Chapter XLII
Rivercrossing
13th of Mid Summer, 376, 5th Era – River Felding, Border between Hargirm and Steshour
Morning broke out across the landscape, a teal dawn with a nearly cloudless sky. Dus`ridyian laid in the south, and its outer edge was lit brilliantly by the sun. Bæl`diis hung in the north, just barely visible above the forest line, and Orøs was already nearing its peak in the sky. The pillar-like mountains were painted in the sunlight as it poured over the forest, and waking birds could be seen coming out of their trees, flying about the awing heights of the mountains.
Near to the foot of a cascading waterfall that came between two of the mountains, Faeyl woke slowly. Suddenly she shot up. She distinctly remembered falling asleep against Ta`vik’s side, but he was nowhere in sight now, and she had a neck cramp from sleeping in an odd position on the ground. She tried not to look around too quickly for fear of hurting her neck, but she managed to dart her head around looking for anyone at all. She saw a gathering of Ibex and Wolverines a hundred or so yards away, being addressed by an Ibex that she didn’t recognize. Then there were two mustelids drinking their fill at the edge of the river, and an Ibex joining them. She heard animal noises in the forest nearby.
So they all went to work without waking me first, She smiled at the pleasant feeling of drowsiness in her eyes, and the warmth of the morning. Soon it would be steaming, but not at that moment. Now she could enjoy the scenery without being reminded of the sweaty clothes clinging to her. She observed the odd mountains that were so majestic in the dawn, and she wished absently that she could transform into one of those birds who glided and soared around the sheer cliff-faces.
Untying the top laces of her armor, she took Innocence out of her carrier and fed her fully before standing to get on with the day. First, she had to boil some water to drink, and then dig out of her food reserves to have a bit of a meal. She would have cooked some meat from one of Fælwiix’s daily catches, but he was nowhere to be seen, and the only meat in sight was the pile of Kak`sikgul carcasses, which had been cached before the battle to relieve the Wolverines of any unnecessary burden. They still smelled like ice, rather than rotting corpses, and Faeyl wondered if they were made of snow, or something other than flesh.
A loud splash, noticeable above the roar of the waterfalls, made her look to an antheran who had jumped into the shallows of the river. He struggled with a fish and threw it triumphantly onto the shore where it flopped about for a moment before falling still. The Wolverine quickly added five more large prizes onto the shore with the first. He then jumped on shore and giddily swallowed each catch whole—bones and all.
Maybe I should try fishing—no, I would just waste time and get nowhere. She often had to tamp down random impulses, and she usually found a better use for her time, such as talking to Innocence. She did just that, and checked the baby for parasites, making Innocence laugh as she was tickled.
Abruptly, she felt a presence behind her, and she turned to find a Wolverine staring over her shoulder, watching Innocence with interest, like an inquisitive cat. When she got up swiftly and backed away from him, Innocence held close, he looked offended and went away with a trot.
By The Mountain, this is a strange world I live in.
Just as the thought escaped her mind and made it to her tongue, yet another presence loomed up behind her, and it cast a fearsome, jagged shadow on the ground.
A hiss sounded in her ear, making her scream. “AGHHH!” She stumbled forward and spun on her heel. “Wha–? Eybexus!?”
The goat just grinned mischievously at her. “I’m good at it, don’t you think? I scared the skin off you.”
“Why would you do that!?” Faeyl demanded, “I could have fallen over and hurt Innocence—don’t do that again, or I’ll-I’ll–”
“Bash my head in with a rock? Tear my guts out with your fingernails? I’m sure you would.” He looked a little sheepish as he lowered his voice. “I apologize; I’ll just jump out at you when your baby isn’t nearby.”
Faeyl’s mouth gaped. “You’re not sorry at all!”
“Generals don’t have the luxury to feel sorry.” At first it sounded like an attempt at a joke, but his voice was oddly solemn. “After so many mistakes, so many lives lost because of your wrong decisions, you either steel yourself to regret, or quit being a General. I mourn every loss, but I don’t regret them, and I don’t apologize for them.”
Faeyl thought it sounded cruel, and it reminded her of the arguments she used to have with Fælwiix, in an attempt to soften him. “Where’s Fælwiix?”
“You sure do jump around don’t you? Like some sort of sparrow.” Eybexus sometimes noised his thoughts, whether they were relevant or not. “The Commander is probably killing himself trying to bring Tav`ik under rein. The second-in-command seems to have gotten all sorts of ideas in his head, and he and Iakiwir have been implementing them.”
“What kind of things?”
“For one, they want to teach the entire army how to speak Caldkarien, which will never be successful; tell me if I’m ever proved wrong on that point. They also told me and Fælwiix—right to our faces—that the battle last night was a complete failure, and they have decided that we need to work on strategy. At least they’re honest, and spunky enough to stroke our fur the wrong way when they have to.”
“How many died last night?” Faeyl asked as she shifted Innocence into the crook of her arm.
“Body count, um, let’s see . . . fifty-four. But we killed three times that in Srinaj, and we had to contend with a super-demon of unknown origin.”
“What happened to the Avakil?”
“They fell dead at the sight of me. Or their psychic was killed. A lot of strange things happened last night that don’t add up.”
“How many do you think you would have lost if the Avakil hadn’t died?” At that, Eybexus remained stubbornly silent. “Maybe you should think on improving,” Faeyl mused in a low voice, as if to herself, but just loud enough for him to easily overhear.
The Ibex broke out, “Oh fuck it! I suppose that my genius plan didn’t take everything into account, but that super-demon really did jump out of The Deeps at us. But otherwise, it was perfect. Flawless. Divine.” He paused to think on what he had just said. “All right, that was a little ridiculous. Follow me.” He walked off into the brightly-lit forest, away from the river and the falls.
With only a little hesitation, Faeyl grabbed her pack and Innocence’s carrier, then followed the armored goat. She didn’t ask questions for once, and the Ibex didn’t explain himself, which was quite usual of him.
Birds chirped, whistled or shrieked at them, and many of the avians were colorfully plumed. Little streams bubbled along circuitous paths; the wind played with the evergreen trees and undergrowth.
Eybexus led her to a large grassy clearing, where the dead had been lain, still in their armor and surrounded by dry wood. It smelled like blood and dung, but Faeyl stifled any reaction she might have normally made. These were the Wolverines and Ibex who had left the comfort and safety of their homes willingly to protect their kin, and the world. And they had died for it. It made her sad and angry at once; she started to hate the Srinaj, now that the fear had worn off a little.
Wolverines and Ibex gave their final farewell to a dead brother or friend. Several Wolverines were finishing a wide trench around the whole gathering of dead bodies, and Ta`vik was overseeing it all. When the trench-diggers had finished and clustered outside the ditch, and the other Wolverines and Ibex left sadly, Ta`vik came to the center of the gathering where a pile of kindling stood.
“May they find peace in the end, and in the next beginning.” He stated it loud enough for all to hear, and his voice was oddly touched with emotion. He produced two Emberstones from under his armor and pawed at them awkwardly before they burst into fire. After overseeing that the kindling incinerated properly, he trotted out of the gathering to watch from the safety behind the trench. Faeyl’s Emberstones really got around.
“Eybexus . . .” Faeyl trailed off. “How many were wounded?”
He gave her a flat look that spoke words. “Over a hundred. They will heal or they will die. But I think they are all the toughest shits alive, so they should come back more vicious than before. Those Srinaj were worthless fuckers . . .” He waited for a moment to observe the new smell of burning flesh that was gaining strength in the breeze. “Let’s go; I have to meet with Fælwiix.”
They went along a mossy path lined with fallen trees and fungi, stepping carefully around dead branches and scurrying rodents. Along the way, a group of rams and a few antherans collided with their path and joined them. Iakiwir was at the head of the segment, and he fell in beside Faeyl, so she was pinned in between him and Eybexus. That was when she realized just how small she was in comparison to them. Including the extra height of their horns, she was half as tall as them. It was a wonder that they could get through the forest without having to overturn the trees.
Eybexus smiled wryly. “Well, here comes my eager right-hand ram; what new plans do you have to implement? My own creativity seems to have run dry, so I must be getting old. I suppose–”
“You are old,” Iakiwir stated with complete calmness. Eybexus just gave him a forlorn glare. “But, your creativity is not gone; it just needs to be honed. That’s why you chose to have a second-in-command. You don’t need me to relay your orders or to lead a segment of the army, you have me to point out your flaws and to give input when you need it most.”
“Now you just sound dizzy in the head,” Eybexus muttered as they trudged through the forest. “But you’re right. I’m glad you were clever enough to realize that.” In truth, Eybexus hadn’t thought of it himself, so he just covered up the fault by acting as if he had known the whole while.
There was silence for a moment, until Faeyl thought up a question. “When will we start going east again?”
The ancient ram made an indescribable noise. “That’s just what we need to discuss with Fælwiix. If you would listen to me—which you should—I believe that the poison in Fælwiix’s wound was only a temporary inconvenience, and that he has overcome it.”
At the mention of the poison, Faeyl became anxious. Whatever the ‘wise’ old goat said, she wouldn’t be satisfied until the Gelsingean Monks themselves confirmed that Fælwiix was healed.
Eventually, they came to the edge of the canyon where the battle had been held the night before, and they looked down on the burnt bottom of the gorge, stained in blood, flesh and the black remains of the Srinaj. The demons decomposed quickly, and they were already just lumps of darkness half sunken into the ground. A burnt aroma flew up at the living from the bottom of the canyon.
Eybexus gave himself a satisfied nod. “Emberstones,” he said, making a mental record.
Abruptly, they found Fælwiix beside them, with several Wolverine scouts in tow. “Eybexus,” he addressed, then gave Faeyl an acknowledging grin, which disappeared an instant later.
“It’s time to discuss our next move,” the General said bluntly.
Fælwiix responded just as coarsely. “We need to continue east. But before that, we need to cross the river.”
“Right. Just what I was going to say. We can go inform the armies then.”
The antheran nodded, and the whole group went east together, along the tumbled forest floor, beneath towering mountains. When they made it back to the waterfall, they found the armies waiting patiently, wandering around or napping in the sun. Except for the two leaders, Iakiwir and Faeyl, the group dispersed, leaving the companions alone. The four came to the edge of the river, where the shallows played ten feet below them on bright sand.
Fælwiix studied the rushing water, which extended three-hundred feet to the other shore. “Now, how to get across?”
“Simple,” Eybexus broke in, “we just need to swim over to the other side. No difficulty there. How could you not think of that?”
“NO!” Fælwiix burst out abruptly. A memory seemed to flash in his eyes. A painful memory. “It can carry any of us away, and it will break your bones if it doesn’t send you flying down a . . . a waterfall.”
“What stumbling moron gave you that idea?”
“Experience did, you bastard.”
Faeyl flinched slightly. “Fælwiix . . . ” she said in a reproachful voice.
“I don’t want to hear it,” the Commander snapped, and gave her a quickly placed glare. Fælwiix was having one of his conniptions.
Eybexus smiled. So he’s feeling prickly today, is he? “All right, no need to make all of your friends into enemies. We’ll settle this by getting our best swimmers and having them test the currents out there.” He said it as he gestured towards the river with his horns.
“If you want to risk the life of your own warrior for something pointless, that’s your choice. I’ll have my own do something that proves more promising.” Fælwiix turned and left his companions, shouting orders to some nearby Wolverines. A couple of the giant weasels went trotting off both north and south, hugging the edge of the river and disappearing into the forest in either direction. The Wolverines going north had the problem of climbing the cliffs flanking the waterfall.
Eybexus stamped a hoof, looked to the sky and exhaled loudly. He waited on his swimming test, though.
It was two hours later when the Wolverine scouts returned. Ten miles along the river in either direction, and no sign of a crossing or a passable area.
After being informed of it, Fælwiix went storming up to Eybexus, who had been sitting under the shade of some trees, idly listening to Faeyl chatter. He had lost his usual inclination to talk, as he was impatient. Faeyl went silent as the Wolverine came between them and faced the ancient ram.
“Eybexus,” the Commander addressed, “I need you to find your best climber. Not your best swimmer: I just had one of my own warriors test the waters. He flailed his way back before he was even a quarter through. I know that Ibex are less skillful at swimming than we Wolverines are. Now, go find your best climber,” he demanded as if the General were a simpleminded grunt.
“And why should I cooperate with you?” Eybexus questioned with absolutely no fervor in his voice, the heat having sapped him of all energy. He had his sarcastic edge, at least.
Fælwiix actually gave a small grin. “Because I think you’ll like this. I have an idea that only your genius stupidity could rival.”
Eybexus’ ears shot up at this. “You sound like . . . oh fuck it, I’ll just get Aarøj.” He stood and went trotting off, armor jangling as he went bellowing and shouting for his friend. Fælwiix and Faeyl just stood watching as the old goat wandered up and down the stagnant army stationed along the river, yelling, twisting his head every which way. Eventually, he came to an Ibex who had laid down next to the river to stare out across the glittering water. They exchanged a few words, and then Eybexus sent himself running, shouting for a Haløw, continuing the spectacle.
Finally, the General returned, with a lean, young ram trailing him. The warrior had horns half the length of his leader’s, so he was still growing, an adolescent among Ibex.
Eybexus was a little moody. “Apparently, my good friend gained a small wound on his ankle, and it prevents him from climbing to his best ability. He pointed Haløw out to me, and claimed that this little scamp is a better climber than himself.” He turned on the ram and gave a threatening grin. “It’s time to test that.”
He helped unpin the straps of Haløw’s armor and blade-array with his teeth, until all of the Arium came off, making the young Ibex as light as he could be.
Fælwiix shifted his stance, almost nervously. “Now, how good is Haløw’s sight?”
“Good enough to climb,” the goat in question answered back in Caldkarien. “I can see far, but only clearly up close.”
If Fælwiix was surprised by the Ibex’s fluency in tongues, he didn’t show it, and he turned to Faeyl slowly. She had been quiet the whole time, cradling Innocence in her arms and watching the whole affair play out. But now all of the attention was on her, and even Eybexus and Haløw were staring at her.
“What?” she asked, clueless.
Fælwiix cleared his voice. “How good is your sight?” he asked.
“I can see pretty well. You don’t . . . ?”
The Wolverine nodded slowly, not taking his yellow eyes off her. “It’s your choice. But if Haløw can get to the top of one of those mountains, and he brings you, it will be the best vantage point to see from. You could spot a river crossing from there, and we would know which direction to take.”
