The Phoenix Unchained (36 page)

What both boys were certain of was that Simera shouldn’t simply vanish without a trace. And it was just as important that the Forest Watch should be told about the creatures that had killed Simera, and that might well attack others. A letter taken from the Posting Inn by the post-rider would be in Sentarshadeen within a fortnight, and certainly Tiercel had told the story of what had happened at Windy Meadows to the Inn’s proprietor as well. They were both determined to spread the warning as far as possible.

By mutual consent, they did not mention Simera’s death, or the Goblin attack, in the letters they wrote to their families, but when Tiercel sat down to write, he found himself telling his parents nearly everything else. Unlike some of his age-mates, who’d bragged about how little they told their parents, Tiercel had always
been honest with his. He had always been rewarded: with their understanding, with their advice (sometimes it had been useful, sometimes not), and with the perspective of two people who had simply been alive much longer than he had. He’d been very guarded in what he had put into the letter he had written from Sentarshadeen, but now he told his parents everything about the reason for his journey, including that he’d met a Wildmage who felt he should seek out the Elves.

He didn’t want to imagine their reaction when his letter finally reached them—it would go by regular post after it reached Sentarshadeen—but he felt a great sense of both guilt and relief at having finally told them the truth.

He had no idea what Harrier had written—beyond not telling his parents that they’d been attacked—and Harrier didn’t say.

TO their great relief, Thunder Grass was just what Windy Meadows ought to have been: a small town of herders and farmers, untouched by any taint of disaster. There, they were able to buy a pack mule and replace most of their supplies.

After they left Thunder Grass, they entered the foothills that would lead them to the pass through the Mystrals. This far to the north and east the land was changing again; they were back in lush settled farming country. After the isolation of the Plains, it was almost a shock to see evidence of civilization on every side, but now the road that they followed led them through orchards and fields, and the only cattle they saw were fat and lazy and safely penned behind fences.

They saw no sign of Goblins, but in a town called Pinehold, where they stopped because Lightning had thrown a shoe, they heard news nearly as disturbing as the sight of Goblins would have been.

“GOING over Breakheart Pass, are you?” the smith asked. Harrier grinned at him good-naturedly.

“Not much else to do here, unless we want to turn around and go home,” he answered. Beyond Pinehold there was only one more village close to the road, and after that, they were on their own. All they would encounter from here to the other side of the Mystrals would be other travelers like themselves, and the roadside inns that served them. For the last sennight, he and Tiercel had been arguing about whether it would be safe to use the inns, or whether they would need to try to camp out under the stars. Harrier argued that Roneida’s talismans would protect them from anything that might still be following them, but after Windy Meadows, Tiercel wasn’t willing to take the risk. Whether the Goblins had been drawn to his magic, or were simply a sign of the coming disaster, just as his own Magegift was, Tiercel wasn’t willing to take the risk.

The smith nodded. “There’s that. I’m just saying. You might want to be careful.”

Tiercel—who’d been examining every item in the forge, the way he always did in a new place, as if every unfamiliar item might hold the key to the mysteries of the universe—turned around and regarded the smith curiously.

“It’s late in the year for snow-slide, isn’t it?” he asked. Which also meant that sleeping out as they went through the passes would be cold, Harrier knew. Not that Tiercel cared.

The smith interrupted his careful tapping at the shoe on the anvil. “Oh, Breakheart’s been dry for moonturns. T’isn’t snow you’ve got to worry about. It’s wolves.”

Both boys looked at him.

“Best you take me serious, now,” the smith said, watching their faces. “You can go down to Eldon’s house when you’re done here and see the skins. No trouble all winter, when you’d think there’d be—not that we’ve had trouble with wolves here since my great-grandsire’s time—but come the springtide, the beasts come down
out of the hills like there was something chasing them. Haven’t been able to send the sheep out to the far pastures at all.”

“Springtide?” Harrier asked, when it became clear that Tiercel wasn’t going to say anything.

“Oh, ah. Nigh about Kindling. Before Breakheart thawed, come to it. Oh, we’ve passed word to the Mountain Patrol and the Forest Watch, but they can’t be everywhere. So best you keep a watchful eye, and be sure you’re safe within doors before night falls.”

