‘Rala,’ the Seron woman replied gruffly.
Brexan glanced at the third member of their escort. He did not speak, but glared back at her in silence. She noticed a long scar that ran across his face like the map of a great river. It had obviously been a deep wound, slicing through his cheek and severing part of his nose.
‘Brexan,’ she tried again, but he stared straight ahead, ignoring her and Versen entirely. With a shiver, Brexan wrapped her arms around Versen’s chest and buried her face in the folds of his cloak.
The leader, Karn, spurred his mount toward a break in the trees. Rala followed, nodding to the scarred creature and grunting, ‘Haden.’
The Seron with the ruined face turned to stare at the prisoners. ‘Ah,’ he growled, pointing towards Rala’s mount.
Versen nodded and nickered Renna into line. They rode off southwest with Haden bringing up the rear.
After breakfasting on the last of their provisions, the travellers made their way down Seer’s Peak and back into their former base camp. It was an aven past midday by the time they reached the forest floor. Steven purposely averted his eyes from the area where the almor’s remains were scattered. He found it odd a demon would be comprised of flesh, albeit rank and putrid flesh, and he had no wish to see what was left of it.
Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on the Blackstones while contemplating the next dilemma facing them: getting safely to Falkan before winter set in. He and Mark were the only experienced climbers in the group; although Gilmour had shown uncanny agility, it would be up to them to get the band of freedom fighters safely over the passes and into Orindale.
Steven gripped the hickory staff and breathed deeply. He felt reborn. The air smelled fresh and clean; the earth felt familiar under his feet and the evergreens were starkly outlined against a flawless blue sky. He wasn’t certain if he felt better because he could summon a mysterious and powerful magic, or because he had faced his fears and emerged unscathed. Either way, he had to admit to being almost excited about their journey to Welstar Palace – and the inevitable confrontation with Prince Malagon.
During the descent from Seer’s Peak, Steven allowed his mind to wander, not along memorised trails in the impossibly distant Rocky Mountains this time, but along the path he imagined his life taking in the future. Looking back was safe but humiliating. Looking forward was terrifying but exhilarating and he was determined not to make his old mistakes again, not here in Eldarn, or back home in Idaho Springs.
He had been both victim and coward for too long; now he could see with more clarity; he could feel with more compassion and genuine concern. His only regret was that Hannah was not there with him.
The remains of the camp punctured Steven’s mood. Seron and grettan tracks crisscrossed the area in a confusing jumble. Splatters of blood disappeared south and west and numerous footprints ran into the canyon and along the western edge of Seer’s Peak.
Sallax went immediately to the grove where the almor had first attacked. Garec could hear him moving about in the fallen leaves. Everyone held their breath in anticipation of the grisly report, but their immediate fears were unfounded.
‘No sign of Versen,’ he started, pausing as a collective sigh ran through the group. ‘Except for the remains of Brynne’s horse, the other mounts are gone – saddles too.’
Garec snapped into action. ‘Then one of these blood trails might be Versen’s. Mark and Steven, you follow the blood south. Brynne, you and Gilmour follow to the west.’
They all nodded as Garec warned them, ‘Remember, a wounded animal is always dangerous and a wounded grettan is worse: it will be an angry nightmare. If Versen is injured, it was most likely by the Seron, not the grettans, but that doesn’t matter right now: the loss of blood might mean he doesn’t have much time left.’
They drew weapons and, crouching close to the ground, followed the tracks into the forest.
Garec was already wishing Versen were there to help him decipher the clues hidden in the footprints. They had, between them, managed to work out that a large group of Seron had stormed into camp, probably expecting to take the Ronans by surprise. Finding the camp deserted, it looked as if the Seron had pillaged the abandoned packs and saddlebags, drinking – and spilling – the wine and eating the last of the food. They had taken time to re-saddle the horses before setting off again, although Garec could see from the hoofprints that several mounts were missing. His stomach turned: he feared he would never see Renna again.
The grettans had come from the west, so not the pack Gilmour had summoned to the Merchants’ Highway to raid the caravan. Thin telltale ruts running through the clearing showed where the ravening beasts had dragged their hapless victims; Garec wasn’t sure if he hoped that Versen were still alive at that point. He even felt a little sorry for the Seron.
Most of the grettan tracks then left the camp together and headed east, though a couple disappeared into the canyon, most likely in pursuit of fleeing Seron warriors.
Steven and Mark’s prompt return confirmed Garec’s suspicion.
‘It looks like a grettan dragged one of those Seron soldiers off about a hundred paces,’ Mark told him, ‘and ate it. We couldn’t find any blood beyond the large stain where it tore the body apart.’
‘Are you certain it wasn’t Versen?’
‘Yes,’ Steven said, grimacing. ‘It left the boots there.’
‘And any tracks?’ Sallax asked.
‘They moved off east,’ Mark confirmed.
Gilmour and Brynne had found a similar scene, but the grettan they had tracked headed south into the foothills after feeding on an injured Seron. Brynne carried what was left of a thick hairy forearm. She dropped it into the ashes of their forgotten campfire where it settled, a mutilated stump half dusted in black and grey.
‘We ought to make camp in the canyon tonight,’ Sallax suggested. ‘If we can get to higher ground that would be even better. We only have about a half aven before it’ll get dark so we had better get moving.’
‘I wasn’t able to find Versen’s boot prints,’ Garec explained, ‘so we should assume he is alive and that he rode out of here on one of the horses.’
Gilmour chimed in, ‘Hopefully, he has ridden into the canyon and has a head start on us.’
‘He knew we couldn’t get far up the first pass with the horses, so if we don’t find him in the next two days, there’s a good chance he rode south or west,’ Mark added.
Sallax interrupted, saying, ‘It doesn’t matter. We have to clear out of here and get as far up that hill as possible before it gets too dark.’
‘I’ll get us some fish for dinner,’ Garec said as he drew several arrows from his quiver and hurried off towards the river.
‘And I’ll fill the skins,’ Brynne said. ‘We don’t know how far into the mountains we’ll go before we find a stream.’
‘Good,’ Sallax agreed, then turned to Steven. ‘See what you can salvage from the packs and saddlebags strewn about here on the ground.’
The evening grew cold as the group navigated the twists and turns of the narrow canyon. Passing the Seer’s Peak trailhead, Gilmour became lost in thought once again. Garec guessed what troubled his friend. The almor, the Seron and the grettans had found them at the base of Seer’s Peak shortly after their arrival. They were being watched, tracked. Malagon knew where they were every step of the way.
Garec was not sure why the Seron would be battling grettans when they had both been sent to kill the Ronan partisans; perhaps Nerak simply didn’t care if they killed one another. Perhaps the use of all three killers was designed to bring as much deadly force down upon the band of travellers as possible. It appeared to be a pretty safe bet that as long as Gilmour and the others were killed, Nerak was indifferent to his servants getting killed themselves in the process.
Snaking through the canyon, Garec thought again of his dream, watching as the land died, turning into an arid wasteland as the Estrad River slowed to a trickle. He hoped Lessek’s vision was not one of an unavoidable future. He remembered ghostly wraiths moving between trees in the forbidden forest, a thousand eerily silent souls floating effortlessly above the ground. Garec had no idea who – or what – the spirits sought. And he pondered the significance of the strange pair coupling furiously on the woollen carpet of a Riverend Palace apartment. Garec did not understand why such an exquisite woman would be willing to engage with such a partner.