Faeyl remained silent for a moment, heart racing. She then spoke up, saying everything deliberately and clearly. “I can do it, but only if you watch over Innocence while I’m away, and promise not to leave her even for a second. And if I think the path is too dangerous, I’ll turn back.”
Fælwiix gave an understanding gesture, and Eybexus muttered something about being either brave or stupid. Haløw made no utterance, but he gave her a calculating gaze.
The Wolverine’s whiskers twitched. “All right, but before you go at all, I want to test your vision. It might not be any better than Haløw’s,” he said, possibly hoping that the ram would beat the woman in a contest of sight, making it unnecessary for her to go up the mountain.
“Perfect,” Eybexus exclaimed. “Now,” he said towards Faeyl, “how many horns am I holding up?”
The question was so obviously absurd that Fælwiix didn’t even address its stupidity. “I want both you and Haløw to look up at those two mountains over there,” he said tiredly, referring to the duel pillars flanking the cascades.
Haløw went first. “I can see the stones, the trees, I think some hanging vines. Not much more than that. The rest is indistinct.”
Faeyl took her turn at it. “There’s some Giant Ginkgoes up on that one—I always wanted to see one of those. I can see some birds flying up there. Oh, there’s a bunch of nests lining that part of the mountain, how adorable. And a little monkey that looks like a cat. Or is it a cat?”
Fælwiix gave Eybexus a meaningful look. “I think we have our answer.”
They all went together to the base of the waterfalls, and under the shade of the cliff-side that flanked it, Haløw began stretching and preparing to climb.
“So . . . how good exactly are you at climbing?” Faeyl ventured to ask.
“I’m considered above normal in ability, among the Ibex.” Which meant, he was as flawless a mountain climber as any mammal on the planet could be.
Once he noised his readiness, Faeyl fed Innocence for the third time that day and then nestled her baby in the carrier. She gave her daughter to Fælwiix’s care, then took a length of rope out of her pack before setting the bag in his sight as well. Running the rope through her belt, she tied it in a loop around Haløw’s neck.
“Can you take my whole weight on your neck, if you have to?” she asked softly. She was getting nervous and shaky.
“Easily,” Haløw answered with complete confidence, though it was possibly just the arrogance that every young ram had.
Eybexus came up to them at that moment. “Now, don’t get ahead of yourselves, both of you, er, young . . . morons.” He said the last word as if it had come from a sudden inspiration.
Fælwiix looked from Innocence who was in between his front paws to Faeyl. “Turn back just before you would think to, that way you won’t go too far forward to turn back. Haløw, she holds command for this journey. Do as she says, so long as it doesn’t endanger either of you.”
The young goat gave a nod of recognition, then knelt down. Faeyl awkwardly climbed onto his back and sat just behind his withers, like a horse. Only, she had never rode on a horse as large as any of the Ibex, and the caprines had a different way of moving. She leaned forward and held desperately onto his neck.
“Whatever you do,” Haløw said as he trotted to the base of the cliff, “never hang onto my horns. Never. I need them for balance, and you may very well get tossed off if you hold onto them. Got it?”
“Y-yes,” Faeyl answered, the bouncing gait of the Ibex messing with her voice and her spine.
He came to the cliff’s bottom, their first obstacle. The pillar-mountain hugging their side of the falls was the ultimate goal, but the base of that was at the top of the cascading waterfalls. The falls was several hundred feet high, and the quickest way to get to the top was to climb the tumbled, rocky cliff that it fell from. Trees, moss and vines made a forest that blanketed the bluffs, and it wasn’t so sheer as one of the mountains, so Faeyl was quite comfortable at first. She did have to duck and avoid overhanging branches, just to keep her face preserved. When her long, wavy hair caught in a tree and tugged at her painfully, she decided to tie it tightly into a horse-tail with some string in her pocket. The long tail of coal-black hair swung an inch away from her head, but it didn’t entrap itself in trees anymore.
Faeyl concentrated on her body. She managed to get comfortable enough with Haløw to sit upright, and she only clung to his neck when he began a series of jumps. His immense bones and firm muscles worked underneath her, and it felt strange, like riding a horse without a saddle. He felt nothing like Fælwiix or Ta`vik, and she had ridden on them bareback as well. She got used to swaying her hips with his every step.
Another burst of leaps and bounds from Haløw tore Faeyl out of her reverie. Her butt was going to hurt, however well padded it was. Forgetting about her body for a while, she thought to the absolute adventure of riding an Ibex as he climbed a mountain, and the absolute terror that accompanied it. She would have to be very cautious; one sign of danger and she would demand to turn back. She couldn’t risk her own life as long as Innocence was dependent upon her, which would be for about a decade and a half, if it was for her to decide.
Suddenly, she realized that Haløw had stopped. They were already at the top of the cliff, and near the base of their intended mountain. He went slowly around the massive structure, searching out a prime spot to begin climbing. It was likely a thousand feet around, and it practically shot straight out of the ground, a mile into the sky. The forest clustered around it and clumps of trees grew out of its sheer walls, wherever there was a root-hold, of which there were many. Its sides were grooved, pitted, layered and eroded, so loose boulders and stones came threateningly close to dislodging and crushing whatever was a mile beneath them. One in particular Faeyl didn’t like, because Haløw dwelt under it a moment too long.
The Ibex brought her around the foot of the mountain and to the side where it made contact with the river, and the falls. There, he found his trail.
“You can get off of me for the moment, if you like,” Haløw said, sitting down, “the path seems safe and sure enough for you to walk part of the way, at least.”
Faeyl doubted that, but dismounted for her bottom’s sake. She had plenty of slack on her belt-leash, so she could walk behind the goat with some distance to spare.
Haløw led her along the edge of the river, the wall of the mountain on one side, and the roaring waters just a few feet below them on the other. Mist and spray licked at their ankles, while some managed to coat and cool Faeyl’s face. Fish leapt in and out of the rushing currents, unaware of their eventual fate to tumble down the waterfalls. Maybe they survived such descents.
A huge, colorful bird swept out of a crevasse in the mountain side, flying just over Faeyl and Haløw, singing beautifully as it went across the river. Faeyl glanced up at the two mountains flanking the river, seeing the way the sunlight poured in aureate rays through the overhanging foliage and stone.
Staying near to the wall of the mountain, Haløw followed a trail that led upwards in a spiral. It seemed almost artificially made, but he could see that it was simply part of the mountain.
He snickered to himself. Every peak has a trail to the top, but if you can’t see it, than you’re probably not an Ibex.
They took the meandering way slowly upwards and around, Haløw taking a lower or higher path at times to give the easier way to Faeyl. It seemed a good and consistent path, until they met the first obstacle. To continue on the trail, Faeyl would have to climb twenty feet up a sheer cliff. She swallowed hard several times as she looked at the tall rampart.
“I can take you up there,” Haløw said from beside her.
“How exactly?”
He rolled his neck for a moment. “Well, first I would have to skim that ledge over there, and then mount those little hoof-holds just above. I could follow that crevice up to that point, but then I would have to jump to that lower outcrop before I could ascend again. Then I think it would be best to–”
“All right I get it!” Faeyl exclaimed, feeling dizzy. Could the Ibex really do all of that? He was ten times her weight and size, and she couldn’t even hold onto one of those supposed ‘hoof-holds.’ She would find it difficult just to imagine jumping from one to another.
Haløw seemed to sense her thoughts. “If you are uncomfortable, we can turn back.”
“No,” she said, despite all her instincts, including those shifting queasily in her gut. “If you can take me up there, then I’ll keep going.” She tightened the slack on her safety rope and climbed onto the Ibex’s back. As he started up, she held so tightly to his neck that she thought she might choke him. He was unaffected and went on to climbing. She didn’t know whether she wanted to close her eyes shut or keep them open to see when Doom would fall. The indecision led to an awkward kind of blinking that had Faeyl seeing the world move in bursts and skips. She wanted to scream, but ground her teeth instead. Right onto her tongue.
The world bounced and reeled around for a second longer, and then she felt a resounding bump that stated the ride was finished. She kept her eyes open and looked to the side. A three-hundred foot fall stared up at her. She lurched so quickly to the other side that she tumbled in a panicked heap off of Haløw, onto the ground.
Faeyl laid face-down on the dirt for a moment, groaning because she had hurt her breasts in her landing. After a moment, she went to breathing deeply, spread out in the sunlight, which just went to make her drowsy. Haløw looked down at her as if he were uncertain of her sanity.
“All right,” she said breathlessly into the ground, “let’s continue.”
Shakily, she regained her feet and loosened the rope attaching her to Haløw. They climbed for an hour in amongst clumps of trees that made tiny forests and were full of life, but hung onto the slightest edge of the mountain. Clambering up a hill of treacherous stones, Faeyl found herself faced with a terrible and beautiful sight. A dead end. It hovered like a balcony over a great drop, to the waterfalls below. Across the river from her was the other pillar-mountain, and it had an outcrop that reached out to her.
There must have been a bridge here, once. But it’s broken now, and the gap in between is thirty or more feet. A single tree grew at the edge of her outcrop, making a micro-climate in the bowl of its clinging roots. She came close to it, going to her knees to crawl to the edge, and looked in the shady trough. Stagnant water rippled in it, and minuscule fish darted about under the surface. How they got there, she had no clue.
Backing up and then standing, she gave the chasm between the two mountains a forlorn look.
“Untie me,” Haløw said abruptly, gaining the wanted reaction quickly. He went to climbing up their mountain, looking for the continuation of their path, and he quickly disappeared up and around the sheer, forested pillar. Faeyl was left alone with a useless rope in her hands. Wrapping it around her forearm, she went to the edge of the outcrop again, but dropped to her stomach and inched over the side. She peeked over the drop and saw the waterfall roaring five-hundred feet below her. If she fell, she would land at the peak of the falls and then tumble down the watery heights to where Fælwiix and Eybexus were likely waiting.
A quick way to get down, she thought, but felt little humor at that moment, looking down at such a deadly fall.
Haløw was at her side again, unperturbed by death’s edge. “There’s no way up on this mountain except for an Ibex. I wouldn’t want to carry you up.” He looked south, to the stretch of land that rolled out before them, mountains sprinkling the thickening forest to the horizon, like trees of stone. “What can you see from this height?”
Faeyl looked both north and south, to where the river went, but found that a rise in the land kept her from seeing very far in either direction. There was nothing to indicate a crossing before the sight-blocks.
She sighed. “We have to go up. Can you jump to the other side?”
“That is too dangerous. It would be better for the armies to move in a direction until they find a crossing.”
“But what if they pick the wrong direction, and waste days when they could take hours? Fælwiix needs to get to Gelsing as fast as possible, whatever he says about being fine. He’s poisoned, and I don’t know how long it will take for him to die from it.” She couldn’t keep her voice firm at the end. She would endanger herself except for outright suicide to save Fælwiix. But, she would commit outright suicide to save Innocence. Which left her in yet another bout of indecision. By jumping the chasm to get to the other mountain, she was risking death, but if Haløw could make it, than it wasn’t true suicide. In the end, she let a game of chance decide for her. She counted the mountains in the south, those that were easy to see. If there was an equal number of them she would . . .
Twenty seven. Damn it.
Haløw just watched her the whole time. “Are you ready?” He was waiting to descend and report a failure.
“Yes,” Faeyl said in a whisper. “Can you jump across to the other mountain?”
He cocked his head in a questioning stance. What was she thinking? “Let me try,” he said and backed to the base of the outcrop. Limbering his body anew, he settled his hooves and then charged forward. He leapt from the precipice when his front hooves were an inch from slipping off the edge. Gracefully, he bounded through the air in an arc, and then crash-landed onto the opposite outcrop. Faeyl gasped as he rolled over and bumped into the wall of the pillar-mountain.
His head popped up, and he bounced to his hooves. “That could stand to improve,” he said, and prepared to come back. He paused, though. “Let me scout the path ahead and see how far it safely goes,” he shouted out to Faeyl across the gap.
“All right,” she consented, and watched as he went up a thin trail that hugged the side of the columnar mountain. He went out of sight again, but later became visible to her on the other side of the mountain, if at a greater height than before. It took over an hour for him to return, and when he did, he leapt over the chasm without hesitation.
“There is a fair path that leads to the top. If I can get you across the gap, you will get the sight you wanted.”
Faeyl just shivered, though she was coated in sweat. She gave the chasm a long look. “Let’s go then.” Creator, just don’t let me die. Mountain, please don’t forget your Blessing for Innocence. She hoped Mount Caldkere had a good memory.
She tied her rope around Haløw’s neck again, and then took her seat on his back. That time, she buried her face in the fur of his neck. When he sprinted to the edge of the fall, she restrained her scream to a whimper. When his leap faltered and his arc fell sharply, she finally let loose.
Eybexus, at the base of the falls, saw the duo leap from one outcrop to the next, hovering for a moment in midair. He shook his head as Haløw’s jump lost its promising strength. The goat scrambled through the air in a panic and . . . they landed in a heap on the other mountain, and went to sorting themselves out.
He turned to his companion. “Are you beginning to regret sending the girl up there?” Eybexus asked Fælwiix, who was occupied in keeping Innocence entertained with his furry paws.
“What? Why?” Obviously, the Wolverine hadn’t seen what had just happened.
“Oh, nothing. What kind of ceremony do you think Faeyl would like for her funereal?”
Moaning, Faeyl sat up slowly, her waist feeling wrenched. The rope that tied me to Haløw . . . The goat was in an awkward pile, and his snout was smeared in blood.
“Ughhh . . .” he noised. “That could definitely stand to improve.” He spat out some blood, and a tooth came out with it.
“By The Mountain, are you all right?” Faeyl asked as she came over to him.
He stared absently at his tooth on the ground. “I have a headache, like my horns were tugged out of my skull. Otherwise I’m fine. You can go on ahead without me; I need a moment.”
Faeyl nodded and untied the rope joining them. He had just bashed his face into the ground, so she understood that he would want a minute to allow the pain to fade. She herself had some bruises to add to the one on her waist, where a Srinaj had attempted to take a chunk out of her.
No, I don’t want to think about them.
She stood with faint balance, and made her way up the narrow trail. She was afraid to journey alone up the mountain, and she wondered anxiously if there were any wild animals who would try to attack her. The knife sheathed at her hip comforted her, but only for a moment. If there is a predator up here, I probably won’t notice it until it’s too late. She sped her pace, scrambling over some loose boulders and tripping through a small copse of leaning trees. Faeyl slowed herself when she nearly tripped off the mountainside. That was a more frightening experience than imagining a creature jumping out at her.
