Shiver the Moon

by Phillip M Locey

  “It was a gift from the Prince of Dawn’s Edge, actually. Mine was lost when I was captured by the Chelpians.” She placed two more broken branches on the fire and sat on the blanket beside Jaiden. “The only thing I recovered was a trunk of clothing. Amurel took me to see the Prince shortly after rescuing me – playing for him was the reason I left Begnasharan in the first place. I had intended to stay and study music in the capital, but first I must find my sister.”

  “Do you know if she’s still alive?” Jaiden realized it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left his mouth.

  “Of course she is!” Saffron turned her back to him and lay down, but surprisingly slid closer, until her back pressed against his left arm. He was unsure how to respond.

  “It’s cold, and it’s only getting colder,” she said, reading his mind. “The blanket beneath us is the only one we have.”

  Neither talked for some time and Jaiden was unwilling to move, afraid that in doing so he might lose contact with the woman beside him. He felt Saffron’s back curve and press into him ever-so-slightly with every breath, and he timed his own breathing to match hers. Finally, tired but unable to fall asleep, he ventured to speak again.

  “I can see my father’s favorite stars.” He took two breaths, trying unsuccessfully to determine if Saffron was still awake before continuing. “They make up the Swordsman, there, in the northeastern sky.” He pointed with his right arm, but Saffron failed to move. “He really loved to fight, I think, but he always said it was up to each of us to find the things worth fighting for. I practiced every day, hoping for the chance to make him proud. And now, he’s gone.”

  A twig snapped in the dying fire and a distant wind rustled the branches of far-off trees. “You can still make him proud,” Jaiden thought he heard Saffron whisper, but when he turned his head she gave no indication she was awake. Perhaps he imagined her words? Either way, the chilled air and throbbing of his leg kept him up for what seemed like hours.

  When Jaiden opened his eyes he was lying on a soft mattress. Draped in green satin, the bed was raised an arm’s length above a floor of ghostly vapor. Stars still filled the night sky above him, but he felt neither cold nor pain. Propping on his elbows, he saw he was naked and his leg in perfect condition, as if never bitten. He lay back down and closed his eyes, realizing where he was, wanting to savor every blissful moment.

  “Have you made your decision?”

  Jaiden sat up with a start at Criesha’s warm voice beside him. Out of nowhere she’d appeared on the bed, looking immaculate in her forest-green gown. With her presence came the distinctive surge of vitality that put all his senses on alert. He looked into her eyes, realizing for the first time the deepness of their blue, almost black, irises. How had he not noticed before?

  “You still have not pledged yourself to the Order, and are not walking the path of my Champion. Have you forsaken me?” The moonstones and silver in her hair caught the starlight and distracted Jaiden, interrupting the coherency of his thoughts. He dared not look lower yet, sure the view below Criesha’s regal neck would unwind him completely.

  “I, I have chosen to join the Rising Moon. Sir Golddrake has planned for the ceremony, I just haven’t had time to study yet,” he tried to recover. “There are a lot of rules, if you ask me.”

  “Easy to live by, once you embrace them. The key to overcoming these challenges, Jaiden, is to give up what you think you want for yourself, and imagine what others might need.” Criesha pushed closer. “Believe me, once you start acting selflessly you will find it not only makes you happier, but you will tend to end up with everything you wanted in the first place.”

  She placed a soft hand on his solid, muscular thigh, the same spot mutilated in the waking world. Her luminescent skin cast a green hue upon his tanned flesh, and Jaiden watched her fingers glide toward his hip. Criesha’s touch alone sent a surge of pleasing energy through his body. Within a breath his arousal showed, the anticipation exhilarating him. He watched her hand, willing it to move across his lap and take hold of him, though not daring to suggest such a thing.

  Instead, Criesha continued to slide it up to his muscular chest, coming to rest over his heart. “You have been wounded physically, Jaiden, and I cannot know what that must be like, but I want you to believe I can make it better. Not only can I heal your hurts, I can share things beyond your current understanding. But you must prove yourself ready, and soon. Gholdur is a dreadful adversary, and be assured he is bestowing ever-greater gifts upon his chosen Champion. I need a representative as well, but it must be one who is worthy. Prove yourself to me.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to, my lady. You must believe that.”

