Sorrow's Peak (Serpent of Time Book 2) (10 page)

“Just like the Alvarii in Rivenn.” Her lament filled Finn, the sorrowful realization coursing through her and making his aggravation and jealousy turn to depression. “That is awful. This world is awful,” she remarked.

“It is not the world that is awful, my lady.”

“It’s no wonder the All-Creator is so enraged with us all. We’re truly dreadful creatures, and these last few days I’ve found myself wondering if we even deserve to live at all.”

“Not all of us are dreadful creatures. Some are born with hearts made of pure gold, and though they may be few and far between, it is to those souls we owe the most. Were it not for them, I fear Heidr would have done more than simply try to teach this world a lesson.”

And for a long time all three of them sat with the half-elf’s sage words, turning them over and over in their minds as the harsh winds grew crueler and the dark clouds gloomier overhead. It wasn’t even midday when the first drizzling pellets of ice began to fall from those black clouds, pelting exposed skin like bee-stings and tangling into the hair of their horses’ manes and tails. With the darkness and rain came the overwhelming exhaustion they all seemed to feel, and when Finn turned to look at both his companions from the confines of his hooded cloak, he saw he wasn’t the only one who felt like falling off his horse and taking a nap right there in the snow.

But no one complained, and no one suggested they stop until the pelting rain mixed with a haze of fog and snow that made the road in front of them impossible to see. Brendolowyn stopped, staring out into the vast swarm of mist and freezing rain spreading out before them. He lifted a hand above his eyes and shook his head before walking his horse in front of them to keep them from moving forward.

“There’s no sense carrying on,” he declared. “We aren’t like to get very far as the fog thickens. I recommend we call it a day, set up camp and wait out the storm.”

“Wait it out?” Finn asked. “Isn’t this the norm?” And if it was, how much good would it do to wait things out if they were going to be stopping every time they couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead of them.

“The norm? Not entirely. The weather itself is not unnatural, but when the fogs roll in, as they are, we’re more like to get lost and find ourselves on the opposite side of the coast. I’ve no qualms about traveling through the rain and snow, but the fog will do us no good, and it could tack unnecessary miles onto our journey.”

“You know this land better than I.” Shrugging, Finn dismounted and the horse seemed to shudder relief as he slid to the ground beside it. He gathered its reins and held them in gloved hand, waiting for further instruction.

Truth be told, he was glad they were stopping. He was tired and cranky, and though he’d spent much of the day snacking on dried strips of venison, it wasn’t filling. He wanted something hot, something that would warm his belly and his body, but more than that he wanted to sleep.

“How far are we from Dunvarak?” Lorelei asked. “It can’t be past midday yet, can it?”

Lifting his hooded gaze toward the dark sky, the half-elf scanned the clouds until he placed the sun behind them. He squinted and stared for a few moments, then shrugged his shoulders. “Not more than an hour past midday. We left the fields beyond the wall about fifteen or so miles back.”

“Fifteen miles,” she muttered. “It seems so far, but not very far at all really.”

“It’s not far,” Finn assured her. “Not when we’re traveling away from the place we need to go, then doubling back to follow the coastline. If we only travel twenty to thirty miles a day it’ll take us five days to get to the coast. Probably another five or six days to get to the Valley of Sorrows.”

“One cannot control the weather,” Brendolowyn pointed out.

Smug, Finn shrugged up a shoulder and said, “I don’t know, the mages in Dunvarak seem to be doing a fine job of controlling the weather. You’re a mage,” he pointed out. “Can’t you at least shift the fog?”

“Of course I can shift fog,” he countered, a hint of offense in his tone, “but this fog is thick. I can tell that much from simply looking at it, from watching it reach like greedy hands to draw us into its depths. Shifting it would do little to no good at all if the only thing waiting on the other side was more fog.”

“I am tired,” Lorelei intervened before a full-scale argument could break out between the two of them. “So tired I don’t know how much longer I can stay aback my horse.”

“Did you sleep at all last night, Princess?”

