Bear knight, p.17
Bear Knight, page 17
“The bar?”
She jogged his memory with a nod toward the iron ballast block—the one she’d shown him way back in the field outside Kamel Rov.
“Right. Lee, help me.”
The two cadets lifted the bar by its two handles, all the way to their shoulders. “On your call,” Connor said, gritting his teeth under the bar’s weight.
The Starling raced toward the mountain ridge.
“Hold . . . Hold . . .”
The ridge rose to hide the horizon from Connor’s sight. The Starling looked sure to crash into the gray mist clinging to its rocky flank. “Zel!”
“Now!”
Connor and Lee heaved the ballast weight over the bow, and The Starling lurched, both slowing down and shooting upward. The horizon reappeared. But no sooner had hope bloomed in Connor’s chest, than he felt the ship begin to sink again. “Was it enough?”
Zel kept her hand on the rudder and made no other move to work her dials or vents. “It’ll have to be. There’s nothing more we can do.”
Lee had a better eye for targets and trajectories. Connor could see him trying to work it all out. “Well?”
“Too close.” The scribe’s features twisted in an expectant cringe. “Much too close to tell.”
The ridge did not wait for him to decide. It rose to meet The Starling. An instant before they hit, Connor cried out, “Hold on!” and gripped the wicker rail.
The runners sparked off uneven stone, jolting the three passengers right and left. The Starling bounced and was airborne once more, then hit and bounced again. But there was no third impact.
Lee slapped the bow, laughing. “We’re over!”
“Nothing’s over yet.” Zel returned to her place at the rudder. “We crossed that ridge, but we’re still going down.”
“Yes,” Lee said, “but we’re almost over the glade. Just keep the runners level and let her fall as gently as you can for your docking.”
“Landing.”
“Whichever.”
Neither would be as easy as Lee made it sound. Looking below, Connor saw the same fog that had clung to the southwest side of the ridgeline filling the glade. He could only take it on faith in the Rescuer and the occasional treetop poking through that the glade truly existed. The map had called this range Rimoth Shumordi, the Fading or Muddled Mountains. Now Connor understood why—the mountains perpetually seemed to fade as if being devoured by the fog.
That fog devoured The Starling soon enough, and still they fell—much longer than Connor expected. Waiting for the impact was excruciating.
“Oof!” He let out a grunting shout when the runners hit. She jerked left and right, then skidded long and straight through tall, wet grass.
When they finally came to rest, Lee flopped down on the bow bench and looked up at the other two. “Well. We’re on the ground. And the oddest part is, we’re back in the clouds too.”
All three burst into laughter.
32
KARA
KELEDEV
WESTERN VALE OF THE PASSAGE LAKES
Kara hadn’t visited either vale of the Passage Lakes before, eastern or western. When the Rescuer brought her and Connor to Keledev after the destruction of the dragon’s portal, he’d chosen to send them to a pool in the Forest of Believing, almost on the doorstep of the academy. Kara had found that a mercy at a time when Connor had lost his patehpa and they both thought all their friends had perished, but she’d also felt pangs of jealousy each time the others had set off for these lakes on their scouting missions.
She marveled at cascades higher up the Western Vale, catching the moonlight as they carried cold waters down from one lake to the next. She and Tiran had arrived in late evening at Lake Humility, the lowest of the western lakes. She knelt at the shore to lift a handful of black sand and let it sift through her fingers. “Do they all have black shores? Is that some special quality of a lake portal?”
“Only this one,” Master Belen replied, lowering himself from his saddle. He’d ridden with them as a guide and to bring their horses back to the academy. “Each of the Passage Lakes is unique, much like we are—one more way the Maker reveals his glory.”
The guardian dug in his saddlebags, and after a moment drew out a circular brass box. He opened the lid and called Tiran closer, placing the object in his hands. “No matter where you are in the Dragon Lands, my boy. This will guide you south to the Rescuer’s mighty peaks.”
Kara stood at Tiran’s shoulder and watched as he turned the box slowly back and forth. Beneath a glass plate, a needle quivered and spun.
