The Temple Page 25

  “I do.”

  “Then why would you seek to hinder us?”

  “I would rather get there late, but alive, than die out here in the cold!” Halas was beginning to get angry. Why did this boy not see?

  Aeon hung his head. When he looked up, Halas saw that there were tears in his eyes. He immediately softened. “Halas,” Aeon whispered, “I understand that. I just…I just…we have to get there, and we must outrun ships who have likely had an incredible head start. Tormod…Tormod would have done the same.”

  Halas understood now. He put a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We will make it,” he said. “And you will accomplish your mission. Tormod would be proud.”

  “I shall set the pace,” said Elivain. Aeon nodded dejectedly. It was only later that Halas realized what had happened. Elivain had made a bid for leadership, and he had won.

  They cleared the foothills, making it a little ways up the mountain before encountering any snow. But soon it was cold, and soon the frozen stuff was everywhere, whipping around their faces in a vicious frenzy, trapping their feet with every step. Elivain distributed furs, and they wrapped them tightly about their bodies, trudging onward.

  The road was hard to find, but Elivain managed to keep them tight to the path, at times crawling through the snow on their bellies, slipping on ice every few steps. Halas’ face, peeking out through the fur, was frozen. He felt as if he could snap his nose off, or his ears. His eyes were dry, and every breath came ragged, the cold air stabbing his throat like a million little daggers. He could only see a few foot-lengths in front of him.

  After hours of misery, Elivain veered sharply to the right, and Halas, close behind, had no choice but to follow. He hoped that Aeon and Des were behind them, and a quick check ensured that they were. Elivain disappeared suddenly, and then the snow, too, was gone.

  They were in a cave, Halas noted with relief. It kept the wind out, but the floor was covered in a thin layer of ice. Halas felt the chill leaving his bones a little at a time. Elivain was laying down several blankets.

  “Glad we brought those,” Desmond said, and Halas agreed. They slept back-to-back, and slept long.

  Halas awoke sometime in the night to see Desmond struggling with a fire. “Here,” he said, “let me help you with that.” Between the two of them, they soon had a meager blaze going, on which they cooked a sausage each. “There’s only a little of the real stuff left,” Halas said sourly.

  “Don’t remind me,” said Des, wrinkling his nose. “But the longer I go without eating any of that spódhla, the happier I’ll be.

  Halas snorted laughter. “How are you?” he asked.

  Des shrugged. “Aside from the biting winds and piles of snow high enough to bury me three times over? I’m just lovely. How are you?”

  “About the same.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. How are you?”

  Halas had thought he didn’t want to talk, or even think about Garek, but right then he supposed he did. And who better to discuss it with than Des? He looked outside. He couldn’t tell if it had stopped snowing. Dark clouds blanketed the moon and stars, making vision impossible. “I don’t know,” he said after a brief moment of thought. “He’s safer with Mister Harves, isn’t he?”

  “I suppose so. All the same, I wish he were here.”

  “As do I. These two aren’t much in the way of company.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  Halas grinned, Des winked.

  “I do pity the boy—the prince—Aeon, I mean. He’s really warming up to us, I think, but if it took losing my mentor and closest friend? I’d choose to stay an ass, thank you very much.”

  “You don’t have a mentor.”

  “No. My father doesn’t know Conroy.” Another grin.

  “Never gets old, Des.”

  “Oh, I was being facetious.”

  “I know.”

  Elivain woke them before the sun was up, and they skipped breakfast. His morning goal was a mountain pass, about a mile over a few ridges, which turned into hours of grueling climbing and pushing through snow that was hip-deep. Elivain walked at the front, brushing aside drifts of it with his spear, floundering forward inches at a time. The spear made for a terrible spade, but it was better than nothing. Halas sank into one of the piles, and Desmond turned to face him. “Can’t stop now,” he said, and helped him up. They continued on.

  The day was clear, and because of that, the night was frozen. They had no cave, so Elivain cleared a space and set to work constructing a shelter from the snow. “I was hoping to travel ahead of this weather,” he grumbled as he worked. Desmond watched, interested. Halas and Aeon sat off to the side. Aeon scanned the hills around them. Halas crossed his arms over his chest and wished he were back at home.

