Summit

 

By the time Conner arrived at daybreak the next morning, Marcantos had gathered the band of nearly seventy ordermen and a dozen guildsmen to announce, to the cheer of the group, that Conner had assumed command of the new army. Marcantos then singled out a bright-eyed young mute named Staeffan from Gertrum’s team of Scouters as the army’s new standard-bearer. Before Hemera had risen fully above the mountains to the east, the small army had broken camp, mustered into two platoons—one of Anarchists, the other of Harmonics—and began their procession southwest across the Valley of Souls. As they marched, several Anarchists broke into a snappy ditty to help keep the pace strong. This was followed by playful whoops and shouts from the Harmonics at the front, who then returned with their own exuberant air. Soon, the two platoons were engaged in a high-spirited game of lighthearted one-upmanship, each side encouraging the other to best them for the snappiest tune and liveliest step. Keeping pace near the front with Wren on Skye’s back, Conner occasionally heard Marcantos and Gertrum join in to help the smaller platoon of Harmonics.

Within several hours, they reached the foot of the Dragon’s Back Mountains west of Dragongarde, where they reassembled into single-line formation and picked their way up the steep, rocky incline. By late morning, Gertrum and Targon found the trail that his band had taken to Dragongarde, and sent several of his Scouters on ahead. With Staeffan proudly taking the lead, the black flag with red dragon hoisted overhead and fluttering in the cool mountain air, they marched south. By early afternoon, under a cloudless azure sky, they reached the crystal waters that formed the wellsprings for the three rivers flowing south of the mountains. The army turned west, skirting the western bank of the river that would become the River Tresdan farther to the southwest. By dusk, they had cleared another mountain. Having made such good progress, Marcantos called the army to a halt.

By dark, Conner, Wren, Marcantos, Meera, Allisor, and Gertrum sat huddled about their fire, listening to the laughter and singing from the fires burning around them. It had been a good first day.

Gertrum leaned back and scratched at his beard while he studied the mountain the army had conquered that afternoon. “If we can maintain this pace, we should reach Shan-Grail in plenty of time to be rested and prepared for whatever the Necromancer brings at us.”

Marcantos peered about the camp. “Even more than our progress, I am pleased with how the Anarchists and Harmonics are coming together. We should take advantage of this energy and work them on developing their skills further.”

Meera draped a thick wool blanket over Wren’s hunched shoulders, then sat. She rubbed Morgana’s ear while the mink tried to playfully bite her finger. “I agree fully. As soon as they have food in their bellies.”

“How are they progressing?” Conner probed.

“Slow,” Marcantos answered. “But I don’t have any concerns quite yet.” His eyes lost focused as he stared into the fire. “My first pupil took a number of days before she broke through her training in using Anarchic Sight. It isn’t easy to change how you think after years of being trained a certain way.”

“Marcantos and I have come up with a strategy to help with that,” Meera added. “He works with one platoon on teaching them being Aware, while I work with the other on how to improve their elemental powers. In the next session, we switch off. So far, it seems to be working.”

“Yes,” Marcantos agreed. “But at some point, we need to mix in some training on how to work together in small groups. Hopefully, we will have time before we reach Shan-Grail.”

Gertrum scooched closer to the fire. “The real test comes when you mix Harmonics up with Anarchists into teams. That’s when we find out if they’ve got any real mettle.”

Conner had wondered about Marcantos’s tactic to keep the Harmonics separated from the Anarchists. “Why separate them if you’re going to mix them up later? Wouldn’t it be better to mix them now while their spirits are high so they learn to work together?”

“Keeping them segregated for now will help us train them in being Aware,” Marcantos answered. “I need to work with those using Anarchic Sight apart from those using Harmonic Sight. And that has to be our first step. Besides, I want to keep some space between them until they have developed more trust.”

Conner was not sure how keeping them apart would help bring them together later, especially since they only had a week to be ready. But he would gladly leave such decisions to his general.

 

Later that night, Conner sat next to Skye curled up near a large boulder, watching as Marcantos and Meera worked with the two platoons.

“How is Wren?” Skye asked.

Conner had sensed his bond’s growing concern through the day, and knew it was for Wren. The dragon seldom left her side. “The same as yesterday. At least she’s not worse.” He glanced up at Skye, noting several new horns growing from under his jawline. “Thank you for giving her a ride.”

“Thank-yous are not necessary. I cannot imagine the loss she must feel.” Skye gave a brief snort-sniff. “In an absurd kind of way, I miss Valkere’s exuberance. We could all use that right now.”

Conner pressed his back to Skye’s side. He had not slept well in several nights, so the day’s long hours of mountain climbing lulled him further toward the sleep he fancied. The dragon’s slow rhythmic breathing edged him even closer. As he drifted off, Skye’s deep voice drew him back.

“Several times, I tried to strike up a chat with Wren. But she would become distracted and forget we were conversing. Occasionally, I tried to assure her that Valkere was okay and that you would get him back. But she did not remember him. I think to forget one’s bond may be the greatest of tragedies.”

