Sorrow's Peak (Serpent of Time Book 2) (9 page)

“So you’re not mad at me then?”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I just thought…”

“Believe it or not, Finn, there is so much more going on right now than whatever this is between us.” There was a cool edge to her tone that felt almost as stark as a slap to the face, and without even realizing it he recoiled from her. “I have to make sure all my things are packed and ready to go. We are leaving soon. You should get ready too.”

And then, as if slathering a cooling balm across the wound her indifference left behind, she lifted her hand to his shoulder and brought her gaze up to meet his. The barest hint of a smile found the corners of her mouth and then she edged her way out of the space he’d cornered her into. Without turning around, he listened to her footsteps as they carried her away, and just stared at the dishes in the wash basin until she closed the door to the room they’d shared before he told her he couldn’t control himself if he were so near to her.

Her indifference, which was what he assumed it to be, lingered on through the procession as they made their way toward the southern gates of Dunvarak an hour later. She held her head high, smiling radiantly, but he could tell she didn’t really feel it.

There wasn’t a single citizen left in their houses as the three would-be heroes paraded through the streets. Children waved farewell and threw flowers across the stones before they passed. Finn could smell their scent as petals crushed beneath their horses’ hooves, filling the cold morning air with hints of jasmine and rose that would cling to their clothes for the next several days. Logren saw them beyond the gates, reaching for his sister’s hand before she departed for one last goodbye.

“Be careful,” he bid her as he squeezed her fingers and turned a fierce look to each of her companions. “All of you. Watch after one another.”

“I will send Hrafn with word from the Alvarii,” the mage told his friend.

“We await your news.”

Several times after they passed through those gates, Finn spied Lorelei glancing backward at her half-brother, who stood with arms crossed, the length of his dark auburn hair waving in the wind. The two of them seemed to have bonded, at last, something he knew Lorelei longed for, but hadn’t been given time to achieve with everything going on during their brief stay in Dunvarak. Incredible what a single drunken night could achieve.

Beyond the eastern horizon, the sun only just began to rise behind thick, black, layered clouds piling in close together and eking their way across the sky with promises of cold rain, sleet and snow that would soak through their cloaks, but never touch the people of Dunvarak.

Good, he thought, nudging his mount along the cobbled street. Maybe the first day of travel would be a total washout and they’d be forced to set up camp just a handful of miles from the city. He’d give anything to go back to sleep, to nestle down in a pile of furs and forget for a few hours he was riding toward his own end.

His mount’s hooves clattered upon the stone, the shoes
it wore crafted for long journeys through harsh, frozen conditions, otherwise dangerous to a horse shod in the typical fashion. There would be long passages sheeted in ice, slippery climbs as they eked their way across the rolling landscape, but their horses would have no trouble taking them on their way.

Well, he wasn’t sure he would say no trouble at all. At least not for him. Finn felt the beast’s unease with him, its wariness of the wolf within, and could already tell it was going to be a while before he earned the horse’s trust. Every time he leaned forward or lifted a hand to its neck to placate it, it shuddered under his touch as if it expected him to tear into its flesh.

The horses in the Edgelands weren’t so picky, but then they’d been around wolves all their lives. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of disaster the people of Dunvarak would have on their hands once Lorelei brought back the Horns of Llorveth and woke the beasts inside them.

He probably wouldn’t be around to see it. The thought depressed him.

Beyond the southern gates Finn saw what waited on the other side of Dunvarak for the first time. Fields of golden barley and rye, high stalks of corn and endless trenched rows for root vegetables. It reminded him, for a time, of home, though there was an unnaturalness to it that made him uneasy. The stalks did not waver or respond to the harsh winds whipping around them, but stood tall and proud beneath the protective barriers raised by the mages. He didn’t know much about magic, it was never his thing, but he did wonder how thin the magic of that place was stretched. He distinctly recalled Logren telling his brother there were only eleven mages in Dunvarak, four to maintain the city’s barrier while the rest tended to teaching the art of magic in the lyceum. In truth, there were only ten, if Brendolowyn could be counted. Or maybe they hadn’t been counting the half-elf. He didn’t know, and it didn’t really matter in the end.

