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Grim listened mutely to her recounting of the Kyrgy. “This knight, the one who had kept the wight leashed, his name is Volk.”
“Shared that with you, did he?”
Orielle sidestepped that answer. “What do you think that wedge is? Did Sangrior cause it when he gave me his name? Or when he came after I called him to me?”
“Names are powerful. I’ve never heard of them creating a weakness in a group.”
“They are all bound to Lady Bone.”
He scanned the trees around them. “I don’t like talking about this out here. Too many ears.”
She wanted to discuss the wedge created by Saircuista’s alliance with the sorcerer. Sorceress, she corrected herself.
Grim kept his comments few. Last night he’d told her sharply to get to sleep while he tended to his horse. Ruddy trailed behind them, no longer limping but moving cautiously down the steep trail. The collision with the Kyrgy horse hadn’t dealt a physical injury, but Grim had refused to ride the horse, slowing their approach to the Haven.
On waking this morning, she had peppered him with questions. He’d only shrugged and pushed her to get on the trail faster than usual. He remained reticent still.
Maybe he wanted to mull over last night’s encounter. The quick logic of his sharply aimed questions had impressed Volk and the other riders. She hoped the Kyrgy knight repeated every word to Lady Bone.
“Saircuista—.”
He interrupted. “That knight shared a lot with you, didn’t he?” His stride lengthened, and Orielle had to pick up speed to stay ahead of the trailing horse.
“Not really that much.”
“More than the Lady intended.”
She huffed. “Why would that rider ally with a sorceress? Maybe she tires of her time as a Kyrgy rider. What will happen to her when she breaks the binding to Lady Bone?”
“She will age.”
Orielle opened her mouth to ask Not Death? and then How quickly will she age? Then she choked down the questions, for Grim wasn’t interested in a conversation.
Her mind twisted around the problem of a binding to a Kyrgy. The binding prevented death, yet it also stilled life. Then another question popped up and then out before she could stop it. “Is the wedge that Vol—the wedge that the leash knight spoke of, does it work in reverse? I mean, does it open me to Lady Bone? Does it open the sorceress to the Lady?”
Grim stopped and turned on her. “I don’t know these answers, Orielle. I doubt the Lady knows. I’ve never heard of this wedge, but then, I’ve never heard of a Kyrgy rider not being absolutely loyal to the Lady.” His head cocked. “I know what draws me to you. I doubt the knights have the same lure. But something drew him, the sword knight, as you called him. The Lady recognized it, that first night.”
“He misses the sunlight. He misses living with people of all ages around him. Lady Bone accused me of luring him into a courtship. Because he named me Solsken. That displeased her.”
“Aye, when he should have only given you the sign that would forge a link from you to her. Is it a prophecy?” he muttered, turning away with the question. “Come on. We should reach the Haven by mid-afternoon if we don’t keep stopping.”
“And then we’re safe.”
His abrupt laugh was like Volk’s, without humor. He looked over his shoulder and quirked an eyebrow. “That depends on your definition of safety.”
She stretched her stride to gain his side. “What will I find at the Haven?”
“I don’t know. I left after my father died. The elder who replaced him, he and I never got along.”
The simple statement opened up a wealth of trouble. “Your father was an elder?”
“One elder. A chieftain.” He stopped so abruptly that she strode past. He grabbed her arm and towed her back, and she saw that his left hand rested on his sword hilt, pushing it forward to speed its withdrawal from the Fae-scrolled scabbard. Ruddy braced his iron hooves on either side of the trail, but his head hung down, tired as she was.
She scanned ahead and behind. Like the deer trail they had used to shake the wyre off their heels, this faint trail meandered up and down the slope, steeper as it dropped toward the river. She wished she had a clear road, like the one she had taken from the Lowlands into the Wilding, to that copse at the rocky escarp where the prime wyre had set his trap.
Grim shifted his shoulders and started walking again—although he kept his dual grip on the sword and her arm. “I’m seeing ghosts where there’s nothing. Come on. Never good to linger in the Wilding.”
Ghosts reminded her of the wraith which reminded her of Sangrior ... which turned her thoughts back to Saircuista and the sorceress and the wyre.
Did something track them? Now she remembered the camp attack and the thin rope tightening around her neck. “Gobbers hiding?” she whispered the suggestion.
The trail dropped sharply. Trees crowded the path. On the switchback below, she saw the tangle of laurel, the trail keeping above the leafy maze. The trail crossed a rocky slab without leaving a trace on the granite, just the thready beaten ground on one side then the other.
