Page 36

Chapter 15

Melelea

“Melelea,” I hear a gentle voice grumble in my ear, “wake up.”

I stir, my back against something hard and immovable. I’m sitting up and a little disoriented for a moment before I realize where I am. Atop Wodred’s warbeast, on our way to the Whitbron Mountains. We traveled through the dark of the night, almost flying over the countryside at our speed. I was tired, though, and must have fallen asleep at some point on our journey. We aren’t moving now, however.

“Wodred?” I murmur. “What is it? Why have we stopped?”

“We’re here,” the orc replies simply.

My eyes fly open, and I’m greeted with the sight of the frozen peaks of the Whitbron Mountains looming up in front of us. The early light of sunrise paints the glistening snow with purples and golds, deceptively beautiful. There is already a nip in the air, even though we’re at the base, and I am grateful for the heat charm that I wear, tucked under my cloak. It will only get colder the higher we climb.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Wodred says, “but we all need to be alert as we begin the climb. It snowed last night, and there’s no knowing how deep the drifts are.”

“I can use wayfinding to take us on the safest path,” I offer. “I haven’t done it in a while, but it uses the same magic as scrying, just in a different way.”

“What do you need?” asks Wodred, and my heart warms. He never questions my abilities or aptitude; he is just there to support. It is something I have not often experienced in my life, and it makes him special.

“A dowsing rod,” I tell him. “It’s a stick with two prongs leading into one.”

“Any stick will do?” he asks.

“Any that has the right look. It doesn’t matter what type of wood,” I confirm.

“What’s going on?” asks Gunag, coming up from behind us. “Why have we stopped? We should push forward.”

“We need to find a dowsing rod,” Wodred tells the younger orc. He quickly explains my idea of wayfinding and what they are looking for. “Taking the right path could be the difference between life and death on a mountain covered with this much snow.”

Gunag grunts, obviously displeased at the delay, but Dame Zera swings down from the saddle behind him.

“I’ll find one,” the knight says. “There should be one in these trees around us, I’m sure.”

Gunag sighs. “I suppose the faster we find one, the faster we will be on our way.” Then he swings down from his saddle himself and walks after Dame Zera toward the forest.

After a few minutes, Dame Zera jogs back, holding a neatly trimmed dowsing rod. “Will this work? I cut it down from that yew tree back there.”

I bite my lip. I know I said that it doesn’t matter what kind of wood the rod was made from, but yew trees are poisonous and their wood can be treacherous when used in spells. It could work for me, but it could also fight me at the worst possible moment. I’m about to say that we should find another one, when Gunag stomps back to his warbeast, swinging back up into the saddle.

“Are we done with this nonsense, yet?”

“Gunag,” Wodred warns sharply, but it’s too late. My heart shrinks under Gunag’s words. They remind me for a moment of Guruk and his constant mockery of my abilities.

“This rod will be fine,” I say, swallowing my concerns. I reach out to take the rod from Dame Zera, who nods smartly as I take it and then heads back to Gunag’s warbeast. The orc reaches out a helping hand to the knight, but she ignores him and pulls herself up behind him in the saddle.

“All right,” Wodred says. “We’ll begin the climb. Gunag, you, and Dame Zera will take up the rear, so that Lady Melelea can lead us on the safe path. Stay close as any deviation with this snow, you could walk off a cliff without knowing it.”

“Fine,” Gunag says dismissively. “Let’s be off. We have a demon to slay.”

✽✽✽

THE WAY UP the mountain is as treacherous as we were warned it would be. The snow pack is so deep that it brushes the bottoms of our feet on the top of Wodred’s warbeast as it wades through the drifts. To make matters worse, after an hour of ascending, snow begins to fall, gently at first, then growing into a fierce storm. I can barely see in front of the warbeast and my hands, outside of the warmth of the cloak and charm grow frigid holding the dowsing rod out, but I’m even more glad that we took the time to find one, as the blizzard makes seeing where we are going impossible. The gentle tugs of the rod as I channel wayfinding magic into it are the only things keeping us on the barely discernible path.

As we get higher up the mountain, the snow and wind chill become biting, the heat charm barely keeping the cold at bay. Without the charm, the freezing temperatures would kill someone very quickly on these slopes. The storm gets worse with every passing moment, the flakes of snow like sharp little shards of ice stabbing at my face and hands. My strength is flagging, and I’ve never had to scry for so long without rest. The only things keeping me going are the fact that I know we’ll die if we stop and the fact that Wodred is at my back. He sits with quiet strength behind me, his arm around my waist, anchoring me in the saddle.

But my arms are shaking with cold and fatigue, the wayfinding taking more and more out of me. The tip of the dowsing rod dips, and I feel a frisson of fear run down my spine. If I can’t find our way through the storm, we’re doomed.

Suddenly, Wodred’s hands are there, sliding under my flagging arms, supporting my limbs with his own.