“So the needle is core stone,” Tiran said, “and always points to the Celestial Peaks, like the water compasses on the ships that run from Sky Harbor to the northern gulfs of Keledev?”
“Correct. Except this contraption holds no water, so you can carry it in your pocket and use it in the worst storm. Look closer.” Belen pointed to the center. “Can you see it? I used a firestone starlot as a fulcrum to balance the needle’s disc. Crystalized and purified dragon fire. It will never rust or wear.”
The two went on for a while, with Tiran asking more questions and Belen giving the longwinded answers typical of a Tinkers’ Sphere master, until Kara put a fist to her mouth and coughed.
“Yes,” Belen said. “Sorry. Must get on with the mission and all that.” He raised a hand to stop Kara from turning away. “I have something for you as well, my girl. A trade of sorts.”
The tinker lifted a cloth behind his saddle to show her a pair of jeweled silver whirlknives—each with a short central handle and two blades that folded forward to become a deadly piercing weapon or spread for slashing and throwing.
“The sheath is gray goatskin,” Belen said, “and rests comfortably at the small of a lightraider’s back. Dame Silvana found them for you from the rangers’ vault of the armory.”
Kara removed the leg sheaths holding the two unadorned whirlknives she’d picked months ago from the cadet stores and traded them for the others. Before adding the gray sheath to the manykit at the small of her back, she took a moment to admire the jewels. Each whirlknife boasted two starlots at the hinge points of the blades, one sapphire blue and one emerald green. “They’re beautiful.”
“Truly. Which reminds me. Silvana asked me to tell you she’ll want them back once you return.”
“Of course. I am not yet part of the Rangers’ Sphere, and may never be, especially at this rate.”
The tinker gave her a smile. “We shall see. Now, off with you both to save a life and solve a mystery. The Rescuer is with you.”
“Always and forever,” the cadets answered and waded into the lake.
The sharpness of the water’s cold struck Kara—the way she could almost see the rippling surface rising up her calves purely by feel. Yet this cold did not carry the harshness of the gales higher up at the Clefts of Semajin. In a way, she found it soothing. Tiran did not seem to agree. As they neared the center, treading water, she saw him shivering. “Are you all right?”
“I will be, I think. The waters of Sil Tymest where Teegs and I grew up are warm in every season. Nothing like this.” He lifted a hand from the water and looked at his own trembling fingers. “But these may be tremors of mood. The last time I dove into one of these lakes, I did so in disobedience, and let the others carry me through the portal.”
“And this time?”
“This time the disobedient part of me wants to swim back to shore and go home.”
Despite expressing this desire, Tiran showed no sign of giving up their assignment. When they reached the deeps of the lake, he took Kara’s hand. “You’ll pass through unharmed, not even wet. I promise. Kesehcer ala’ov lut perah fi shalom nakav sestenoliov . . .”
You will keep the mind dependent on you in perfect peace . . .
Kara took his prompt and finished the sacred verse in the Common Tongue. “For that mind is trusting in you.” She nodded. “I trust the Rescuer.”
“We go on the count of three, then. One . . . Two . . .” Tiran took a deep breath. “Three!”
Together, they stopped treading water and dropped.
The quivering moons above the lake surface faded to dim gray, then vanished in an all-encompassing dark. Sooner than she expected, Kara’s feet sank into silt. A small hazy light appeared ahead. She and Tiran walked toward it in the languid movements forced upon them by the water’s resistance. With each step, the silt firmed, until Kara felt rocks and clumps of weeds under her boots. The light did not wait for them to reach it. Instead, it rushed and burst over them in a blast of cool, dank air.
Both cadets drew in a gasping breath. Kara released Tiran’s hand and turned to see an elegant maidenhair tree with a twisted hollow in its trunk. Before her eyes, the green leaves yellowed and blew away into nothingness. The hollow closed. The tree, now bare, shrank and shriveled to match the other skeletal trees in the forest.