  Elivain’s shelter scarcely left room for the four of them. They hid their gear outside, high in a tree. Halas worried about the bags; what if they were blown away in the night, or carried off by some animal? But he needn’t have worried. The next morning, Aeon climbed up and found their stuff precisely where they’d left it.

  As they pushed deeper into the mountains, Halas wondered if he’d ever see Cordalis again. Things here were so cold, so barren, he felt as if he’d come into an entirely new world, one from which there was no returning. His leg alone burned, but the rest of his body was filled with a cold so deep he knew he would never be rid of it.

  The next few days were much of the same. The snow was unbearably deep and the air unbearably frozen, and Halas soon thought he would lose his fingers. Aeon was quiet and sullen, but Halas and Des never seemed to run out of things to talk about, trying desperately to keep their spirits up. Elivain pushed everyone grimly on. The days were bad, but to Halas, the nights where he huddled awake long after the others were asleep, alone with his own thoughts, were even worse. They rested whenever they found a suitable spot, usually a cave, though more than once Elivain was forced to build another shelter from the snow. Then, one by one, they would drift off, leaving Halas to himself. He thought of his father and Conroy’s betrayal, of Cailin and Olan. The more he dwelt on such things, the more he became convinced everyone in Cordalis wanted him never to return. They were better off. It was silly, he tried to convince himself, but the idea stayed.

  And so, thinking such thoughts, Halas would finally sleep, and dream uneasy dreams.

  On the fourth morning, Halas woke to find he was alone. The cave was empty, yet he saw bedrolls and furs. Had something taken his companions? Grabbing Silvia, Halas stumbled from the cave and into the light.

  Desmond, Elivain, and Aeon stood a ways away, huddled over something. Halas shivered and crossed his arms across his body. Already the tips of his fingers were turning blue. Feeling very foolish, he sheathed his sword, dressed, and joined them.

  “Hello, Halas,” Desmond said. He had three crabapples in his hand. He tossed one to Halas. Halas nearly dropped it and took a quick bite. It was bitter, but it was food.

  “Morning. What’s the matter?”

  Aeon gestured toward the ground. Halas looked, and saw an enormous paw print, big enough to stand in twice over. “Bear, I think,” he said.

  “This is no bear,” Elivain said. “I thought you were a hunter.”

  “I am. But what else could this be? It looks like a wolf’s paw, but no wolves grow to be that size.”

  “Some do,” Elivain said.

  Aeon narrowed his eyes at the man. “Do not play games, Elivain. Dire wolves have long been extinct.”

  “So you say. But I think you will find a lot of things in these mountains you believe to be extinct. Dire wolves, goblins, trolls. Things thrive here, far from civilization.”

  “What is a dire wolf?” Desmond asked. Halas thought he already knew the answer.

  “Legends say that they are the souls of evil men, punished by Santrum and the Forces of Equilibrium to maintain the body of a giant wolf,” Aeon said. “A counterpoint to the forces of good.”

  �
�Legends say that of all beasts,” Elivain scoffed. “In the old days everything was about the Equilibrium. But beasts are beasts. Monsters are monsters, and demons are demons. Dire wolves are just great big wolves, demonic only in size and with no special abilities of their own. We should ware them as we ware all predators, but pay them no heed beyond the norm.”

  Halas looked at Desmond. Aeon began to argue with Elivain, but Halas’ mind was on other things. “Des,” he whispered, “does that sound familiar to you?”

  Desmond nodded. Halas noticed he’d unconsciously reached up to touch the scar on his arm, left from when they had been attacked in the forest outside Cordalis. One wolf had nearly killed both of them back then. Now, they were four, and well armed, but would that make a difference?

  They met no beasts, or monsters, or demons during the remainder of their walk. Indeed, Halas felt completely alone in the desolate mountain range. The landscape all looked so similar, so on the cusp of their first week out of Fort Torrance, it was a considerable surprise when the four stumbled into a village. There were no boundaries of any sort, just a wooden house sitting there in the snow, a delicious smell emanating from within.

  “Well,” said Elivain, trying to mask his alarm, “here we are.”

  “You mean to say that this is Bakunin?” Aeon asked.

  “Indeed it is. Let’s find the inn, shall we?”

