by H. A. Harvey
In an instant, Nian found himself slammed into the pool by the icy water of Frosthold River like a fly caught between fist and palm. Then, he was beneath the surface, the frigid water from far off Nilheim stabbing into him like jagged daggers of ice. The force of the falls still drove down deep beneath the pool’s surface, pressing and holding him down with strength no mortal could hope to match. The young man struggled vainly toward the surface, sinking deeper despite his strongest efforts. His limbs began to numb and grow rubbery with the cold. In desperation, Nian swam down. Reaching the rocky basin that housed the pool, he planted his boots and drove up with all the strength he could muster. For a moment, it seemed to work, and he shot up several yards, only to slow and stall before being flung forcibly against the stone beneath him, dashing any remaining sense from his panicked mind.
Nian lay limply, pressed against the stone floor of his watery crypt by the merciless might of the torrent above. He gazed up with half-hearted interest at the shimmering, dancing light at the surface far above, shadows from the edges of his vision slowly coiling and constricting the flickers into oblivion. His strength all but gone, he lay marveling at the contrast between his burning lungs and his numbed, lazy arms and legs, which refused to struggle any further in a useless fight. It was odd, he seemed to remember desperately wanting to do something, to be somewhere, but now all he could think of was sleep. That must be it, sleep is what he needed to do.
The soft touch of a warm, willowy hand closing upon his own roused Nian suddenly. He marveled at the sensation, for all his body was numb, but this touch he felt. Another arm encircled his waist as someone soft and warm pressed against his back and he felt sure that a warm breath tickled its way past his ear and across his cheek. Before he could quite marvel at the sensation of feeling warm, moving dry air beneath the icy water, they were moving, not up at first, but to one side. Nian laughed inwardly. To the side, well that would make sense, wouldn’t it? As they drifted along, they slowly rose with the curve of the pool floor. Nian found himself lulled in this soft embrace. Blood seemed to be returning to his extremities despite their still being beneath the frigid surface of the pool. He relaxed back, resting against the bosom of his savior.
Nian did not know if he fell asleep, or had dreamed the entire encounter, but the next he knew, he was upon the shore next to the falls, coughing and sputtering water from his lungs. Looking about, he saw no sign of his strange benefactor, but his eyes fell on the town, now lit by tongues of flame licking the sky along several of the rooftops. Suddenly, he remembered what had driven him from the shadowed cliff far above. A quick flex of his limbs promised they would service him, though a bit cold and sore. Shakily, Nian pushed himself to his feet and headed toward the street in a staggering run.
Crowds of townsfolk were out in the mist, yelling and rushing about in panic. Weaving through them, Nian dashed into the commons and drew up short in the grass. Across the clearing, the inn was bright with flame, with the roof and second story almost completely engulfed. Looking about, Nian saw no bodies, but his eyes fell on a stranger wielding a large, studded cudgel in one hand while struggling to control a young woman with the other. After a moment, he recognized Celia, miller Dobbs’ daughter, as she stood in her nightgown, her curly blonde tresses dancing about as she kicked and spat at the man hauling her by the arm.
Nian roared in rage, scooping up a fallen apple branch as he rushed across the grass toward the couple. The roar of the burning inn drowned out his outraged battle shout, and the mists curled about him like a cloak, so raider and damsel were both quite surprised when he crashed into the man, bearing him to the ground with his knees while laying to wildly with his leafy weapon. Celia stood dumfounded for a long moment, as the vision of innkeeper Cartwright’s sheepish son, who she always thought boring and likely to be of little account, fearlessly pounded on her assailant, more than twice his weight.
“Cel, RUN!” Nian paused long enough to shout and snap Celia from her daze.
The moment was all the gnarled man beneath him needed to recover his senses. As his golden-haired prize vanished into the mists, he caught Nian by the throat and clobbered him in the jaw with the handle of his cudgel. The boy reeled back in pain and surprise as the ruffian staggered to his feet. He glared at Nian, welts and splits from the heavy switch of his foe marking a dozen trails across his face.