  Criesha withdrew her hand, the loss excruciating. “Then do it. The time for talking is past, Jaiden. Your actions will speak for you.” She stood and withdrew two steps before turning back. “I hope they please me.”

  “Might I stay here a while longer?” He searched those bottomless blue eyes for pity.

  “I will make you dream until sunrise,” she said, before stealing silently across the floor of clouds.

  “Thank you,” he replied, falling back into a pleasant repose.

  Jaiden awoke to Saffron stirring in her sleep, nuzzling closer for warmth. He was on his back with his arm around her. Her head rested in the hollow between his chest and shoulder, her arm flung across his torso. Her legs had entwined his uninjured one, which was buried in the folds of her skirt.

  The grey of morning greeted him, while the cold of a long night had sunken into his bones. At least it numbed his leg, though not immediately feeling its throbbing worried him, too. He didn’t rush to get up, letting Saffron sleep and inhaling the aroma of her plentiful, sable hair. Her woolen mantle was spread across their midsections, doing a poor job of covering their frigid extremities. Without it, though, they would have been even worse off.

  Looking down, he suddenly realized something was left behind from his dream-world encounter with Criesha, besides a newfound sense of dedication – a clear rise in the fleece garment around his lap. With his left arm tucked around Saffron, only his right was available.

  Moving slowly, careful not to disturb Saffron, he slid his hand underneath the mantle in an attempt to adjust himself. It was no use; he was stuck, pressed too firmly against the fabric of his trousers. It was going to take either both hands or removing his pants entirely. Jaiden struggled to think of things that would kill his arousal, but with Saffron’s body on top of his, the heat of her loins radiating directly onto his leg, it was no use.

  His failed attempts to dislodge himself ultimately woke her, and she inhaled deeply as she lifted her head from his shoulder, disoriented.

  “Oh,” she said when she saw Jaiden’s face only inches from hers. “Oh!” she repeated as she looked down to find Jaiden’s hand manipulating his erection. She pushed off of him quickly and was standing an instant later.

  Seeing her reaction, he looked down and realized what it looked like. “No, no, I was just stuck,” he said. Sitting up, he quickly used both hands to maneuver into a less-obtrusive position.

  Saffron raised both palms and turned to the skeleton of the previous night’s fire. “I don’t want to know.”

  Jaiden sighed. “Can you hand me my crutch? I need to go relieve myself.”

  “I said I don’t want to know.” Nevertheless, she grabbed Jaiden’s crutch from the pile of supplies removed from the horses and handed it to him. “I’m going to restart the fire for a quick breakfast, but we should be on our way soon. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

  The last pair of days were the toughest Sir Amurel Golddrake had seen as a knight errant. Their battle on the road from Greyhorne was an eruption of utter chaos. Though a fair number of enemy cavalry had been slain, many managed to retreat in both directions. Amurel struggled to keep his knights from pursuing those who fled, for there was no time to explain that the bulk of the Kingpriest’s army lay ahead to the east.

&nb
sp; There had been no time to fully regroup either, as Palomar, aloft, spotted the squadron of trailing infantry closing in from the west. With the maintained trail cut off in both directions, the supply wagons had to be abandoned. Quickly weighing down men and horses with everything they could carry, Amerul had no choice but to forsake the dead and grievously wounded as well.

  Criesha forgive him if he’d left other survivors behind. Palomar volunteered to stay back until the last possible moment to help as he could, but the sun had risen twice since then, and he’d seen no sign of the Aasimar, either.

  The less-travelled paths over and around the foothills of the Wyvernwatch Mountains were narrow and slow to navigate. In order to increase their speed and chance at survival should the enemy pursue, he’d ordered what was left of their numbers to split up, giving Sir Kilborn command over the second group. After two days of leading without him, he realized what a blessing his old friend was.