  Coming around the side of the house, they startled a rather large woman relaxing on her front porch. She jumped to her feet with deceptive agility, putting her hands to her chest and giggling. “Oh! Hello there!”

  Elivain tipped his hood toward the lady. “Hello, my dear. How do you fare?”

  “Supper’s cooking and the air is crisp. It is a fine day. And yourself? You’d be new here, I expect.”

  “We’ve just arrived. Would you know where we could find affordable lodgings? It has been some time since I was last here.”

  “Oh, you’ve been to Bakunin before, have you? And what would you go by?” the woman asked. Halas thought she seemed genuinely interested. He guessed these people didn’t see outsiders too much.

  “I am Elivain, of the south.”

  “Well, Elivain, I think you’ll find that most everything is of the south.” She smiled warmly. Elivain returned it. Halas found himself liking the woman.

  “Where I come from is,” Elivain said. He paused, thinking, very south.

  “What is your name, madam?” Aeon asked, stepping forward.

  “He speaks, does he? And he has manners!” She squealed with delight, clapping her hands together. “I am Miriam. My husband is Harden, and our children are Hild and Carth. Here in Bakunin my husband is the mayor, though I myself am content to weave baskets from bark. We shall have to have you all over for supper while you are here. How long are you staying?”

  “Not very long, though we shall be back,” Elivain said.

  Aeon interjected. “We have an urgent errand up north. I would love to take you up on your offer upon its completion.” He bowed low. “It would be an honor.”

  “It would indeed! And what would you go by, young man? It’s not often that folks from out of town are so polite!”

  “I am Ennym Straub. These are my friends, Darius and Art. We come from Cordalis.”

  “And what is your errand, should I ask?”

  “Perhaps I will tell you when we return. We are under orders from King Melick of Ager himself. I pray you understand.”

  Halas didn’t see much point in using their false names if Aeon was going to detail their mission anyway, but he said nothing. Elivain would sort things out. Miriam nodded balefully. “I will hold you to it, my new friends. In answer to your first question, there’s only one inn here. Marrok calls it Little Sayad. He’s a tricky fellow; his prices are low, but they do add up. Be wary.”

  “We will, madam,” Elivain said. “Thank you for your time.”

  “It was my pleasure! I know you do not have time for supper, but perhaps you would like to meet my Harden? As mayor, he likes to greet new arrivals, you see. Views it as part of the job.”

  “Of course. Is he in?”

  “He is. Just a moment.” Halas expected the woman to go into her home and return moments later, husband in tow, but she did no such thing. Still watching the four travelers, Miriam opened wide and called in the most unpleasant voice imaginable, “HARDEN! Harden Graves, come outside this instant! We have visitors!”

  Des snickered, but thankfully managed to keep it at that.

  The door swung open, and through it came a bearded man with very little hair otherwise. He held a rag in his hands. “Visitors? At this time of night? Tell me, folks, are you loony? Have you any idea just how cold it is out there?”

  “Some,” Elivain said.

  Harden Graves beamed. He stepped forward to shake Elivain’s hand. “You a family, then? New here?”

  “I’m afraid not. We’re only passing through.”

  “They’re on a mission from the Agerian king,” Miriam attempted to whisper in her husband’s ear.

  “A mission, eh? What would that be?”

  “A secret one, I’m afraid. My apologies. My friends and I need but a few days to rest and gather supplies. Then we shall be on our way.”

  “Nonsense,” Harden said, ignoring the expression. “Town’s plenty big enough for four decent looking folk such as yourself. Stay as long as you need, you won’t hear any complaints on my end. Although, fair warning, some of the town might just nag your ear off.” He made eye contact with Aeon and tossed him a wink.

  “Thank you,” Elivain said. “Miriam was kind enough to direct us to Bakunin’s inn, and we are very tired. We’ll let you get back to your meal.”

  “If you’re sure,” said Harden. “Come by tomorrow to speak with me, Mister Elivain. Anyone on business from the king would have my full support. Anything I can do for you, just ask.”

  “I will, but for now I think we’re willing to settle for lodgings and a hot meal. A pleasant evening to the both of you.”

  “And you.”

  As soon as they had left sight of the house, Elivain jabbed Aeon harshly on the chest. “Do not do that again,” he said.

  “Do what?”

