Chapter Nine #2
He looks beyond me, toward the cloud bank. “It looks serious.”
“The hair on my arms is standing on end,” I tell him. “That usually means a thundersnow. We need to find a safe place. Now.”
He frowns. “Where’s the nearest shelter?”
“My inn, which is two days’ journey from here.” It occurs to me that a rich man from Corth hasn’t a clue what we’re in for.
“In a thundersnow, the snow isn’t the problem,” I explain. “It’s the lightning. It will hit over and over again, like nothing
you’ve ever seen.”
“I didn’t know you could have lightning during a snowstorm.”
“Just up here, near the Spires, where warm air from the north collides with freezing air from the south and west.”
Blackwind shifts beneath him, and his tension spreads to Apple, who swishes his tail. “What do you suggest we do?” Titus says.
“Keep traveling, careful but fast. Look for a track leading off the main road; there might be a hunting cabin nearby.”
“You sound doubtful.”
“The best hunting is below us, in the valley. Large game lives in the forests, and we’re nearly to the timberline. We need
to keep an eye out for a cave. An overhang. Anything that will protect us from lightning.”
“Maybe a large tree, or a copse of—”
“No! Trees attract lightning like asters attract bees.”
His frown deepens. “Let’s get moving, then.” He urges Blackwind forward, and I follow. With the storm coming, surely he’ll
pick the downslope path, the one that leads to familiarity and shelter and a place that used to be home.
But he aims his stallion left, toward the high peaks and the mine. “Well,” I say. “At least the coming snow will cover our
tracks. The Deathsworn won’t know which way we went.”
“Exactly,” he says. “They’ll have to find shelter too. When they finally reach the crossroads, they might guess we’ve taken the road east toward Corth.”
“Unless they already know where you’re going.”
“They can’t possibly.”
“Are you sure?” The wind is always fierce up here, sweeping granite slopes clean, bending stunted trees, but it has a bite
to it now, icy and crackling. “They had no trouble finding us at that trading post during the off-season.”
Even though his back is to me, I can sense his scowl. Then he swears under his breath.
Clouds pull a thick curtain over the sky, darkening our path. The air becomes icy sharp. We plod forward, necks bent against
the wind, and we are nearly to the timberline when the snowfall begins. The wind whips it every which way, and within a few
minutes my cheeks sting like they’ve been punctured by a thousand tiny needles.
Ahead of us, a large lump juts from a bare granite slope. As we approach, it materializes into a stubborn, stunted pine, bent
with wind and age, half its branches sweeping the ground. Titus pulls up his mount and turns to face me. Snow has settled
in his stubble, turning it eerily white.
“We’ll stop here for a few minutes,” he says. “You can shelter under this tree while I scout around.”
“What? No!” I point toward the topmost branches. “See the bare spot on the trunk there? The burn scar? This is a lightning
tree. It’s probably been struck a dozen times.”
He scans the horizon, the low clouds, the line of fiery brightness far to the west indicating that somewhere in the world, it’s a beautiful, sunny afternoon. “I see no lightning. Not yet, anyway. Shelter here. I’ll be back soon.”
As he dismounts, I say, “Where are you going? It’s not safe to—”
“This is ice cat territory, right?”
“Yes. They den just below the timberline, dropping downmountain to hunt. Why?”
He ignores me, tying Blackwind’s lead to a tree branch, then grabbing his longbow from its saddle holster. “Keep an eye on
the horses. Only move if the lightning comes. I’ll be back.”
I sit gaping as he takes off at a brisk jog, longbow in hand. What in two moons does he think he’ll find?
I slide from Apple’s back, but I don’t bother tying him up. I need to be able to flee at any moment. Fortunately, ever since
I rescued the gelding from the capsized wagon, he has demonstrated no inclination to leave familiar company and regular food.
The tree provides a decent windbreak. I huddle beneath the low branches, and sure enough the skin of my face prickles as warmth
and circulation return. I consider starting a fire, since I have no idea where Titus went or how long he’ll be gone. But if
the Deathsworn are on our trail, a campfire on this exposed slope could be seen from half a day’s journey away.
Blackwind lips at pine needles, swishing his tail against the wind and snow stinging his back. Pine needles are terrible horse
fare. Grimacing, I reach inside my pack for my last withered carrot. After breaking it in two, I feed half to Blackwind, half
to Apple. Both poke their muzzles forward for more, nostrils whiffling at my clothes, my pack. “Sorry, boys. We’re lean on
supplies. When Titus gets back . . .”
What if he doesn’t come back? What if this is his way of getting rid of me?
No, he wouldn’t leave Blackwind behind. And he accepted my shield maiden’s oath. I know so little about Titus, and what I
do know I’ve mostly guessed, but I’d be shocked to discover him an oath breaker.
But a boy who will not break an oath can still break his neck. Especially in these mountains, where he has no idea what he’s
doing.