Up ahead, Jahrra noticed Ellyesce had brought Gliriant to a stop. Semequin and rider now stood a short distance from the two columns, twins of those they’d passed through mere minutes ago, marking the entrance into Nimbronia. Jahrra lifted a hand to shade her eyes once again. The first white-blue buildings of the ice city were still a ways up the mountain, but there was a fortress of sorts just on the other side of the gate. A flash of movement caught Jahrra’s attention as she studied the building. She furrowed her brow. Was someone up there?
By the time she reached Ellyesce, more figures had emerged from the small fort, and she noted archers making ready with their bows and arrows at the top of the tower beside it.
Upon seeing the arrows aimed at them, Jahrra stilled in the saddle, not daring to move. One of the soldiers standing along the portcullis of ice lifted a gauntleted hand. He was armored in a suit made of silver metal that gleamed in the blinding sunlight, and the pale blue cape around his shoulders was lined with fleece. Those soldiers standing around him were dressed in the same fashion. For a moment, Jahrra’s concentration was thrown. They reminded her of the guard in Cahrdyarein. Images of Pendric and his trainees flashed through her mind, and before she could shake them free, Keiron’s face pushed to the front of her memories. His captivating ice blue eyes, his charming smile, his long, pale blond hair. Jahrra gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. For one small moment, worry and regret surged forth. And guilt. She had asked Jaax to make sure Pendric escaped the city with him, but not Keiron. Nobody knew his whereabouts when you left. You couldn’t have helped him even if you wanted to, her conscience reminded her.
A strong, masculine voice rang out over the great expanse, and Jahrra had to leave her regrets for another time.
“Forfeit your name and state your purpose.”
It was the one with the most elaborate suit of armor. Jahrra tilted her head and considered him. She couldn’t see all that well from where she stood, but she could tell this person was most likely the captain of the guard.
Ellyesce, who didn’t seem fazed at all, lifted his eyes to the elf who had spoken.
“I am Ellyesce of Dhonoara, and I seek sanctuary for myself and my traveling companions, Dervit, a limbit from a small village in Felldreim, Jahrraneh Drisihn of Oescienne, and Whinsey and Erron of Cahrdyarein.” Ellyesce paused to take a breath before continuing. “We are seeking refuge from the Tyrant’s army, who have overrun Cahrdyarein.”
As Ellyesce spoke, Jahrra’s grip on Phrym’s reins tightened. Behind her, Whinsey and her son were as silent as mice, not so much as drawing in a deep breath or sniffling against the cold weather.
Jahrra kept her eyes trained on the soldiers above. She surmised they were of elvin descent, most likely pure-blooded elf or Resai. She could tell by their lean, graceful builds and by the way they held themselves. Ellyesce, as well as her elvin friend Dathian, had that same naturally balanced posture. After Ellyesce finished his small speech, the guards relaxed but didn’t lower their bows and weapons. They simply eased their bowstrings, the arrows still in place but not primed to shoot.
Some glanced beyond Ellyesce and Jahrra, trying to study those the elf had introduced. Most likely sizing them up to decide if he was telling the truth or not.
Jahrra would have continued her scrutiny of the Nimbronian soldiers, but a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye distracted her. She jerked her head toward a spot further up the mountainside, just beyond the small fortress and behind an outcropping of snow-dusted rocks. All was still for a few seconds, then– There it was again! A flare of color momentarily brightening the grey and white world surrounding them. Jahrra narrowed her eyes and focused on the spot more intently. Again, a streak of red, almost like fresh blood, leapt between the white and grey granite boulders.
Memories from long ago, memories of a stranger clad in a red hooded cloak haunting her dreams, danced across her mind. Jahrra shook her head. But this was no dream; this was reality. And that spot of red wasn’t some random stranger in a cloak. Cold dread pooled in her stomach as the realization slowly dawned upon her. She shot her eyes back to the soldiers along the wall, the men and women of Nimbronia who were now asking Ellyesce for more details about their journey.
“How did you come about this road you now travel? We have the main highways watched. There was no sign of any party traveling up from Nimbronia in the past week.”
The elf hesitated to answer them, and Jahrra was glad of it. The soldiers, dressed in the pale, icy colors of the towers and buildings of Nimbronia, were missing something. Something about them was off. They were too tense, but fidgety as well.
And then, Jahrra saw it. Not just that sliver of red in the outcropping, but the movement just below the bridge where it met up with the mountainside on the north end. Fifty yards from where Ellyesce held his semequin still, like spiders creeping around in the dark, she spied the black and scarlet uniforms.
Without giving it another single thought, Jahrra drew in a great breath and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Ellyesce! It’s a trap!”
Before the final words even left her throat, a volley of well-placed arrows struck the ground surrounding her and Phrym. Her semequin balked, side-stepping to get out of the way. Jahrra yanked hard on his reins. “No, Phrym! We’ll go over the edge!”
He stopped just before reaching the balustrade, but he didn’t stop his nervous dancing. Jahrra whipped her head around to survey the crossing and to take account of what was going on. Mercenaries clad in the black and crimson colors of the Tyrant swarmed the bridge on both ends. Behind the rocks and stunted pines growing up the mountainside, archers emerged, their longbows and crossbows trained on Ellyesce, Jahrra, Dervit, Whinsey and Erron.
A group of twenty or more men moved in, quickly circling Jahrra and Dervit as they tried to move closer to Ellyesce. The troupe closed off all exits, save for one. Jahrra glanced over her shoulder and felt her stomach drop to her toes. She could escape these brigands, if she wished to, but it would mean plummeting to her death over the side of the bridge. She couldn’t think of a more terrifying way to die. Better to have these enemies stab her through the heart than plunge thousands upon thousands of feet with plenty of time to think about your own demise and all your life’s regrets on the way down.
Two enemy soldiers stepped forward, their movements swift and fluid. Phrym kicked out with one hoof, nearly clubbing the closest man in the head.
“Control that animal or he dies!” someone snarled.
Several of the archers shifted their aim onto Phrym.
“Phrym!” Jahrra cried out. “Don’t fight them! They’ll kill you!”
Heeding his master’s warning, Phrym stopped lashing out with hooves and teeth, but he kept his ears pinned flat against his skull, his nostrils flaring as someone grabbed hold of his reins.
“Down,” one of the mercenaries growled, leveling a sword at Jahrra’s heart.