Chapter 28 Jess
Throughout our first days crossing the Spires, Danym and I barely saw any wildlife, much less other travelers.
The road’s elevation soared, and the air turned cool, then frigid.
The leaves had fallen from the trees, masking the edges of the road and forcing our pace to slow further.
Despite it all, my worries over Mother’s reaction and our robed pursuers began to fade.
For the first time in my life, I tasted freedom.
Danym remained quiet.
At first, I thought he was simply being cautious, not wanting to be heard by anyone who might be on the road, but as distance between us and the capital grew, I suspected his silence was more thought than caution.
He was always thinking, working through every possibility, planning for each unforeseen obstacle.
His constant planning made me feel safe, cared for.
Our ninth day was brutal, as the road steepened and the air became thin.
Danym struggled with the altitude more than me, and we had to stop often to rest.
As the sun reached her peak, we pulled off into a small clearing that butted against a rocky cliff.
Lunch consisted of flavorless dried meat, nuts, and the last of our bread, which had grown stale in the cool air.
As we gnawed through our tough meal, my stomach grumbled at daydreams of steaming, freshly made bread from the Palace kitchens.
While life in that place might’ve felt like a prison at times, the food was amazing.
The view beyond the cliff was breathtaking, with brushstrokes of azure clouds and snowy peaks in every direction.
Standing on what felt like the edge of the world, I suddenly understood why the ancients had named their land the Kingdom of Spires.
I couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful and majestic than these mountains.
Danym appeared and wrapped his arms about my waist, nuzzling my neck with his nose and playfully nipping my ear.
I closed my eyes and painted a mental portrait of that moment—that perfect moment I never wanted to end.
When Danym released me suddenly, I opened my eyes, surprised by his absence and the way he squinted off into the distance. I followed his gaze down the slope of the cliff and spotted movement.
Two figures in brown wound their way up the road on horseback.
“I guess thinking we’d lost them was too much to hope for.” Danym sighed. “Let’s get back on the road before they get any closer.”
“They’re close,” I said, my voice near breaking.
“Maybe a day back, I’d guess.”
I couldn’t think.
Terror I’d thought shed back in Fontaine strummed through me, a symphony of fear echoing through every corner of my mind.
Mother’s face flashed in my mental vision, her mouth twisted in a sneer, her eyes burning with brilliant accusation. Then I saw the inky eyes of the robed men, lifeless and unseeing, yet missing nothing.
I couldn’t decide which fate scared me more.
In one hand, I was a slave to the whims of the Throne, a tool to be used and sold when it suited some royal needs. In the other lay an unknown future, one where men with dead eyes and long-buried goals sought . . . what?
Would they also use me?
Was I a tool to them as well? A means to wealth or power?
Or did they seek something darker, some unspoken purpose that might cost more than . . .
I refused to accept that fate. I couldn’t. My life was meant to be shared with Danym. I was meant to be happy, to be free, to grow old in his arms, safe and loved.
Numb, I turned to mount Dittler.
“We’re about to start down the other side, and it’ll be steep for a bit before leveling out, so we can’t let them scare us into moving faster than the horses can handle. They might catch up a bit, but they’ll have to slow when they get to this point, too.”
Danym patted his horse’s neck as we resumed our trek.
The afternoon sped by, then the night.
The next day, finally headed down the other side of the mountain pass, we stopped to rest. Danym’s lungs burned, and the horses struggled. I searched for another hiding place off the road but returned with a shake of my head. “There’s nothing on either side but steep declines.”
“It’ll be okay. Just give me a few minutes to catch my breath.” Danym lowered himself to rest against a tall pine. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were red from the wind.
I took the break to give each of the horses an apple, then poured water from one of our skins into a bowl and held it up to let them drink. They lapped greedily and nudged my shoulder in hopes of more.
“We’ll find a stream, and you can drink as much as you want. Just hang in there a little longer,” I said, stroking Danym’s horse’s neck.
Dittler huffed, his ears flicking with impatience.
The wind picked up, whistling an eerie tune through the trees. The air had grown even colder, and I shivered, wishing we’d had time to retrieve heavy furs before making our escape.
We mounted and continued downward for another hour before the sun began its rapid descent. We had to slow to round a sharp turn when something whizzed by. A loud thunk sounded, and Danym’s head snapped up as an arrow lodged into a tree a few paces away.
“Jess, go!” he yelled, dropping any pretense of secrecy.