She forgot her fear when she found herself in the obscuring mists of a cloud. Everything darkened and became shrouded around her so much that she paused in her ascent until the cloud drifted past. It felt unreal to be level with the puffy cumuli. The mist coated her in cool droplets.
It took her two hours, (about four times as long as Haløw) but she finally reached the peak of the mountain, limbs feeling numb and heavy. She wiped her face of sweat, and was grateful that her hair was tied up, where it wouldn’t plaster itself to her temples.
This is the best exercise I’ve had since . . . since walking around The Forge. She felt satisfaction at having accomplished such a feat of climbing. Her reward for it was the sight from the top of the pillar-mountain, which was more grand than any she had seen.
Over a mile below was the expanse of the thick forest, which was draped over swaths of hills and bluffs, and crossed with rivers or small streams. Mountains extended to the horizon, sprouting from the ground and touching the clouds at various heights, and normal, sloping mountains made a hazy outline hundreds of miles to the east. Looking northwards, Faeyl traced her sight along the river that was causing Fælwiix such trouble. The forest grew over the banks and leaned inwards on the river, but the water source was too wide to be fully blocked. So far as she could see, the northern route of the river remained broad and impassable, with no structures trekking across it.
Climbing through some dense forest to go to the southern side of the mountaintop, Faeyl stumbled over herself when she saw what lay at the center of the peak, in a bright glade. Birds chimed all around her, but her attention was for the rodent-sized Dragon curled up in sleep on a heap of rocks.
Is it–? A baby Dragon?
The slender and graceful creature lifted her scaly head and opened her glimmering eyes. Standing swiftly on four legs, she spread her two wings which tripled her size. Each wing was patterned like a moth’s, with false eyes and alarming colors. She hissed at Faeyl, but didn’t move away from her pile of stones, which hid her clutch of bird-sized eggs.
Faeyl gasped when she saw the hidden treasure. “You’re full grown? And a mother?” She received a snarl for answer, but that was to be expected. Even if the queen by chance had learned the Ferirgrisi tongue, Faeyl didn’t speak it.
Crouching to seem less threatening, she made soft noises at the Dragon. The little beast just hunched over her eggs and growled slowly. Faeyl backed away slowly and skirted around the glade. The Dragon must have smelled her departure, because she soon collapsed on top of her eggs again and fell into sleep.
Faeyl laughed in wonder to herself. She hadn’t known that Dragons lived in places like that. She realized that they must live everywhere, if some were as small as rabbits.
She came out of the woods and looked to the southern reaches of the River Felding. She was too excited at her discovery of a Dragon to look closely at the watercourse, so she gave it a quick glance. I still can’t believe I just saw my first Dragon. I’ll have to go back and—what is that?
Many miles away, far enough so that she could begin to question the honesty of her vision, was a faint structure going across the river. It looked like a brownish smear to her, but after looking twice, she confirmed that it was real. Hope welled up in her, as if there had been a chance that no crossing existed, but the risk had been beaten. I haven’t finished saving Fælwiix yet. I hope that bridge helps speed things along.
She switched moods, nearly forgetting the Dragon in her haste to inform Fælwiix. Peeking shortly in on the creature, she saw the mother was still sleeping and left the queen alone. She instead went down the mountainside. I need to get back to my own baby. Oh no. She’s probably hungry again, and crying to make Fælwiix suffer for it.
Just at the beginning of her journey downwards, she was grateful to meet Haløw, who was on his way up. The fur of his snout was still bloodied, and he complained about a toothache, but he carried her down just fine—at least, until they came back to the broken stone bridge.
He shivered at the sight of the large gap. “Faeyl, I hope your ready,” was all he said, and then he charged forward. She didn’t even have time to check the rope securing her to him before he leapt off.
The momentary flight was beautiful, and she looked below herself for the first time while on his back and at a great height. The rushing waters of the river and waterfall glistered in the high noon sun, and a flock of colorful birds flew across one way beneath them, while a small Dragon flew the other way a little further down. The tops of the trees that clung to the steep banks of the river swayed majestically in the breeze, seen just below Haløw’s outstretched limbs, and the–
“AGHHH!” Faeyl realized that she hadn’t been holding onto Haløw’s neck like she should, and as the Ibex landed gracefully on the intended outcrop, she tumbled off his back and onto the ground. She groaned pitifully once she could grasp air in her lungs again. Her back stung and the inside of her skull rang.
Haløw came into view as he looked down at her. “Do you need a rest?”
She thought to nod, but stopped herself. “No, I-I have to get off this mountain. I’ll be all right.” Her encouraging smile turned to a grimace. I know I agreed to do this, but I’ll wring Fælwiix for the trouble of it. I won’t be climbing any mountains for a while—not even for him!—and he better not fuss when I ask for a favor.
Throwing herself onto Haløw’s back again, she held onto his neck as tightly as she could and waited to be delivered to a safe elevation.
Fælwiix was in a worn state when Faeyl finally came back. Innocence had been crying incessantly for the past two hours and whatever he had done to stop her seemed only to increase her upset. He had tried rocking her carrier, humming—even growling—but only after her mother took her up did she stop wailing. He squinted suspiciously at the baby who was suddenly all giggles and joy incarnate.
The Commander stood to stretch his limbs. “How did the climb go? You didn’t take any risks, did you?”
Faeyl was seemingly distracted in cradling Innocence against herself. “Oh no, it went perfectly,” she lied. For all of her internal vows to wring the Wolverine, she realized that if he knew what chance she had taken, he would likely wring her.
Eybexus stood nearby, but he didn’t spare a glance for either of them. Instead, he looked to Haløw and motioned for the young ram to accompany him to the river.
When they came to the water’s edge, the old goat began. “Looks like you had a run-in with a boulder,” he commented, seeing his companion’s bloodied snout.
“An unlucky landing,” Haløw explained.
“Yes,” the General agreed. “And one that shouldn’t have happened with the girl on your back.”
“My hoof slipped just as I jumped–” It wasn’t an excuse, just another explanation.
“You shouldn’t have taken her over the gap at all, however good you are at jumping and climbing. It was a risk that you were commanded not to take. What was it Fælwiix said? ‘Do as Faeyl says, so long as it doesn’t endanger either of you.’ Yeah, that was it. So far as I understand, that jump endangered both of you. That means you disobeyed Fælwiix, and consequentially, me. Whatever he says to you or anyone in this army is as good as an order from me.”
Haløw remained silent. Maybe he was beginning to see his folly.
“Now,” Eybexus continued deliberately, “I know that mouth of yours probably stings, doesn’t it? But if Fælwiix were to know of what you did, I’m sure he would give you worse than that. Since I would like to keep you alive, if at all possible—seeing as you’re apt to suicide—I’ll make sure the Commander is kept ignorant of what you did.”
The young moron nodded. He wasn’t quite the honorable type to take the punishment that Fælwiix would surely inflict. That meant he had wisdom beyond his years.
“But you won’t get away with just this lecture to remember. You owe someone an apology, even if it was because of her tongue that you disobeyed your superiors. And I don’t mean one of those damned ‘I’m sorry, please forgive me’ apologies. You won’t speak a word about it; you’ll act as if the jump you took together was the most perfect thing in the world. Instead, you will guard her with your life and Soul, until she is as safe as the day she was born and put into her mother’s arms. Then you can leave her. It will be up to you to decide when she is secured, and I expect sound judgment from you. Or you’ll wish for Fælwiix’s merciful death, when I’m through with you.”
“Yes, General,” Haløw consented, sounding as unaffected as a true soldier should be. He turned to leave.
“And Haløw,” Eybexus addressed, “this conversation never happened. Faeyl nor anybody else is to know that you were commanded to guard her. All part of your apology, you understand.”
“Of course, General.” He walked off to go find Faeyl.
Eybexus beamed to himself for a moment. Someday, if he lives long enough, he will realize that his disobedience was the best mistake of his life.
Abruptly, a presence made itself known by his side, and Aarøj spoke first. “How did Haløw do?” It had been him who suggested the young ram for the mission, so the validity of his advice was at stake.
Eybexus gave his friend a glance and a nod. “Oh, he did well enough,” The best mistake of his life! “I couldn’t have chosen a better climber myself.”
After informing Fælwiix of a crossing to the south, Faeyl washed herself in the shallows of the river, redressed, and then curled up on her fur blanket with Innocence for a nap. Ta`vik came to wake her a half-hour later by nudging her flank with a paw. She remembered a time when that would have frightened her.
The army was ready to move; the Wolverines had donned their Kak`sikgul cloaks (there were not many left) and the Ibex had fed as much as they wanted on the grassy shrubs of the verdant land. They went south at Fælwiix’s command, Faeyl only having minutes to pack her things before groggily sitting on Ta`vik’s saddle.
Winding in a thin column along the river and through the forest, the army moved at a sauntering pace through the thick undergrowth. The bank to their side grew steeper below them as they went steadily uphill, until the drop could be labeled a canyon—a great overgrown canyon with copses of trees clinging to the walls at every level and swarms of birds and insects flying in all directions. Huge fish leapt out of the roaring water below, and Faeyl saw an otter slip down into the river from a muddy ledge.
By evenfall, just before the light started to redden, the canyon was over a mile deep, but only one-hundred feet across. The forest was thick on both sides, and now unbroken. Faeyl listened to the crickets and other insects singing hypnotically all around them, the noise drowning out the grumbling of Ibex and the scraping of steel armor. Cicadas were most obvious, along with a few Screechbugs which had a distinct sound from the former.
They were guided by rays of golden sunlight. Each beam of illumination had clouds of midges fluttering in it.
Looking to the forest on the opposite cliff-side, Faeyl studied the trees and how their foliage swayed in a cool breeze. Finally, she wasn’t covered in perspiration. But now she was hungry, and tired from such an eventful day. She had one more event to go through yet.
Shouts in the Wolverine tongue ran through the army from head to tail. Ta`vik told her a moment later that they were reporting the discovery of a crossing just up ahead. Only a few minutes after the scouts discovered it, Faeyl saw what her vision had revealed forty miles back: A curving bridge with railings and a shingled roof at its peak, made completely out of reddish-brown wood (except for the shingles which were made of red clay.) All of the railing posts were ornately carved, and two carved stone pillars stood sentinel at the sides of the entrance to the crossing. A road led to the bridge from the west, but it was obviously overgrown and rarely used.
None of the Wolverines or Ibex had crossed yet. Fælwiix and Eybexus in particular were staring at a decrepit wooden sign leaning against a stone pillar. Faeyl came out of the saddle and walked closer to the sign. It was written in charcoal, and in Caldkarien.
Rivercrossing
A bridge built by no one and used by the greatly distressed,
I may hinder you or bring you west to east, east to west.
Faeyl thought that would be it, but the writing miraculously rearranged itself to say something new. The charcoal dust simply glided across the wood, sweeping out a new phrase.
If you have little reason to cross, and this you can heed,
Streambridge, my cousin in the north will deliver you mice,
Woe to those who try to use me without a dire need . . .
And Creator’s mercy on those who dare to cross me twice.
Eybexus shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that we’re casual travelers . . . but if I’m wrong, then the entire army will regret it.”
“It’s just idle threats,” Fælwiix commented.
Faeyl gaped. “You two could read that?”
The General squinted from insult. “I think I can read my own kind’s hoof-marks. How did you read it?” Ibex sometimes wrote records on stone walls with muddy hooves, and various hoof-print patterns made up their written form.
“It was written in Caldkarien. At least, that’s how I saw it,” Faeyl explained.
Ta`vik broke in, having read the sign himself, which in his eyes had been written with Wolverine claw-runes. “It seems to be Enchanted; it must have presented itself to each of us in our own languages so that we could all understand it.”
Fælwiix nodded in agreement, but he was just trying to hide the fact that he could hardly read his native Wolverine claw-runes. “I say that we cross it—there’s no knowing how far it is to the next crossing.”
Eybexus gave a dangerous nod, his enormous, steel-lined horns swinging up and down. Somehow he managed every time to come within inches of someone’s flesh, but he never touched them so far as the blade-array was concerned.
The Commander looked to the army. “Let’s go already,”
As the army went across the grand bridge, Faeyl stayed at the center of Rivercrossing the whole while, looking down at the river far below. Innocence was held firmly in her carrier.
She saw another one of those tiny Dragons pass under the bridge and go on his way along the river, as if it were a highroad. She observed as he dived into the water and pulled out a fish for a meal. Dragons must love this area, I’m seeing them everywhere all of a sudden.
She was so distracted that she didn’t notice Haløw standing guard over her from a small distance, or Eybexus who came up to the young ram.
“So Faeyl’s sight and your climbing skills assured us this crossing,” the General commented to Haløw as the army flowed past them. “Without that jump we may have gone north and lost valuable time, but that still doesn’t excuse you. Keep a firm sight on her; I have a feeling she likes to get herself into all sorts of messes.”
Haløw nodded, completely unperturbed by the burden he still had to carry. While his superior moved on to the other side of Rivercrossing, he came up to Faeyl and stared out across the river as she did.
Now she noticed the goat, and the Arium armor that coated him. “Oh, it’s nice to see you again Haløw,” she greeted, even if it had only been hours since they had last interacted. “How is your nose and mouth?”
“They’ll pull through. I can’t regrow the tooth, unfortunately,” he explained. “The army is about over the bridge; do you want me to bring you to the head of the column again?”
“If I can just find a way to sit on top of you, I would be grateful for the ride.” As it happened to be, Faeyl did find a place on the metal plating to sit upon, and Haløw trotted her over the bridge, to the head of the army. They found Fælwiix and Ta`vik there, along with Eybexus and Aarøj. Iakiwir was at the back of the army, and he was the only one missing of all the commanders.
Faeyl thanked Haløw and dropped from his back; his armor wasn’t a very comfortable seat, and the leaders of the army were going at an easy pace, so she walked between Fælwiix and Aarøj. The latter she didn’t know by name, and the goat was quiet, only giving her a friendly nod. All of them were talking over and around her, discussing plans, difficulties and other random things. Fælwiix had a lot of questions for Eybexus, concerning Mithonstorng and the ram’s battle there. The Ibex didn’t seem to like to talk about his failure, but he answered without hesitation.
