35. Ezryn
Ezryn
“This damned thing won’t stay put,” I grumble, pushing on the horned headpiece attached to my helmet. Never mind that one of the short horns, resembling an ibex’s, keeps drooping, but the helm is heavy, nothing like the Spring steel we use for armor.
“I kind of enjoy mine,” Dayton says. He’s got bull horns fastened to his skull with a special glue, his hair arranged to hide the fixture.
He lowers his head and pretends to charge Farron.
The tunnel, lit only by Farron’s palmful of fire, creates a menacing glint off the top of his horns.
“Makes me feel as though I’m one of the minotaurs we’d fight in the games. ”
“At least you all got two horns.” Farron pokes at the single spiraling horn jutting from his forehead, the fringe of his hair hiding its attachment. “Why did Flavia say I only suited one?”
“Enough whinging,” George says, sporting his own headpiece, resembling elk antlers. “Judging by the map, we’re nearly there. There’s no time to lose focus.”
Flavia, Castletree’s seamstress, has outdone herself, transforming us from three fae and one human into a scouting party of underfae.
With scavenged horns, she’s crafted elaborate headpieces, and we’re dressed head to toe in the thick furs, heavy armor, and mottled coats recovered from Voidseal Bridge.
Anywhere else, and we’d look ridiculous. But we aren’t anywhere else. We’re in their territory.
The underfae tunnels, leading deep into the Below.
Even surrounded by rock, the cold bites. Memories crowd my mind, and it’s easier to focus on my drooping horn than drowning in them. To access these tunnels, we had to travel back to Voidseal, which meant facing all the destruction that befell here. All the lives we lost and the ones we took.
I spent a long moment, staring down into the darkness. There were barely any signs of the bridge I’d destroyed, as if it had never been there at all.
Without the use of the lifts, I had to sink my magic deep within the rock again, forming a makeshift staircase for us to traverse.
But we found an open tunnel—one crafted by those horrible mole creatures perhaps—and crept inside.
We know the tunnels lead to the underfae war camp.
If we can find our way back there, I can navigate us to Cryptgarden.
Thankfully, Farron knows this terrain too, and George seems to always be able to tell which direction Aurelia’s in.
And Dayton’s good for the muscle in case we need it.
I’m anticipating a smooth journey until we get to Cryptgarden.
From what intel we’ve collected, Sira’s been gathering her forces in the city proper.
That must include the underfae as well. I’m expecting an empty camp, but there’s always a chance of scouts lurking nearby.
The slightest clatter of pebbles on stone sounds in my left ear. I don’t turn or slow my movement. But I mumble lowly, “I believe we’re being followed.”
No need to exchange glances. We move as one, even George, pressing ourselves to the rock and ducking into the shadows.
We wait a breath cycle, then two, then three.
Two underfae round the corner from behind us. Each has a single horn, one on the right side of his head, one on the left, so they appear a matching set. They shuffle as they walk, dragging their boots.
Should I let them pass or intercept them now? Though the underfae are incredible warriors, these two aren’t very big.
Just as I’m stretching my fingers up toward the token around my neck to summon the Hammer of Hope, Farron steps out, blocking their path.
“A little far from Coppershire, aren’t we, boys?” Farron growls, putting his hands on his hips.
The two underfae immediately jump to straight-backed position. The dim light ripples over them, revealing youthful faces splattered with freckles.
“Billagin and Dominic, you two rascals!” George says, grabbing the boys by the shoulders. “What are you doing here?”
Well, that would explain the shuffling. Their boots are far too big. I disengage from the wall and round on them. “You two were not assigned to this mission. Do you understand how dangerous this is? You could have been caught or killed!”
“Ah, go easy on them, Ez. I’m sure they have a good reason for being here.” Dayton flashes them a withering glare. “You better have a good reason for being here. Otherwise, you’ll make me look like an idiot for standing up for you.”
“Of course we do!” Dom says.
Billy crosses his arms. “You’re right it’s a dangerous mission. And we made a promise to our big brother we were going to protect him. So that’s what we’re doing!”
Farron pokes Dom’s single horn. “How did you get all this?”
“While I distracted Flavia with my powerful charisma, Billy grabbed all the extra pieces, and we assembled it on the way.”
“Powerful charisma?” Dayton snorts a laugh. “I thought Astrid was your one true love.”
