Lisa Goldstein by Summer King Winter Fool

Author:Summer King, Winter Fool
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-06-04T14:34:52+00:00

They came to their abandoned camp at the foot of the mountains and stopped to forage for food. Then they began to climb, shivering in the cold wind blowing across the snow. The rumors had been true then, Val thought. Winter had not ended.

No apparitions appeared in the mountains; Val thought that Anthiel’s verses might be protecting them. Even so their second journey seemed to be much harder than their first. Without horses they were forced to trudge through the snow on foot, and at night they slept wrapped only in their cloaks. One of the men took sick and could barely continue for the coughing that racked his body. For the first time Val understood what his men had gone through while he had sat at his ease on his horse, and he marveled at their hardiness. There were more ways than one to be a hero, he thought.

On his second day in the mountains the wound in Val’s leg began to ache, and by the third it pained him so greatly that he was forced to rest several times. He found a tree branch and used it as a cane, walking carefully along the snow-laden trail; the other men stopped several times to wait for him.

And always, as they picked their way through the snowdrifts, they kept one eye toward Shai in case of pursuit. They could see no one on the trail behind them, but the snow made it impossible to look down into the plain. He hoped that the Shai had decided to let them go; it would not be worth the trouble to follow them when they could have their pick of slaves in Etrara.

Finally they came to the plain of Wathe. On their second day of marching Val bid good fortune to the other men and turned south. The food he had gathered at the camp was running low, but he went a little faster now. He would see Taja again, and Pebr, would sit in their stone cottage while the harsh wind gusted against the door.

He traveled for several days, favoring his injured leg. On his third day alone he came to a bridge made of weathered oak planks. He crossed it, realizing with surprise that the noisy hurrying river beneath him must be the Darra, which had turned south from Etrara.

On the other side of the river, fern and wet green moss climbed the banks and fanned out onto the shore. Tall trees shadowed the path. As he walked he left the sound of water behind; the trees became more massive, silent, oppressive. They seemed dry as paper, the fallen leaves the accumulation of years.

He had reached the Forest of Thole, he realized, and he turned south once more, hoping to leave the forest completely. After a while he saw the weak winter sun breaking through the trees, and he hurried out into the light. He kept the ancient trees on his right, not wanting to return even to search for food. He had had enough of magic, he thought.

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