“That tart were worth a fortune, runt.” The man spat blood and possibly a tooth out onto the ground, “I’ll take it from yer hide an’ leave yer brains on the grass.”
Having recovered from the crack to his jaw and feeling rather triumphant at having overpowered the big man once already, Nian sneered back confidently. He’d never wielded a sword before, but held his battered bit of limb before him as though it were forged from folded steel.
“Last chance to run.” The boy retorted and gave the cockiest wink his bruised face could muster.
The man chuckled briefly and then let out a roar as he surged forward. Nian was taken aback by the quick charge, but brought his branch down with all his might on the attacker. Had his weapon been forged steel or even good bronze, he might have cleft collarbone and throat in a swing, but the battered stick buckled and cracked against the thick leather collar of the raider’s jerkin and the force of his charge snapped the branch.
The rest happened so quickly that to Nian it seemed to almost happen at once. The man thrust the head of his cudgel forward, sinking it deep into Nian’s gut and knocking the wind from him. As he drew the club back, he grasped the boy’s wrist and wrenched it outward cruelly, causing the splintered piece of wood to fall from Nian’s limp hand. The cudgel swung back wide, connecting with a sickening crack against the side of his head and light exploded across his eyes. Nian spun with the force of the blow, wrenching his arm free of his captor’s vice-like grip, but not before his shoulder slipped loose with a loud pop. As Nian stumbled forward struggling to keep his feet, the raider took his cudgel in both hands and brought it across the back of the boy’s head, sending him sprawling forward into the mist.
Nian felt he might vomit, if he could manage to remain conscious long enough to do so. With great difficulty, he forced his leaden arms to push the grass away. He struggled to rise as the world swam in murky confusion around him. As though enough wasn’t working against him, a hand grasped his shoulder and pulled him back to the ground. As his vision steadied, he turned to see a woman crouched next to him.
Though he was quite certain he had never beheld her before in his life, Nian felt an odd familiarity with the strange woman. She was slender and almost plain-looking, with long, chestnut brown hair falling loosely about her shoulders. Still, there was an odd grace and comfort to her presence that lent her a beauty beyond words. Her dress was a simple, straight pattern like that a farmer’s daughter might wear, but of the purest white he had ever seen, and the memory of a hundred colors seemed to dance across its surface like starlight on a brook. Her willow-thin hand upon his shoulder was soft and warm. The warmth of her touch seemed to seep through him, dulling pain and restoring strength to his limbs. In a flash, he realized where he knew her from. The same hand had plucked him from the water of the falls. Though her hair and dress showed no sign of moisture, he knew the feel of her hand on him. He started to exclaim, but she shushed him with a press of her fingers to his lips.
“Keep low and let the mists hide you.” Her voice was smooth and calming, and Nian somehow felt her conversational tone would not be heard by the raider, her words were meant for him. “Come, follow me.”
The woman turned and left low through the mists, seeming to move through them without stirring them at all. Her white form quickly started to vanish from sight, leaving the flicker of color off her dress. Nian rose to his knees and crawled after the lights, feeling like he was chasing fairy lights through a deep wood. They left the commons and travelled along the street into a nearby alley. The hard cobblestones battered Nian’s knees
, but he forged onward. His mysterious benefactor stopped in the alley and pulled him to his feet. He looked nervously back at the commons where the armed man was still searching about in the mists for his escaped prey.
“He won’t look this way, Nian.” The woman reassured him, “And will have to leave soon anyway, the townsfolk are recovering from their panic and guards won’t be far now.”
“H-how do you know m-“
“I know more about you than you do, Nian. Now listen, because you won’t be conscious for long. When you wake, you need to take the spire road, find your friend. You won’t be able to save your sister without his help.”
“Why are y-“ He felt the throbbing of his head building again, and the warm trickle of blood running down to his neck and shoulders.