Those fields stretched for miles, and it took hours until they reached the end of them. When Finn turned back over his shoulder to see how far the city was behind them, he was surprised to discover Dunvarak wasn’t there at all and neither were the fields they’d just passed through.

Some magic, he thought with silent amazement. He didn’t have the mind for such things. Maybe that was why Lorelei was so obviously attracted to the half-elf, why she sought him out about the time serpent, rather than bringing it to Finn. She could talk to Brendolowyn on a deeper, more sophisticated level than she could with him, which made him feel… well, sort of like an idiot.

For a long time he rode several lengths behind Lorelei and didn’t bother attempting to catch up when he realized how cozy she was getting with the mage. They chattered away, their voices carrying back to his ears, but the wind dulling the sound so he couldn’t make out the words. They were probably talking about things she thought he wouldn’t understand.

He really shouldn’t have pushed her away, he realized. She would think he couldn’t control himself, worry she had to put distance between them to protect herself, and if he was going off to die, maybe it was for the best, but the last person he wanted her getting cozy with was the mage she all but confessed to being attracted to.

Loose strands of bright red hair escaped her hood and danced around her, catching in the dull light of the morning sun like thin flames. That light only broke through the clouds temporarily before retreating back into thick black folds to hide, but as it caught and wavered he couldn’t help but admire the way her hair shimmered like fire.

He spurred his horse forward, catching up to Lorelei and Brendolowyn with every intention of asking the mage if it was some magical effect that made the city disappear. Butting into the conversation would put some distance between them.

It made him angry and jealous, the friendliness of their interaction, and the fact that he was cranky and overtired did little at all for his sour mood. Arriving on her left side, neither of them acknowledged his presence, even when he cleared his throat, so he rode for a while in silence, just listening to them until he forgot why he’d bothered to join them at all.

He lowered his head to look at his gloved hands clutching tight to the straps within them. The leather squeaked against his grip, a cold sound he could have done without, as it rubbed raw against his already frazzled nerves. Between that and the constant jarring of his spine, he was already dreading the hour they made camp and he was forced to sleep on the cold, hard earth that would bring no comfort to his bones.

Comfort was a thing of the past, something he took for granted all his life and would probably never endure again.

Gods, he sounded so much like his brother, he realized. Vilnjar was always looking at the wrong side of everything, refusing to find hope or light in any situation. Generally Finn wasn’t so dour or insecure, but that morning he felt the relation to his brother unlike he’d ever felt it before. He wanted to cut the brain out of his head just to put an end to Vilnjar’s voice, and as soon as he realized that’s what it was, he decided to stop himself from sinking any further into despair.

He was doing what he always wanted: adventuring, seeing the world beyond the Edgelands and he was doing it with the most beautiful woman alive. His girl, his mate. And if he died protecting her when all was said and done, so what? At least he lived while the chance was his to take. He wasn’t going to stand for the distance he tried to put between them. He would take back everything he said, control himself to the best of his ability, run his wolf to hunt every night if he had to just to keep it content. Holding her at bay was more like something his brother would do, and he’d said goodbye to his brother.

There was an almost overwhelming urge in Vilnjar’s eyes before they embraced, a longing to grab the boy he’d practically raised from a pup and bid him to turn away from the madness of his own path. But Viln held his tongue, and saw them out with the rest of the village. His brother let him go, and it was time Finn let go of the influence he’d held over him.

It was the first time in Finn’s life he’d been free of his brother’s influence, and while there’d been a part of him looking forward to that freedom, it was actually far more terrifying then he thought it would be. Vilnjar had a funny way of always appearing at his back just in the nick of time, of reaching into the hornet’s nest to yank Finn out and set him right and back on his feet again before life started to sting.

Glancing back over his shoulder at the long, white road behind him, he watched the squalls sweep in spiraling dances over their tracks and lamented for a silent moment as the realization sunk in for the first time in his life.