Conner rolled to his side, wiggling into a comfortable position against the dragon and drawing his blanket up. “I don’t even want to consider the thought of forgetting you, Skye.” No longer able to fight the urge, he let sleep take him away.

 

With the army fully rested and the promise of cooler weather, the second day began with spirits high, and they maintained a vigorous pace. With Marcantos’s direction, they settled into a stable formation, with Gertrum directing his band of Scouters in front, followed by Conner and Marcantos, then Staeffan proudly flourishing their flag at the end of his long pike. The smaller platoon of Harmonics and bonds trailed after the standard bearer, followed by the Anarchists and bonds, with Meera and Morgana, then Wren on Skye’s back bringing up the rear. Talk was light and often full of banter.

By the fifth day, Conner reconsidered his reservations in Marcantos’s strategy as he noted the two platoons mingling more and more, volunteering and sharing more of the responsibilities for setting up and breaking down camp, hunting, cooking, and cleaning up. He also noticed that they were casting more powerful incantations. Success fed their hunger to learn more, and soon, they were practicing their newfound powers at every opportunity. Even Gertrum, who’d started their journey brooding and grumbling about the long trail ahead, could be seen occasionally smiling and joking, though he still kept a sizeable distance from the Anarchists. While all of this was promising, Conner could not help but notice Wren’s periods of lucidity were occurring less often with each day’s passing.

“There’s nothing more you can do for Wren?” Conner pressed Meera the evening of their fourth day as they huddled about the campfire, his eyebrows arched in concern.

Meera peered over at the sleeping form nestled beneath several blankets near Skye. “As I say each evening, I have done all that I can for her.” She exhaled slowly. “I am sorry, Conner. I too worry for her, and of possible long-term effects this might have on her, even if you get her dragon back. All I can say is that I will stay with her, watch over her, and do what I can.”

“Of course. Thank you, Meera.”

On the other side of the fire, Gertrum motioned toward the huge summit of snow-capped rock blocking out much of the western sky. Only small portions of the horizon to the north and south of the peak were visible. “That is the highest point of the entire mountain range. The trail will take us to a pass along the southern section. From there, we will stay on the western side of the river until we reach Shan-Grail.”

“Which puts us a full day ahead of schedule,” Marcantos added with a beaming smile. “No more rocky ascents or steep climbs. It is all downhill from there.”

As Conner said his good nights and headed over to join Skye and Wren, he could not believe their good fortune. He thought back to the events since he left home on his Calling—his misadventures and many struggles. This moment seemed a little too convenient to be real.

The next morning, Conner discovered just how accurate that feeling was. He awoke to a hard jostle and squinted up at a dark form hunched over him. He sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. The air was crisp. With just a hint of light on the eastern horizon and no campfires lit, it had to be an hour before dawn. “What is it?”

The form leaned closer. It was Gertrum, who’d lost all semblance of humor sometime during the night. The Scouter pressed a forefinger to his lips, waved for Conner to follow, then stalked away. Conner followed Gertrum to where Meera was working to start a fire, while Morgana brought small twigs from the woods. Marcantos was there next to Copious, bowed forward, rubbing his hands over his face. “What is it?” Conner asked again softly.

Gertrum gestured to the west. In the first gleam of Hemera, Conner could distinguish a line of dark clouds on either side of the great mountain’s peak. “What does that mean?”

“Bad weather,” Gertrum groaned as he plopped down beside Targon. “Really bad.”

Marcantos kicked a stone near his foot into the fire. “I knew it was too much to expect good weather the entire way.”

Gertrum snorted. “We are past the fall equinox now, General. It would be foolhardy to expect good weather in the mountains on any given day.”

“Just how bad will it be?” Conner asked.

“From the altitude and color of them clouds?” Gertrum asked, scratching his beard while his bushy brow sank over his eyes. “Dead-of-winter bad. Even worse, it is going to be here before we clear the summit.” The Scouter squinted, mumbling to himself. “We may have until late afternoon before the brunt of it strikes. It would seem we are about to pay back with interest the last four days of pleasant weather.”

Meera looked to where the others were staring. “You are the Alpslander, Gertrum. What do you suggest we do?”

“We should spend the time before the storm arrives fortifying our current position,” Marcantos interjected. “We wait out the storm here and proceed once the weather clears.”

Gertrum wagged his head, jabbing his finger toward the mountain. “We are in the open here, General. I would suggest we get as many steps as we can toward that beastie before the storm hits. We might even find some shelter along this side of the ridge that will offer protection from the wind.” Marcantos was about to argue, so Gertrum added, “Every minute we spend debating this further is a minute we will have to spend traipsing through snow and ice after the storm passes.”

Conner stepped forward. “Rouse the army, Marcantos. I want to be on the move in half an hour. We can distribute rations to eat on the way. Gertrum, I want two Scouters ahead of us at all times with regular reports back. I will send Skye on ahead as well. Maybe he’ll get lucky and find a cave we can hole up in.” He caught Meera’s toothy smile in the faint light. “What?” he asked her.