Mist hung around their ankles, as gray-green as Tiran’s cloak. He knelt to touch the soil beneath it, then rose again, wiping his hand on his trousers. “Wild grass and stony earth, shriveled maidenhair trees. This could be the remains of Sil Belomar, the Forest of Tranquility. I read that the Aladoth now call it Gloamwood.”
“What do you mean could be?” Kara asked.
He shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough. We need to look for a town. Have you any clues from the visions of your brehna?”
“You’ll know the moment I do. Either I’ll speak up, or I’ll fall to the ground writhing in pain.” Kara glanced around. Other than the shadows of outcroppings in the distance, hinting at rising terrain, the whole wood looked the same. “Which way shall we go, oh master of the compass?”
Tiran consulted the tinker’s contraption, turning his body slightly, as if lining himself up with the needle. “The Peaks lie directly in front of me. If this is Sil Belomar, then I’m facing west by southwest toward the great expanse of the Tarlan Plains. To the east are the Fading Mountains.”
“And north?”
Tiran didn’t answer. He put a hand to his head.
“Tiran? What’s wrong?”
“Draw your weapons,” he said through clenched teeth. “Something’s coming.” He tucked the compass away and pulled his sword from its sheath. “Something evil.”
Kara saw movement not far away. A dark shape glided through the withered trees. “There,” she said, pointing with a closed whirlknife. “We should follow. If the creature saw us step from the tree, it might give us away.”
They gave chase, but no matter how fast they ran, they could never close the distance. The creature always remained exactly as far away as when Kara first spotted it, until she began to think the shadow they chased was their own.
“Stop,” she said to Tiran, catching his sleeve to slow him.
As she’d predicted, the shadow stopped as well—but not entirely. It glided in a slow circle.
“Am I going mad, or is that thing waiting for us?”
“Or leading us into a—”
Instead of finishing, Tiran let out a cry and clutched at the wound on his head. A faint orange glow colored the fog at their feet. Lantern light? The glow didn’t come from their front, from the direction of the shadow they’d been chasing. It came from behind.
Kara spun and found herself staring into a gaunt white face and deep, hollow eyes. In the orange lanternlight, she could see all the way to the back of the empty sockets.
She screamed.
Tiran’s sword pierced the creature, and it recoiled—a dead thing draped in a ragged, hooded cloak and carrying the lantern that had revealed its decrepit visage.
Kara regained control of her limbs and flicked both wrists to open her whirl knives. She gave the dead thing a menacing glare. As if mimicking her, it flicked its free hand, and yellowed claws appeared, each two or three inches long.
She let out a dry laugh. “Nice.”
The creature slashed at her, and Kara’s training kicked in. She raised an arm, and for the first time, her Keledan armor came to life. A shield on the blue side of indigo flashed as it deflected the creature’s claws. Though she felt no weight, the shield stretched from her chin to her knees.
From her right, Tiran lunged in for another stab. The thing saw him coming and countered with a swinging lantern. The blow knocked his sword aside in a burst of sparks. Neither the lantern nor the strange, candle-shaped light inside seemed harmed in the least.
The creature took the opening and pressed Tiran, swiping at him with its claws and forcing him into retreat. But in doing so, it ignored Kara. She ran in close. Tiran’s sword had done no damage to the lantern, so she slashed with both knives at the arm holding it. She felt the blades sink deep into decayed flesh. The creature shrieked.
The lantern fell from its grasp, and it turned on her with a wild swipe. Kara sliced the two longest claws away.
They grew back.
“Tiran!”
Tiran had left the creature to her and turned his attention to the lantern.
“What are you doing?”
“One moment!” He stabbed directly into the orange light and snuffed it out.
The dead thing shrieked again and threw its hands in the air, one forearm hanging lopsided where Kara had slashed it. Red fire glowed beneath the creature’s rags and spread to its limbs and head. She reeled backward, but not fast enough. The blaze inside intensified until the creature shook and finally burst into ash and dust. Its remains washed over her.
Kara spat. “Oh, disgusting. Some of it got into my mouth.” She brushed the dust off her clothing and shuddered. “Bleh! What was that thing?”
