Journey of the Wanderer

by Shawna Thomas

  Ilythra ground her teeth together. “Gods damn you.”

  “I don’t believe in the human gods, so let them. Go and do as I say. That is an order.”

  Ilythra shook her head. She let the Rugian advancing on her get inside her guard. Saw the moment he thought he’d won, then ducked and unsheathed the long knife on her forearm at the same time, slicing through fur and flesh. She didn’t stay to see his look of shock or witness his bowels slipping onto the ground. She had to find Rian.

  The last she’d seen of the Dawn Child, he’d been near the fountain in the center of the square. She made out his fair head at a distance. But he wouldn’t have taken his provisions. She reversed direction and went back to where the surviving Isoldens huddled.

  A collective gasp sounded from the room as she burst in, ducking in time to avoid a large ax.

  “By the Mother. Go use that out there.” She didn’t bother to look at the man who had almost decapitated her. The supplies were stacked against one wall. She ruffled through them until she found the fire sticks. It was a Dawn Children invention that had never made its way into human lands. And for good reason. Although they looked like small sticks, when set on fire, they exploded, destroying anything nearby. Ilythra grabbed three and stuffed them in her tunic, where her belt kept them from falling. She shoved the flint into a large pocket, turned to leave and noticed the women and children staring at her with wide eyes.

  Compassion slowed her step.

  “The Rugians are attacking. We are doing the best we can to stop them but...” She shook her head and turned toward the man with the ax. “The best way to protect them is out there.” She gestured toward the door. “If we lose, take our supplies and hide in the basements again. They don’t know you’re here.”

  She sprinted outside. The sounds of battle had grown louder. Here all the houses were damaged and the roofs burned. She made her way up the street. The scent of blood and sweat of battle drifted on the air. She swung up on a roof and stared at the mountain until she could make out the small crack that would turn into a chasm with very little persuasion. Taking a deep breath, she leaped from rooftop to rooftop toward her goal.

  Ilythra appraised the cold rock. She needed a way up. Briefly closing her eyes, she breathed in Teann, channeling it through the stone, and opened her eyes. Tracing the mountain with her gaze, she perceived shallow hand—and footholds. “That’s the best you can do?” A chill traveled her spine. She pictured Arien falling to his knees before a Rugian blade, reached for the first handhold and pulled herself up.

  Ilythra stretched, her fingertips brushing the next handhold. Small rocks tumbled down the mountain as her toes sought for purchase on the smooth rock. The click click of rock against rock was the only sound, save the wail of the wind. Behind her, the sun began to sink beneath the horizon, casting the mountain in shades of purple and gray. If she didn’t get down before full dark... She didn’t want to finish the thought.

  She stared at the gap, black against the gray rock. A single flower grew from the end of the crack. She took a deep breath and pulled herself up.

  A spear bounced against the rock below her. The Rugians had spotted her. They’d have no idea what she was doing but she’d bet their orders were that no one was to escape.

  She stopped to rest on a narrow ledge. Her arms and legs shook with exertion. Below here, the Rugians had multiplied further. They’d pushed the Dawn Children warriors almost to where the Isolden refugees huddled.

  Did Bredych read her so easily? He knew she’d come to help free Garmach. She had walked right into an ambush. Not only had she put the Dawn Children warriors at risk, she’d put Ilydearta at risk. Had she fallen under a Rugian blade, they’d have won the stone in fair combat. No. Bredych would have won the stone in fair combat. She’d almost handed it to him on a platter. Again.

  Anger and guilt sent new strength through her arms and she turned back to the mountain to make her way ever closer to the widening crack.

  Another spear hit the mountain, this one close enough to send dust into her eyes. She coughed. The spear stuck deep in the rock about an arm’s reach away. She couldn’t risk glancing down. Her hold was too precarious. She only hoped there wasn’t a Rugian spearman with a better aim or a stronger arm.

