“What madness is this?” Azuri said in a hollow voice.
Kian looked between his companions, missing something. “What do you see?”
“There is the Archer … and there the Turtle,” Hazad answered, pointing out the various constellations.
“By the gods good and wise,” Kian muttered, recognizing what was amiss.
Hazad twined his fingers through his braided beard and tugged hard, as if he meant to rip the hair out by the roots. “There, also, is the Bull … there the Maiden … the Four Sisters.”
Kian swallowed. After his short-lived excitement at seeing a sky free of the pestilent smoke, he felt like he choking down shattered pottery. “Those are winter stars,” he rasped.
Azuri cast about, eyes abnormally wild. “Have we somehow lost two seasons?”
Kina looked for the last hint of the setting sun’s fading glow, and saw that it lay far south, just as in winter. Still, even with two pieces of strong evidence to support Azuri’s outlandish query, he could not accept that he had lost half a year of his life. With little enough effort, he could account for nearly every day since leaving Ammathor at the beginning of spring. At worst, he might have lost track of a few days while struggling to escape the Qaharadin Marshes.
It was Ellonlef who dared answer the inexplicable question.
“Whatever forces destroyed Attandaeus and Memokk,” she said slowly, “perhaps also caused the world to shift its place in the heavens.”
It sounded like madness, something conjured from the mind of a swatarin-addled Madi’yin, but neither of the three men countered her statement.
A skirling wind tore through the halted riders, bringing with it a deeper chill than any they had felt all day. If not for the fleeting appearance of steam puffing from the nostrils of the horses, Kian might have thought his mind was playing tricks on him. But no, it was getting much colder … by the moment.
“We need to set camp,” Kian said. “One with a proper fire.”
“A fire will give us away,” Azuri advised.
“Perhaps,” Kian said, “perhaps not. But if we do not find warmth, we will not survive the night.”
Hazad studied their surroundings. “If memory serves, the road takes an easterly turn around a cliff that runs a good league or more.”
“And that cliff is pocked with shallow caves,” Kian said, fighting to keep his teeth from chattering.
“We’ll need a cave,” Hazad said, “I smell snow on this wind.”
Kian and Azuri nodded in agreement, but Ellonlef contradicted them.
“You cannot be serious. It might snow on the highest peaks in Aradan, but that is all.”
The three northern-born men looked at her, and Kian said with a disarming grin, “We may not know much, we Izutarians, but we know when winter is coming, whether it should or not.”
Despite the inherent danger of riding with speed in darkness, Kian led them at a fast canter until the road turned. By the time they found suitable cave to accommodate them and their horses, a full hour had passed. Hunting for firewood proved to be a desperate, almost wild endeavor, but they soon had enough to last the night. To push back the dangerous cold, they built the fire large enough to heat the cave’s sandy floor.
Once the feeling came back to fingers and toes, the foursome tended to their weary horses, then spread their blankets on the ground. Hazad produced a parcel of smoked meat from the pack he had taken off one of the begging brother’s followers. Knowing the Chalice was near, all agreed that he should dole it all out, saving just enough to break their fast in the morning. They ate in silence as the wind grew more fearsome outside, filling the cave with mournful wails.
“I hope your friend has better fare than this,” Hazad grumbled to Ellonlef.
“As do I. Normally, I’m sure she would … but there is no telling what we will find in the Chalice.”
“Let alone in Ammathor,” Kian added quietly.
He envisioned Varis as he had come out of the temple, a living corpse that had thrown about fire and death as easily as another man threw stones. He had faced Varis and survived before, as well as battling the mahk’lar, but he could not shake the feeling that things would be different this time. He did not fear what was coming, but neither was he eager to face it. As for the others, he silently vowed to do everything in his power to ensure that they did not follow him where they need not go. They would protest, without doubt, which meant he would need to deceive them in order to protect them. He had nothing specific in mind, so he had to keep his wits about him, his eyes sharp for the opportunity he needed.
For now, he took solace that he was warm, fed, and among good company. When he rolled gratefully into his blankets, he fell asleep thinking about the softness of Ellonlef’s lips, and the impossible depth of her eyes. His dreams, however, were of Varis, a creature whose impossible light cast all the world into shadow, and from his hands flowed death.
Chapter 33
Dawn found the trio riding for Ammathor and, for the first time in what seemed an age, the sun shone from an azure sky. Bright and pleasing as it was, the sun provided no warmth. Sparkling frost covered everything. For himself, Kian was just glad the winds had died. They had not traveled an hour before Ellonlef halted beside a barely discernable trail leading up through a scatter of prickly brush and junipers, before vanishing over a ridge.
Kian eyed the path skeptically. “Smuggler trail?”
“One of many,” Ellonlef answered, pointing out a rock off to one side with a faint mark across its face. “These inscriptions point out secret paths into the Chalice.”
To Kian’s mind, the scratch could have been left behind by another rock striking it, or from a sharp hoof. Either way, even if he squinted his eyes just so, it looked like a natural defect, and not at all something put in place by a human hand.
He looked again at the steepness of the path, and said, “The horses will never make that climb.”
“Then we’ll go on foot,” she said.
Kian shook his head. “We will stay the road.” He had made the decision that he would not skulk into the Chalice, but go boldly.
“You behave as if you want to be caught!” Ellonlef shouted unexpectedly, startling everyone. She quickly composed herself, but still looked flustered.
Kian could not stifle a grin, but his tone was serious. “I appreciate your concern, but I will not sneak into Varis’s lair. The rest of you may go or stay, but in this, I will not command you to do anything against your best interests.”
“It is your life to waste,” Ellonlef replied stiffly, her eyes a little too bright, then heeled her mount into a fast walk up the trade road.
“She has a point,” Hazad said. “I don’t know that you wish to be caught, but you seem inclined to taunt the prince.”
“He is surely a king by now,” Kian said absently. “As to taunting Varis, well, I’m not above needling him by riding openly into the Chalice. He is a proud one, and my goading will lead to him making poor choices in anger.”
“A fool’s errand,” Azuri said.
Kian shook his head. “Varis knows I am coming. Hiding my arrival will delay nothing, nor will it protect me from his ire. If I do not miss my guess, even if we cross any soldiers, they will let us pass unmolested. Varis, I am sure, will not act until I come before the palace walls.”
“How can you be so sure?” Hazad asked.
“Again pride, open or hidden, rules the hearts of many men, especially highborn, whether they call themselves gods, or not. As Ellonlef said, Varis fears me-a nasty thorn to any man’s pride. He will wait for me to come to him because he wants to destroy me, the only man who has survived his power. Doubtless, he wants to crush me in a way that removes all doubt of his supremacy, in his mind and mine.”