Steven ran a sleeve across his forehead and, panting loudly, tried to convince them to move on. ‘Do you all know what is happening up there?’ He pointed towards the hillside before them. ‘It’s snowing up there and every hour – every aven – we spend dawdling down here, the deeper it gets and the more difficult our passage becomes.’
‘Garec’s right, Steven,’ Mark said, but Steven interrupted angrily.
‘How the hell can you suggest we stop?’ Steven was incredulous. You know what’s waiting for us up there.’
‘That’s exactly why we ought to camp on the valley floor tonight,’ Mark said. ‘Sallax needs more rest. Hell, we all do.’
‘Sallax is fine. He’s the only one keeping pace without complaining.’
Sallax said nothing, and his very indifference concerned everyone but Steven.
‘Fine.’ Steven’s voice rose. ‘Camp down here. Camp here until spring. I’m going over that pass tomorrow morning.’
‘Steven.’ Gilmour finally spoke. ‘Your passion is commendable, and I’m certain Hannah would appreciate it. But the only way for you to help her now is to stick to our plan.’
‘Don’t you see, Gilmour?’ He looked from side to side through the trees, as if someone who understood him might appear and take up his cause. ‘Finally, something about this mystical, enchanted nightmare of a world you call home makes sense. She’s here and she needs me. I’m going to her now.’
Gilmour remained calm. ‘She needs you, and you can help, but not by killing yourself and us. Nerak cannot detect the magic of your staff. It leaves no ripple as our own magic does. We will not make it into Welstar Palace on my power alone.’ The old man’s words fell, solid as bricks. All eyes turned back to Steven.
‘Come with me now to Praga,’ he begged, ‘please. I must save Hannah.’
‘No,’ Garec answered, ‘our mission is clear. We must win back the key. If we fail to do that, Hannah will be only one of millions upon millions of deaths at Nerak’s hands. Our world, yours – and who knows how many more-’
Steven looked as though he might expire. He rubbed one hand across his face and wiped away the tears, then turned to Mark. ‘You know where you’re going.’
‘Steven, no.’
‘You know where you’re going. Keep moving north. If there’s a river into Orindale, you’re bound to run right into it.’ He looked up at Gilmour. ‘Wait for me at Orindale. I’ll find her and be back.’
‘You must stay with us.’ Garec was beginning to lose his temper. ‘You know where Lessek’s Key is.’
‘So does Mark.’
‘And if Mark dies between here and Welstar Palace, what then?’ The Ronan bowman took a few steps forward. ‘Stay with us, Steven. Defeat Nerak and Hannah has nothing to fear.’
Steven felt confused and cornered and lashed out at Garec. ‘Stay back,’ he called, raising the staff as if to strike. In an instant Garec had his bow drawn and an arrow trained at Steven’s chest.
‘Don’t make a mistake, Steven,’ he warned in steady, even tones, ‘I am impressed with your newly acquired magic, but I will drop you in your tracks before you can think to summon it against us.’
White fire burst from the spaces between Steven’s fingers and, crying out in pain, he dropped the staff.
Thinking Steven had cast a spell, Garec grimaced and released his arrow. It never left the bow. Instead, the shaft remained nocked, frozen in place with the bowstring drawn full. Garec stared in disbelief at his weapon and then turned to see Gilmour, his eyes closed and his palms extended before him.
The old Larion Senator spoke. ‘We will not fight among ourselves.’ Slowly, Garec’s bow relaxed in his grip and the arrow fell to the ground.
Gilmour said. ‘Steven, we cannot defeat Nerak without you. When we find shelter, I will endeavour to contact Kantu in Praga. It will take me a day, and I must channel all my energy to that task; I cannot risk it here in the forest. I will tell him that Hannah is looking for him and he should bring her to Welstar Palace.’ His tone was firm but understanding, a worried parent struggling to communicate with an angry teenager. ‘He will see her safely north to join you and Mark before your return home.’
Steven knew Gilmour was right. Despite his near inhuman need to find Hannah, he knew the best course of action would be to recapture Lessek’s Key and give the sorcerer the tools he needed to ensure victory. Still his emotions ran through him like a flood tide and the thought of camping overnight in the valley made him furious. Torn between his desire to find Hannah and his reborn determination to help his friends, Steven felt his head begin to spin. The sweat on his face and neck grew suddenly cold; his vision tunnelled and he fought to remain lucid.
He lifted the hickory staff from the snow and delivered a mighty blow to the trunk of the nearest lodge pine. Swinging with all his strength, he bellowed into the forest, crying even as the staff tore through the trunk and the enormous pine came crashing down in a blurred cloud of snow and green boughs. Once again surprised the staff had not shattered in his hands, Steven turned and ran towards the mountain slope in the distance.
Diving involuntarily away from the massive tumbling pine, Mark could have sworn he saw colour, bright neon colour, and text. COLD BEER illuminated for a fraction of a second in the wake of Steven’s swipe at the tree. Dispelling the idea as a momentary hallucination, or perhaps a trail of thin fire clinging to the shaft, Mark propped himself up on one elbow, brushed the snow from his face and cried after his friend, ‘Steven, wait!’
‘It’s all right,’ Garec said calmly, ‘he’ll come to his senses. He can’t keep up that pace very long.’
Angry, Mark turned on the bowman. ‘Where’s your head? You were going to shoot him.’
‘I was not going to shoot him,’ Garec assured them. ‘I thought he was going to turn on us with that unholy stick.’
Sallax stared blankly at the others. Brynne, getting increasingly worried about her brother’s wellbeing, pleaded, ‘Let’s rest here. Maybe Steven will come back when he tires. We have to give Sallax a chance to recover.’
Steven struggled to catch his breath as he raced blindly down the slope. The forest around him was a jumble of greens and browns cast randomly on a backdrop of ghostly white. His thoughts overwhelmed him, an involuntary mosaic of ideas and images, and he fell hard twice, rolling through hillside drifts. Coming to his feet, he fought for control and pushed on again, running with knees high, forcing himself to lift his feet clear of the snow with each step. Finally, his adrenalin waning, Steven felt himself calming and the athlete in him took over. Find a rhythm, he started repeating as a mantra. Run with your legs, not your lungs.
Stopping for a moment, he wiped his face clean with a handful of snow and dried his eyes on a corner of his cloak. Drawing several deep breaths, he felt his heart rate drop and his thoughts clear. Deliberately, Steven removed the cloak, folded it neatly and fastened it to his pack with a thin length of rawhide. Hefting the pack under one arm like a bulbous football, he carried the staff in his opposite hand.
Steven was disappointed none of the others had followed. Turning to the unbroken snow ahead, he began jogging towards the distant mountain pass. With his first few steps, he felt a pang of guilt at leaving his friends, but soon he forced it from his mind. They would be fine. Gilmour would ensure their safety and he would rejoin them after he had found Hannah. He had no idea how he would get to Orindale – even where Orindale really was – and was even less certain how he would cross the Ravenian Sea, so he ran, until his breathing, heart rate and pace all met in a steady aerobic plateau. He could do this for hours, skimming through the snow, his feet leaving postholes behind him like tiny air shafts to subterranean chambers. Soon he had crossed the valley floor and began making his way up the mountain slope towards the tree line. He would find her.