“With all we’ve faced, I keep expecting a troll or an ogre. Or a gryph. Grim, have you ever seen a gryph?”
“Once.” His glance held amusement mixed with resignation, for clearly she struggled to stay quiet. “At distance.”
“Fighting for Frost Clime?” The only worse thing would be a dragon on the wing. Rumors claimed Frost Clime wanted to free the dragons from the Shifting Lands. “Do ogres and trolls fight at Iscleft? My brother wrote once that he fought more than sorcerers and wyre, but he didn’t say more than that brief line. I always wondered. The sorcerers could terrorize the Lowlands if they drove the Wilding creatures into the plains. Do you think they’ll do that?”
“That’s three questions.” He offered her a hand over another rock slab. Ruddy’s hooves rang as he picked his way across. “You could let me answer one question before you jump to the next.”
“Well?”
“What jumped into you this morning? You haven’t chattered like this before.”
“That sorceress. Could she want to drive the magical creatures into the Lowlands? That would disrupt all the lives in the Lowlands. Is that the reason she came into the Wilding? Or does she want an alliance with Lady Bone?”
He hadn’t given her hand back. She let him steady her progress, for it kept him from striding along at full speed.
Another thought popped out. “Maybe the sorceress thinks she can control the Wilding creatures the way that Frost Clime controls the wyre. And that gryph you saw.”
“The wyre are allied to the sorcerers. They’re not really controlled. The gryph—I don’t know why it helped them. Ogres and trolls would be hard to control; they can’t keep a single thought in their pebble-sized brains. Trolls, especially. If you can hide, they’ll get distracted. We teased them, as boys.”
She waited to hear more, but he didn’t continue.
The only people more arrogant than wizards were the sorcerers. They likely thought they could control trolls and ogres. “That sorceress controlled the gobbers who attacked us.” She remembered their green-tinged eyes.
“Manipulated them. But she might think she can control them. The sorcerers think they can control dragons. No one controls a dragon.”
“The Fae did, once.”
“Until the dragons rebelled and nearly destroyed the mundane world during Dragon Dark.”
“Could the Kyrgy control dragons?”
He stopped. He looked struck. She’d finally said something his quick reasoning hadn’t raced over.
“You did say the Kyrgy are like the Fae even though they have left Faeron.”
“A few remained,” he countered, the words slow as his mind tracked through her question. “Still as dangerous there as they are here in the Wilding.”
“But Lady Bone and the other Kyrgy left Faeron. When?” She teetered on a precipice of knowledge. If she plunged over, she would find an answer—if she didn’t die when the knowledge moved up to meet her. “When the dragons rebelled?” she whispered, fearing the words spoken louder.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to see her, standing before him, the dappled light shifting as a wind blew through the evergreen branches overhead.
“Two questions,” he murmured. “Were the Kyrgy part of banishing the dragons to the Shifting Lands? Or did they leave Faeron because they refused to banish the dragons?” He started walking, so quickly that she stumbled and would have fallen without his tight grip. “You’ll need to read the records for those answers.”
“I studied history. Dragon Dark and the formation of the Enclave and the Riven Peace. Nothing about the Kyrgy and dragons.”
“You studied Enclave history. The Fae will have more records.”
“I don’t like reading. Maybe you should read them.”
“Maybe I should. We’d have to go to the Maorketh’s court.”
Orielle liked that we.
She managed to stay silent until they reached the narrow valley between the mountains. The steep slopes with their exposed boulders and rampant laurel funneled the swift river, a broader cousin to the one they had crossed before. Under the trees the moss grew thick on the ground and on the half-rotted fallen trees, downed long ago. Green stained the rocks beside the water, slick near the waterline. Rains in the eastern Wild must have fallen to swell the river. The water looked deep and cold.
After searching for a crossing, Grim turned north. “We’ll go upstream to the ford. We cross quickly enough.”
What would wait for them at the expected crossing?
But she didn’t point out the danger, merely followed him. And the big chestnut trailed them.
The ford had a wide shoreline, just like the one where they’d fought two days before. The mountains tucked in their feet, letting the river broaden. The banks were lower, dropping gently to the shore. In places, the laurel tipped waxy leaves into the swift water.
The expanse from bank to bank allowed a view of the sun-drenched sky. Light glistened on the water. It dried the rocks to a dull grey. Densely growing evergreens crowded the lower slopes. Then the leafy trees began, their riot of colors slowly dying as the mountain climbed. Where the leaves were already gone, snow dusted the ground, softening the harsh lines of the steep incline, undulating along the flanks.