“Mithonstorng is actually a city, did you know that?” the General remarked. “No one knows what kind of city it was originally, but it surely doesn’t belong in a swamp. It was made of sandstone, which has grayed over the ages. But forget about the city; the residents are what matters. Quix made a clever decision long ago to remain hidden, and his immortality made that easy. Now most people don’t know his name and would look at you weirdly if you went asking for it. Not that he was ever well known—he has always been a danger lurking in the dark, waiting for his chance to bite. I don’t know when or if he will ever fully unleash his power, I just know that he has to go. Him and his armies need to die. They’re rabid dogs, really, just causing useless destruction with no objective in mind,”—He was fatally wrong on that point—“but there are a lot of rabid dogs against us few. If we can devise a suitable strategy, though, I think we can take most of them out. With my luck—I mean skill—on our side, we will take Mithonstorng with flying banners.” He paused. “Damn, I should have had Hroww make us banners; it would have been far more dramatic with them than without. I really should have thought of that.”
Fælwiix blinked. “All I asked you about was the size and shape of Mithonstorng,” he accused the goat’s tireless tongue.
“Oh yeah. Well, um, it was a well-built city, and obviously meant for defense . . .”
When they stopped for the night in the middle of the forest, Faeyl set her furs out and fell asleep to the giant animals’ inhuman, comforting voices. Fireflies lit up the night as flickering lanterns would, adding their illumination to the glowing Nightbulb flowers and Sprite’s Candles, which were spread throughout the forest.
Her dreams were full of golden-eyed people and eagles. A nightmare that she wouldn’t remember upon waking was of going over Rivercrossing for the second time, and suffering its wrath.
Chapter XLIII
A Weak Heart
14th of Mid Summer, 376, 5th Era – Pillar-Mountains, Southeastern Hargirm
It was a bright day out in the hilly plains of northern Hargirm, near the large town which was pouring out fleeing inhabitants from the northern end, and charging Helkrasic cavalry from the southern. It was a bright day for bloodshed.
The Hargirmian troops tried to push to their own town with polearms and short-swords, bows and arrows, but their infantry was overwhelmed with the Helkrasic cavalry, and forced to retreat southward. Mithourn was at the head of the Hawk pennant’s charge, wheeling his warhorse around men with billhooks and halberds, wielding his pike like a scythe, splitting throats and faces, revealing the disturbingly crimson flesh underneath. He had no intelligible thought as he fought through the crowd of jagged steel and screaming men. He was vaguely aware of cavalrymen following after him in a wedge, keeping him alive as much as he was. An arrow’s fletching brushed past his cheek, the shaft burying itself into one of his fellow soldiers, who fell limply out of the saddle.
There was no time to worry about dying friends; death reached out to him, jagged steel on the way to his heart and flesh. Scraggly bunches of arrows flew through the sky, narrowly missing him or skimming an arm or leg. He didn’t feel his small, burning wounds; fear and instinct led him now. Neither did he notice the land suddenly darken in an alien shadow. No one else did, either, not until it was too far gone. It wasn’t as if the sun had been blocked; everything had just gone dim, as if light didn’t mean as much as it once had.
As the mindless, raging storm of blades and blood went on, echoing with the roar of the dying and killing, the land fell under further darkness, an unnatural stain. Even the sounds became hollow and meaningless before the approach of Doom.
In the very center of the battle, where Hargirmians met Helkrasic, a shadow exploded out from nothing, coating hundreds in smoky darkness. A sonic boom flattened many men and horses to the ground, while a demonic screech quivered through the air, shaking reality with pure power. Out of the writhing darkness a mountainous shape formed, beating its four black wings, knocking the armies about with its monstrous strokes. Soul Skulker reared his jagged head, flaming eyes flaring with the life that hid within him.
All went to chaos around Mithourn as he struggled with his horse, looking up with a shivering Soul at the Kuldaki. The dark fog had dissipated because of the demon’s beating wings, and now he just hovered over the scattering battlefield, looking at the men like they were scrambling ants. Insects which would feed him that day.
The demon opened his mouth. Black flames burst out.
“Mithourn, wake up,” Leyfian’s voice pleaded in the dark.
He opened his eyes slowly, vision taking a moment to regenerate from the blackness of sleep. It was difficult to wake up at first, a terrifying struggle to escape the nightmare. His eyes were open, but his body was paralyzed for a moment, and he felt something trying to claw him back into the dream, trying to push his mind into sleep. Mithourn gasped suddenly with breath and sat up, shaking the feeling.
It was still dark outside, beneath the broadleaf trees they had camped under for the night. It was foggy out, and only the predawn light gave anything to see by; the semi-tropical trees above them, the clearing where the others were sleeping, the horses, Leyfian’s empty hammock. The woman herself was by his side where he slept on the ground, on her knees with her hand gripping his cuirass, the hold she had taken to throttle him awake. She looked haggard and fragile in the dimness.
Mithourn sat up slowly, watching her emerald eyes as they followed his movements. “What are you doing?” he asked in a low tone. “I might have struck out at you in my sleep; I’ve thrashed around before. I broke a man’s nose, once.”
She ignored the comment and gazed worriedly at him. “You were muttering in your sleep, calling for help, so I came,” Sitting back on her heels and putting her hands on her knees, she regarded him sleepily as a cool breeze pushed past her raven hair.
Throwing off his blankets, he put a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Leyfian. But next time, please just poke me with a stick, if you have to wake me.”
She giggled at that, leaning forward to share a kiss with him. It was something she liked to enjoy more often with him, as the days progressed. He had to admit that he enjoyed the delicate touch of her lips as well, but he just didn’t understand what had made her want to kiss the first time. Had it been something that he said?
After having a few seconds to savor the contact, Leyfian went to sit carefully on the edge of her hammock, and Mithourn stood to wake up the others. All Marram needed was a prod in the ribs with a boot, and he came awake without a noise of complaint, getting to moving around instantly. He rummaged though a satchel on the plow-horse’s saddle, to find and prepare the ingredients for Leyfian’s heart, which she claimed helped a good deal. Gelvir woke up a second before Mithourn had to prod him, but Kanni was another problem. The High Captain knelt down to shake the snoring Highmage awake. When he did, she snorted loudly, smacked her lips and rolled over to face him. Before she even opened her eyes, she clasped her hands behind his neck and raised herself up, presumably to kiss him. He gave her a sudden shake, which made her open her eyes. She let go of him and fell back onto her bedroll, laughing uncontrollably, holding her stomach as she rolled onto her side.
“I had a dream that I was back home—I thought you were Ålund for a second! The look on your face was priceless!” Eventually her pealing laughter faded away, and she laid on her side, contentedly staring at the ground in front of her, fingering the fur of her blanket.
“It’s time to get moving,” Mithourn stated and moved on, leaving her where she was. He shook his head for disbelief; she needed her husband badly, if she was mistaking him for Ålund upon waking.
The camp was disassembled quickly and put on the road again, a road which had turned to a dirt path several days back. The early morning shone only a dull light because the sky became stormy and started a blanketing pour on the hilly forest. That close to Oshyigar, the Pillar-Mountains were small and scantly sprinkled across the landscape. Further north they would have been more impressive, if the maps told any truth. He had started to doubt that when he saw that no two could agree on the location of one place, or the existence of a specific road.
Through the rain they went, Leyfian wearing her hat, holding her cloak around her to keep most of the rain off. Mithourn had no such luxury; his task to stay alert, navigate the plow-horse and keep Leyfian comfortable in the saddle, a responsibility that gave no room for cloaks or hats. Like the kissing, he relished to hold her close for long periods, like holding a bundle of warmth on a cold night. They weren’t so obvious as two lovers in the saddle, but the silent exchange of energy was enough for them at the moment. They were trying to keep their matters private from the rest of the group, as they were unsure of what exactly was happening themselves.
Mithourn remembered that it hadn’t been all that long since he had felt trapped by Leyfian and her family, by the bonds Mawing had strapped to him. The adventure and danger must have gotten into him, easing him into his role. He didn’t grind his teeth over being dragged into the past because he had realized that he was in the present, and the past held little meaning where he was now. Leyfian had changed since he had first been her Kingsguard, so it was like starting anew with her as High Captain—they remembered each other, but the past didn’t stain them. He recalled all those years back when he had been with her, but what mattered was who she was at that very moment, with him, in the rain.
Taking a deep breath, holding her a little closer, he allowed himself a small smile. She leaned back against him, relaxing easily on him, with her hat tipping at an odd angle because of laying against his cuirass.
“Your heart is so strong,” she murmured quietly, for their ears only. “I can almost hear it beating through the steel. I’ve heard that Mrithicians always have strong hearts. I’m glad that Kelestil took after your heart, and not mine.”
Mithourn knew about the fact of the northerners having powerful hearts; there had even been a legend of one Mrithic man being born with two hearts. The most famous (and infamous) Mrithician figure to have ever lived. “We’ll get your heart cured, whatever it takes. And then we’ll get back to Herkile, to Kelestil.” He didn’t say it with his usual gruff edge, but he wasn’t soft about it either. Determined and confident was the alternative tone he used, for one who needed it. But, he found that his words only made her slump more. He supposed that any mention of the distance separating them from Kelestil would likely have that affect, which made him come to the decision to not mention their daughter again, to keep her from becoming depressed. It still felt strange to think of Kelestil as his child. Strange and saddening, though he hid the latter behind a steel wall.
Leyfian shifted against him. “Have you . . . thought about what you want to do when we get back?”
“Not much. The present is so full of confusion, I don’t want to think very far beyond it.”
That didn’t seem to satisfy her, but she didn’t push with more questions, so Mithourn let it lay where it was, to keep anything awkward from happening.
Rain and mud dominated the journey, with stony hills, thick woods and the occasional pillar-like mountain. The magpies flew about for a time, hunting insects just to stretch their wings, being careful not to end up in a Rope Spider’s nest again. Their use for the journey had yet to come, but it was near, beginning somewhere in the mountains that outlined the eastern horizon. Those peaks were of the usual variety, being part of the great Eastern Mountain Chain, though the region they were soon to enter was named the Gelsingean Mountains in particular.
By the next day, they had crossed the Felding River, over a stone bridge that mended a wide chasm which the watercourse had carven out. Afterwards, the forested peaks surrounded them, and oceans flanked them in the north and south, Oshyigar a mere twenty miles to one side, the Mangrove Bay another twenty to the other. At one point the two bodies of water came within two miles of each other, separated only by a large peak. Kanni found that to be extremely interesting, and since they set up the camp there for the evening and night, she went on her own to view both sides of the mountain. She came back a minute later because she realized that Leyfian couldn’t be left alone until the Dakrynian’s heart was fixed. Leyfian offered that it would be just fine to be alone for a few hours, but Kanni refused to go and looked ashamed with herself. Mithourn would have reproved her if not for that regretful expression.
Along those days on the road through the drizzly Gelsingean Mountains, passing through forests of Giant Ginkgoes, ferns, elms, eucalyptus and vines, they came across odd trails on the road. The path had grown cobblestones again, but not far from the roads they could periodically find the droppings of large animals, two distinct types, and recently laid. In the dirt patches along the road, tracks had been imprinted; paw-marks and hoof-prints. It made no sense.
Mithourn sent out the magpies to scout ahead, to see if the culprits could be found, but the two birds came back with nothing. He left it at that, hoping that they didn’t run across whatever creatures had made the tracks. There was enough trouble to deal with without adding giant beasts to it. Of course, where he left it behind, the others took it up in conversation.
“It could be Wolves,” Kanni announced, leaning out of her saddle to look at another specimen of the tracks.
It was a bright day, though fog clung to the forest in certain areas, turning the sun into a dim halo when they passed through the land-bound clouds. It was midday on the twenty-third, the sky was moonless, and the road had led them into a deeply wooded vale, where the surrounding peaks could only be seen sparingly through the foliage. Rivulets and ponds scattered the valley floor, deeply eroded stones lining their banks.
The mage wiped sweat from her face with a cloth, and then used a string to tie her hair back in a curly horse-tail. Her dark locks had grown well below her shoulders now, but she didn’t seem to have any desire to cut it back yet, even in the heat of Gelsing at the height of summer. Her outfit consisted of a loose white blouse that had no sleeves, hanging onto her shoulders with thin straps at the top. She wore short linen skirts, and no trousers underneath. To keep from being immodest while riding, she had one leg crossed in front of her and only one foot in the stirrups. Leyfian wore something similar, but she still rode with Mithourn, and had chosen to sit sideways on the saddle behind him, since the plow-horse’s tack was more than large enough. The heat and near-windless climate taxed them all, especially Leyfian, but she seemed strong enough to stay in the saddle, with an arm held around Mithourn’s midriff. Unlike Gelvir, Mithourn had retained his armor. The Kingsguard had said that he would be no help as a defense for Leyfian (and Kanni, of course) if he passed out from the heat. Gelvir was the least resistant to the temperature, Mithourn the second weakest to it, though he put the discomfort to the side. Kanni sweated a lot but kept her head about her, while Leyfian seemed almost comfortable in the heat, even with a fine sheen of sweat coating her. It made her tired, yes, but she was comfortable. Marram was an absolute ruin, stumbling along with his fur matted in warm fog. As a Boar, he didn’t sweat, compensating for it by panting, but being sticky with humidity was giving him the undesirable effect of perspiration.
Unfortunately, the Highmage had no Magic trick to cool everyone short of blowing them off the saddle with Wind or dunking them in Water.
Kanni looked at yet another set of paw-prints. “Yeah, it looks like Wolf paws to me,” she said again.
They all passed through another rolling cloud of fog which followed the path of a slow-moving stream. Gelvir spoke up as they passed through the obscuring mist, only a gray object on a larger, four-legged grayish shape. “I don’t think so, my lady,” he said, having picked up her formal title somewhere along the road. It seemed odd somehow to hear him use it in such a restrained voice, like he was saying it against his own wishes. “I’ve seen the Wolves, and the prints they leave behind. These tracks are too large and wide for a Wolf’s paw.”
At first there was silence in the sunlit fog, but Kanni eventually responded back to him. “Then who could have left these prints? And since when did you ever see Wolves? I always thought that you were a homebody and city-goer.”
They came out of the fog, one after another, leaving it slightly cooler than they had been before. The tall, verdant trees all around them rustled in a weak breeze that gave them yet another reprieve. The colorful birds of the forest sang joyously beside Screechbugs.
“When I was a boy,” Gelvir began, “me and my family lived in the forests near Virån. My father was a logger, and my brothers and I would join him in the woods when we were old enough. On one of those trips we spotted a pack of Wolves. They saw us, too, but just went on their way. I’ll never forget those odd, beautiful creatures, my lady, or the prints that they left behind.”
Kanni frowned for some reason, but nodded and said, “I didn’t know that you had several siblings.”
“Seven all told,” Gelvir put out casually, making the woman’s eyes go wide.