  Finally she came just below and to a side of the crack. Slowly, maintaining her balance, she removed one of the sticks and wedged it in, followed by the other two. Then she realized her predicament. After she lit them on fire, she had very little time to get away before they exploded. How was she going to get down in time?

  Ilythra took a deep breath. She’d let Teann figure that out when the time came. It rarely prepared her for things in advance. With care, she struck the flint and held it to the fire stick. The small flower wilted. For some reason, Ilythra mourned the death of such a brave plant. The wick caught and began burning.

  Ilythra turned. The spear stuck out of the rock below her but between her and the narrow shelf. And there it is. A way. Teann didn’t make things easy, just possible. She whispered a prayer and dove.

  The weightless feeling of flight lasted only a moment before her hands grasped the wooden spear. Her weight sent shock waves through the wood and she felt it creak. She used her momentum to send her toward the shelf, but the spear came loose. Her boots touched the small shelf and slipped off. She reached blindly for stone.

  Her fingertips caught on the edge of the rock. She breathed in great gulps of air. It didn’t seem to be enough to feed her lungs. She glanced up. In the dimming light, the glow of the fire stick’s wick could clearly be seen against the gray rock.

  She glanced down. It was still way too far to jump. She pulled herself hand over hand to the other side of the shelf until her feet found purchase. She breathed through Teann, but no other handhold appeared. Desperate, she searched the mountain face until she found a small protruding rock and another. Relief cooled the sweat on her skin. With more speed than caution, she made her way down the rock face.

  An explosion sounded above her. The mountain shuddered beneath her fingers. The first was immediately followed by a second. She glanced down. The nearest house was still several body lengths below her.

  The mountain lurched once almost as though it was trying to escape. First one hand, then the other came loose. A muffled roar sounded in her ears, and then she was falling into nothing.

  * * *

  Searing pain arched across Arien’s shoulders. He dropped to the ground. Forcing his muscles to obey, he spun on the ball of one foot and extended the other, knocking a Rugian off his feet and into his companion. An Elderborn blade found the first Rugian. Sweat stung as it ran down his face. Had Ilythra made it to Rian? If so, why hadn’t she rejoined the battle? His limbs ached as he tore down another Rugian, only to blink and see another in its place. His brethren fared no better. If something didn’t happen soon, they would be lost. Panic threatened. Maybe he should have sent Ilythra back to Siann with the pendant. He grimaced. Not that she’d listen to him.

  A movement above the stables caught his eye and relief surged through him. Rian. Some instinct made him spare a glance at the mountain above them. His heart stuttered. It wasn’t Rian up there, but Ilythra. As he watched, she jumped into the air, caught herself on something, slipped and fell. His breath hitched as she grasped a ledge he couldn’t see and made her way hand over hand across the rock. She kept glancing to her left. He followed the direction of her gaze but couldn’t see what she was looking at. Suddenly a shock wave of air flung him back, but not before he saw Ilythra slip and fall.

  Arien struggled for a breath. Somebody moaned. He turned to his side and saw a Rugian lying next to him, his eyes dazed but alive. He finished the roll as he buried his knife in the warrior’s chest and stood. Around him, dust filled the air like a dense mist. The stables were a tumble of rocks and timbers. The sounds of leather against rock and moaning
increased. Arien stared toward the rubble for a heartbeat. Ilythra. But he couldn’t search yet. They weren’t safe until every Rugian was dead. He offered a prayer to the One and made himself turn. Pain lanced his body but he filled his lungs with air and released it as the cry of the Great White Eagle. He felt, rather than saw, his men respond to his family’s ancient battle cry and surge around him.

  Guttural sounds of Rugian could be heard through the twilight. The noise seemed to bounce off the dense misting of stone. The music of steel sang in the darkness. Arien pushed through his fear and exhaustion. She’d done it. She’d closed the tunnels. They had a chance. The One forbid, if she’d sacrificed herself to save them, he wouldn’t let it be in vain. Emotion welled behind his chest, a pressure that made breathing difficult. He channeled it into anger and attacked the nearest Rugian, still stumbling to his feet, with more energy than he believed he possessed.

