Only Mortal
For a long while the grief was staved off, for he loved his land and his wife. Yet bit by bit it mounted, in the way of such things; the Elder know not the Secondborn’s loosening of regret. And the Greycloak had never seen the West—yet if he had, perhaps the mourning might have consumed him more swiftly. Who can say? Not even the very wise…
—Daerith the Younger
Whatever seidhr kept the horses from sinking was failing, or perhaps it could not work with rottenmelt drifts. The poor beasts spent much effort to lift their feet, though a firmer layer of freeze remained a handspan or so below the surface. Blinding sunlight bounced from slump-glistening waves, and the wolves were dark shapes leap-sliding upon slick, treacherous white billows, still traveling in a loose ring about us.
I knew which one was Eol. All that day he and Karas forged ahead then dropped into our wake, checking the ground, finding a chain of more-solid footing with unerring instinct, and gauging how far behind our pursuers raced.
I gathered the liches would be weighed down somewhat by the bright golden eye of day, though not nearly so much as orukhar. And the dark line at the southron horizon would not draw closer no matter how we struggled, the horses slowing.
There was a skyborne pall to the north. It hung motionless until nooning, but as the sun began to fall the wind rose, pushing at our backs.
Aeredh would not suffer me to ride alone, and Arn did not quibble. I no longer had to balance sideways, though, and our mounts gained some little strength as the day wore on, even while the breeze turned knifelike and sunlight took on a yellowgreen cast. The living heat of an Elder against my back blocked the wind’s edge, and his hands rested easily upon the reins before me.
I could not help turning, attempting to look behind. He shifted slightly—not to deny me the chance, I thought, but merely as a consequence of close quarters.
It was no use. I could see nothing but the approach of inimical, unnatural weather. Had anything like this borne down upon Dun Rithell every seidhr would have gathered upon the Stone set in our vast green, both to divine the source and to attempt mitigation.
Sky and seasons were best left to themselves, as Idra oft repeated. But part of weirding is restoring a tipped balance, too, and turning aside evil is a volva’s duty.
“A storm.” His breath touched my temple. “Sometimes they happen upon the Taurain in spring, and yet…”
“How far?” I sounded ragged and breathless, even to myself. “To Dorael?”
“Not far.” He sought to hearten me—and whoever else heard, as always. “If we can reach the trees…”
I could not hold back a small, disbelieving sound. It could have been mistaken for a laugh. “My eyes are only mortal, and yet they can tell we are nowhere near enough. Especially with the sun falling.”
“Only mortal?” The Crownless sounded tightly, bitterly amused as well. His breath brushed my hair. “Take heart, my lady. We will not falter now.”
I wish I were even a fraction as sure as you sound.“Aeredh…” What could I say?
“If all else fails, we shall slow them while you and your shieldmaid flee.” He freed one hand from the reins, and I flinched as it rose.
I could not help it.
But he merely raked stiff fingers through his own hair, shaking his head slightly. The movement echoed in my own tired, aching flesh.
“And when Dorael falls?” I stared at the dark smear of our goal in the distance. “What then, son of Aerith?”
His arm tightened, his hand dropped back to the reins. Our mount’s ears flattened, but the Elder horse did not raise his head. He merely plodded, obedient to the end.
Was that my fate? Driven onward, ridden by some mad Elder purpose until I foundered? The Jewel twinged inside my chest. Its burning branched through my veins, and though I had only borne it a short while I could not remember a time without the sensation. And there was also the tinge to the dried blood on my face; Arneior had not remarked upon it, but she was not blind.
Nor were any of our companions. It was not so marked as when Elder flesh is violated, but the thin, lingering golden traceries were unmistakable. Faevril’s masterwork was performing some seidhr upon my very body, and I was helpless to stop it.
More terrifying yet—even more horrific than the things pursuing us, or the violation of my own physical being—was the fact that the Jewel had not pulled pillars of solid, streaking moonlight from the sky to strike down the orukhar. It was utterly innocent of such affairs.
In fact, Aeredh was far more correct than he knew. The sodding thing could never be used as a weapon; ’twas not in its nature. I had brought down the Moon’s own fire. Somehow, I had accessed a weirding far more powerful than I should have been able to, perhaps because the thing nestled inside my ribs was tainting me with Elder witchery.
Changingme.
A long, lonely wolf howl rose behind us. I did not need seidhr to hear Eol’s voice in the cry, or to understand its import.
The day was failing, and the storm gaining upon us.
Upon the vast rolling Taurain one may watch a weather-wall approach for a long while, dreading yet entranced. At first the wind helped, pushing us along, but as it mounted tiny flickers of melt were snap-frozen and flung, collecting upon every surface like the gravel-ice of the Glass during deepcrack freeze. Our footing became ever more slickly treacherous, the plain turned to iceglass.
Had we some few pairs of sharpened bone-curves, we could have strapped them to our feet and flown like sleds over smooth ice. At home Astrid was grace itself upon such things, swooping and turning on the mirrorlike face of ponds locked in winter’s embrace. I did not cherish skating, having fallen a few too many times for my pride or comfort, but both my sister and shieldmaid liked it well enough—though neither of them were so skilled as Albeig our housekeeper, who had to be fair pushed out the door by Mother before she would consent to take some manner of holiday.
Once upon the ice, though, she was a swift bright bird, finally set free.
The storm-edge was still far away as the sun’s strengthless red coin touched horizon. Arneior hunched in the saddle, two of the Northerners’ tattered black mantles wrapped about her—they were wearing their fur now, but probably just as miserable. Yedras and Daerith were indistinct shadows atop their mounts, save for the blur-shifting bluish gleam about them, their subtle selves burning freely. The horses moved with what speed they could, seeming to understand our only hope was reaching whatever shelter lay ahead.
I huddled in Aeredh’s lee, my hands tucked into the shadowmantle’s sleeves. The red coral in my sadly abused braids had long since frozen solid, and stray strings of dark hair lifted like spiderweb-strands, worked free by flight and the wind’s fingers, filigreed with frost. The breath of the North reached across league upon league; amid the whirling frozen droplets I saw reddish flickers—hideous sparks, each one a gleam in some unfathomable eye.
Worse than the scream of moving air, worse than the tiny pelting granules was the choking darkness. Light faded as the storm’s tattered wings settled fully over us, and its claws could not be far behind.
The wolves of Naras pressed closer. I could not see them, but the horses knew and their natural unease at the presence of predators was only outweighed by what they scented behind us.
And by exhaustion. One of the horses nearly fell, splayleg staggering, and the Jewel flashed inside my chest. The pang was terrible, my gasp lost in whirling white.
No. Please, no.
I might have tried some manner of helpful seidhr, but our pursuers gave me no chance. A high wavering scream pierced my skull without bothering to ride the air about me or pass through my ears. It scraped like an iron carpenter’s comb shredding softwood—I had endured this manner of assault once before upon the Glass.
Curiaen the Subtle and Taeron had both tried a variety of it. One I had gainsaid, the other I had eventually allowed; Tharos of Naras’s attempt had not been wholly his own. But this bore little relation to any of them; ’twas a nathlàs’s violation, and I forgot the cold as I cowered before Aeredh, clutching at my ears, too breathless to cry out.
Provoked past exhaustion into one final heart-wringing effort, the horses bolted. But it was no use; the liches had found us, and Dorael was still beyond our reach.