We spurred our horses, but the steep descent denied a quick escape.
The sounds of hooves on gravel and men shouting grew louder as another arrow flew past.
We were too far ahead for our pursuers’ aim to strike true, but the whiz of arrows unsettled Danym’s horse.
His tail lashed angrily behind him, and he snorted and stamped, prancing and trying to rush forward.
Danym had to pull at the reins to keep him from taking off at a gallop.
The trees fell away, revealing sheer cliffs on either side.
I urged Dittler for speed, but our beasts were exhausted.
As we reached the end of the road, the forest faded and the town of Spoke appeared across a distant field. I spurred Dittler, begging him for one last push.
We were going to make it.
Three hundred paces to town, to the safety of high walls.
Danym cried out, “Jess, faster. They’re right behind us!”
Fear gripped me.
Dittler shared my terror. I felt it through my Gift.
He whinnied loudly and pushed past his pain.
I glanced back as smears of brown crested the hill and began to grow larger.
Two hundred paces.
An arrow flew past, then another, then a third.
One fell harmlessly to the brush-covered dirt, but the second struck true.
Danym cried out, swaying wildly, fighting desperately to stay upright.
“Danym!” I screamed, unable to turn, to see if he remained in his saddle.
One hundred paces.
A voice ahead boomed, “Halt!”
Uniformed men gathered just beyond the edge of town, each with nocked arrows in longbows aimed directly at us.
“Help!” I screamed. “Help us!”
One of the men shouted a command, and the others fired high over our heads.
Horses screamed behind us.
After a second volley nearly hit one of the pursuers, our hunters turned and melted back into the forest.
I tried to slow, but Dittler was spooked and charged through the line of men. When he finally came to a halt, I looked back and realized Danym was nowhere behind, though his horse raced alongside Dittler.
There was blood in the saddle.
Panic seized me, and I yanked Dittler’s reins, racing back to where the Constables stood over a prone body.
Danym lay face down with an arrow poking through his shoulder.
His tunic was soaked with blood.
He wasn’t moving.
Two of the men kneeled as the third man turned toward me. “What’s this all about?”
I ignored him, leaped off Dittler, and threw myself by Danym’s side.
I couldn’t lose him.
He’d left everything to be with me, to keep me safe. This was my escape, and now he might die for taking part in it. I convulsed with tears as I gripped his hand and pulled it to my chest.
“Danym, look at me. Please—”
“Miss, let us help him. The Sergeant’s a Healer. Your friend should be okay if we can let our man work.” He then turned to a third man. “Go get two more units. We need to chase those bandits down before they cause any more trouble.”
The man gave a crisp nod and raced away.
I watched as the Sergeant took a thick-handled knife from a scabbard on his belt.
One edge of the knife looked razor sharp while the other had a jagged edge.
He pressed the serrated edge against the shaft of the arrow and sawed through it, taking care to not disturb Danym any more than necessary.
“Sir, come help me turn him over. I need to get this arrow out before doing any Healing.”
As the leader kneeled, the Healer handed him a palm-size cloth that had been folded several times and drenched in a sharp-scented liquid.
“When I pull the arrow out, press this against the wound on his back. Hold it there until I’m done, and you”—he looked at me—“hold him down. This is going to hurt.”
I kneeled and pressed my hands against Danym’s good shoulder.
The Healer prodded the flesh around the shaft with the tips of his fingers, then gripped it.
“On the count of three. One . . . two . . .” He surprised me and yanked on two.
Danym shuddered, but the shaft slid free. The Healer tossed the arrow aside, then placed his palm above the wound. A dim glow traveled through his hand into the whole of Danym’s shoulder.
Danym moaned and tried to roll over, but I held his weakened frame in place.
Midway through the Healing, six new men in uniform arrived. The leader dispatched three of them to hunt for the robed men and instructed the others to remain with the group.
The Healer finally rose, the glow fading from his palm, and a look of fatigue creasing his eyes.
“Thank you,” I said, glancing up, my voice sounding as unsteady as I felt.
The Healer patted my back, obviously unsure how to respond. The leader chuckled.
While the Healer packed up, and the other men prepared to carry Danym into town, the leader pulled me aside. “We’ll take you and your friend to the local inn and get you settled, but I need to know what’s going on. Who were those men chasing you?”
My mind spun.
I hadn’t thought about needing a cover story this early into our trip.
Of course, we would be stopped by Constables or asked basic questions by innkeepers.