“We will,” Tiercel said quietly. Not that Harrier believed him.

Ten

Into the Mountains

P 
AST PINEHOLD, THE road began to ascend sharply, and even in deep summer the air was crisp and cool. Lasthold was the final town close to the road before they ascended to the mountains themselves, and the villagers there corroborated the Pine-hold smith’s story. Though wolves had not been seen in this area in over a century—and this wasn’t the season for raiding wolfpacks, besides—they had come swarming down from the mountains in early spring.

In Lasthold the villagers also mentioned that bears had been seen in greater numbers this spring than usual, and said that westbound travelers had said they’d seen ice-tiger tracks in the higher reaches of the Mystrals, though nobody really believed that. Ice-tigers were fearsome predators, but shy and reclusive creatures, unlikely to come anywhere near humans.

“We’ll be lucky to get across the pass alive,” Harrier muttered as they left Lasthold.

When they’d arrived, he’d hoped to talk Tiercel into spending the night there, but once the villagers had started talking about tigers and bears and enormous wolfpacks, his heart really hadn’t been in it. He’d settled for adding a couple of heavy wolfskin robes to their supplies before they left. Since they were apparently going to be sleeping in the snows of the mountain passes, Harrier had a feeling they were going to need them.

He only hoped that Tiercel would be able to get more money in Ysterialpoerin. He’d drawn the last of his own allowance in Sentarshadeen, and traveling was more expensive than he’d ever imagined. Growing up, he’d never given a thought to the fact that Tiercel was noble-born while he was “merely” a member of the Merchant Class—since in reality, the Harbormaster’s Son would be more important in the City, someday, than the son of a Magistrate’s Clerk, unless Tiercel became a Magistrate himself—which seemed very unlikely now.

But if Harrier’s family was important, well, then he’d always known that Tiercel’s was wealthy, though they’d always had the good manners not to flaunt their wealth. And that was a very good thing, since the two of them were certainly going to need more money soon. Their journey wasn’t even half over.

It had been Meadowbloom when they left Armethalieh. They’d traveled through Sunkindle and most of Fruits, and would be lucky to reach Ysterialpoerin before the end of Harvest. And even then their trip wouldn’t be over. Far from it. He wondered when the Gatekeeper was closed by weather. Vintage? Or earlier? Were they running out of time to reach their final destination?

And even when they’d gotten where they were going, and did whatever they had to do there, they still had to get back again.

Not this year
, he thought resignedly. He hoped the Elves wanted houseguests, because he wasn’t sure what else they were going to do
once they got where they were going except wait for Windrack or even Sunkindle to unfreeze the southwestern passes again.
If
they even got there in the first place.

“I’m sure the pass is well-patroled,” Tiercel said absently. “Why do you suppose the wolves came down into the farms this year?”

Harrier sighed. It was obvious, but he did wish Tiercel hadn’t brought it up.

“Because something’s chasing them, Tyr. And whatever it is, I really don’t want to meet it.”

CENTURIES ago, travel through the Mystrals had been difficult and dangerous, but now—at least in summer—the journey was quick and easy, and they accomplished in days what had taken ancient travelers sennights and more. But in the end, Harrier won his argument. They ended up staying in inns through the Mystrals without Harrier having to argue Tiercel into it, because the Mountain Patrol absolutely forbade them to camp, requiring them to check in each night at one of the Traveler’s Inns. When Tiercel asked why, he was told that there had already been several deaths earlier in the year from wild animal attacks. Travelers were being strongly encouraged to organize themselves into large parties for their own safety, and night travel was strictly forbidden. There was even talk of closing the Pass entirely to pleasure travel.

(“Not that this is a pleasure,” Harrier had muttered.)

Tiercel had been miserable at the thought of being forced to sleep among people. He didn’t mention whether he still had the dreams since he’d started wearing Roneida’s talisman, but Harrier suspected that he did. There were mornings when Tiercel woke up looking as if he hadn’t slept at all, and Harrier had to take care of all of the work of saddling the horses and the packmule, since anything that Tiercel did would simply have had to be re-done anyway.

Despite Tiercel’s misery at their accommodations, Harrier was just as glad to be indoors. Even in the inns, they could hear the wolves howling in the night.