Chapter 25 Ezryn
Ezryn
The expanse of ice stretches out before me, a spine made of bones of frost and stone.
Voidseal Bridge is truly a wonder, one situated so far at the edge of the world, very few get to gaze upon it.
It’s for the best. I don’t think many could stand to look down.
The Great Chasm yawns below, a gaping hole of darkness.
It swallows even the brilliant white sheen of the snow on the banks above.
I walk on Rosalina’s left side, Caspian on her right, as we head to meet with Keldarion’s uncle, Irahn.
We traveled all day yesterday, making camp overnight in a cluster of ice caves near the outskirts of the bridge.
It’s a harrowing journey from Frostfang to Voidseal, but we came by sled.
The reindeer are well-equipped for the plains of permafrost. Though Caspian could have transported us by briar, we thought that would raise too many questions.
A better impression would be made by arriving on foot in the light of day.
Along the bridge, the brave men and women who have sworn their lives to the defense of the chasm busy themselves, restocking bins of arrows, lighting lamps, and maneuvering lifts that drop into the darkness.
Irahn keeps a tight hold on this place; its strength is evident in every stone, every sharpened pike leaning against the wall.
If we’re to launch an attack on the Below, there could be no better base.
That’s what the three of us are here to do: to consult with Irahn and begin preparations.
Kel already sent a letter ahead, so he’s expecting us.
Well, expecting Rosie and I at least. Caspian is bundled up with a hood so fluffed up with gray fur, only his purple eyes are visible.
Caspian knows the Below better than anyone, but it’s safer if he remains anonymous.
I doubt the brave men and women guarding the chasm would like to meet its maker.
A bitter wind blows, and I pull my own hood tighter around my face.
I wear a thick wool scarf, a heavy coat, and boots that go over my knees, but this cold still sneaks in, settling in my bones.
The chill bites sharper here than at Keep Wolfhelm.
I can only imagine what it feels like out on the tundra where Kel is.
He’s traveling as far north as north goes.
There, he’ll summon the Tundrafolk. They have little dealings with the politics of Frostfang, but they’re loyal and hardy fighters.
Kel has asked Rosalina to join him after we’re done here, so Caspian and I will escort her to his camp, then briar back to Keep Wolfhelm.
Hopefully by then, Dayton and Farron will be finished with their scouting of Mount Rhuvenmark and we can finalize our plan.
I hold my head high as I walk. It is a great honor that Kel has bestowed upon me, to confer with Irahn and set the plans in place. I will not fail the Sworn Protector of the Realms. Nor our mate.
Rosalina strides beside me, dressed in a long dark navy coat, the cuffs and hood covered in fur, dyed blue.
Her cheeks are bright red from the cold, and the air clouds before her.
But she keeps her back straight, eyes stern.
There’s a new air of elegance about her, a regal determination that grows with each passing day.
We pass a huge flag, waving in the wind atop a wooden pole.
As Rosalina is silhouetted by the sapphire flag, the seven shooting star sigil of Winter embroidered in white, she looks nothing less than a queen.
Up ahead, the bridge house looms, a sturdy outpost of ice-laced iron and massive stone.
A tall man dressed in a heavy cloak exits from it and descends the stairs to the bridge.
With his hollowed cheeks, gray hair, and hunter’s eyes, it can only be Irahn.
He must have been watching for any strange activity and spotted us.
“Who goes there?” he calls.
A smile appears on my face, and I walk faster.
It’s been years since I last saw the warden of Voidseal.
The familiar gravel of his voice softens a part of me I never thought could warm in this chill.
How Kel and I idolized him when we were younger.
Irahn wasn’t much of an uncle, in and out of Kel’s life at random, but he was magnificent.
Compared to our fathers—both honorable men to be sure, but strict and intense in their own ways—Irahn seemed like a hero from a folktale.
He’d leave on adventures all his own, then return with trinkets and stories unlike anything we’d heard before.
Though I was Kel’s friend, no blood relation to the Winter warrior, he always found something special for me.
A memory floods back to me. Kel and I had run off into Kein?nen Woods, chasing a story of a caribou with a pure white hide and antlers made of gold.
We couldn’t track the caribou, but we did find too-loose snow.
When we disturbed it, a great avalanche crashed down through the woods, burying us deep.
Unknown to me, Irahn had followed. He dug us out and pulled us to safety.
And not only did he never tell Erivor of our foolishness—who would have ripped us to shreds with his words—he encouraged us to keep trekking.
There, just over the ridge, we saw that caribou. And yes, it had horns of gold.
