suggestions, but she refrained. Since she was making some
progress, she directed the conversation to a subject she knew would draw some interest. “Now that you have had two days to think about what we discussed on the range, do you have any questions?” Learning to manipulate elemental forces was a journey of self-exploration, not of rote knowledge. A preceptor’s job was to illuminate the student’s path, to offer guidance through the experiences gained. So she waited.
“Several things are confusing about what you drew.” Veressa was fully on Annabelle’s lesson on the practice range.
Annabelle could see the girl was struggling with how to put her thoughts to words, so she paused to savor the beauty of the Dragon’s Back Mountains to the north. Peron dipped and fluttered in the sky, joyous in his element. A moment later, Veressa’s voice brought her back.
“It would seem that the integration of opposing elementals would be impossible. How does a Ranger mix the Earth and Air elementals when they repel each other?”
“That is an excellent question, Veressa. But you should not think of combining elementals like mixing ingredients to make stew. Elementals are given their name because they cannot be mixed. It might serve you better to think of your task as using your will to link them together, drawing from two sources to do something greater than what can be achieved with either alone. I do not want to suggest that the task of a Ranger, or a Sorcerer for that matter, who must link the Water and Fire elementals, is as easy as the other orders. You will find the more you draw upon Earth and Air, the more they will want to pull you asunder. A Ranger’s power does not come so much from how much Air and Earth you can draw, but from the strength of the Ranger’s will to keep the elementals close. Once you have some experience drawing upon the two elementals simultaneously, you will understand. But you are not ready for that yet.” She paused to give Veressa a chance to collect her thoughts before asking, “What else?”