“I told you this morning at breakfast I didn’t sleep. Logren and I were up all night, drinking, talking, sitting in the temple. I’m surprised I haven’t fallen off yet and just let myself be dragged through the snow.”

“That is reason enough for me to set up camp and get some rest,” Brendolowyn decided.

The mage used magic to tether the horses while Lorelei and Finn began unpacking the tents to set them up. There were only two tents, one of them a gift from the merchant in Dunvarak for the Light of Madra and her mate, the other belonged to the mage. Finn hadn’t thought much about sleeping arrangements, having just assumed before setting out they would sleep the way they’d done in Logren’s camp, curled up together with a mountain of furs between them. Of course, that was before his beast grew intolerant of being pushed aside and told to wait for her to come to him.

Being so near her made him feel like there was fire coursing through his veins. It was painful to the point of cruel at times, and he could never let her see his pain. He needed to take control of himself.

While they set up the tents, Brendolowyn began moving widdershins around the perimeter, raising a barrier to keep the heat in and enemies out. The bird perched still as a statue on the mage’s shoulder, as if he weren’t a bird at all, but an extension of his magic-user, and the image made Finn shudder. It was such an unnatural thing, keeping a bird around like that. Walking everywhere with it preening feathers over his shoulder.

Shaking his head, Finn ignored the sound of gibberish passing across the other man’s lips and focused on securing tent stakes in the frigid sheet of ice beneath the snow. He supposed it wouldn’t matter much, once the barrier was up. It would block the wind and keep the tents from blowing away.

Tents raised, the mage was still muttering incantations and drawing spirals of blue-tinted white energy from the air that danced and joined together at his command. Finn hunkered down across from where Lorelei knelt, trying to make a fire. Finn reached in to scoop the tinder she’d been working with. He rearranged it into a loose nest to catch the sparks before holding his hands out and nodding for her to strike the flint toward the center.

“You should just let the mage start fires. I’m sure it’d be nothing for someone of his skill.”

Gods, he sounded bitter, worse was he knew it and did nothing to stop the words from fumbling through his lips. His attitude was doing very little to soften her mood toward him; if anything it was hardening her. He could almost feel it, as if she were lifting a barrier around herself not unlike the one the mage was raising to protect their camp.

The tinging crack sounded, sparks jetting forward, only briefly touching the dry tinder. “The barrier is more important than getting a fire started.”

“You wouldn’t think so come the late hours of the night, when the wind is fierce and fire is your only source of warmth.”

“Or would I think so, as I watched trolls circle in around our nice warm fire and debate which one of us would make a finer meal?”

Finn snorted and watched her strike the flint again, sparks flying into the dry nest of twigs and needles. An orange ember caught and he cupped that ember in his hands. Lifting it toward his lips, he blew it brighter until it caught and spread, a small, but steady flame leaping and dancing to life in the exhale of his breath.

“Fair point,” he conceded. “But still… There are other things you could do. Fire is…”

“A man’s work?” Her brow furrowed, mouth tightening as she said the words.

Finn’s eyes darted skyward, his breath leaving his lungs as he shook his head. “I was just going to say fire is a pain in the ass, that’s all.”

“It’s good to know how to get one started though,” she shrugged. “You seem to have no trouble with it.”

“Princess, I’ve been starting fires since I was old enough to strike flint to steel.”

“And just because I haven’t, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t know how to do it.”

“No, it doesn’t, I just thought…”

“You just thought to do it for me, instead of letting me do it myself. You know, I’m not completely useless, Finn. I can do a lot of things, maybe not as quickly as you, or even as efficiently as you, but I can still do them.”

“I know,” he wilted. “Princess, I just wanted to help.”

“You can help by not calling me princess.” Wiping her hands together, she rose from her crouch and walked away, leaving him to tend to the flame she’d been so bloody adamant about starting.

