Shadows of Moth by Daniel Arenson

Author:Daniel Arenson [Arenson, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 23166996
Published: 2014-09-02T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

THE RAVEN AND THE BEAR

The limestone bear rose from the forest, craggy and frosted, a sentinel taller than any tree. Snow gathered around its feet, and eras of wind and hail had beaten its form. Perhaps once every strand of its fur had been lovingly carved, every fang and claw detailed, but now the statue looked like molten rock, barely more than abstract. Torin had to crane his neck all the way back to see its roaring face high above; the statue must have loomed three hundred feet tall.

"A statue of Gashdov," Torin said. His horse nickered beneath him, breath frosting. "The fabled Guardian Bear of Verilon, a god of the north. They say the true Gashdov isn't much smaller than this statue, a beast to dwarf all others."

Cam bit his lip, staring up from his own horse. "This marks the border between Arden and Verilon. The city of Orewood is near."

Behind Torin and Cam rode their retinue—five knights and thirty men-at-arms, all clad in steel plates, the ravens of Arden upon their shields. Their banners fluttered in the cold wind, and snow coated their woolen cloaks. Torin himself wore a woolen tunic under his armor, and a thick black cloak hung around his shoulders, yet he couldn't stop shivering, and his teeth chattered. Verilon seemed even colder than the darkness of Eloria, or perhaps he was simply older, thinner, still wounded and weary. Whatever the case, a cough kept rising in his throat, and he couldn't wait to finally sit by a roaring fire, a mug of mulled wine in his hands.

Torin sighed. Last war, when I was half as old, I didn't care about the cold, and I didn't long for a hearth or wine. He was turning forty this winter, and with every year, he cared less for swords and more for mugs, less for saddles and more for armchairs.

They kept riding north, leaving the bear statue behind. The forest had changed over the past few leagues. Few of the maples, birches, and oaks of Arden grew here. Here was a forest of towering pines like steeples. Wolves ran between the evergreens and hawks glided above, and several times the riders saw true bears; the beasts fed from icy streams, catching salmon in their jaws. The snow kept falling, and with every gust of wind, clumps of snow fell from the trees with thumps.

Torin kept looking around for Verilish soldiers, guardians of the border, but saw none. Here was a vast land, as large as Arden and Mageria combined, covered with ice and boulders and thick woods. Perhaps Verilon depended more on its harsh hinterlands for defense than any wall or guard along its borders.

They were weary, but they did not wish to set camp here in the wilderness of a foreign land. They rode on, breath frosting, lips blue, and the snow would not stop falling. They ate as they rode, and Torin found himself nodding off in the saddle, despite the pain in his limbs and the blisters growing on his thighs.

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