“You don’t say much unless you’re prodded, do you?” she commented, shaking her head, making her curly hair bounce and sway.
Gelvir said nothing in response to her, leaving room open for Leyfian to speak. “Who do you think the prints belong to, if not the Wolves? And what about the hooves?”
The man scratched at his beard, which was just growing out again after a close shave. “The only creature I can really think of with paws like that is a Wolverine, but that wouldn’t make sense. They’re supposed to be attached to the north. Unless they plan to start another war with the Wolves.”
The Highmage picked up after him. “The hooves look like some kind of giant goat or cow-print, but neither of those would make sense, either. Not with the Wolverines. Ha! The Wolverines would eat any cow or goat that was in sight!” Maybe a cow, but not a goat. Of course, they knew none of this. “I’m just glad that we aren’t in their midst, whether their goats and weasels or cows and kittens. It looks like a lot of them passed through here.”
After all of that, Marram finally found the strength to speak up. “That grows the question; where are they headed? What would any wild creature want to find out here?”
“Maybe they had a fever and needed one of the Monks to cure them,” Kanni joked, getting a laugh from herself and Leyfian. And Tae, surprisingly. She had looked asleep in Marram’s pack, and Pyka still certainly was. Still, it made no sense for the magpie to laugh, when she couldn’t understand Helkrasic at all.
Leyfian leaned to the side to look around Mithourn’s shoulder, up towards his face. “What do you think of all this?” she asked invitingly. That got Kanni’s eyes locked onto them both, a wry grin creeping across her face before she turned away to hide it.
Mithourn straightened in his seat. Was the Highmage catching onto what was happening between him and Leyfian? It had been nearly twenty days since their first kiss, and Leyfian hadn’t been without one since then, except for a day or two when she had been in a dark mood. She never forced it, of course; most of the time she would just look up expectantly at Mithourn until he gave her one.
“Mithourn?” Leyfian asked again.
“. . . I don’t know what to think of it. I just know that I need to send Pyka and Tae out regularly from now on, to see that we don’t accidentally run into these creatures, whatever they are. They need to start searching for The Monastery soon anyways.” He repeated the order in Hargirmian to those very two birds, thinking it to be prudent.
The birds chirped in annoyance at that; they had grown lazy from too much sleep in Marram’s pack, and were getting harder to rouse when they were needed. A swift reminder of Leyfian’s state got them up, though. They liked her, both because she fed them their treats half the time, and she didn’t order them around like Mithourn did.
Leyfian suddenly clutched at him in a panic, gasping as she clung to him for support. Both he and Kanni stopped their mounts and tried to help the ailing woman, though the High Captain was in an awkward position to do so.
The mage wheeled her mare around to pull up beside Leyfian and take her friend by the shoulders. “Is it growing again?”
After a moment, Leyfian nodded weakly. “Yes, but this time . . . it hurt. Like it’s becoming more real.”
Kanni groaned in frustration as she pulled out her yellow Drakestone and probed Leyfian with Healing Magic, eventually finding nothing. “I still can’t find it!” she fumed. “I wish I could have gotten some information out of Gedahl; that man was on a whole other level, far above me. I’m sorry, Leyfian. I’m not good enough for this.”
Leyfian shook her head in protest, the pain fading from her. “You’ve already save my life before; you can’t blame yourself for anything.”
The Highmage wasn’t satisfied with that, though. “There’s no excuse for me! I should have been practicing and learning more, instead of being happy with what skill I have. I could have known that you would need it.”
“How about we continue forward instead of arguing?” Leyfian offered, getting a return nod from Kanni as the mage turned her horse back onto the road. The rest of the day was spent in worried silence, and even the mage was in a dark temper, one of sadness and regret, a rare combination for her.
At night, in the teal beams of Orøs, they stopped at a small clearing next to the road, setting up their usual camp with lean-to shelters and a comfortable hammock for Leyfian. Marram gave her another dose of his tonic, and she went straight to sleep afterwards, obviously in a stressed state.
The next day was no better; the magpies were sent out early and came back in the late morning, returning with negative news. The Monastery was still out of sight. The giant creatures on the road ahead of them weren’t to be found, either, but their tracks still painted the trail.
They set out in much the same way as they had the previous day, except that Leyfian sat normally on the saddle in front of Mithourn on the journey, wearing a riding dress instead of short skirts. Visibly, she was too weak to sit in any other position, or without support from him. She was declining quickly, which made everyone anxious, as they could all see it. Mithourn started sending the magpies out every morning to search the vicinity off the road for The Monastery, but for five unbroken days they found nothing. They all started to wonder if the Monks even existed, or if The Monastery was just a thing of legend.
It was morning on the twenty-ninth when the two birds were out searching, and it was an especially hot day, a terrible climate for one with a failing heart. Leyfian stayed laying in her hammock napping while the rest tried to do something to pass the time in the shaded clearing they had picked for a camp. Kanni had started a game with Marram, a simple one concerned with flipping coins in the air and predicting how they would land on the ground. Surprisingly, the Boar found it as entertaining as she did. Gelvir just sat on a stump yawning to himself, watching everyone else tiredly. Mithourn looked to his journal, reviewing the last few passages he had added, then putting in a new one.
The magpies have returned empty-handed every time so far. I wonder if they will find anything today . . .
Leyfian is getting worse. As with every problem, there is nothing I can do to help her.
Leyfian shot up suddenly in her hammock, breath grating, sweat trickling down her temples. When Mithourn came to his feet and approached her, she just gave him a bleary look which somehow communicated a great amount of panic.
“It just got closer to my heart,” she croaked, and then coughed to clear her throat.
The High Captain couldn’t think of anything to say, other than to order Kanni to check on Leyfian’s health, to see if anything could be done to help her. The mage dropped her coin and stood swiftly to see to her friend, but only a moment later, she informed him that there was nothing she could do. Predictable.
The mage asked if Marram could give her another dose of his tonic, but he said that too much at once could be dangerous. Not that it mattered; Leyfian’s ailment was something that could not be cured by herbs or even normal Magic.
The weak breeze that had been passing over them for the past hour seemed to die suddenly somewhere in the distance, leaving them in a still, quiet clearing. A bird chirped nearby, and a Wolf howled further off, but it seemed silent otherwise. That was, until the magpies returned, screeching and trilling enough for ten obnoxious corvids.
“We found something!” Pyka declared excitedly.
“A stone with writing on it!” Tae added.
They both flocked to Mithourn’s shoulders, practically screaming in his ears about what they had found and how hard it had been to find.
“Quiet!” he demanded once his ears had been pained enough. Both instantly fell silent. “Now, explain one at a time, calmly.”
Pyka’s ruby eyes darted to look at Mithourn nervously. “Hem-hem. We were going back and forth over the road like you said and we both ended up at a stone on a smaller road. It has writing all over it,”
Mithourn nodded reservedly, though he felt like exhaling to relieve some of his loosening anxiety. “Can you lead us to it?”
Tae looked offended at that, much like a woman would if someone questioned the taste of her cooking. “Of course we can, little fella.”
Little fella? Mithourn thought, but shook it out of his head. “Let’s pack up and leave then,”
Once on the road again, riding between the towering mountains, under the thick broadleaf woods, they noticed that the breeze began its serenade again, and the sounds of the forest picked up with it. Insects vibrated all around them, brightly plumed birds sang beautifully, and streams played in ravines, hissing or roaring.
They were a few miles on the road when a large shadow passed over them, shaking the trees as it went overhead, making the leafs sway from disturbance. When they could see out of the trees, Gelvir and Kanni both spotted a green-plated Dragon flying off to the north, towards a great natural wall of stone implanted in the side of a mountain. The Earth drake was but a speck on the forested wall when he reached it. He landed near a crevice and crawled into it, disappearing swiftly, his tail slinking in after him.
“A wild Dragon,” Kanni breathed. “I wonder how many others are out here?”
Gelvir tugged Thistle along behind his own steed. “Let’s hope not many,” he said. “We wouldn’t want one to spot us.”
The magpies flew on to find the stone again. Pyka came back afterwards to announce that it was just ahead, and indeed, they came across a beaten dirt road only a few minutes later. It led along a more open area, a mountainside that was less coated in trees than most. The corvid pointed them down it, flying to join his mate farther ahead.
With a mile drop to the side, they navigated the winding trail which was half overgrown with grasses and flowers, like Gelsic Lanterns and crimson amaryllises. The valley was hazy below them, from both height and the fog which dwelt at its bottom. The sky above was brightly azure, throbbing with heat.
When the stone that the magpies had been screaming about came into sight, so did they. The monolith was short and squat, made of dark stone that was not native to the area, and formed to no particular shape. Rain had wrought no effect on the rock, it seemed, because the Gelsic runes on it were crisp and defined. It appeared as if one of the magpies had chosen to relieve themselves on the stone.
“Let me down,” Leyfian told Mithourn when they neared the monolith. “I can read it, if I just get a little closer,”
He helped lower her to the ground, flinching when she stumbled on her own two feet. With a shake, she ceased her swaying and approached the stone with as firm a step as she could conjure up. Mithourn, Gelvir and Kanni all made to get out of their saddles to assist her if the need reared its hideous face, but Marram was unexpectedly at her side. He acted like he was studying the writing alongside her, but he kept his dark eyes on her, to cut off any signs of weakness before they took root. The others remained on their steeds.
“It says that those searching for freedom and life will find it along this road,” Leyfian spoke aloud.
Mithourn was taken aback. “That’s it? All those runes to say that?” he questioned. Helkrasic characters were more complex, but each symbol meant a word. Apparently, it took several runes just to make up one word, and he found that very odd.
“Yes, that’s it,” Leyfian replied tiredly, shuffling back to the plow-horse with half-lidded eyes. Marram lifted her easily into the saddle in front of Mithourn, height and strength being virtues of his.
Situated and comfortable again, the companions held a short conference next to the stones, soon agreeing that the dirt path was more likely to lead to The Monastery than the original cobbled road.
Hopes renewed, the caravan moved onward, leading the horses carefully along the narrow, winding path. Kanni and Gelvir both untied Dune and Thistle from their own mounts’ saddles in the chance that one of the extra steeds fell down the cliff-side; they didn’t want to be dragged down the descent with the pack horses if misfortune struck. In Mithourn’s experience, ill luck always struck when one wasn’t cautious. Perhaps that was just because people were vulnerable when they weren’t prepared. Misfortune was always a surprise, but if one was prepared, nothing could surprise them. Whatever the truth of it, he nodded in approval at the Highmage and Lower General’s caution.
As the day progressed to late afternoon, Mithourn found that he had to hold Leyfian upright more and more, the woman struggling just to wipe her sweat away from her lashes, to keep it out of her eyes. Eventually, those eyes closed unpeacefully as the heat overtook her with its parasitic strength. She panted weakly, wanting breath, but being too tired to retrieve it. Mithourn didn’t think that she would survive another one of her attacks. The thought made the hope that had grown inside of him wither away.
A darkness shrouded his face. I’ve protected her throughout my years—if she dies now, then I’ll really have lived a useless life. If I can help her survive . . . Well, I’ll have done something.
There was a grim quietness in the air as they pushed the horses along the path—which had the hoof- and paw-prints in it, and an odd, sled-like track underneath those. Mithourn wondered if the creatures were searching for the Monks as well, though that made no sense in the least. Stone statues guarded the path, shaped to look like odd little lanterns which might have once lit the path at night.
Even Kanni was silent, giving Leyfian worried glances throughout the day. She wasn’t a nervous chatterer, like the Counselor was; she talked when she was happy, and on that day, she was anything but. Marram pointed a few plants out, but his usual cataloging died on his tongue when he realized no one was listening. He was one who didn’t waste words, unless someone was paying heed, of course. The magpies sensed the tension in the air and went to their break-room in Marram’s pack, sleeping and eating the hours away, occasionally coming out to fly around.
Leyfian was in a comatose state the whole time, shifting only rarely in her uneasy slumber. She only opened her eyes groggily when they reached a suitable clearing for the night’s camp. As the others set up shelters in the chance of rain, she sat against a tree, wrapped in a blanket, though the evening had just begun to cool. Her chilliness made the others worry, while her cutoff scream instilled panic. Kanni literally jumped over the campfire to kneel at her side with the yellow Drakestone in hand, laying fingers on her brow, and then her chest. Kanni’s expression darkened as Leyfian’s panting died away.
Standing up stiffly, the Highmage kicked a bucket of water onto the campfire, put there for the very task of smothering the flames. She made several Lights which would hover just in front of the horses without blinding their sight, then took the hobbles off her mare Kinetically. “Get her on the saddle,” she ordered the men, her voice wavering. “Quickly,”
“What is going on?” Mithourn questioned roughly, although he didn’t hesitate in setting Leyfian on the plow-horse’s saddle. Gelvir untied the beast while the Highmage struggled into the seat behind her friend. She showed no embarrassment as she stuffed her short skirts between her bare legs, likely too much in a panic to really care. Leyfian lolled in her seat until Kanni steadied her between two shaking arms. Gelvir threw a blanket up onto Kanni’s lap for decency’s sake, and then leapt onto his own horse, tugging Dune along behind him. Mithourn was left with Thistle, so he simply reversed her role as pack horse and pulled Kanni’s mare by a rope. The horses were exhausted, but like all others of their species, they would run until death. Marram followed behind them tiredly, though he would probably just pass out if he was pushed too far.
The Highmage finally looked to Mithourn as she led the group at a quick canter along the road, keeping a hand on the reins and the other permanently above Leyfian’s heart, pumping Healing Magic into her. “This is her last chance, Mithourn; if we don’t make it tonight, she’ll be dead, one way or another.”
There was little light except from Orøs far to the south, the stars in the heavens, and Kanni’s little lanterns, which only showed the road to them. Because of that, they were unable to notice the golden-eyed figure stalking tirelessly after them.
They hastened into the night, leaving behind their shelters and several bags of supplies, wishing for better light to see by, and a more sure road. But there was no choice for delay; Leyfian had no time.
Chapter XLIV
Old Enemies
15th of Mid Summer, 376, 5th Era – Hullic Montane, Southwestern Steshour
Faeyl looked up from the tall grasses that she had been trudging through. A decayed path led to the east, into the great, forested mountains of Steshour and Gelsing. They loomed from afar, likely still a day or two off. The last of the pillar-mountains were behind her, in the west, and the forest had become patchy again.
She looked to her feet again. Ugh, I’ll probably be covered in ticks by tonight, and bitten all over by mosquitoes. She swatted at some of the incessant pests and trotted after Ta`vik, who had gotten ahead of her again. The army was close behind, the leaders up ahead.