“Hush Nian and listen. You mustn’t come back here until you’ve found Rowan, is that clear? If you do, you will never see your sister again, and her Fate you won’t want to know. I have a task for you when this is finished, but that will wait. For now, just remember, go Spireward, find Rowan before you speak to anyone else.”
Nian tried to force another of a hundred questions he had, but he managed little more than a jumble of incoherent syllables before his eyes rolled in his head and he tumbled forward against the woman in a faint. All the world spun in blackening chaos; all save the visage of the strange lady in white, oddly clear and stable amidst the blur and shadows. Her comforting smile was his last sight before he knew no more.
He opened his eyes some time later with great difficulty. The air was filled with a soft, soothing scent that Nian could not tie to anything specific, but reminded him at once both of hot pies and fresh, sun-dried blankets. He lay in a small cluster of trees upon a slope, his head resting upon a soft pillow that he soon discovered to be the lap of his mysterious benefactor. He still found moving or speaking too momentous to attempt, and instead gazed up at the bosom and face of the strange woman. She tore a length of fabric from her dress, binding his head gently as she whispered to him. Perhaps his mind was still addled from the raider’s blows, or it could be she spoke some strange tongue his ears had never heard, but somehow, their meaning rang through to him. Her words washed over him like warm water, beating back despair and defeat. He would heal, and he would find Karen. As she bent to kiss his brow, Nian slipped back into a gentle, dreamless sleep.
. . .
Tombo loped along the treeline with his long, running stride. His forelimbs, with claws curled into knobby, rounded, hoof-like extremities, acted like vaulting levers between each touch of his rear claws biting into the ground and launching him and his rider forward. The gait looked horribly awkward, but was actually quite smooth for Rowan, nestled high on his shoulders. A hampan couldn’t match the speed of a good horse, but he’d kept the same pace since before sundown. Now, as Phoenix climbed past the top of her arc, they were drawing into view of the lumber camp, where Lone Wood finally stretched over to meet the silvery cold water of the Frosthold River. The small cluster of shacks sat nestled along the banks of the river amid a large stretch of stumps and trampled earth.
Throughout the camp and the tree line, a score of woodcutters bustled about their work. Near the tool-house, the largest and most permanent structure in the camp, Rowan was quick to spot the individual he was here to meet. A short, slender figure stood next to a lithe, powerful stallion with a shimmering white coat. The stranger was garbed in expensive looking black and white clothes, topped by a low-crowned hat with a brim slightly broader than the wearer’s shoulders and a long, golden plume standing back over his shoulder like a stretch of dawn-lit cloud swept in a high wind. Such a lithe tail of golden fur as twirled idly out from beneath his riding cape could only belong to a Sattal. The elaborately dressed stranger finished securing tack of black leather and silver fittings to his tall, white horse, and turned to watch Rowan’s approach across the stump-strewn field. As Rowan drew up on him, the Sattal swept off his hat and bowed elegantly, revealing his sharp ears and a thick mane of longer fur a shade darker than the short velvet coat covering him from whisker to tail.
“Ah, my guide arrives after all, I presume. Kolel of Ilien at your service, friend.” The Sattal’s tone carried little emotion beyond a courteous greeting, accompanied by the odd purring undertone they seemed to use to speak to anyone who was not Sattal. Rowan was familiar enough with such folk to know it meant little how upset the man might be with him, he’d receive such a greeting were he a hated enemy. Rowan slid from Tombo’s back and approached his client, clasping his wrist in greeting.
“I know I’m a little late. I’m sorry it couldn’t be helped, but it looks like you were about to give up and head on without me.”
The Sattal chuckled, “In truth, I didn’t think to see you at all, since you were coming from the Gateward road, but thought I’d linger till midday just in case.”
Rowan was puzzled, “Why wouldn’t I arrive? I sent word I would be here.”
“Yes,” Kolel nodded, “But in life, things happen. And it seemed from the looks of things that maybe something happened.”
“Oh?”
“You must have traveled all morning without looking over your shoulder, my friend.”
