Garec woke Steven, shaking him gently and murmuring, ‘It’s your watch. There’s some meat left on the stone near the fire if you’re hungry.’
‘Thanks, Garec.’ Steven stood, stretched and faced the blaze. It roared on, although no one had added wood to it since before dinner; Brynne’s abandoned pile was unneeded. Steven, pleasantly warm for the first time in days, loosened his tunic, hefted the hickory staff and took several long swallows of water from Brynne’s wineskin. Around him he could hear the sounds of the forest and the steadily falling snow. He walked towards the periphery of their camp and saw the snow had piled up to nearly twelve inches – he was standing in less than an inch, all that had fallen before Gilmour cast his protective spell.
‘At least we’ll be able to pack up with relative ease,’ he said to himself. Steven was dreading the coming journey. The sun would most likely not appear all day and he and Mark would have a struggle to keep the group moving in the right direction.
From the top of a mountain pass it wasn’t too hard to select a destination and estimate travel time through the next valley, but from the valley floor, they had been used to relying on the sun for guidance. It was easy to get turned around: a crooked trail through thick underbrush or around a dense grove of trees could often send even the most experienced travellers back over their own tracks. He and Mark would be forced to use the slope of the hillside, as well as their best guess, to ensure the company reached the opposite tree line by sundown.
Standing on essentially dry ground and looking out a few paces to where the snow was piling up in the forest, Steven marvelled at Gilmour’s power. He wondered if the old man might be able to illuminate a path across the valley and up the opposite slope so that he and Mark might use landmarks below to chart their course towards the summit. They’d barely glanced at this valley before descending into the trees; for a moment Steven considered climbing back up to reconnoitre the final pass before the long green vale and the Falkan border.
Then something moved.
Outside camp, the snow was an ethereal white curtain that impeded Steven’s view of the surroundings woods. Staring at the place where he thought he had seen something, Steven felt the staff warm slightly in his grasp, as if it sensed potential danger and was ready for a fight. He felt rather than heard footsteps, a distant vibration. Something approached from the tree line above, making its way down the hillside. He thought it was something large, perhaps a rider. As the minutes ticked by, he began to feel the presence all around him.
He wondered whether he should wake the others, but if he were imagining it he’d feel pretty stupid. Just as he’d made up his mind he was imagining things, Steven caught sight of eyes, glowing eyes, like those of a deer reflecting car headlights. But save for the soft radiance from Gilmour’s fire, there was no light for these eyes to reflect. Instead, they were shining amber, like a glint of sunshine on a muddy puddle. He adjusted his grip on the staff, bent his knees in readiness and moved to the edge of Gilmour’s protection to await whatever creature possessed these eerily incandescent orbs.
Slowly, as if disgorged by a retreating bank of fog, the intruder began to take shape in the firelight: dark as pitch, and broad across the shoulders. It came in on all fours, and Steven gasped when he realised he was facing an enormous grettan, much larger than those that had routed the Malakasian platoons at Riverend Palace. Curiously, the beast did not charge. Instead, it came forward to the edge of the camp and sat on its haunches in the deep snow, only five or six paces away. Steven studied the monster towering over him. His staff, now radiant, was at the ready. He could see enormous teeth spiking the creature’s powerful jaws. Its front legs were thick with muscle and its paws were ringed with hooked claws. Saliva dripped from its maw and it ran a large pink tongue once over its mouth. Though the height of a Clydesdale, the grettan shared more physical features with a jungle cat than a horse. Steven thought his arms would just be able to span the beast’s massive chest.
Unlike Versen’s description of grettans encountered in the northern territories, this one was alone, not with a pack, nor did it have it the lifeless black eyes the Ronan had described in such detail.
The creature kept its glowing amber gaze fixed on Steven, then startled him by speaking. It made no audible sound, but Steven was able to hear it inside his mind, a carefully contained roar that echoed from the walls of his consciousness.
‘Steven Taylor, it is my distinct pleasure to meet you.’
Behind him, Gilmour’s eyes opened. The magician sat bolt upright. Nerak was here. He looked frantically throughout the camp, but he could not see Steven anywhere. ‘Stop! Steven,’ he shouted into the darkness as he climbed to his feet.
Steven, only a few paces from Gilmour, had no idea he had faded into the night, that he had been swallowed by the dark prince’s spell. He had become a shadow, invisible to his compatriots. Nerak wanted a few moments alone with the surprisingly powerful foreigner.
‘Prince Malagon. Or should I call you Nerak?’ Steven thought he would collapse. He had never felt so frightened, nor so absolutely helpless. ‘You’ve come for Lessek’s Key.’ Under the circumstances, it was perhaps the smartest thing he could say. Howard and Myrna’s lives were all but lost if the evil minion had any notion the key was lying unprotected in Idaho Springs. It was certain now that Nerak was under the assumption Steven had the key in his possession, or the dark prince would not have bothered to come here searching for it.
‘Lessek’s Key will be mine in time,’ the voice growled in his mind, and Steven felt his stomach drop. ‘This evening, I come to share some interesting news with you – just you.’
Despite the cold mountain air, Steven began to perspire; he prayed Nerak could not detect his insecurity. He did his best to compose himself, then responded, ‘You have nothing that I am at all interested in hearing, unless you plan to send out more Seron warriors – or perhaps another almor. I assure you, the last one was delicious.’ He forced himself to grin despite the dryness in his mouth; for a moment his lips were stuck fast to his gums freezing his face in a virulent, toothy glare.
‘Ah, yes, the staff you wield. How nice of Gilmour to make you that little toy. A nightlight to hold me at bay, is it? Let me assure you, the Larion weakling has no idea how powerful I have grown. I was stronger than him at Sandcliff, and I am even stronger now. Fantus will think he has come up against a god when we battle, and I will bask in his terror.’ The grettan seemed to smile back at him as it shifted slightly in the snow and Steven tightened his grip on the wooden staff, hoping desperately the magic would rise to the occasion once again.
‘Even now,’ the grettan went on, ‘though you stand only a few paces away, Fantus has no idea where you are.’
Steven dared not risk a glance over his shoulder to confirm the grettan’s claim. He knew the beast would leap on him as soon as his attention shifted. But then he paused: why had it not torn him to pieces already? Why was it having a conversation with him instead of just breaking into the camp to retrieve Lessek’s Key?