Return of the Crown (17 page)

Around noon the next day, they reached the
snow line. Blade broke through crusty ice, and he found himself
sinking into the wet snow beneath. The wet snow attacked his
trousers clumping and melting on his legs, chilling him to the
bone. He broke the trail allowing Ravyn to stay relatively dry.

The sun’s rays beat down melting the ice, and
then they were both floundering through slush. They continued the
brutal climb, panting as the air thinned further. One step at a
time, they plodded on.

The sun began sinking out of sight and the
air cooled further. Blade searched for a place to camp. Noticing a
huge boulder with an overhanging edge, he slogged up to it,
examining the small space. It was dry and sheltered from the wind.
Crawling under the ledge, they huddled together.

“Let me see your feet, Rav.”

“My f-f-feet?”

“Yes, are they wet?”

“S-s-s-soaked I’m afraid, and I’m feeling
ch-ch-chilled now that we’ve stopped m-m-moving.” She sat
shivering, her teeth clattering non-stop.

“We need to take off our shoes. Our feet will
freeze overnight if we don’t.”

Unraveling the laces was difficult with numb
fingers, but eventually they were undone. Taking Ravyn’s feet
between his hands, Blade began rubbing them briskly. Slowly,
tingling and warmth returned to her feet. She did the same for
Blade.

“Maybe I should look for some scrub, or
something to build a fire with,” Blade eyed the snow warily.

“Giallag warned us not to leave the path, and
the snow drifts are too deep for you to go trudging through.
Besides, nothing grows up this high.” She exhaled, her breath
coming out in a big shivery puff of steam. “Let me try a
spell.”

Picturing their last campsite, she envisioned
the woodpile they’d left behind. The logs appeared at her feet.
“Now work your magic with the flint, my good man.”

“Ravyn, you aren’t supposed to use the
Light,” Blade chastised, rummaging through his pack. “But I can’t
say I’m sorry you did.” He set the flint to the side and used his
knife to shave some kindling off one of the logs. Soon a little
fire was crackling in front of them, drying wet boots and warming
chilled skin.

“We should melt some snow to fill the water
skin; it’s near empty. We could also have some tea,” Blade
suggested.

After they had eaten and tea warmed their
bellies, they curled up in the cloaks. Snuggling into each other,
they fell asleep, exhaustion of the day’s efforts claiming
them.

General Joff was preparing to leave Riverside
to continue the work of rounding up more fighters to join the
revolution. He was finishing lunch with two of his men, Tom and
Ferard, at a table in Eagle’s Nest.

Brigan bustled over with three pints of ale,
the pewter tankards overflowing with foam. “Begging your pardon,
General Joff, I brought you some refreshments,” the heavy mugs
thudded down before them, sloshing ale on the sturdy oak table, “on
the house.” He beamed at them. “Sir, I am a simple man, but I want
to help too. I want to be a part of it.”

“Brigan, you’re a good man and I appreciate
your desire to be involved. What we need are men skilled in the
arts of war. This is going to be dangerous.”

“Sir, it’s true, I’ve been an innkeeper all
my life. But Zelera’s taxes are crushing me; I can barely keep my
doors open. She’s taken my wife and children to be her servants,
baugh, her slaves. I don’t know whether they still live. I’ve heard
stories about the things she does to her servants…..” A tear
streaked his rosy cheek. “I’d give my life to make Aigerach the
land it once was, and I know others who’ll do the same.” His
passionate cry pierced the General’s heart.

Joff rubbed his chin, “Brigan, you round up
these men you know, and I will leave one of my men to train you. I
don’t need to warn you to be careful; Zelera has spies throughout
Aigerach. You have to know these men are true to the Old Crown.
Make no mistake, your life does depend on it.”

Brigan stood proud, shoulders back. “Thank
you, General, I’ll get you many men, good men. You’ll see.”

Joff smiled. “I’m sure you will, Brigan.” His
eyes flicked about the room, “Are there any weapons in this
village?”

Brigan pointed to a sword hanging above the
mantle. “That belonged to my granddad. It saw many battles in the
old days, and I’m sure it’ll clean up nicely. Old Pate, the
blacksmith, knows a thing or two about making weapons. He’ll help.
Zelera killed his boy.” Brigan’s eyes wandered to the window,
staring out at Old Pate’s back as he pumped the bellows, the flames
dancing before him.