Rowan turned back the way he’d come. In truth, he had not been looking Gateward all morning. He had slept a bit as Tombo drifted onward, then pressed hard to make the camp by midday. As he looked back, he saw a plume of dark smoke marring the skyline. As though a blast of the smoke had suddenly struck him, a shadow fell across Rowan’s face as he spun back.
“That’s Longmyst! I was just there yesterday.” Rowan dug in his satchel and produced a small coin pouch, pressing it toward the other man, “Your advance. There are people there I know, so I won’t be able to act as your guide.”
Kolel slowly twirled his whiskers with the nail of one finger as he regarded first the small pouch of silver, then the plume of smoke. At length he tossed the purse back at Rowan’s chest. He nimbly spun up to the saddle of his mount and took up the reins, looking down at the scraggly forest boy.
“There is a saying among the Buros Gypsies, my friend. As the wind shifts, so must the reed. If you were there yesterday, it cannot be far off our path. If you are as skilled a guide as I was led to believe, I am certain there will be a path from this Longmyst village to the coast?”
Rowan nodded, “Yes, but I cannot say what will be-“
“I can,” His gallant patron interrupted, “At least to some extent. And anything that can set so large a fire to a town, it is likely you will need more than that hunting spear.” After a brief pause, Kolel leaned down over the horn of his saddle. “Were you in need of a rest, sir scout? I had been under the impression you meant to set out immediately.”
“Y-yeah, of course.” Rowan stowed the coin pouch away and leapt back onto Tombo, who was less than thrilled that they seemed to be about to go again. Rowan tapped his hampan’s shoulder and the beast turned, bounding at full stride back down the roadway. Kolel laughed to himself before spurring after the pair, his long-legged steed quickly overtaking the sturdy hampan and rider. Drawing alongside Rowan, the Sattal called out to his guide.
“Reign in a bit, boy! If you left there yesterday, we can hardly hope to reach Longmyst much before dawn, and we will be little good to anyone if riders and steeds are spent upon arriving.”
Rowan glared back at his companion, but the back of his mind saw the truth of Kolel’s council. Tombo had already pushed hard to make their rendezvous, and though the hampan was sturdy and fit even among his peers, he could hardly keep running much longer without a good rest. Reluctantly, he slowed Tombo to a pace the horse could match with a brisk walk. For several minutes, he rode on in determined silence. Though their pace slackened, his gaze stayed fixed determinedly on the smoke plume in the distance.
At length, Kolel cleared his throat, “I understand the, ah, somber nature of our course, my friend. And I am q
uite content with a . . . focused silence. However, Gatewind here, he tends to become a bit fidgety with long silence. So if it is not too much to ask, might we find some idle distraction as we go our way?”
“We’re not stopping.” Rowan growled.
“Of course not, we’ve a very important destination and I wouldn’t think of deterring from that. However, as I’ve said, some friendly conversation would soothe my poor horse’s nerves. I’d hate for him to be skittish going into a fight.”
Rowan stared at the foppish Sattal for a moment and couldn’t help breaking into a grin, “The horse needs us to chat?”
“Quite.”
“That’s a stallion from the Sea of Fire. By reputation, they’re fearless and bred for warfare. A dragon would hardly make it flinch.”
“Ah, but every horse has his own little peculiarities. The finer the steed, the more acute his demands.” Kolel rode staring forward very matter-of-factly for several moments before venturing a glance at Rowan and the two shared a quick chuckle, “You know horses well, for a man who rides such an odd beast.”
“Anyone who calls Tyre home knows horses. They say in the lowlands, we’ve more horses than people, and more stables than houses. The Sea of Fire is a long way off, I couldn’t point it out upon a map, but we know every muscle in our rivals’ breeds.”
Kolel chuckled to himself, “My friend, you would have little trouble finding the burning sea. If there is a single map of that vast place, I have yet to hear of it, but on any map that borders it, the line stretches from Clock to Wheel across its breadth. What of your beast though? If Tyre is so filled with horses, why do you choose this great monkey?”