The second-in-command of the Wolverines continued on his lecture, seeming to forget that Faeyl was even there, and speaking as if he had been talking to himself. “Now, just north of Hawkden, the human capital of Yindyr, there is a frozen lake, and surrounding that lake is the Frozen Forest. The lake melts partially in summer, and a few plants grow during that time, but no trees grow so far north—not anymore. The forest consists purely of dead trees, so frozen that they no longer decay. Many have somehow converted to ice, and they never melt. I don’t know how the Forest grew in Yindyr at all, but I think that either the north used to be a warmer place, or the continent drifted northwards until it became too cold for tree growth. Moving both east and west of the lake are two rivers which freeze over for much of the year, but melt and flow in summer. They nearly make a solid boundary between lower and upper Yindyr. North of those waters is the Glacial Barren, hills and plains of snow and ice. That is where the first real glaciers begin, and they are like sheer cliffs of ice rising miles out of the ground. Its all white there, nothing but cool, white snow and ice.” His eyes glimmered in a fond memory, and then hardened as he looked around at the semi-tropical land that they were crawling through. He probably suffered thrice as much from parasites as Faeyl did.
They sloshed across a stagnant pool of water, the Caldkarien riding on him for the time it took to traverse the muddy puddle. Even the water was warm.
“The wastes is where the Kak`sikgul live, and where many of us Wolverines make our homes. Gæliiq is an ancient, ruined city near the northern tip of Yindyr, another reason why I think the north may have been warmer. We have made it the ‘capital,’ though it’s more of a meeting place than anything.”
In the minuscule pause that followed, Faeyl broke in. “Ta`vik, do you have any offspring?”
“Kits? I—hold on,” he said, and his ears twitched. He stood up on his hind feet to look farther on.
Faint screaming howls echoed in the east; the warning call from one of the Wolverine scouts. It went on for a moment, and then was cut off. Ta`vik dashed off towards Fælwiix and Eybexus, and Iakiwir soon joined in. Faeyl caught up to the recently halted group and overheard clips of their debate.
“–a small group can go and check on the situation,” Ta`vik suggested, but Eybexus shook his head.
“I’ll have all of my force move forward slowly and calmly. It will deter enemies and caution any confused allies.”
“Or you’ll walk right into the snare,” the Commander growled.
“Just trust me on this,” the old goat said, and then walked off to gather his army.
Fælwiix turned to Iakiwir. “Why didn’t you argue with him!? He could be making a mistake and you just idly watch. He might have listened to you.” Fælwiix was in a bad mood again. He would deny the poison working on him and say it was the heat, or that he was always in such a temper.
Iakiwir was unafraid of the Wolverine’s discontentment. “He respects you more than I. If you can not convince him, no one can. I think that the reverse is true as well; both of you would do well to listen to your seconds. Another thing we can all improve on.”
Fælwiix steamed. “Damn you! All you can ever go on about are the flaws in everything! I have scouts dying out there! Why am I even talking to you!?” That last seemed to be an accusation against both Iakiwir and Ta`vik. The two seconds were as cool and composed as ever as they watched him storm off. He went eastwards, outstripping Eybexus’ army which had just begun to move in that direction. He lumbered off into the forest.
Iakiwir snorted. “He’s being reckless; I’ve heard that is a trait of his. How did he ever survive the last war?”
Ta`vik gave the Ibex a surprised look, as if seeing him for the first time. “I don’t know. I suppose his second-in-command always pulls him out. Damn,” he cursed, seeming to remember that he was Fælwiix’s right hand antheran. He dashed off to follow his Commander.
Iakiwir sighed. If he had a hand to put to his brow in frustration, he would have used it. “This army is . . . completely uncoordinated and at odds with itself. We’re nowhere near the skill we need to have in order to siege Mithonstorng.”
Faeyl didn’t know the ram well, so she took it that he was speaking to himself. She turned to look around and saw Haløw trotting up to her from the halted army. He seemed to be shadowing her of late. Ever since their climb together, actually.
His armor clattered softly as he came up to them. “What’s happened? I heard howling, shouting and arguing, and then most of Eybexus’ force left.”
Iakiwir sighed again. “We heard one of the Wolverine scouts give a warning call just before he was muffled. Eybexus went to investigate, and he thought it would be best to bring a large force. Fælwiix ran off ahead of the General, and Ta`vik went to pull him out of any trouble he might cause. I’m the last commander left, so that means I have to keep the remainder of the army in order. That’s troublesome, because I won’t be there to help Eybexus if he causes mayhem.” He shook his head forlornly. “How did this day degrade so quickly? I need to go find Ursik.” The impatient Wolverine would be needed as a translator for the army of weasels. He trotted off to get the remaining force into proper formation.
Now Haløw and Faeyl were alone, and they looked around awkwardly. Well, Faeyl glanced about herself uncomfortably until Innocence cried to be cradled; Haløw seemed perfectly relaxed in the silence.
The goat gestured back towards the army. “We should stay near the army until Eybexus reports back,”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Faeyl assented, but she looked back towards the east, where mountains rose majestically. Would it be stupid to follow after Fælwiix? Just to peek in on the situation?
“Yeah, let’s go back,” she said, following Haløw closely. She hadn’t lost her adventurous spirit, not in the slightest. She had just gotten wiser.
Fælwiix raced through the forest, trees and bubbling streams flitting past him. Wolverines could run swifter than horses when they wanted to, and his armor was only a small hindrance, with rage and adrenaline rushing through his arteries.
He was going to find whoever had murdered his scout and kill them. He was too livid to think properly, and Eybexus had just provoked him into foolhardiness. Now he was too far gone to turn back; he would rather face an unknown army alone than wait for Eybexus’ help to overtake him.
As he loped up a steep hill, he stumbled and fell over on his flank. His wound stung at him suddenly, and although he couldn’t see it, he could feel that some of his healthy flesh had torn away from the rotting wound in his abdomen.
“Agh! Fucking Avakil . . .” He regained his paws and ambled forward, his vision dancing as he tripped down a slope. His paws splashed and slipped in a rocky brook, and his head lolled. The poison was gripping at him, advancing deeper into his flesh. He panted as it clenched his innards. Fight, damn you! he commanded his body. Don’t let it win!
He tumbled off a slight ledge and rolled over himself, down the hill into a mossy glade, where he ended on his stomach, in a prone and helpless position. He felt ready to black out from the pain and his throbbing head, but when he lifted his eyes to look at the clearing, all agony and pulsating left him.
He almost fell to Ravaging at the sight before him, but managed to hold back, barely. “Fucking Akendel,”
The White Wolf approached him slowly, each step thought out carefully. He was alone in the clearing, and no other Wolves were in sight. His unnatural blue eyes took Fælwiix in, and he seemed to see into the Wolverine’s darkest depths. Yellow eyes met his in a glare, and both pairs narrowed distrustfully.
Suddenly, Fælwiix broke into mocking laughter. “Ha! You still have that scar I gave you. Now we know who the better fighter is,” he said in Caldkarien.
Akendel, forever cool and controlled, sat back on his haunches and sniffed the air, his long whiskers shifting with his black nose. He spoke in the same language that Fælwiix had. “There are more things to the world than killing and dying, as you seem to believe,” he pointed out.
“But none of those other things matter when you’re facing a better opponent,”
“Sometimes they do,” Akendel said quietly, almost too quietly to hear.
Fælwiix stood abruptly, and The White Wolf came to his own paws at his leisure. “Where is my scout? What did you do to him?” the Commander asked dangerously, almost daring the High Alpha to give the wrong answer and create an excuse for Fælwiix to kill him.
“It was . . . an unavoidable death,” Akendel informed. “He came on us screaming and howling, so we had to quiet him. He attacked, so we defended ourselves.”
“How many of you did he kill?” Fælwiix asked it like a fact. He knew his Arium-plated scout wouldn’t have fallen easily.
Akendel’s eyes narrowed further than the last time. “Two Wolves were killed, and four more were injured.”
“Good enough,” Fælwiix assented.
The High Alpha began pacing in a wide circle around the antheran. “Your need for violence and ‘evenness’ is despicable. We should be allies, not enemies tearing the other apart. We have worse foes to face.”
The Commander’s face contorted in rage. “Allies!?” he roared, baring his enormous fangs. He suddenly quieted. “I’ll accept anyone’s help against Quix except yours.” Somehow he made those words sound an insult for the entire Wolf race.
The White Wolf bristled suddenly, his sapphire eyes widening. “You are going to die,” he pronounced, quite calmly, but with not a hint of satisfaction.
Fælwiix’s eye twitched. “What?”
“I may not know how, or when, but I do know that your life will be cut off before this war has ended.”
“I don’t believe in Destiny. Even if it does exist, it can go to Kal Hallavik and sik kish.”
The hunter stared at him oddly for a moment. “Maybe you will cheat Destiny. Or perhaps you are just denying it. Just know that I never lie, and I mean what I say.” It was true; Akendel had never been known to say something false, even to an enemy.
They stood facing each other for a moment after that, both silent and waiting for the other to speak . . . or attack. Finally, Fælwiix sighed, and he looked off to the side dismissively. “You’re not worth my time.”
Akendel took that as a truce. “Well, so long as that is settled, we should look to make peace with the past.”
“And what would you suggest we do?”
The Commander didn’t sound convinced at all, but Akendel wasn’t deterred; he knew that as long as Fælwiix was still talking, there was hope of turning him around to the right way of thinking. He had personal experience with the antheran; the day that Fælwiix had first turned his back on Akendel and walked away was one of the worst days in Wolf history. “The Kiendin has assembled in Gelsing, and it will go on for some time. I would invite you to attend the meeting, so that the Wolves and Wolverines can make a lasting peace. We need to fight together again.”
Fælwiix’s face contorted once more, but that time in confusion. “What the fuck is the Kiendin?”
“It is an assemblage of the Wolf Kiens, where decisions are made and discussions resolved. Alpha Kcarc is there, as well as General Hafkil of Hargirm.”
“It sounds just like a trap to me,” the weasel pronounced. “And even if you give your word and swear your Soul to tell the truth, your brother might not intend to give me that same promise.”
A husky voice suddenly broke out at the edge of the clearing, and a metallic clattering came with it. “And that’s what I’m for,” Eybexus said with a grin. “I’ve been waiting for decades for you stumbling idiots to come to terms, and I won’t let either of you pass up this chance. If I go to the Kiendin with the Wolverines as a mediator, Kcarc wouldn’t even consider attacking, and he wouldn’t believe it to be an attack, either. Now do you see what conclusions you can come to when you actually think?” It was uncertain whether he was addressing Fælwiix or Akendel, so the former just stared blandly at the goat while the latter shifted awkwardly. “Oh come on!” Eybexus exclaimed. “It’s obvious logic, so get it carved in your mortal heads and jump to it!”
Fælwiix just glared at the Ibex before turning to Akendel again. “First off, where are you going, and will you come to the Kiendin yourself?”
“I am going to the Vale of Silence, so that makes it impossible to join the Kiendin.” Akendel gained an intense gleam in his eye as he faced Fælwiix in one-on-one verbal combat.
“Then who will be there to make the peace agreement? How can I make peace with Kcarc without you there to convince him? I thought High Alphas needed to oversee such important matters.”
Eybexus tried to ram his way into the conversation like usual. “That’s what I’ll–”
Akendel sliced off his sentence. “I can send a messenger to relay my orders to him: Make peace with the Wolverines, accept your help and give some in return and spread the word.”
“And how do I know you won’t tell the messenger to lay an ambush for me?”
“I told you before that I do not lie.”
“How do I know if that isn’t just a lie!?”
“Have I ever deceived you before? Or anyone that you know of?”
Eybexus tried again to intervene. “Listen to me for once in your twice-damned lives–”
Now Fælwiix cut him short. “I’ll never trust your word, or any Wolf’s promise! You hear me!?”
Akendel growled audibly, and the Commander responded with a guttural roar. They both seemed ready to leap at the other’s throat, and their paws shifted noticeably on the soil. That was when a hoof slammed down right in front of both their noses, and Eybexus came between them. He stared eerily at Fælwiix and then gave the same warning look to Akendel. “You’re kids, a fifth of my age or less,” he stated as fact, “mere newborns playing in the woods. Have either of you actually faced The Overlord? Eh?” Neither of them could respond to that. “I thought so,” he said, laying down in between them as a lounging, steel-coated mediator. If it were possible, he would have been stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Quix would just love the sight of this; two of his most informed enemies, ramming each other like ill-tempered infants. Who’s the real enemy here?”
Fælwiix sullenly raised a paw to point at Akendel, while the hunter just stood there silently. Eybexus used his horns to redirect the Commander’s extremity southward. “Quix is you blind idiot! Idiots!”
The mustelid glowered in that way which he was so skilled at. “Well then, peacemaker, what should we do?”
“If neither of you trusts the other, then put your lives in my hooves. I know that sounds absurd, but I swear on my last meal that this can’t go wrong.”
“Don’t you mean that you’ll swear on your life?” Fælwiix asked, puzzled.
“No,” Eybexus answered dryly, with a look that said the Commander was insane to think otherwise.
Akendel shifted uneasily on his dirtied white paws. “Your words certainly don’t invite trust, but I’ve known you for a long time, and I believe your judgment is fair and . . . usually . . . correct.”
Fælwiix must have been in a fair amount of pain, because he said, “Let’s get on with it.”
Eybexus explained his plan. Fælwiix would give Akendel a Wolverine guide, securing The White Wolf a passage to the north while deterring any Wolverines near Fydal from attacking the Prophecy Kien. Akendel would send an emissary from his Kien to Cev Gren, where the messenger would inform Kcarc of the situation and have the Alpha prepare the Kiendin to receive the Wolverines and the Ibex. An additional Wolf would lead Eybexus and Fælwiix to Cev Gren, even follow them to The Monastery. The guide was a Mountain huntress, one who was easily as large as one of the Wolverines, a rare occurrence. Her name was Hefl, and despite her mottled gray, savage appearance, she was quite patient and calm-spoken. She knew a little Caldkarien, which was why she had been chosen.
The leaders finally went back to their armies (and Kien) to explain the situation. It was easy to see that neither side was happy about the news. The Ibex were neutral, as was usual, but they were also a little hopeful, tinged with anxiety. Eybexus was grinning like a fool the whole time.
Finally, by midday, they were ready to go their own ways. The Wolverine and Wolf forces faced each other, the Ibex standing on the sidelines, while the three leaders met at the nexus in between the three races.