They crossed where the water streamed over the pebbled riverbed. Grim hoisted her onto the horse. Ruddy tossed his head but accepted her in the saddle. He swung up behind her and urged the horse into the cold water.
On the far side the mountain towered, the slope brushing against the single drapery of evergreens.
The opposing shore wasn’t as wide as it had appeared. Grim lowered her to the cobble-covered beach then jumped down. Ruddy shook like a dog casting off rainwater.
Since they couldn’t climb the steep slope, they followed the curving shore, moving ever upstream.
They rounded one bend after another. The mountain kept rising. Gradually, it stepped back to the river, narrowing the watery expanse, gentling its slope as they rounded its flank. On the far side, the one they had left, the mountain’s shoulder plunged to a narrow gully. Muddy water gushed out, pouring into the river, the silty color gradually mixing with the clear. The next mountain climbed just as steeply, an impenetrable wall they couldn’t have descended.
Up ahead, the shore narrowed, but a wooded island split the river. Riverside, the water rolled from a bend. Mountain side, it swirled and eddied, catching storm wrack in its undulating banks.
The big chestnut stopped. Grim tugged the reins, but the horse refused to advance. As soon as the Rho released the tension on the reins, Ruddy backed several steps, snorted, and tried to back further.
Orielle ventured ahead. She scanned the looming mountain, wondering if Grim knew of a trail to take them above the river and up the mountain. She saw no switchback trail in the dense forest.
She glanced back. Ruddy refused to advance. Grim gripped the reins beneath the bridle bit and held the horse’s head down. Waiting for the debate’s winner, she studied the island with its spruces and other evergreens crowded on the leeward end, growing more sparsely where the water constantly gnawed at the shore.
On the island, the headmost tree had recently lost its battle against the encroaching water. It had fallen athwart the river, the treetop swept clean of needles, the bare branches weathered grey by the bleaching sun. The trunk lay across old wrack piled against slabs of rocks. The root ball stretched pitiful fingers that had lost their grip when enough soil swept away. Moss and grass had seeded in the earth clinging to the roots.
Something moved on the other side of that root tangle.
After another glance at Grim and his horse, she continued, keeping her eyes on the island.
The something was a creature, crouching peasant-style. Its back was rounded as it hunched over something on the ground.
Another creature crouched alongside, its back also to her. And another. The fourth knelt opposite. It crammed something in its mouth. Gobber, feeding. They wore tattered clothing, something she didn’t remember from the night battle.
She froze. A fifth one was on hands and knees, its face buried in peeled open flesh.
As she watched, a sixth gobber crept from the trees and knelt beside the fourth. It stretched out a claw-tipped hand. The third reached across and knocked that hand away.
The gobber’s shift let her see what fed them. Dappled grey flesh.
She backed a step.
And the fourth one looked up from the hunk of meat. Red round eyes narrowed. It jabbered.
The other gobbers turned.
As soon as they saw her, they jumped to their feet and ran to the island’s shore.
And the gobbers waiting in the trees crept forward to take their turn, feeding on Ghost.
Backing toward Grim, Orielle watched the gobbers dip feet into the running river only to back away. One of them jabbered and pointed downstream. They ran back into the trees. She didn’t see them cross from island to the opposing shore, but they quickly appeared. They flew along the narrow shore, hopping from boulder to boulder, scrabbling over fallen trees, ducking through the laurel, with a speed unexpected from such stunted creatures.
She reached Grim. He was scanning the densely forested slope. Ruddy had splayed his feet. His eyes showed white. He shivered. Did the horse sense what had happened to Ghost?
“Come on.” Grim headed for the steepest slope.
The horse followed before she did. She watched the single stream of gobbers running for the ford. The water had swirled above Ruddy’s knees. The creatures shouldn’t be able to cross—unless they could swim.
Then she saw a taller figure drop down to the shoreline. Two gobbers tumbled to a stop as he straightened. He wore hide trousers but no shirt. Golden hair straggled over his bare shoulders. A golden pelt covered his broad chest. Long claws revealed his partial shift.
The wyre looked across the river. Blue, blue eyes snared hers.
She’d thought Grim killed him. Now she knew the blonde wyre that they’d buried under the rocks had lacked the kiss of the sun that graced this one.
A second wyre landed beside him. She recognized this one, too. She’d fought him before Grim killed the other. He’d retreated then.
A third jumped to the shore. The gobbers squealed and fled.
And the sun-kissed wyre smiled.
She ran.