“A wanderer.” An old man limped out of the gloom, supporting himself with a knobby tree-limb crutch. “And by destroying him, you two meddlers ruined everything.”
33
TEEGAN
KELEDEV
PELLION’S FLOW
The Order called them ice rivers. But Teegan had never seen rivers so steep that were not called cataracts or falls. “Are these metal spikes truly necessary, Pedrig? I fear my feet may never recover from the bite of their iron braces.”
The wolf neither turned nor slowed his march across the flow of snow and ice they had entered. “Have you claws like mine, daughter of autumn? Or talons to match those of the falcon who wheels above us?”
“Sometimes they come out,” Dag said, crunching along behind her. “Mostly when she fights with her brehna.”
Teegan reached back to smack his arm, a broad enough target that she could hit it without looking. “I have neither claws nor talons, Pedrig.”
“Then you must wear the iron spikes the outfitter gave you, whether they bite or not. The Rescuer’s ice rivers are too slippery for men.”
Despite his joke, Dag seemed to like the spikes as little as Teegan. “In a fight, iron shoes will slow us down.”
The wolf glanced back. “You cannot fight if you cannot stand. You must make do with the encumbrance. Yes, the spikes will make any battle more arduous, but your training will help you overcome the difficulty.”
The ice rivers, known collectively as Pellion’s Flow, lay on a direct line between the Clefts of Semajin and the place in Dayspring where Teegan and her brehna had found Barnabas. The three had searched a full day, starting at the Forest of Believing, but found nothing. And now, as the night grew long and their limbs grew weary, they searched some of the most dangerous terrain in all Keledev.
According to Master Jairun, the ice rivers never ceased to move and change. A lightraider whose leg became trapped between the flow and the ridges jutting up through it could expect that limb to be crushed and severed in the most slow and agonizing way imaginable. At the same time, crevices and sinkholes might open at any instant and swallow a lightraider whole.
“How about we call it a night?” Dag said, as if reading Teegan’s mind. “We’ll camp on an outcropping. Tomorrow we can head south toward Thousand Falls, into the forests where your nose is less hindered by ice and wind.”
“And lose three days in the journey? No, son of summer. We’re hunting frost goblins. They love the cold. Whatever reason the creature that killed Barnabas had for moving south, I doubt it stayed in—” Pedrig halted his march, ears up and twitching. He scanned the ice rivers. “Come forward,” he said in a low voice. “Come see.”
As the cadets knelt beside him, Pedrig pawed the ice and grit, drawing a short line. “Look there, in the snow at the edge of my mark two paces away. Do you see them?”
With this help from the wolf, Teegan saw the nearer footprint—three impressions made by long-clawed toes, and a fourth angled to the side. A goblin foot. The impression was faint. Fungal goblin flesh and hollow brittleknit bones weighed little. “Can you smell anything?”
“Not much. But my nose is not our only resource. Were you not a huntress before you came to Ras Telesar?”
Aethia. Teegan looked up and saw her wheeling, searching. So far, the falcon had given no sign that she saw their quarry. Then she heard Silvana in her head, reminding her that she also had eyes. The guardian had warned her Aethia would not always be there for her to lean on, and she’d given Teegan a sacred verse to consider.
“Mi amun shuranu, po se ma kazon,” Teegan whispered. “By faith, not sight. With your help, we can find and overcome this threat.”
Aethia let out an echoing cry. An answered prayer, perhaps, in a way different from what Teegan had expected.
“I see them! Up the flow!” Pedrig set off at a run.
Teegan and Dag had no hope of keeping up in their iron spikes. By the time they reached the wolf, his pine-green armor had come to life and shone with dark intensity. He faced down three frost goblins, standing between them and a crevasse in the ice river.
Perhaps thanks to the combined weight of the combatants, the ice let out a terrible crack, and the crevasse opened wider. Even with the moonlight, Teegan couldn’t see its floor. “Pedrig, watch your footing! That chasm is deep.”
“I’m fine. Take them! Leave one alive for questioning.”