“Then I leave you to enlisting him.” Joff
said, draining his pint. He stood, slapping a tall sturdy soldier
on the back, “Ferard, you stay and train Brigan and his men.” He
looked at the other soldier, “Drain your pint Tom, you and I have
many miles ahead of us.”

Ravyn and Blade continued struggling up the
steep mountain. The days were monotonous struggling battles against
the environment. At night Ravyn produced a pile of wood from the
forest, and they warmed themselves up with a small fire and dried
out their wet clothes.

On the fifth morning, they saw only one crest
before them.

“We’re going to bag this peak,” Ravyn gasped,
a radiant smile blossoming across her face.

“It looks like we’ll be heading down the
other side this afternoon. I think we’re ahead of schedule.”

Ravyn took a step forward, sinking deep into
the snow. She lost her balance and fell back into Blade. He caught
her up in his arms, holding her just a moment longer than necessary
before helping her right herself. With flushed cheeks, they both
looked above them at the peak once more.

Blade cleared his throat, “Maybe, we should
tie together today, Ravyn.” Producing a coil of rope from his pack,
Blade tied the rope about his waist, giving Ravyn the other end to
tie around herself. “I have an extra pair of socks; put them on
your hands like mittens. We’ll need our hands on this steep
slope.”

“What about your hands? They will be cold
too.”

Feeling bold, he winked. “You can warm them
for me at the top.”

Ravyn giggled, tossing a soft-packed snowball
at him. “You are incorrigible.”

Zelera prowled her chambers, sulking and
pondering and planning. She paused for a moment, eyes darting
across the reports that littered her desk and spilled to the floor.
Her spies reported movement throughout the country. Men were arming
and gathering in groups. She hissed like a cornered cat.

She wandered to the window and looked out
toward the mountains in the distance. Her plans to trap the old
wizard Connor failed; he managed to evade her yet again. She
slammed her hands against the window frame; the glass rattled
angrily.

Turning her back to the world, she spied the
accounting ledger lying open on the floor across the room. Taxes
were drying up. People were refusing to pay her soldiers.

She turned toward her bed. The blankets lay
in a twisted mass, coiled and ready to strike at her. Her feet took
her away from the bed, away from the blasted dream. It haunted her
and deprived her of a normal night’s sleep. Nothing could keep it
at bay. Her feet took her to the gilded mirror.

She stopped pacing, glowering at the ghostly
images of Lareina and Bryant. They seemed to be smiling, mocking
her.

“I will prevail,” she spat at the glass,
spittle running down the pane. “You were so perfect, but who wears
the crown? I do! I rule! I will catch your little spawn and crush
her like a bug. Then I will sacrifice you to the Darkness,” she
ranted and railed, eyes wide in blood-rimmed sockets. She spun
about, heading to the altar.

Calling upon Ravyn’s aura in the scrying
bowl, she quickly spotted traces of magic creating a crumb trail up
the mountain. She zeroed in on Ravyn and a young man climbing the
last peak. A malicious grin pulled at the corners of her gaunt
lips. A huge cornice lay at the crest above them. One jolt of power
would do the trick. “I couldn’t have planned it better myself,” she
purred.

Nearly there. The peak opened her arms to
them, embracing them, begging them to reach her crest. Glancing
over her shoulder at Blade, Ravyn grinned, her black hair whipping
like a pennant in the wind. “Lunch at the top; I’m buying.”

Blade’s green eyes widened as ominous black
clouds formed. Purple streaks of energy crackled as they zipped
across the sky. Zelera’s gaunt face leered down at them.

“What a nice day for a summit bid,” Zelera’s
voice boomed like thunder. “But you really should choose your path
more carefully,” she rumbled. Violet lightning streaked across the
sky, followed by an immediate clap of thunder that dropped Ravyn to
her knees.

The mountain rumbled beneath her, the cornice
above her broke free. Angry snow hurtled toward them, a rush of
wind preceding it, ripping and tearing at them. Rocks and chunks of
ice flew through the air, lobbed by an unseen hand.