“We will meet again,” Akendel forewarned both of his counterparts, gaining only a grunt from Fælwiix.
Eybexus was less curt. “I’m sure that we will. And next time we’ll all be greeting each other as companions instead of trying to bite chunks out of the other.”
“Let’s just get moving,” Fælwiix demanded, and they each moved back to their own forces after that. The Commander instantly had his warriors form clean ranks and move eastward at a trot. Akendel’s five-hundred-strong Kien moved west.
And then a miracle happened. The two groups passed by each other without so much as a confrontational growl or hiss. They just went each to their own path, with no hesitation or fear.
Eybexus saw the first beginnings of a possible alliance in that moment, and a shiver of inspiration ran along his spine down to his tail. This war will favor us yet, he thought as he marshaled his army to follow after the Wolverines. Akendel and his Kien disappeared in the west before long, swallowed whole by the forest. We might even gain the help of the human powers at this race—but no. I can’t trust them. Not after . . .
The General trotted up to the Commander, finding Iakiwir and Ta`vik already with him. The two lower-ranking leaders were discussing more possible improvements, and Eybexus rolled his eyes at that. His tactics and army were perfect, why change them? He knew that thought was a pile of dung, but overconfidence was his one and only failing, and he wasn’t about to remove it from his assets. Better to just keep rolling his eyes at his inferiors and let them fix what problems they would. That way, he could worry about more important things.
“I make an excellent mediator, don’t you think?” he remarked in Fælwiix’s general direction, but if a dozen others heard it, it was all for the better.
“You did well enough,” Fælwiix answered sulkily. “I just hope we didn’t make a fantastic fuck up.”
Faeyl, who was riding atop Haløw nearby, made a sound in her throat that made obvious her disapproval of his swearing. Of course, Fælwiix ignored her reproval, but he did take note of Haløw, and how the goat was always found nearby Faeyl.
He looked ahead and placed his eternal glare on the mountains of the east. They were an unbelievable wall of rounded, forested peaks. Though they were well eroded, (unlike the Western Mountains) they were still the tallest peaks on the continent, aside from Mount Caldkere. Some boasted heights of nearly six miles, and in the region south of Steshour, they were forested right to the tops.
His wound throbbed, so he closed his eyes to concentrate and conquer the pain. He hoped that those Monks could do something for him. He didn’t care if he retained the agony; that could be dealt with, but death could not. He couldn’t die. Not when he was only halfway through his journey, and the Wolverines needed his leadership. He would not die! Not from Avakil poison or to fulfill Akendel’s prophecy.
I’ll only lay down and die for the world, for my race, or for Faeyl. And Innocence, of course. Otherwise, I have to keep living, to keep fighting, until this war is won. That made him feel very exhausted of a sudden. Except for him and Eybexus, he felt that there was no one else warring against Quix. He had never seen the demon’s armies, but from Eybexus’ recounts, it was a daunting number. It was easy to feel hopeless when one was outnumbered, alone, and fighting time as much as eventual starvation. And when one had so much responsibility to shoulder.
Eybexus grinned creepily at him for no reason at all, and he decided that he wanted no one for company, not even Faeyl; he felt that he might bite her head off metaphorically, while he was stemming such pain and frustration. He could have the temper of a volcano blowing off its top, and he had learned over the years that sometimes it was better to relieve it when he was alone, and that some Souls just couldn’t withstand the fiery torrent. He usually abhorred weakness, but he didn’t consider Faeyl weak. She was delicate like a breeze was to a tree-toppling gale. Even then, she wasn’t frail, as some humans could be. It was just that Fælwiix could be too . . . explosive. But, as long as he used his passion in the right way, it could be more of an asset than a setback.
When he had trotted off ahead of everyone, he was suddenly joined by a large presence, one that matched him for size. He held back a growl as he saw Hefl. Fælwiix would try his best to be polite and calm; the last living being he needed to upset was his guide who was likely nervous at being surrounded by old enemies.
Hefl spoke first. “I was told by Akendel that you need to find The Monastery before going to the Kiendin. Why is that?”
“You’re a curious one,” Fælwiix grunted, not too nicely. He remembered with a pang that he had said those exact words to Faeyl, on the first day that they had known each other. He hadn’t been very nice back then, either. The antheran struggled to not snarl as he tried to clear his mind of rude retorts to whatever the Wolf had to say. “I was poisoned. By an Avakil. A fucking Avakil.”
Hefl barked a laugh which almost sounded like a warning bay from a hunting hound. “And you managed to kill it afterwards?” she asked with true intrigue.
“Actually,” Fælwiix said slowly, “it fell apart on its own.” He found that hard to admit. “What about you? Have you faced an Avakil before?” A dumb question, likely, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“No,” Hefl answered simply. “I’ve never truly fought anyone but an angry stag and another huntress who was trying to become the Alpha’s mate.”
“And how did that go?” he asked, thinking he knew the answer.
“The stag I won over, eventually, but the huntress . . . she won that fight.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Fælwiix muttered, and he didn’t rightly know himself whether that was supposed to be a compliment or not.
Hefl just gave him an unreadable expression. “Painted Wolves can be fierce when they want to be. Sometimes the smaller the opponent is, the more fire they have to win.”
Fælwiix nodded in agreement. He had confirmed that piece of wisdom himself, and in most cases, he had been the smaller fighter. It wasn’t as if he had never lost a battle before, it was just that he had never lost a fight so badly that he had died. That much was easy to see.
It was humorous, because the enemy who had come closest to killing him—and might yet win in the end—had done nothing at all except tumble over and fall apart. Without Faeyl, he would have been rotting bones by now. But even with her help, that might be a fate that he couldn’t escape. Well, a fate that would happen sooner rather than later.
We all die, eventually. Except maybe for Eybexus. He wondered what the goat would have done to have heard that.
Faeyl rode on Haløw for the rest of that day, talking with him amiably since Ta`vik and Fælwiix were obviously preoccupied. Eybexus . . . she didn’t want to poke at the General until he stopped grinning so freakishly at everything.
She found out that Haløw was seventeen summers old, and that he had yet to claim any mates or have offspring. She told him in return that Innocence was her first child, and no, she didn’t know if she would have any more or not. That got her to thinking; did she want more children? She supposed it was too early to be thinking about that when Innocence still needed most of her attention. One thing she was suddenly sure of was that she wanted Innocence to have a father, even if he couldn’t be her true father. But again, it was too early to plan for that; she was in the wild with two armies of giant animals, and at least a few months before she could enter a normal society of humans. She didn’t think that the Gelsingean Monks would be anything like usual people, and she was right.
The next few days were simple and clear-cut, for the most part. The armies moved forward and then stopped for the dark hours, only to wake at the first sign of light. Orøs was visible by day, and it performed its eclipse, casting green moonbeams on the already verdant landscape. Bæl`diis lit the nights with its rusty illumination, and Ta`vik pointed strange geometric shapes on its surface, painting a plethora of legends for her to ponder on. It seemed the Wolverine had more stories and intrigues stuffed into his head than most scholars, and Faeyl wished that she could know everything that he knew. Except for the horrible things he had surely seen in war, of course. She had suffered enough from the sight of battle, pillaging and torture. It made her sick just to think of some of the things she had seen.
Haløw was always at her side, it seemed, but she liked the company of the goat. He had a pragmatic, straightforward personality that was perfectly the opposite of hers. There was little of anything practical about Faeyl, except that she dressed herself each morning, ate her meals and took the best care for Innocence that she could. The fact that she was still traveling with Fælwiix instead of returning home with the Tulmalin proved just how ‘practical’ she was. She would take adventure over normality and logic any day, unless it surely endangered Innocence. Even then, she had taken some risks, and probably some of them were stupid. As for being straightforward, Faeyl could admittedly be blunt, but she usually tried to hide her observations and statements in humor or insinuations.
Faeyl approached Ta`vik with the question of whether he had kits or not, but he was pulled away yet again, and she found herself alone with Hefl, the guide. She found that the feral-looking Wolf was both fluent in Caldkarien and friendly. Despite being proven that not all giant animals were fierce, she had still been hesitant to approach the huntress for fear of getting a nasty surprise. But yet again, she made a new friend within the space of a few hours, just by exchanging a couple of questions and following the ensuing conversations where they led. She learned about all sorts of things from Hefl, like some of the history of the Wolves, and about Akendel and Kcarc in particular. When she asked about Minchardaac, however, Hefl wouldn’t respond to The Black Wolf’s name. The Mountain asked her about Mount Caldkere, and Faeyl had no choice but to answer. She tucked her curiosity in the back of her mind for later.
By the eighteenth, they arrived at the feet of the Gelsingean Mountains, the central portion of the Eastern Mountain Chain. Consequentially, they crossed the thin piece of land that separated Oshyigar from the ocean on Steshour’s banks. At one point, while in amongst the tall, foggy peaks of the mountains, looking down from unimaginable heights, Faeyl saw two infinite swaths of water, one to the north, the other to the south.
It became unbearably hot, so she forewent her armor and wore a tunic, which she tied up to reveal her belly, just to relieve her further of any excess heat. Her trousers were also edited, cut well above the knee to reveal more fair skin. She couldn’t imagine how hot she would have been if she had been pregnant in the near-tropical climate.
The mountains clambered higher into the sky, and the Wolverines and Ibex had to give in and follow a human-made road. It was fairly ancient, but despite that, there were scouts far ahead and behind to warn the army of any intruders. They were given the alerting noise several times throughout each day, but no one (so far as they knew) discovered them. In addition to outlying scouts, Eybexus and Fælwiix sent out parties to search for any sign or marker indicating the whereabouts of The Monastery.
On the morning of the twenty-seventh, Faeyl walked with Ta`vik instead of sitting on his saddle, since it was difficult for even the Wolverines to move effectively in the rough landscape. She admired the views which had only dulled slightly in her eyes after being among the tall peaks for days. Despite being rounded from rain and wind, the mountains still rose in sheer, dramatic heights. They were coated in broadleaf and evergreen trees right to their crowns, the forests of which swayed in strong winds. Skyfirs and Giant Ginkgoes were everywhere, now, so Faeyl was given the chance to study them, as well as mushrooms like Jellycups, or plants by the names of Gelsic Irises or Nightbulbs.
The army moved along a narrow, cliff-hugging road that day, a path which was spotted with little stone statues that looked to be low-lying lanterns for the night. It had diverted from the main path which had been cobbled, becoming dirt and grass. There had been an odd stone inscribed with Gelsic runes near the beginning of the new path, but no one had been able to read it.
Miles below them to one side was a deeply forested valley with layered foliage and waterfalls burbling into a bubbling river at its bottom. A horse-sized Dragon flew overhead a mile above them, and even the queen wasn’t near the peaks’ tops. The landscape as a whole was tumbled and rough, but entrancingly beautiful. Faeyl found herself wishing that she had artistic talent enough to copy the view on paper, but it was just a passing wish. Still, she attempted it that morning, just to crumple up the paper and stuff it in her bag. She supposed that she couldn’t expect to be great at everything she tried her hand at, but she was a little frustrated that she couldn’t have something to record her adventure. She would just have to settle with imprinting the sight of the mountains in her mind.
“So Ta`vik, do you have any kits?” Faeyl asked that morning, just as aureate sunlight met her at a bend in the road and forced her to raise a hand to her eyes.
“Three,” he answered, finally.
“Can you tell me about them?” Faeyl pried, wanting to know more about Wolverines in general. She didn’t know why she hadn’t asked about it earlier. Maybe it had just been too hectic before.
“Well, they are all angelines. The first two were born healthy over three decades ago. The third came into the world a few years later, when I came across my mate again. She was born a . . . a runt. Her sisters take care of her though.”
“What about your mate?”
“Not . . . not all Wolverines get to live as long as I.” He seemed a little sad at that, which was a rarity for Wolverines and even more so for him. It seemed that the weasels could be passionate about their kin and companions, unlike the tales that humans painted about them.
“Oh,” Faeyl noised sympathetically. She stroked the fur on his brow as she walked beside him. “Maybe you’ll get to see your kits again soon,”
He nodded absently. “I would like that, but that may not be possible. If–”
“Don’t think like that!” Faeyl cautioned. “My aunt Kaylin used to say that thinking negatively brings about the worst twice as quickly. But if you think positively, good things will happen just on time.”
“And does that advice work?” Ta`vik asked with a blink.
“I . . . I don’t know,” she answered with a little embarrassment. “But I’ve always thought positively, and only three truly bad things have happened in my life.”
“And what were they?” the antheran questioned.
Faeyl’s face fell in a shadow as she looked to the old road passing between her feet. “My mother died from sickness just a little after I turned eight, and then my father was taken by rampant bulls out in a field. Innocence’s father, the love of my life . . . he died in a skirmish somewhere in Caldkere.” She wiped at her eyes. “But . . . as long as Innocence lives long and happily, I’ll count those as small losses.” Mount Caldkere was never clear whether it gave her its Blessing or not . . .
She looked up and studied Fælwiix and Hefl, both of whom were walking together as trailblazers of the path. It had been a surprise to see how well those two got along; Faeyl remembered Fælwiix as having a burning hate for all Wolves, and from what she had heard, the canines returned his sentiment in full. But instead, the two walked together almost every day, talking as often as not, rarely speaking with ill temper to one another. Well, Fælwiix was just as moody and combustive as always, but he never treated Hefl any worse than anyone else. The Mountain huntress had seemed shocked and offended at Fælwiix’s first outburst at her, but she had returned the next day to walk beside him, ready to talk, trot and deflect the Wolverine’s temper. The oddest thing of all, was that while Fælwiix ran off ahead to escape Eybexus’ rambling, Ta`vik’s presence and even Faeyl’s attention, he never tried to get away from Hefl. She came to accompany him, and she left when she wanted.
Faeyl watched as the two carnivores interacted. Fælwiix seemed to be laboring under his own weight; he had finally conceded to removing his Arium armor, so his warriors carried the various pieces for him until he had the health to bear them himself again. The Caldkarien woman then looked to Hefl, and the Wolf seemed perfectly functional, if a little uncomfortable in the heat. The huntress was talking to him, while the Wolverine seemed to be fighting off some suggestion of hers, the way he kept shaking his head and snarling. He stumbled on a rock in the trail and then reeled along the path for a moment. He stopped, swaying uncontrollably. Like a tree, he was felled in a slow, aching collapse. But the only noise was a small thunk! when he landed to the ground.
