Chapter 22 His Game
NO ONE HAD much to say when they finally made camp for the night, yet the relief was palpable. They’d left the terror behind on the mountain’s summit, where it belonged.
Roth went to light a fire, his face pale and strained.
He bore livid scratch marks upon his left cheek, where Duana had raked him in her panic to get to her sister.
Like the night before, grimlochs gave him trouble, and Lara eventually knelt by the smoking hearth to help.
A short while later, a fire crackled merrily.
They’d stopped halfway down the other side of the mountain, far from the summit. The gloaming had grown deep by the time they halted upon a ledge that looked west. Below them stretched the dark carpet of the Hallow Woods. Tendrils of milky mist drifted above the treetops.
Mor, Vyr, and Sablebane had caught them up not long before they made camp. Eithne perched in front of Vyr, eyes red-rimmed and tearstains upon her cheeks, while Mor and Sablebane towed two ponies with the druids behind them.
There had been no time to hunt, although there were slabs of boar meat left over from the previous night’s supper.
They sat around the fire pit, chewing in silence.
Lara surveyed her companions’ faces, marking their haunted gazes and tense faces.
Even the Shee looked shaken by their encounter with The Grey Ghost.
“Mark me,” she said to Cailean then, breaking the heavy silence. “If we survive this, I’m not taking this road home.”
“Thank the Gods,” he replied with a rueful shake of his head.
Lara’s gaze flicked between the chief-enforcer and Alar. She recalled the look they’d shared that evening—just before the Slew attacked. They’d both known what awaited them up here.
“Have either of you seen that wraith before?”
Alar grimaced. “Almost,” he admitted. “I didn’t actually see it, but I was near the summit of the pass when I heard dragging footsteps crunching on gravel behind me.
I kept turning, but there was nothing but swirling mist.” His mouth twisted then.
“I’ll admit, I broke into a run … and didn’t slow my pace until I’d passed the summit and was far down the other side. ”
“I saw it,” Cailean answered quietly. “A tall dark shape advancing through the mist.” He paused then, discomfort flickering over his face. “I’m not easily scared … but there’s something about its presence that strips the flesh off your bones.”
A brittle silence fell after this admission.
Aye, they’d all felt it. Thank the Five, The Grey Ghost was behind them now. The Hog’s Back wasn’t an easy road, but if they survived it, they’d cut precious days off their journey. Gateway inched ever closer. Lara was aware of time slipping through her fingers now, like dry sand.
“Just one more night up here,” Alar said as he reached for a skin of water. He then took a measured sip. Their supplies were running low. There were few burns or rivers on this path. “We should reach the end of The Hog’s Back by dusk tomorrow.”
Sighs of relief rippled around the fireside. Ren sat, shoulders rounded, head low, while a nerve twitched in Ruari’s cheek. Duana glanced over at Roth then, her features tightening. “Sorry about your face.”
He snorted.
Meanwhile, Ruari roused himself, reached for a saddlebag, and started digging around. “Those scratches need tending. I’ll fetch you something.”
Lara listened to the murmurs of their voices as Ruari located the dried woundwort and mashed up a paste with a little water in his pestle and mortar. However, she was listening to them as if from afar. Her fever had broken again, yet she found herself strangely lightheaded. Distracted.
“Lara.” Alar gently nudged her with his elbow. “Mor just asked you something.”
She blinked and forced herself to focus. “Sorry,” she muttered. She then met Mor’s gaze across the fire. “What did you say?”
A groove etched between the queen’s brows as she watched Lara. The intensity of her stare made Lara’s skin prickle.
“You’re often leagues away when the rest of us are talking,” Mor said. “Is something worrying you?”
Lara sighed, rubbing her eyes, gritty and sore from fatigue, with the back of her hands. “I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t. I’ve noticed how distracted you are … but it’s getting worse.”
Lara’s pulse quickened as everyone around the fire now watched her.