  “I don’t care how important it makes you feel, if you continue to speak about our mission to everyone we meet I’ll have to tie you up and lock you in a cellar!”

  “This is not our mission, Elivain. This is my mission. If not for us you would be sleeping in a bed in Fort Torrance, wondering bitterly how to get back at Torgeir.”

  “And if not for me, you would all be frozen corpses. I think we come out even, don’t you?”

  Aeon’s scowl grew. Before the argument could escalate, Desmond stepped forward. “Would you both stop crying for a minute and realize just how bloody cold it is out here? Elivain, we hired you as a guide, so why don’t you guide us to the damned inn so we can rest? I swear, if I have to listen to this debate anymore I’m going to fling myself off a roof.”

  Elivain looked at him as if he’d sprouted a third head and flown off into the sunset, but Desmond held fast. Eventually, their guide relented.

  “That sounds fair to me.”

  More structures soon came into view as they trudged further into the village. The snow had been shoveled away from the main path, to the extreme gratitude of the four. Walking became easy, though they found their limbs sluggish and tired. Patches of brown grass peeked through the blanket. The buildings all looked to be run-down, though a closer inspection would reveal them hardy dwellings that had lasted for decades and would continue to do so for many more to come. They formed a sort of square around a large pavilion, with a fire pit in the center, frozen but for a few lasting embers. Halas could see several other structures past the square. There was a tall steeple in the distance, and briefly wondered if that were the temple they sought, dismissing the idea quickly.

  That would be too simple. If his luck were anything to go by, the Temple of Immortals would be only accessib
le through a special route through fire and torment, and likely a thousand more miles of traveling. Halas wondered where the Temple received its name. Maybe it was guarded by beings that could not be killed? That would be only par for the course.

  Halas shook his head. He was too tired to think. A thin and stretched dog lay underneath a musty porch, gnawing on a bone. He regarded the travelers with a passing interest before going back to his meal. A group of children ran past Halas, laughing and swatting each other. They ran to a party of seven or eight men, bearing two stretchers piled high with meat. Even cold and raw, it looked delicious. Having lived off naught but spódhla for a week, the three friends and Elivain couldn’t help but stare. There was a large rack of antlers on the skull of whatever beast they had killed. “Excuse me,” Halas said to one of the men. He was darker skinned than most, but lighter than Jaden Harves. “But what’s that?”

  “Moose,” said the man. He stopped, and the others bore their load into the building with the dog underneath. It followed them inside. “You’re new here.” A young boy his color stood next to him.

  “Indeed we are, sir,” said Halas.

  “We come from Busby,” said Elivain.

  “Busby? Never heard of it. In any case, welcome to Bakunin. My name is Marrok; I own the inn here. She is my pride and joy, aside from my son.” The kid laughed. “Come on in and have a drink or two, please. I brew my own fireale, and my wife’s cider is spectacular. For visitors to Bakunin, the first glass is always on Little Sayad.” He thumped his chest for emphasis. Marrok’s frame looked to be as thick as his accent, though it was hard to tell through the layers of heavy fur. His beard hung low and shaggy over his chest.

  “We would be glad to,” said Desmond, before anyone could say otherwise. The six went in. Immediately Halas started itching, but it was a good itch, the kind of itch that meant he was warming up, and soon after the four travelers were seated in a comfortable booth, Desmond nodding off to sleep.

  Marrok didn’t charge much for anything, so they ordered heaping plates of food and ate every bite. Halas hadn’t thought about it until now, but for obvious reasons, they hadn’t been paid for either The Wandering Blade or Claymont’s caravan. Elivain had little in the way of money. Fortunately, Jaden had given them quite a bit, more than Halas thought they would need. The three friends had left Earlsfort with bags stuffed full of copper, silver, and paper. Desmond danced several coins across his knuckles, though as he fell deeper into his cups, the movement became more clumsy, and the common room was filled with laughter when he banged his wrist on the table and scattered pennies everywhere. Aeon showed the innkeep’s boy a silver coin, and handed it to him when he was sure Adrian’s father wasn’t looking. Halas thought back to home, to the coin his father had once given Garek. It seemed unlike him, to give such a sentimental gift to the younger Duer, and more unlike Garek to cherish it as he did. Halas wondered where Garek was now.