Faeyl gasped, then ran to see what had gone wrong. Hefl gave her a panicked look when she reached them, but the huntress said nothing. Eybexus appeared from nowhere to look down at Fælwiix with disappointment. Ta`vik studied his Commander, likely feeling the weight of responsibility pulling down at him, again.
The army was commanded to halt at a small distance from Fælwiix, and Faeyl used the ensuing silence to shakily check that the Wolverine was still alive. He was, but only just. His wound was a rotting, pale patch of flesh on his abdomen, and it had spread greatly since she had last seen it.
Faeyl blinked back unstoppable tears as Fælwiix was placed limply into his armor. He would be dragged in it like a sleigh as the army continued the hopeless search for The Monastery. Hefl, Eybexus and Ta`vik trailed after him quietly, but Faeyl stood alone for a moment as the army poured around her. Haløw came to stand beside her and gave her an expectant look. She had a broken expression as she finally gazed up at him.
She had been wrong: If Innocence lived for long years, she would be happy. But, if Fælwiix died, her life could still become a tragedy.
Chapter XLV
The Stag
31st of Mid Summer, 376, 5th Era – Foggy Wraithland, South of Mithonstorng
The world was cast in shadow, the night moonless. Stars winked uneasily in the sky, accompanied in the south by azure webbing, the spidery structure of a nebula, only visible in the deep south. Banks of fog writhed in the low elevations of the broken land, congregating around the plethora of rivers, hiding much of the landscape. The hills were sparsely spotted with trees, coated only in short, odd grasses and scrubby underbrush. Lonely animals prowled in the dark, calling into the night with bestial sounds. The land seemed ancient, old simply because it had been forgotten.
A desiccated ruin of stone stood among those hills, a small collection of boulders which were stacked atop one another, likely the decayed framework of an ancient structure. Two of those stacked columns were particularly tall, standing across from each other in a sort of topless threshold, making a wide space between them of several hundred feet.
A weak wind rose up to push away the stifling, thick air, ruffling the grass to make it whisper quietly. The waterlogged hills extended out to every horizon except in the west, where the dark patch of a great forest could be seen.
In the faintly lit ruin, Quix could see the night without the assistance of the stars. He saw the world as it was, every facet of it, like no mortal ever had. Or would.
He was in the form of a shadow-shrouded man—roughly, because he had black armor embedded within his flesh, and he had no features on his blank face, not even a maw like other Srinaj. As with other demons, his body reflected no light, making him look like a patch of Void walking the planet.
There was a motley collection of followers with him; Minchardaac, a dozen or more mages of human or Srinajic origin—Strychnyn among them—piles of mossy boulders to either side of the pillared doorway and a group of soldiers, men in jagged armor, hefting notched blades.
Quix’s vision allowed him to see and observe all of them separately, and yet at once. His mind could split in a hundred directions, and not fall off any of those paths along the way.
Stepping up in front of the two tall columns, he pulled Magic out of the air around him, forcing it to his will, though the ethereal Essence recoiled at his touch, his presence. In between the guardian pillars a dark swirling mass formed, expanding quickly into a Wormhole the size of a palace doorway.
“The Uqauli and infantry will remain here,” he said to his inferiors, his voice echoing from him without coming into physical being. Like a sort of diffuse Telepathy, but no Magic of any sort was involved. It was more a warping of reality that he brought into effect unconsciously. “Only Minchardaac and Strychnyn will come,”
With that, he stepped through the Wormhole, being flung through the rupture in space within the length of a single footstep. When he came out the other side (followed by a confused High Commander and an observant First Captain) he strode onto a high plateau, looking down on a basin ringed with mountains. All was forested to seem crowded, a fully tropical jungle of broadleafs that swayed in an early predawn breeze. Quix had taken them east, to where the sun would rise before it shone over Mithonstorng.
“Valfir?” Minchardaac asked unexpectedly. Usually he would have held his tongue in exchange for patience, but it seemed that he found Quix’s actions to be odd. He had delivered his news about the great Worms in the north earlier that day, coming to the City of Demons in a ragged state. Quix had put off the news for something he had received earlier, from a scout of his who was reliable. Minchardaac was reliable of course, but the Worms would be a project that required preparations. Those precautions were being watched over by Keelkzar back in Mithonstorng, executed by the smiths and mages of the city.
For now, Quix had an asset he could gain by day’s end, or destroy by nightfall, if he could not enlist its strength to him. ‘Enlist’ was a soft word for it.
Clouds mingled with the trees at the higher levels of the montane forest, while fog dwelt with those below. Wild noises sounded everywhere; insects, birds, mammals and reptiles, all singing off-key in an enveloping chorus which consumed the high, forested peaks with sound. That place was known as the Ferny Rainforest, the mountains being the Southbound Peaks. Near to the sea, but still a hundred or more miles away from it. Absolutely untamed, with the nearest dwellings of any size being Birkh, three-hundred miles off, and Sequoia, nearly two-hundred away. An easy place for a beast to hide.
Minchardaac and Strychnyn stood silently to either side of him, the former looking around at the unfamiliar landscape, the latter listening for vibrations in the earth to tell him how things were laid out before him. That was just one of several senses that the Srinaj used to sense the world. The primary was to simply feel the physical world around them as if they were spreading a hand over everything within a hundred miles, but that could be less informative at times. Strychnyn was an extremely intelligent Srinaj, and it seemed that he had already caught on to what was occurring. Where sight could fail (if one even had it) tactility could succeed.
What a Srinaj could hone through the sense of vibration was a far advanced version of what the Ykarri possessed. The amphibious race could feel the vibration of an ant, yes, but a Srinaj could detect that ant through a barrage of other vibrational elements and pinpoint where it was.
Reaching out with his sense, Quix dissolved into the search, letting his sight fade away to assist in the effort. The ground trembled faintly at his feet, as it always did in every location on Galithour. Next came the trees, their roots burrowing almost too slowly to detect, but always in motion, sucking in the breath of life from the soil. The branches creaked, fibers of wood tugging and pushing in a constant flux, wind rubbing past their bark, leafs circulating with water and sugar. Mites moved across the limbs of the trees, infinite armies of them, stepping softly on lichens or rotted bark.
A Sambar pushed through a draping of vines, her fawn close in step behind her, likewise tearing through the plants which consequentially shifted a tree branch. The winds blew up dirt and leafs, tussled the waves of a pond. Rivers shook through their channels, waterfalls crashed to the ground with quaking roars. The forest—though made up of many individual trees—moved as one, its combined foliage shifting like ocean crests.
A furry tapir escaped into a river, (Quix could feel its fur dragging through the water) escaping from an unseen predator. The odd, four-legged creature that had been after the tapir gave him up to the piranhas in the water. All of that had taken place miles in the distance.
Stretching the sense farther, Quix sent tendrils out in every direction, feeling for the characteristic outer elytra, the immense weight straining the earth. It could have been out of his sense’s range, or it could just be resting. Otherwise, he didn’t suspect that it could hide the trail it made.
Then he felt it; a tremor in the distance. He focused on it, straining hard enough to forget every other sense he possessed.
Thud, thud, thud, thud . . .
Solid, shell-like feet stomped through the forest, shoving trees aside, if not always toppling them over. They left cloven marks in the ground, ten feet deep and twenty wide. After closer inspection, Quix could detect that there were six legs, each with its own acoustic timbre as it carved through the jungle. The body of the culprit was held above much of the forest, but the tallest of the trees were either clipped back by titanic mandibles, or pushed over by the plated thorax of the behemoth.
Quix retreated out of his meditation, regaining his other senses as the acuity of his tactility faded. He focused on the insectile mind of the titan, feeling it easily now that he knew it existed. The mind was relatively simple, if massive and filled with many trappings to control such an enormous body. The section he needed was somewhere . . . Yes, where navigation and objectives met. He made a calling to the creature, a sort of sensation that made it want to find him, and a beacon which made doing so easy.
“I am going to high ground,” he stated to his companions, forging a Wormhole in the air and stepping through it, ending up on a high mountain with a clear view of the dale below. Dawn was starting to waken, flocks of giant birds wheeling through the sky as they began their hunt for food.
It only took a moment for the creature to find them.
Tremors ran through the ground, unsettling Minchardaac, making Strychnyn alert. Quix waited in stillness, watching silently as a huge, dark form scuttled over the horizon, coming towards him with heavy strides that shook the mountains and reshaped them in some cases. The trembling in the earth gained in strength, forcing the trees to quiver, the dirt to settle. Then, on the mountain opposite of them, the beast loomed.
Standing atop the peak of the mountain with his enormous sickle-shaped mandibles clenching the clouds, was a black Stag Beetle. Over a thousand feet long, and three-hundred or more wide, the giant Beetle could have grasped a fair-sized castle between the width of his mandibles. He could have uprooted a dozen redwoods at once like twigs.
Dominating the height of the mountain, The Stag stood atop it as if it were no more than an anthill. His barbed antennae shifted in the air, black, wide-set eyes searching the area with weak vision. Each of his legs had forked feet and spiky points along the limbs. His thorax and body were rounded and solidly plated with an exoskeleton harder than steel.
Suddenly, he spotted Quix like a moth to candlelight. His mandibles clicked several times, creating thunder as the shiny blades stretched back and forth massively. He seemed unsure of what he should do, now that he had found Quix via an odd magnetism. Venturing closer, he stepped down the mountain, into the vale, then up towards the demon, making the trip in only a dozen steps. He reared up in front of the Srinaj and his two followers, framed only by the sky.
Minchardaac shrunk back involuntarily, Strychnyn almost echoing him; the latter drew in as much Dark Magic in reserve as he could gather, ready to release it in any form necessary. The Stag twisted his head to point one compound eye at them, trying to sense what was so small that his antennae could not.
It was in that moment when Quix slammed down on the insect’s mind.
The Stag Beetle hissed angrily and pulled back, swinging his head away, preparing to sweep the intruders to the ground with his mandibles.
Quix stabbed out harder with his Possession, digging into the mind of the beast with his own, enforcing his willpower on it. Out of the two methods of Possession, his was nothing like seduction but everything like rape. Those he beat down either stood up bowing to him, or they never stood again.
Despite having a simple mind, the Beetle had enormous willpower to repel Quix’s chains, and struggled mentally as well as physically. Quix made enough of a mental battle to make the titan forget about his first idea for an attack. Now he just thrashed his head in the air, trying to get the demon out of it, his legs struggling against the mountain slope, digging in, then stumbling back. Swaths of forest were laid flat in the monstrous conflict, the whole region going into an uproar as The Stag’s rage was let loose. Every bat and bird in the vicinity escaped to the sky, the ground-shackled running in every direction to dodge the stomping, sliding feet of the Beetle.
You will not attack me, Quix instilled into The Stag, the first command he gave to any of his Possession victims. The behemoth shook around more, resisting any form of control, the Possession like a blanket on his mind that could be thrown off at any second. That blanket needed to harden into bands of steel.
Enormous mandibles swept towards him, trees acting like nothing more than grass to the solid blades. Quix threw Kinetic Magic into the head of the beast, causing the mandibles to clip the trees above him and his companions, instead of them. Minchardaac cursed as the top of a ginkgo crashed down a pace from him.
Quix regained his concentration, having nearly lost it with his Kinetic display. If he lost his hold on the Beetle, it would be impossible to try Possession again; once a victim was in a violent state, their power of resistance increased tenfold. Since he had gotten the hold before The Stag had become enraged, the Beetle was less likely to break the grip.
Elytra flared out suddenly, wings unfolding from underneath to flit wildly, turning into a blur as they rose him up off the ground imposingly. Confused wind currents beat around Quix, but before it could tumble him end over end, he settled the Wind around himself, an undisturbed pocket of air amidst a storm.
Forcing burs of Possession into the beast’s mind, Quix turned the battle into one of confusion instead of a contest of strength. He wouldn’t break The Stag’s mind with a hammer; he would make the insect fall by many little sword-thrusts, gaining the titan’s mind one piece at a time. That way he could put it together again like a puzzle once he had all the pieces, instead of receiving a plate of shattered glass.
Fraction by fraction, The Stag lost the battle, parts of himself losing the will to fight. His mind settled down while his body went on in a fight it had forgotten the meaning of. Then his left half fell still, elytra and wings folding neatly as his three legs planted themselves to the ground. His right side continued to thrash, lifted up by his single blurring wing, one mandible clenching and grasping against the other. The Stag crawled up towards Quix with his three functioning legs in a colossal effort, his right eye somehow reflecting hate while the other did not. He came close to the demon, but he halted just as he reached his enemy, right half quickly adjusting to mirror his left.
While the Beetle stood eerily still on the mangled mountain slope, Quix finished the process of Possessing the insect, programming it how he wanted, setting down the commands and parameters that had been rejected a moment earlier. It had been a short battle, but a close one.
You will not attack me. You will do only as I say. The nerve endings had to be taken under control as much as the sentient part of the mind, giving utter power of movement to Quix. The Stag jerked his head a little, at the command of The Overlord. A leg lifted up, then was placed back down—precisely into its original print.
Do only as I think. All thoughts belong to me. At that, the mental realm of the Beetle entered Quix’s subconscious, a confused chattering of clicks and hisses, likely just meaningless rantings of what remained free in The Stag’s consciousness. It reeked with fear and confusion, two harmless traits that hardly needed to be stamped on. Quix left it alone for more important things. He hardened the chains he had bound The Stag with, constricting each part of the mind to himself.
The Stag is an extension of Quix, a tool without a mind. Part of Possession was making the victim forget that they were a separate entity from the Possessor. It made them blindly obedient, as if they were merely another arm on the Possessor. Once they believed that they were that arm, taking away the bond of Possession would kill them. If the Possessor was killed, they would remain an empty husk until they died of standing still, but only after they completed the last tasks that the Possessor had given to them unfinished.
The Stag started moving naturally again, body extending and contracting with breath, eyes and antennae studying the world neutrally, blankly. He didn’t yet believe that he was a mindless tool, but he knew that he was Quix’s. Sometimes it took years before the Possessed would believe that they were no more than an extension of their master, but over time, it always came to that.
Silence, the demon ordered the chattering voice, and it obeyed from pure terror. That last piece would have to be picked at over time; if he crushed it that moment, The Stag could very well die from being split. At the very least, it would obey from fear, if not mindlessness.
Minchardaac and Strychnyn recovered from their guarded positions, straightening themselves to study Mithonstorng’s new weapon. The Stag regarded them as blankly as everything else. It’s last vestige of individuality quivered in fear.
Quix faded a little into his misty form, pushing that sensation of another’s terror to the darkest pit of his mind that he possessed. You are mine.