  He fought for the Isolden survivors, his brother’s descendants. He fought for the future of his people, and he fought for Ilythra.

  Chapter Seven

  The sudden stillness sent a chill over Arien’s flesh. The Rugians had been unsettled by the loss of their advantage. It hadn’t taken long to overcome the last of them. Torches flared to life in the near darkness. Their light reflected off the dust lingering in the air, providing a mystical feel. With bittersweet longing, Arien remembered back to a time when magic had tinged the air. A time before men had peopled these shores. A time when the old ones lived in peace deep in the woods. When the Airydh glens tinkled with the sound of laughter and the trees grew into the deep blue with no fear of the axe. Then the air had shimmered with life, with magic, and Teann had been felt on the breeze. Now it was but a shadow, dwelling faintly on the wind, a taste when there had once been a feast. When his ancestor had created the stones, Arien thought perhaps he had done so to tie Teann to this place, to Anatar, so that when others fled, Teann would stay.

  It was the humans with their lives that burned like a hot flame, quick and with passion, who had consumed the magic. At first his people had shrugged it off. By the time they’d become alarmed, it was too late to do anything about it. His deepest fear was that the Dawn Children simply didn’t belong in this new world, that they couldn’t survive alongside men.

  Arien stepped around a fallen Easterner, his furs stained black in the low light. He didn’t mourn the Rugian deaths, but neither did he celebrate them.

  Ilythra. He blinked and looked around in an attempt to orient himself. The air stank of blood, and the buzz of flies already filled his ears. His body ached, his head pounded and his soul hurt deep within him. No matter what they did, the Elderborn would lose. The way of life they had loved was gone as surely as the sun had sunk beneath the horizon. Sorrow that he had never known, even when he’d had word of his brother’s death, even when his mother had been murdered, pulled him toward the earth.

  He took a staggering step forward.

  “Arien.”

  He turned to see Cavin approach. He waved him away. “I am fine.”

  “I would beg to differ. You’re bleeding.”

  “I’m breathing.” He brought his hand sharply down in a diagonal motion across his body. It should be enough to quell any protest from his friend.

  “For how long?”

  Apparently he was wrong. He closed his eyes briefly. Didn’t Cavin know that if Arien stopped now, he might not get back up? He might just crumble into the dust with generations of his people. Arien pointed to the rubble. “Ilythra did that. She’s in there somewhere.”

  Cavin’s eyes widened. Arien turned from his friend and staggered closer to the stables. With every step, strength returned to his body. It wasn’t much. But enough.

  Behind him, Cavin called for more torches to be lit.

  Arien moved to the rubble. A mound of rocks leaned against the mountain—some as large as his horse, others the size of his fist. He squinted. Here and there a beam broke through the rubble. The remains of the stables. An occasional arm or leg could be seen between the rocks. Rugians caught in the avalanche. He wondered how many more lay buried beneath the tunnels under the wreckage.

  His gaze traveled up the mountain. The pale stone gleamed slightly in the moonlight. The soft light revealed the fresh, new rock. The mountain had become a monument worthy of kings. How could he find Ilythra, and if he did, would she be alive? Could she be alive? A wry smile touched his face. If anyone could have survived such a fall, it would be his friend.

  A movement behind him, and the shadows stretched as additional light touched the rock. The air flickered with the subtle warmth of more lanterns.

  “She fell,” he said without turning. “She placed the fire sticks but when they exploded, she fell.”

  Without a word, Cavin stepped forward and removed a stone the size of his head. “We will find her.”

  Arien nodded, acknowledging the words and what was not said. If they found her dead, they would take her body back to Siann with them. Determination surged through Arien. She wasn’t dead. Somehow he’d know if she were.

  * * *

  Arien stared in stunned disbelief. He blinked, but the flickering light of the torches and lamps didn’t alter the form below. He stood still for what seemed like a long time but what must have only been a moment because no one commented on it.