“Dom’s still mourning her latest rejection.” Billy puts a condoling hand on his brother’s arm.
Farron rubs his bearded chin. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you have to turn around. We don’t know what we’re getting into down here and—”
“—and that’s why you need us to look after you.” Billy nudges Farron’s shoulder, then trudges ahead. “So what are we waiting for? There’s no time to lose!”
I blow out a long breath. “He’s right. We can’t send them back now. It’s too close to nightfall, and we don’t want them on the tundra alone. And we need to keep moving. Guess we’ve got two more in our scouting party.”
Dayton and George seem elated to have the twins with us. I’m constantly reminding them to stay alert. Meanwhile, Farron’s dragging behind.
I slow my pace so he catches up. “What’s wrong?”
Farron keeps his gaze downcast, the long, spiraling horn jutting out before him. “I don’t want to worry about the people I care about. It’s such a heavy burden to carry.”
This helmet has an open visor, so I’m able to stare at his face with my own eyes. To search the dark circles, the slump of his spine. “That’s the price we pay for love, Farron. The worry, the grief. It is heavy.” I place a hand on his shoulders. “But you are so strong.”
“If I were strong, I could have saved them,” he whispers.
“Who?”
“My soldiers. The ones I led into the Briar. Caspian killed them all.” His gaze widens with horror, as if seeing something evil within his mind’s eye. “No. I killed them. They were my orders. My responsibility.”
I feel his guilt as if it were my own. How many people suffered because I willingly passed on my blessing?
I stop walking and grab his shoulder, forcing him to look at me.
“You will bear the scars of that decision for the rest of your life. But those scars are not there to haunt you. They are there to teach you.”
Farron squeezes his eyes shut. “How can I ever trust myself—”
“Trust your scars,” I urge him. “When next you are faced with a decision, they will ache. They will remind you. And you will make the right decision. Because that’s who you are, Farron.”
When he finally looks at me, his face is drained of hope. “That’s the thing, Ez. Who even am I anymore?”
I place a hand on his cheek. “You are Farron, High Prince of Autumn. But above all else, you are a good person.”
He seems like he might argue, but Dayton’s voice interrupts us, ringing out from ahead: “Hey, we’ve got light!”
Farron staggers away from me and I follow behind him. The path widens, then opens to a glowing maw. I signal everyone to line the shadows against the walls, then creep forward.
The underfae camp lies before us. But it’s not empty.
It’s bustling with people. Drums play, but in rhythm, not for battle.
I catch sight of horned fae dancing, eating, attending to weapons.
Food is being cooked over pits that glow not with flames but with crystals.
They’re stacked like logs and must be emitting their own heat, if the steam wafting from the cooking pots is any indication.
Tents dot the grounds. This is not a transient camp, and there seems to be no packing or movement.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “I thought they’d all be gathered in Cryptgarden with the rest of Sira’s army.”
“Can we sneak around it? There are tunnels over there. Southward usually leads deeper into the Below, closer to Cryptgarden,” Farron suggests, pointing to the back of the camp.
“Why waste such a glorious opportunity?” George asks. “We’re going to need information on Rosalina’s and Keldarion’s locations. Perhaps someone here knows about the rose itself.”
“What are you suggesting?” I ask hesitantly, because I know that O’Connell look. The one where they think they’ve just had a brilliant idea.
George straightens his horns. “I suggest we mingle.” Then with that, he steps out of the shadows and starts strutting down the hill into the camp like he lives here.
My heart lurches into my throat, and I’m about to dive out there and snatch him back when I notice something. Rather I notice the absence of something.
No one’s leaping up to arrest George. No one’s sounded a horn. No one’s paying him any mind. In a war camp, there must be dozens of scouting parties coming and going. He’s just another ranger, returning home.
“Well, I’m not about to let an ancient human show me up,” Dayton says. “See you down there.”
Before long, Dayton, Farron, and the twins have followed George, heads up and assured, and I’m left alone, hiding in the darkness.
I let loose a sigh. Stealth missions have never been my strength. I’ve got a perfectly good hammer. This would be so much easier if I could just hit things.
“Here goes nothing,” I mumble and walk out.
Natural. Confident. Nothing to see here. Except I’m fairly certain one of my horns is drooping. My steps feel awkward, movements wooden, as I stride into the camp. Or rather I attempt to stride. I’m more shuffling in my effort to seem ordinary.