She shook her head. Reaching down, she cradled Morgana in her arms. “Nothing. I will get Wren up and help her pack.”

“Thank you.” Conner squinted over at the large, black form snorting and twitching near the edge of camp. “And I’ll commence to waking the dragon. The higher we climb in these mountains, the more sleep he thinks he needs. We’ll be blessed if his eyes are open by the time we decamp.”

 

Several hours out of camp, Skye descended from the misty gray sky to report he had found a large cavern not far off the trail about three miles ahead. Conner conveyed this to Gertrum and Marcantos. Cheers broke out along the line as the news was passed along. With the encouraging report, the army picked up the pace. However, they had not gone a mile up the trail before the wind picked up. Staeffan refused to stow the flag, insisting to Gertrum with animated gestures that he could keep the standard flying high. But when a gust blew him backward into Conner, he succumbed to Gertrum’s demands and reverently packed it away.

Two miles from the cave, they were in a full gale. The temperature plummeted. Soon after, snow began to fall, clinging to their clothes in thick clumps. With the Scouters returned, the army paused long enough to string together their climbing ropes, which they used to ensure no one would be left behind. Skye did not seem affected by the cold, so Conner asked him to lead the way to the cave. With one end of the rope tied around his waist, Conner took guard position behind the dragon, and on they trudged.

Swirling snow blinded him, and his face felt like it was being pricked by a hundred needles. His feet vanished in snowdrifts that grew deeper with each passing minute, and he fought to keep his footing along the slippery trail. Progress ground to the pace of a turtle.

The last mile felt like an eternity. But at last, Conner staggered into pitch darkness and deafening stillness. He sensed the draw of Fire and Air behind. Someone rasped an incantation, flooding the cave with brilliant orange light. One by one, the army of men and bonds stumbled into the cave and collapsed in a heap. Soon, the chamber was filled with the echoes of groans and sharp breathing.

“Is everyone okay?” Conner shouted, trying to keep his teeth from clacking. Those with any remaining strength nodded or waved. He peered down at the big man huddled and shivering against his bear bond. “Gertrum, have your Scouters fan out around the cave. I want every nook and crevice of this place inspected within the next half hour. I don’t want to be surprised by some creature angry we stumbled in on uninvited.” He pointed at Marcantos. “General, get everyone up and assembled. I want to know that everyone made it in. Then come up with a way to heat this chamber ... and get us more light! I will work on a protective shield over the entrance to keep the wind out. And where’s Meera?” He found her wrapping a blanket over Wren’s back. “Meera, do what you can to offer aid to those who need it.”

With everyone scrambling to carry out his orders, Conner went to stem the tide of frigid air and snow entering the entrance. After a handful of unsuccessful tries, he was able to create a barrier across the narrow mouth of the cave, involving several layers of woven elementals modeled from the rings that had been used to bind Meera when she was a prisoner in the Shamans’ temple. He started with a weave of Earth and Water to cover the mouth, then followed it with a layer of Water and Air, and finally, one of Air and Fire. Once he was sure the barrier would withstand the wintry elements, he returned to thank Skye for his help and to offer assistance where he could be of some use.

 

By early afternoon, Conner gathered Marcantos, Gertrum, Meera, Allisor, and Wren for an assessment of their situation and to discuss next steps.

Meera began, speaking in a hushed tone, as conversations easily carried throughout the hollow chamber. “We have about a dozen men, along with several bonds, suffering from hypothermia. Another hour in that storm and we would be having a different conversation. Still, I think they will all recover. But it means we need to keep them warm until this storm passes.”

“Gertrum?” Conner asked.

Gertrum puffed out his cheeks. “This is worse than anything we get in the eastern regions, so I have no idea how much longer it will last. Even if it stopped now, it would be midday tomorrow before we could dig our way free of the drifts.”

Wren stared at the entrance, where the snowdrift was taller than Conner. And snow was still falling in heavy flakes.

Conner placed his hand lightly on Wren’s shoulder, and the tension left her body.

Wren smiled at him.

“My concern right now is morale,” Marcantos said. “Some of the troops have never seen snow before. I can see the fear in the young ones’ eyes. I heard a few wondering what we will do if we get sealed in here. And there are whispers of wanting to go back to the valley, that they don’t see a reason to risk their lives to defend the realms. Some warm weather would help their spirits.”

“Actually, General,” Gertrum said, “warm weather might not be a good thing. If the snow melted this afternoon and the temperature dropped below freezing tonight, we would be forced to traverse icy, dangerous trails tomorrow.”

Marcantos’s eyes narrowed at Gertrum.

“That discussion seems to be premature,” Conner intervened, sensing the tension rising. “Since we can’t predict what is going to happen, I suggest we take advantage of the time we have today and work with the troops, then let them stop early for the evening. We’ll revisit this at first light tomorrow. Besides, keeping them busy might just be the medicine we need to improve all our moods.”

Conner went looking for Skye. He found his bond taking a nap. Far beyond exhaustion, he joined in.