  “Here,” he called, surprised by the calm strength in his own voice. Exhaustion weighed his limbs. His eyes longed to close, to seek oblivion. He’d stopped only long enough to bind his wounds before he’d attacked the mountain in search for Ilythra. The tips of his fingers bled and he no longer noticed the aches and pains of his body. He had numbed everything for one purpose: move rocks.

  “The One be praised,” Cavin whispered reverently next to him.

  Arien nodded, but he thought the comment slightly premature. Below them, on a bed of hay, sprawled Ilythra. The building had collapsed in the shape of a triangle, creating a small cavern. Arien almost smiled. She must have used the stone as she was falling. At times, it seemed everyone, even his father, underestimated the human. She was more tenacious, clung more fiercely to life, than anyone he’d ever met.

  She’d managed to find a soft landing, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d fallen from a height and now lay there, still and unmoving.

  With care not to dislodge any stones and collapse the cavern, he dropped to the straw near her. The impact with the ground jarred his wounds. He closed his eyes against the pain and blinked until his vision returned. Slowly he became aware Cavin was saying something.

  “Arien, do you need more light?”

  “Yes.” His voice sounded hollow inside his head. Arien opened and closed his mouth a few times to clear his ears as he accepted the lantern from his friend.

  The light revealed the sturdy wooden beams that had once been drilled deep into the mountain had simply fallen down to touch the ground. It had formed a lean-to of sorts. He looked up. Even most of the wooden shingles were intact. He must have come through the hole Ilythra had made when she’d fallen. Behind his eyes, he could again see her falling from the mountain. He shuddered.

  “Do you need a torch?” Cavin asked.

  “No. Too much straw. We’d go up in flames.” The lanterns didn’t provide as much light but were far safer. He brought the light closer to his friend. The golden glow flickered against her skin, giving the impression of movement, but Ilythra lay still. He moved to her and gently touched her neck. Her heart beat under his fingers, and Arien collapsed on the straw next to her. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. Tears blurred his vision and he didn’t bother wiping them away. Despite his assurances to himself, he’d been very afraid. Afraid he’d have to bring Ilydearta to his father.

  A wry smile touched his mouth. Ironic that the very thing he’d once craved would fill him with horror
now. He cleared the hay away until he found dirt and nestled the lantern in place with two stones. With care, he examined Ilythra. A large bump had formed on the back of her head. She had various cuts and scrapes on her arms. Her fingers were as raw as his, but hers were already caked with blood as her body healed itself.

  Gingerly, he placed his hands on her face, closed his eyes and pushed with his power. Her head wound was why she hadn’t woken up yet. She wasn’t far inside herself, but her body had induced the long sleep to repair itself. The body was incredibly complex, the mind more so than everything else. Arien had learned to tread carefully. He couldn’t find anything else wrong with her and his power was weak and growing weaker. He sent a pulse of healing energy into her system and opened his eyes.

  She was staring at him as though she didn’t know him.

  * * *

  Ilythra opened her eyes and found Bredych examining her from across the Crist board. She reached for her sword, only to find the scabbard empty.

  He smiled.

  She didn’t need a sword to kill him.

  “Really, Ilythra?” Bredych raised one eyebrow.

  Confusion slowed her thoughts. She couldn’t kill Bredych. She took a shuddering breath. But she had been in a battle. A dream. I’m dream casting. But... The last thing she remembered was the small spark on the fire stick and then... The memories crashed in. She shuddered. And then she was flying. What had happened? Her gaze wandered around the room, taking in the large fireplace and the table. Everything was as she remembered. Light from dozens of candles danced with darkness, casting surreal shapes along the walls and giving life to forms upon the tapestries. Her perusal rested on Bredych.

  “It’s your move,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “I’m curious to see how you’ll manage to get yourself out of this one. Your queen’s in danger.”

  The terrible music of battle sounded in her ears. Men screamed as they died, the thud of bodies, the clash of swords. Bredych had planned a massacre. He’d known she couldn’t leave Isolden to its own defenses. He’d known she’d come running. She’d been played. She glanced at the board.