‘Opening a rip in the universe?’
‘Exactly.’ Gilmour’s voice brightened. ‘That is an amazingly dangerous endeavour that will probably cost him – it – its very existence.’
Mark frowned. ‘That may be true, but in the meantime, you can’t use magic to send your own devils out to hunt him down, because-’
‘Because he would immediately know both where I was and how powerful I have grown.’ Gilmour smiled at each of his companions in turn, then gestured towards the underbrush.
‘So you’re right. He has every terrifying and insidious resource at his disposal and I have-’
‘Us,’ Steven chimed in dejectedly.
‘Grand,’ Mark echoed with an equal lack of enthusiasm. ‘And,’ Gilmour interrupted their emotional tailspin, ‘we have a certain degree of surprise on our side as well.’
‘How is that?’ Garec looked up from skinning the deer; he’d been following the conversation with interest.
‘Nerak believes we are on our way to Sandcliff. Though he may suspect you two came here without Lessek’s Key, he cannot be certain.’
‘That’s right,’ Mark brought the issue full circle, ‘because with it, we would head right for the spell table.’
‘Exactly. So the fact you ignored the most powerful talisman in Eldarni history as a worthless piece of stone may help us before this is finished.’
‘It didn’t look like much at the time,’ Mark said. Garec grinned up at him.
‘So, how do we mask our approach to Welstar Palace?’ Brynne changed the subject.
‘We avoid using certain forms of magic,’ Gilmour settled into lecture mode. ‘Common tricks and spells should be fine, because lots of people employ them, but I will try to avoid using any incantations Nerak would recognise from Sandcliff.’
‘He can hear it?’ Even Sallax was interested now. He had moved slightly closer while still watching the thicket, his battle-axe in one hand.
‘He can sense it. Magic has a rippling effect on energy planes in the immediate vicinity. The greater the spell’s impact, the greater the ripple. Those with some training or knowledge of sorcery can sometimes feel the change in energy level. Nerak can detect these changes from quite a distance.’
‘So that puts us at an additional disadvantage,’ Sallax mused. ‘We have to enter Malakasia and make our way to Welstar Palace without benefit of your skills.’
‘That’s true to some extent,’ Gilmour confirmed. ‘But it’s not all bad news. I have yet to detect even the faintest disturbance when Steven summons the power of the hickory staff – even when I’ve been standing next to him.’
Mark put a hand on his roommate’s shoulder. ‘So Steven will have the full force of the staff at his disposal.’
‘I believe so, yes.’
Steven blanched. ‘But wait. I don’t know what this thing can do and I certainly don’t know how to summon its magic at will.’
Gilmour beamed. ‘Well, that adds some complexity to our predicament, doesn’t it? Now, how’s breakfast coming along, Garec? I for one could eat a deer.’
The company broke through the tree line just after midday. Brynne felt the abrupt change in temperature through her riding cloak. The Blackstone peaks, although picturesque – in a menacing way – stretched on for ever and Brynne could not yet see much north beyond the slope they ascended. A nervous tension that began in the pit of her stomach had burgeoned into cramp as she made her way up the trail; she had no idea how she would be able to summon the fortitude to continue if the view north mirrored the vast expanse of craggy and inhospitable-looking mountains to the east and west.
By sunset they were only a few hundred paces below a ridge that appeared to mark the upper rim of the pass. With daylight fading quickly, Garec pointed at a narrow depression in the rock: cramped but adequate shelter for the night. Everyone had carried or dragged as much wood as they could manage from the tree line; now Sallax set about building a fire. With darkness clawing its way up the slope behind them, the high altitude air had grown frigid. Sallax silently hoped they would be spared rain or snow overnight.
Brynne dropped the tree limb she had dragged along for most of the day and scrambled hand over foot up the steep final slope: a fanatical pilgrim finally reaching a holy place on the far edge of a vast desert. The anticipation of seeing out above the peaks to the north had nearly driven her mad; she had spent much of the day engaged in an animated conversation with Mark and Steven just to avoid thinking about what awaited them beyond the pass. Now, with the end in sight, she moved as quickly as she could manage in the thin mountain air. Try as she might to control her anxiety, she felt her breath coming in ever-shorter gulps. Her vision tunnelled and her legs buckled weakly as she reached for the rocky ridge.
Mark saw her go and sighed. Having lived in the mountains, he knew what she would discover. He smiled sadly to himself and hustled after her.
He was halfway there when Brynne reached the summit. Her body became rigid for a moment, as if she had been met by an unexpected cold wind and then she slumped, her shoulders collapsed and her knees gave way. She appeared to age fifty years in one breath. Worried she might fall, Mark hurried the last few paces to catch her. When he reached her side, he was breathing heavily from the effort. He estimated they had climbed to an altitude of nearly thirteen thousand feet – the peaks on either side of the pass were far higher than the tallest mountains he and Steven had ever tackled back home.
He took the last few steps slowly, uncertain how Brynne would respond to him, but when she looked back and saw him there, she opened her cloak, inviting him inside its thick woollen folds.
She laid an arm over his shoulder and Mark reached one around her waist. Together they stood, taking comfort in the shared warmth. Brynne rested her head on his shoulder and stared into the distance. ‘We’ll never make it before the snows come.’ The panic attack had passed as quickly as it had arrived. The tough, knife-wielding tavern owner was back.
‘You’re right.’ Mark gazed out across the endless range of forbidding peaks and high-altitude passes. In the waning sunlight, the Blackstone Mountains were utterly beautiful. They would be unmerciful. Loose shale, glacier ice and sheer rock faces would force the travellers to double back, wasting valuable time. Mark would not have wanted to traverse this range in the best conditions. Moving into the sea of valleys, peaks and passes with winter only days away verged on the suicidal. Resting his cheek against Brynne’s soft tresses, Mark realised he was looking on the place he would most likely die.
Turning, he felt her body press against his beneath the cloak. Constant travel with little food or rest had hardened them all. Mark felt her lean body as Brynne pulled him closer; her scent aroused him unbearably. Burying his face in the fold of her neck, he ran his hands across her back and pulled her tightly against him. She kissed him with such urgency Mark wanted to carry her away someplace safe, someplace where they would be uninterrupted.
‘We can’t go back south,’ she said quietly. ‘They’ll be looking for us all the way to Estrad.’
‘Steven and I have no choice. We must push on if we’re ever going to get home.’ He ran one hand through her hair, letting it glide between his fingers. ‘We’ll just have to hope the weather holds.’
He tried to chart a course north in the fading light. Each morning he and Steven would map each visible peak, noting the shallowest passes and picking out secondary and even tertiary routes, in case the way was blocked or impassable. For tonight, however, there was the promise of fresh venison and the solace of Brynne’s woollen cloak.
‘Hey, come and eat,’ Steven shouted, ‘dinner is about ready.’
‘On our way,’ Mark replied.
Brynne took his hand and led him back down the rocky slope.