Curse it. Of course, she’d already spoken to some of her escort about this—but discussing it so openly made her uneasy. Vulnerable. However, judging by the stubborn set of Mor’s jaw, she wasn’t going to let this go.
“Aye … I’m not myself at the moment,” she admitted after a long pause. “My mind is muddled. I’m often exhausted. Feverish. Every day, there are now periods I can’t remember.”
Mor’s frown deepened. “Fire-madness.”
Lara leaned forward. “I know little about the power that burns in my veins. But you discovered scrolls about fire magic in your vaults. What did you learn?”
Mor regarded her for a moment. Eagal sat on her shoulder, roosting. “I read some of the history regarding your bloodline,” she replied finally. “But I don’t recall a remedy for fire-madness. I’m sorry.”
Lara’s breathing grew shallow. “So, it’s incurable?”
“I don’t know.”
“And what happens,” she asked, “As it progresses?”
No one answered. They didn’t need to. Lara was already imagining her descent into madness. Distraction would slide into paranoia, and then into rage. Eventually, she’d see enemies everywhere. Eventually, she’d turn on those she cared for.
“Your dream,” Ruari spoke up then. “The dangerous secret it warned of …”
Lara glanced over at him, aware that the Shee had all tensed. Irritation spiked through her. She’d asked Ruari not to say anything to Mor or her Ravens about her premonition, yet he’d just blurted it out. “Aye,” she snapped. “The one that referred to me?”
“It seems clear now that it was referring to fire-madness,” the seer replied, meeting her eye, even as his cheeks flushed. “It’s slowly taking you.”
A fragile silence settled around the hearth.
“Maybe it’s time to stop wielding fire, Lara,” Alar said then, an edge to his voice. “Your symptoms might subside if you do.”
“After our task is complete, I don’t intend to use magic again,” she answered, surprised by the vehemence in her voice.
This wasn’t something she’d articulated before, even to herself.
It didn’t ease the knots in her belly though, or the tightness in her chest—the fear of what would happen if the fire-madness took hold.
Mor’s gaze met hers across the firepit. “Fire magic is a part of you. Could you resist its lure?”
Lara nodded. If the alternative was madness, she would.
A sickly sensation flooded through her then. What if it’s too late?
Lara’s mind whirled as she retreated into silence. Gods. She didn’t want to think about that. What if she ended up a danger to those she’d sworn to defend? What if her own people—her friends—would be forced to turn on her in the end?
Around her, murmured conversation rose and fell around the firepit. The atmosphere among their band had definitely shifted tonight. Despite her worries, Lara had marked it. Shee and Marav were still wary of each other—that would likely never change—but today, they’d worked together.
“It grows late,” Alar said finally. “We should all get some sleep.”
Many of their group nodded, stifling yawns. It had been a harrowing day; everyone needed to rest. Moments later, they stretched out by the fire, trying to get comfortable on the hard stony ground.
Lara was exhausted too. Despite that the fever had receded for a spell, her limbs felt weak, and her temples ached dully.
Alar rose to his feet then, catching her eye as he did so. He’d sat next to her all evening, and she’d been too distracted, too drained to demand he move elsewhere. It would have seemed petty. However, his proximity now put her on edge.
“You’ll weather this, Lara,” he said, his voice low and firm. “You’re strong … and after we’ve sealed the veil, you won’t have to use your fire magic again. You will recover.”
Her breathing grew shallow at these words, and for a few moments, she let warmth suffuse her.
However, she then pulled herself up short.
After their handfasting, her husband had believed in her, supported her, encouraged her.
Thanks to him, she’d grown in confidence.
Blossomed. It had made his betrayal all the harder to take.
His reassurance now was a slap across the face. She’d agreed to be his ally, but he’d just overstepped.
“And you’ll be there to hold my hand, will you?”
His gaze shadowed. “I—”
“Save it.” Turning her back on him, she rose to her feet and went looking for somewhere else to sleep.