Vilnjar kept him alive. The next time he got himself into trouble, which he most assuredly would do, his brother would not be there to pull him out in the nick of time.

He was on his own.

Well… not entirely alone. There was the mage and the princess, but the mage didn’t count for much as far as he was concerned, and the princess… He was there to look after her, not the other way around.

Still… it was time to cut Vilnjar’s voice from his thoughts.

Stretching his shoulders back, he was drawn to their conversation again by the sound of her laughter. It was pure music, uplifting him while also invoking his ire. She was laughing at something the half-elf said, when just a few days earlier it would have been Finn making her chuckle with some inappropriate jest. Brendolowyn, who she did not deny intrigued her in ways that made the jealous fires of Finn’s heart flare, how dare he be so cunning and clever as to evoke her amusement.

Narrowing his eyes across the space between them, barely noticing Lorelei in his effort, Brendolowyn felt his stare and turned to make eye contact for the briefest of moments before returning his gaze to her. He was grinning almost self-righteously, as if he knew how much their growing camaraderie got under his skin.

What an arrogant, pointy-eared prick, Finn thought.

She was still laughing, breathing outward with adorable titters as she shook her head and said, “I still barely know him, but given all I’ve learned these last few days, I cannot help but feeling that is so very typical of him.”

“Typical of who? What’s so funny?”

“Bren was just telling me about the day he met Logren.” She chuckled, her eyes like two warm jewels in the cold daylight when she returned them to his face. “Apparently I am lucky I still have a brother, according to him.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” the elf went on. “It was a brutal skirmish, one we are both fortunate to have walked away from relatively unscathed. We may not have done, if Hodon hadn’t intervened.”

His grin made Finn’s stomach roll and churn inside him. Self-righteous, pompous…

Brendolowyn thought he was so much better than everyone else, a self-assessment Finn thought to prove wrong before all was said and done. Then maybe she wouldn’t be so quick to ogle him with curiosity and budding desire.

“You fought like men?” Finn asked, his disbelieving tone forcing Lorelei’s merriment to slowly fade. “With sword and shield?”

“Yes,” Bren answered.

“I didn’t realize mage’s even knew how to fight like proper men.”

Without missing a beat, the mage lifted his chin with pride and just enough arrogance to make Finn want to throw him from his horse and pummel him into a bloody paste.

“Well, there must be a lot you don’t know about mages, then. My mother insisted upon such training when I was young. It was her belief an elf who did not know how to defend himself beyond his inborn magical abilities would find himself easily yoked by a slave’s collar. Unfortunately,” he paused, as if trying to stomach his next words before speaking them, “I did not adhere to Mamiir’s warnings. I was arrogant, lax in my training and I found myself in that collar she warned me about just miles from Til Harethi. I learned to fight with magic and steel in the arenas of the Orcish province of Bok’naal.”

Finn was stunned. He heard violent stories of the arenas of Bok’naal as a boy, told by old wolves who traveled beyond the Edgelands in the time before the War of Silence. U’lfer gladiators were once a treasured acquisition in the orc-run lek’orums, where enslaved Alvarii and Ninvarii mages trained to battle to the death were the primary source of entertainment. Set against one another in wicked, bloody battles to the death, Finn hadn’t believed the stories they told, instead thinking such places only a cautionary tale to young pups like him who dreamed of life beyond the safety of the Edgelands.

Old beliefs fostered skepticism in the mage’s claim, but he said nothing, and it wasn’t long before Lorelei was pressing Brendolowyn for details with wide eyes and gasps of horror once she learned what the arenas of Bok’naal were.

“You mean they capture people, these orcs, and throw them into cages together, then make them fight each other to the death? For entertainment?”

For the first time since they left Dunvarak, the half-elf wasn’t gaping at her enthusiastically when he spoke. He stared straight ahead, his grim face half-hidden by the shadow of his hooded robe. “That is exactly what I mean,” he nodded. “They capture mages, mostly, and collar them with red moonstone so they can’t use their magic.”