  Without intelligence on the exact positions of Ebon Khorel’s armies, he couldn’t risk heading directly for the castle at Windhollow, which would have been the easiest route. The only practical decision, given the uncertain circumstances, was for the Order of the Rising Moon to regroup at a place he’d anointed the ‘Caves of Criesha.’ An easily defensible location, the expansive cavern had only a single approach, and held a cache of supplies now essential with the wagons gone. In need, they could hold out in the Caves for some time, and though they risked being cornered, an enemy would be unlikely to chance remaining exposed on the steep approach for long.

  Amurel prayed to Criesha that any of his men who became separated would remember the way. He chided himself for allowing Saffron to go after Jaiden, when he was likely already lost. His belief in the lad may have cost him double, for it would be a dire toll to continue without both.

  Baron Rogan remained safe, thankfully, and his experience in organizing rebellions proved useful in keeping the men on task and their morale from collapsing. Amurel’s brooding over his own burdens shouldn’t be allowed to undermine the motivation of his troops.

  At last, his group was nearing their destination. The entrance to the caves appeared as a black shadow on the hillside from afar, where it stayed shielded from the sun until the evening hours. On the eastern face of the cliff, it could be reached only after ascending a winding series of switchbacks, though the trail was wide enough for two horses to comfortably walk abreast.

  Bastion was none too happy with the rocky terrain, picking his way carefully to avoid turning an ankle or worse. Amurel’s truth was that, even with the undetermined number of other casualties, his horse was the one he could least afford to lose. Weariness made continual attempts to claim him, but he was too eager to reach the hidden sanctuary to give in.

  With praise and the promise of a well-earned rest, he urged his horse up the last two switchbacks, where the stone had been cut by ancient hands into a line of smooth, broad stairs. Bastion whinnied in response, recognizing these steps signaled the end of the long, climbing road. Upon reaching the top, Amurel looked back at the train of soldiers following up the path. Only smatterings of horses mixed with the scores of men on foot. He hoped more of the cavalry had survived and would catch up.

  Everyone from crossbowman to cook must be fatigued, but he knew much needed doing before rest was earned. There were beds and fires to be made, saddlebags and packs to unload, and neglected wounds to be tended. Amurel would check the roster himself to account for every man present and missing. He wanted to know the exact state of the Order.

  After a brief respite, he would have to send out scouts to gather reliable information on the whereabouts of their foe, and send a new emissary to the castle at Windhollow Rock as well. First, however, he was going to give Bastion a break from the saddle and groom him.

  Understanding the beasts would be uncomfortable too deep into the caves, he claimed a shallow corner where the slanted sunlight still carried the reminder of open air to serve as the temporary stables. After dismounting and untacking his horse, Amurel took a brush from his saddlebags and worked in long, thorough strokes to remove the dust from Bastion’s coat. He whispered promises of water and nourishment soon to come, though he’d have to rely on someone else to move the water barrels closer.

  “There you are, Sir.” Rogan’s horse clopped forward to join him, its hooves striking echoes against the stone of the cavern floor. The former baron swung down and stretched his legs, sore from too long in the saddle. “Would you like me to finish up for you while you see to your men?”

  Amurel saw Rogan watching for a reaction out of the corner of his eye, as the southerner unburdened his own steed. “No, thank you. I enjoy the work.” His eyes kept to the lines of his animal. “It’s an opportunity to keep our bond strong.” Amurel patted Bastion on the neck, and his horse whinnied and dipped his neck.

  “What about your bond with them?” Rogan tilted his head toward the soldiers still filing into the caves.

  “You think I don’t spend enough time with my men?”

  “I think leading men is trickier than befriending them.”

  Amurel chuckled wryly and shook his head. “Baron, you do speak your mind.” He brushed a few more strokes, then handed his brush to Rogan. “Are you implying my time grooming Bastion would be better spent giving orders to my worn-out soldiers? They’ve had a rough time and need to rest, not be pushed harder.”

  Rogan accepted the brush and went to work on his own mount. “Sir Golddrake, I would never presume to tell you how to handle your own Order, for I do not share all your convictions – though I believe our goals are the same.” He sighed and averted his eyes.