My smile widens at the memory, of the three of us peering over the snowbank. Irahn’s hair was black then, and Kel had a look of ease he’s long forgotten. I can picture how the snow glimmered over my armor—
Where warmth had once flooded my chest only moments ago, now a chill runs through it. The boy in my mind’s eye has a helm, not a face. Irahn will not recognize me. Yet another hero from my past will know my shame and look upon me with disgrace. Or worse, pity.
I wish I could pull my hood tighter, wrap the scarf around me until there was nothing to be seen. Don’t look at me, I want to scream at the Deep Guard, even though they don’t know who I am. Don’t care.
Irahn approaches us with a commanding gait. Though he’s shorter than me and thin of bone beneath his many furs, he has the air of a giant. He stops before us, searching our faces—or what he can see of Caspian’s—for the man he was expecting.
Hands trembling—from the cold, surely—I lower my hood and unravel my scarf. The wind bites my skin and tousles my dark hair. “Greetings, warden of Voidseal. It is I, Ezryn, sent by High Prince Keldarion.”
“Ezryn.” Irahn studies me, then reaches his gloved hand and cups the side of my face.
My heart hammers in my chest, awaiting his judgment.
Then Irahn smiles, and all he says is, “You haven’t changed a bit.”
I release a cloud of breath. “It’s good to see you, my lord.”
“My lord?” Irahn snorts. “The last time you called me that, you were a lad rattling in your silvers. You’re my nephew, sure as any blood. Call me Uncle. Stars know I couldn’t get rid of you back in the day!”
I put a hand over his. “Uncle.”
He looks at Rosalina. “Now, this must be the famous Golden Rose I’ve heard so much about.”
“It is wonderful to meet you, my lord.” She bows her head.
“You will call me Uncle as well. As mate of my nephews”—he gives me a smile—“that makes you my niece.”
Rosalina’s face brightens, and she nods.
“And who is this?” Irahn tilts his chin, examining Caspian.
“A friend,” I say lowly. “One who is here to help us with the briars in the tunnels.”
A beat of silence passes between us. Irahn’s gaze narrows. The icy wind whips his gray hair before his eyes, but he does not blink. Caspian holds his stare, purple gaze gleaming out from the dark void of his hood.
“A friend, is it?” Irahn growls. “Aye, then keep your cloak on, boy. Some of the folk ’round here will slit a friend’s throat if they catch half a sniff of the Below.” He gives me a pointed look. “Kel sent him with you?”
I nod.
Irahn gestures for us to follow him up to the bridge house. “High prince or no, I sure hope that boy knows what he’s doing.”
I put my arm around Rosalina as we ascend the stone stairs. “He’s got quite the advisor now, and I can confirm, she is as clever as she is stubborn.”
Rose gives me a joking sneer, made all the cuter by her nose, flushed from the chill.
As we settle in Irahn’s office, dropping our furs, taking off our boots, and warming ourselves by the fire, Rosalina and I take turns explaining the situation with the assassin.
How he fought with a god’s strength and skill, how it took all six of us to bring him down.
How he was fae and yet not fae, goblin and yet not goblin.
Though we’re alone in the guard tower, Caspian keeps his hood up, scarf wrapped tight around his face, as if he could still hide himself from Irahn. He lays the map out on Irahn’s desk, the one we found of the Great Chasm and tunnels of the Below.
“I know the paths well,” Caspian says quietly, tracing the routes with his fingers. “But these ones here are unknown to me. Have your crew knowledge of these tunnels? Where they go? What’s within them?”
Irahn strokes his close-cropped beard, then shakes his head. “I know where these are, but we’ve never traveled down them. There’re briars, too thick for us to chop through, blocking the whole path. I couldn’t tell you if there’s a wall or a tunnel behind them.”
“By these charts,” Caspian muses, “it’s a tunnel.” He looks up at Irahn. “I could move the briars for you.”
“These paths were important to the assassin. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be marked on the map,” Rosalina says. “We need to see what’s beyond.”
Irahn lets out an exasperated sigh, then shifts his gaze to me. “You want me to take the man who betrayed my people and ripped a hole in the bloody world down into the chasm? The chasm where his folk are fighting to make their way up and wreak havoc on our lands?”
“I do,” I say.
“Do you trust him?” Irahn asks.
I glance at Caspian. Never in my life did I imagine saying anything but a shrieking “no” to such a question. But I felt it, back in Hadria. The anguish in his heart when Dayton died. Not just her pain filtering through our bonds but his pain at her pain.
“I trust him,” I say.
Caspian makes a breathy sigh, but I don’t look at him. I can trust someone without liking them.
Irahn claps his hands and walks over to grab his coat. “Then get ready, briar boy. We’ve got work to do.”