Whipping the sock off her hand, Ravyn fumbled
in her pocket for Medina’s feather. She held it out in front of
her, both hands gripping the feather. Time seemed to stop as snow
and rock careened past her, avoiding her with miraculous ease. The
flow slowed, then ceased altogether.

“Blade, we made it,” Ravyn shouted. Silence
greeted her, dead silence. Ravyn spun in a panic, her world was
solid white. “No,” she screamed, scanning for some sign of
life.

Zelera’s laughter rang in her ears, as snow
began falling thick and fast, encasing her further in chilly white
nothingness.

Her numb hands brushed at the rope around her
waist. Ravyn turned, following the lead to where it disappeared
beneath a blanket of snow. She clawed at the ice, tracing the rope
deeper and deeper. Her fingers scraped something hard, and with
renewed vigor, she uncovered Blade. A huge gash opened his scalp,
blood staining the snow. She felt his neck for the beating pulse of
his heart. Though her fingers were frozen, she still felt a tiny
throb at his throat. ‘I’ll protect her till my dying breath’ rang
through her mind. She placed her cheek close to his open mouth. No
soft breath tickled her cheek.

Tears falling freely, she rolled him onto his
back so that he was facing up. Pinching his nostrils, she covered
his lips with her own. She exhaled, willing her life to his. The
air came back out of his mouth, but he did not take a new breath on
his own. She breathed into him again, watching his chest rise with
her breath. The salt from her tears stung her dry cracked lips.

Blade moaned and he sucked in a small breath.
Ravyn cried as he began breathing on his own.

The rapidly falling snow obliterated
everything from view. Ravyn curled Blade up against her, wrapping
his cloak and hers around them. The cold clung to her skin, setting
her teeth to chattering. Numb hands fumbled in the pack looking for
more layers. Silky dragon skin slipped between clumsy fingers.
Tugging it out of the pack, she wriggled it around their shoulders.
She felt warmth growing in their little cocoon. Pain pricked her
fingers as the numbness faded. Fears of freezing to death subsided,
but Blade lay still in her arms. She felt the rise and fall of his
chest, and nothing more. She began humming songs from their
childhood to chase away her fears.

Racing east, General Joff and his men stopped
at every village and farm, spreading the news of the resistance.
Everywhere he went, people rallied to the call to arms. Old swords
and armor appeared, receiving a fresh polishing. Farmers sharpened
their scythes and carried their pitchforks intent on stabbing more
than hay.

As he emerged from the edge of the woods,
General Joff spied a large contingent of elves armed for war. The
men wore silvery chain mail and carried long elegant spears.
Several elven archers readied their bows, pulling arrows from their
quivers, as the men emerged from the thick trees. General Joff
reined in his horse, skidding stones as he halted before them. He
swung out of the saddle and dropped to the ground, hands open free
before him. “You’re armed for battle. Where are you heading?”

A broad-shouldered elf stepped forward,
lifting the visor on his helmet. The other elves stood ready,
weapons poised for action. “I would know your name first,” he
growled.

“I am General Joff of the resistance, loyal
to King Bryant and Queen Lareina. These are my men.”

“They are dead these many years; but if you
stand against Zelera, we consider you a friend. I am Grayvern, and
these are my men.” The elves lowered their weapons and studied the
general and his men.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” General Joff
held out his hand. Grayvern accepted the greeting with a viselike
squeeze.

"What are you doing in this neck of the
woods?” Grayvern asked, pumping Joff’s hand a time or two before
letting go.

“I’m rounding up support and arms. I‘m trying
to get a message to Wanderer’s Forest. Princess Ravyn befriended
the harpies and the unicorns. I hope to persuade them to join the
fight.” He paused, rubbing his hand. “The King and Queen are not
dead. Zelera trapped them in an evil spell, but they are not dead.
Will the elves join the resistance? Sharp blades guided by expert
hands, and accurate archers are sorely needed.”

Grayvern rubbed his whiskery chin, fingers
sawing back and forth across the scruff. “We will join you. Zelera
attacked our home a week past. She captured many elves, and many
others went to the Light prematurely.” His gray eyes hardened like
cold steel.

General Joff sighed and bowed his head in
honor of the dead. “Blessings of the Light upon your kith and kin,”
he whispered.