  “I was imprisoned with all manner of criminals for three years, and the similarities between them and typical soldiers might surprise you.”

  “Now you’re comparing the Order of the Rising Moon to a band of thieves and murderers?” Amurel’s voice rose enough that some of the men unloading supplies nearby stopped and took notice.

  Rogan smiled at them, continued cleaning his horse’s brown coat, and made sure to speak softly. “Of course not. What I am trying to say is that I had the opportunity to spend a lot of time observing men in situations where their spirits might be crushed at any moment.

  “I know we were surprised on the road, and you did a noble job protecting the lives of your men, but after the way we left – the confusion, the haste, splitting up – uncertainty lies in the hearts of these men.”

  Rogan stepped closer to Amurel and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Show them you are certain. You are resolute. They need that more than they need rest.” He paused for a moment before adding “in my opinion,” then resumed grooming his horse.

  Amurel was considering the Baron’s words when Sir Kilborn hailed him.

  “You’re always a step ahead, it seems,” the knight said as he crested the last of the steps into the Caves of Criesha.

  “Your age is slowing you down, old man.” Amurel smiled. “I trust you found your way safely through the hills?”

  “Aye, no sign of pursuit.” Sir Kilborn eyed Rogan deliberately for a moment, but continued, “We lost a pair to their injuries along the way, and some time with it. We tried what we could to save them, but had no experienced surgeons around – messy business.”

  Amurel probed the inside of his cheek with his tongue and nodded as Sir Kilborn dismounted. “I don’t suppose you found any sign of Lady Saffron or Jaiden?”

  “None.” Sir Kilborn withdrew a pair of hard biscuits from his saddlebags and handed one to Amurel before biting into the other. Rogan remained silent and continued grooming his horse. “I don’t see how they could’ve made it past the Chelpians, even if she found him. She’s a clever girl, I know, but I don’t see the benefit of waiting around for her, either. She’s not even one of us. And neither was he, yet, unless I missed the vows.”

  Amurel broke his biscuit in two and offered half to Rogan, who declined. “No, there had not yet been time for an initiation ceremony, but
we care for the freedom of all, Geldrick. And I hold myself responsible for their safety.”

  “Well,” Sir Kilborn posited between swallows, “all of our safety is in jeopardy until we find out more about the enemy’s location. We don’t want to be caught unaware here, or wander into a hornet’s nest on the ride out.”

  “Agreed,” Amurel replied. “We’ll take the night at least to rest, and get a better sense of our losses. In the morning, I’ll find scouts fit for deployment.”

  “I’ll leave you two to talk,” Rogan said, handing the brush back to Amurel. “I’m sure I can find something useful to do. Maybe I’ll find a good spot outside to set a small signal fire for Palomar, something he could spot from the air; I wouldn’t want him to miss us once it gets dark.”

  Amurel caught Rogan by the shoulder as he passed. “I’m sure he will show up soon. He’s too remarkable to let himself get captured.”

  “Thank you. You are right, of course,” Rogan added. Think about what I said earlier, Sir Golddrake.”

  Rogan took his leave to get the lay of the land and stretch his legs after uninterrupted hours of riding. The hilltop hideaway intrigued him. Though the rock walls and shadowy depths were reminiscent of the bowels of Blackthorn, where he’d spent years in hard labor, there were stark differences. The air was cool and circulated from the north end of the windblown peaks to the south – the prison had been oppressively warm and stagnant. Quartz and other crystals lay embedded in the cave’s uneven surfaces, and the slanting radiance of the sun played off them to give the impression of a living space.

  As Rogan circled the perimeter, he was surprised how far the cavern bit into the hillside. He borrowed a torch from some of the men opening barrels of foodstuffs preserved in the cool depths. The ceiling barely rose beyond arm’s reach after descending further than fifteen paces, but there was room for three hundred men or more to bed down, if they kept close. The open maw of the cave led to smaller cracks and tunnels beyond the main chamber, and Rogan wondered if the Order had explored them all, or if unexpected encounters might still await an intrepid soul. He held no desire to find out.