Watching after her, he shook his head and sighed. It was already feeling like a long journey, and they’d barely even left Dunvarak.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

 

The city did not come to a stumbling halt simply because the Light of Madra was gone. In fact, Vilnjar was given his first glimpse at life in Dunvarak from an almost pre-Lorelei advantage. Bustling bodies rushed through the streets with places to be and things to do. As if the three days she spent there threw the city so far behind schedule they had to work doubly hard to get back on track again. Even the children were focused on chores, rather than running idly through the cobbled streets chasing cats or playing pebbles on the walkway. Everyone had stout purpose, and as he followed Logren toward Hodon’s hall on the other side of Dunvarak, Vilnjar never felt more purposeless in his life.

They were meeting with the city’s overseer to attend to the final details of the missive Hodon was preparing to send north, to Galfon Wild-Heart. A hopeful plea for alliance Vilnjar still wasn’t sure would amount to much, he only agreed to assist with the writing of it because he owed his sister and his people that much.

There was hope and freedom to be found in Dunvarak, a chance for them to be a community again, to thrive and grow and restore all everything lost to them when the War of Silence stole their fathers and sons, burned their villages to ash and imprisoned them within the western border of Leithe, denying them their very nature.

Just thinking of his natural inclination made the wolf inside him stir. His recent embracing of the beast during their battle with the Hunters at the foot of Great Sontok made it more restless than ever. It longed for freedom from the restraint of his skin, to race beneath the moons, across the harsh and frigid landscape in search of prey to play with. The feeling, while not entirely new to him, was exhilarating, emboldening. It reminded him of the early days of his first transformations, though stifled as they were by the rigid hand of the council, when everything was new and exciting.

He’d known transformations, gave into them on the rare occasion out of necessity and nothing more, but never had he battled against another wolf while in that skin. It was terrifying, a mere glimpse of what it must have felt like to be his brother—who never shunned transformation, no matter how often he was threatened or punished for it.

And once he experienced freedom, he craved it the way some men craved overindulgence in intoxicating libations and dangerous herbs said to unleash the mind from the body and set the spirit free.

The wolf was always with him, not near as easy to ignore as it was just ten days earlier when life had been simpler. He could no longer pretend it wasn’t a part of him.

When a group of boys came running through the street, Logren didn’t stop them, even though they nearly barreled both men over as they pushed between them shouting, “Pardon me, excuse us.”

The same action just days before prompted the commander to assert his authority over them. He’d reminded them other people were walking, told them they needed to be mindful of their elders, but he just kept walking, head down, shoulders slumped and steps wavering as he took them.

The black rims of a sleepless night dug deep beneath his eyes and the stagger in his walk made Vilnjar wonder if his companion might still be a little drunk. Either way, Logren was clearly exhausted. Try as he might, Vilnjar couldn’t remember having ever seen Dunvarak’s commander actually sleep. He spent long nights in their camps draining cup after cup of mead and ale, and once they arrived in Dunvarak it’d been the same. He sat at the table long after everyone else retired.

It seemed travel, drink and exhaustion were finally taking their toll, and it was only a matter of time before Logren collapsed from it. He was a proud, stubborn man, who infuriated Vilnjar in ways not even Finn seemed able to accomplish, but when they entered the overseer’s hall he straightened his shoulders and tried to at least make himself look alert and presentable.

Until they sat down.

They were only there a few minutes before Hodon pushed the roll of parchment across the carved table, toward Vilnjar with a proud nod and half-grin. “I took your advice, wrote it as you suggested.”

Vilnjar studied the parchment roll on the table, his eyes darting across the thick, yellowed paper before he reached for and unrolled it to skim the words etched therein. A greeting, a reminder of his person and a humble confession all before the real reason for its writing. There was a warning and an invitation to join forces against the inevitability of war, and all of it was wrapped in the thinly-veiled promise of freedom to be the wolves they were born to be.

There was no mention of Lorelei or her quest to retrieve the Horns of Llorveth and awaken the wolf-spirits of the half-blooded U’lfer of Dunvarak. He did not address the fact that Finn and Vilnjar arrived, or Vilnjar himself oversaw and instructed the penning of the missive that would reach them.

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