Lying on her back, Lara stared up at the night sky. Around her, everyone else was sleeping—everyone except Alar and Fern, who’d taken the first watch—yet she silently fumed.
The gall of him.
She knew his game. It was the same one he’d played the year before. Her husband couldn’t open his mouth without manipulating others. It came as naturally to him as breathing. And worse still, for a heartbeat, she’d been drawn to his words.
Above, the mist had cleared, and this high up, the belt of twinkling stars looked close enough to touch. The moon was well over half full now, a reminder that Gateway was breathing down their necks.
Nearby, the fire crackled, while a low rumble reverberated across the mountainside.
A growled curse followed, and then the noise abruptly halted.
Despite her black mood, Lara’s lips curved.
Skaal snored like a hibernating trow. Over the past days, Cailean had often been forced to nudge the fae hound with his foot.
Her smile faded then, her temper smoldering once more. Not at Alar this time, but herself.
Don’t let the bastard get to you.
Every time she snarled at him, she played into his hands. She had to master herself. She had to crush that ember of longing that burned deep in her breast.
The rumbling started up again, and Lara stifled a groan. Skaal would keep them all awake tonight.
However, the noise grew louder, rolling in waves over the mountainside. Moments later, the ground started to tremble. Nearby, the horses squealed and pulled at their tethers, while Dorka yowled.
Something pinged off Lara’s cheek then. A sharp sting followed.
Cursing, she rolled onto her side as a rock the size of her fist punched into the ground where her head had just been.
Her heart lurched, and she rolled to her feet. Around her, some of the others sat up, dazed.
“Rockslide!” Alar shouted as he and Fern rushed to the fireside. “Run!”
There was no time to grab their bags. They scrambled away from the fire to free the horses. Mor dashed across to Dorka. Luckily, the elks and stags all roamed free overnight.
The rumbling grew louder, deeper.
Lara rushed to Bracken, untying her and hauling the mare after her. As she went, she looked over her shoulder and froze.
Moonlight frosted the mountainside, illuminating the craggy slope above their campsite as it gave way. Rocks, debris, and dirt rolled toward them in a great wave.
Her breathing hitched. It was the end of the world.
Alar materialized beside her, blood trickling down his forehead. Wordlessly, he vaulted onto Bracken’s bare back and grabbed Lara’s hand, hauling her up in front of him in one wrenching motion.
Screams cut through the night. Then the mountain swallowed them—a roar like a thousand fists pounding stone, drowning out everything human.
The Shee warriors sprinted past, cloaks billowing behind them.
Cailean heaved Eithne onto his stallion’s withers, while Roth hauled Duana up, both girls dangling half-on, half-off.
Bree dragged Annis by the arm, their horses plunging and rearing.
Vyr threw himself onto Ruari’s pony, the seer clutching his waist. Sablebane did the same with Ren.
“Move! Move!” Someone shouted—maybe Cailean, maybe Roth—the words shredded by the thunder of the landslide.
A rock the size of a skull slammed into the ground three feet away. Then another. And another. The air turned to grit, dirt boiling up in choking waves that scraped Lara’s throat raw.
Black fur streaked past—Mor and Dorka, the clag-doo’s muscles bunching and releasing. Green followed—Skaal, low to the ground, ears flat.
Lara wrapped her fists in Bracken’s mane. The mare’s body heaved beneath her, foam already flecking her neck. Behind her, Alar’s arm locked around her waist like an iron bar.
“Go!” he urged the mare forward.
The path unwound before them—too narrow, too dark, each turn coming too fast. Bracken’s hooves skidded on loose stone. A drop yawned just beyond the path’s edge, a void waiting to swallow them.
The mountain bucked. Shuddered. Tried to throw them off its back.
Lara’s lips moved—a prayer to the Gods, though she couldn’t hear her own voice over the deafening roar behind them. Every instinct screamed at her to look back, to see how close death was riding.
But she didn’t.