Chapter 7
THE MIST SPILLED down the ravines and gullies in a silent, damp flood. Yet the tall man with the odd gait moved up the mountain path with certainty; he was born of Ziem and had the mist vision. Besides, Grimbald Thrace knew exactly where he was going, and every inch of the path that would take him there. Had he not traveled it countless times since they’d taken refuge here?
He crossed the border, that tree line they called the Edge, beyond which legend had it nothing but myth could live. Barren, empty, it was a landscape nearly as cold as the air around it. Here there was no fresh aroma of green trees, only the faint scent of damp on unforgiving stone. But he was inured to it, and barely shivered as he continued on. Not many dared to go past that point, even those who claimed they were not superstitious, who insisted they did not believe in the folk stories of demonish winged creatures with scales who spit fire, and other murderous beasts harbored by the mountain that rose above all others.
Not even to meet the woman they called the Spirit would they venture beyond the Edge; only the most desperate even tried. Not even the Coalition had dared the heights of the Sentinel.
Grim took care with his balance; his leg had healed well but slightly bent, and the difference in it had put a roll into his stride, so he had had to adapt. He still had the leg however, and it pained him little. And for that he would be eternally grateful to the woman who had healed him, and for the magic of the mountain that had so enhanced all her abilities, both healing and visionary.
He would serve her to the end of his days, and be thankful for the chance.
He reached the entrance to the cave. Or rather, the spot where he knew the entrance to be; what he saw was a wall of rock as barren and solid as the rest of the edifice of this mountain.
Still unable, even after all this time, to simply walk into that wall, he closed his eyes and took three quick steps forward. When he opened them again, he was in the cave. The chill had vanished, replaced by the unexpected warmth the mountain itself provided from vents deep inside.
She had warned him, in the beginning, that the vents that heated this place were signs that the mountain still lived, and that one day it would prove that to all by exploding in a massive blast that could wipe out half of Zelos. But that, she had added with a smile, would not happen until millennia after they had both turned to dust, and so he had decided not to care.
He rounded the outcropping of rock that jutted out into the cave, masking the deepest interior, and serving also to contain the heat from the vents, keeping it warm enough that he could shed his heavy coat.
“Sit, Grim, it is ready.”
He could smell the enticing aroma of food. “You knew I was returning?”
“Of course.” She said it easily, and with a smile. “Eat, and then you can tell me what you’ve learned.”
He eased himself down to the seat she had indicated. The Spirit was indeed a healer of miraculous power and wide repute, but she was a woman of many other skills as well, including the weaving and needlework that had produced the cushions filled with feathers left over from the fowl of many meals.
She was also a woman of great beauty. He knew she did not think so, that she thought the scars and the years had changed that, but he did not. She was still young, by Ziem standards, and she was still the same graceful, lithe creature he’d served since his youth. It did not matter that she was changed, or that in some minds she was but a legend. He knew the woman behind those mist-inspired tales.
He did not know the truth of what power she had, the source of her visions, or how she healed even those who seemed beyond help. Indeed, he did not know if the latter was anything more than simply the power to inspire others to rise above what they thought were their own limits, but he did know it worked.
Had it not worked on him?
“You are supposed to be eating, Grim.”
Her voice, sounding almost amused, roused him out of the memories.
“I am sorry, my lady.”
She gave a sigh of mock exasperation. “I am never going to break you of calling me that, am I?”
“No,” he said honestly.
She laughed, and it was a beautiful, musical sound. “Where were you, just now?”
“Remembering how you tended me, when I was hurt.”
“A favor you have returned, in much greater measure.”
He shrugged, not liking to remember that day when he had found her, broken nearly beyond repair. Or the long days after, when he’d fought to bring her back from the brink of death.
“What I knew of healing I learned from you, so in truth, you healed yourself.”
She laughed again. “Such an intricate pattern of logic you have, Grim. But you must admit you taught me all I know of fighting. And fine, strengthening therapy it was.”
He merely nodded, and took a bite of the tasty rockfowl she had prepared. She waited kindly until he had sated most of his hunger before asking, “What news have you from Zelos?”
“It is much the same. Ordam is himself, as is Kerrold. The governor is still a glutton and cares little for details. Jakel still roves the streets in search of anyone to torment, and he still loathes the Davorins.” He paused for a moment before going on. “The Davorins themselves remain the same, except those twins are becoming notorious. Not always in a bad way, mind you; they recently set fire to Ordam’s cloak. As he was giving a fine speech in the square.”
She laughed, and it was a delighted sound he heard too seldom from her.
“He spoke yet again of the Coalition, and how it is for our own good. That they will take care of us; all we must do is swear allegiance and be useful.”
An expression of utter loathing crossed her face. “And surrender our freedom. Become a prisoner to Coalition will.”
“Someone called out from the crowd then. ‘What will you do when they realize you are useless, Ordam?’”
The laugh returned, and she looked much cheered. “It is good to hear they have not all given in.”
“I believe,” he said, “it was Eirlys Davorin.”
She went very still. “She risks much.”
He nodded. “She is very brave. And, I am afraid, very angry.”
It was a moment before she nodded at him to continue.
“There are rumors there will be a new Coalition post commander soon, but there are always rumors.” He took a sip of the ale she also managed to brew, just for him since she never partook, before adding, “And they are all, as ever, in an uproar over the Raider.”
Her face changed then, going from interested to intent. “So he continues?”
“To drive them mad? Yes.”
She smiled then, nodding. “But he is well?”
He hesitated before saying, “It is reported he was injured some days ago.” She went very still. He thought perhaps she was not even breathing as she awaited his next words. “The Coalition tried to say he had been killed, but I have reliable people saying it is not true.”
Her voice was taut as she asked, “They have seen him?”
“No one can admit to that, of course,” he said. “It would cost them dearly. But yes, I believe so.”
Her delicate brow furrowed deeply. “How badly was he hurt?”
“That I do not know.”
“Have there been any raids since?”
“No.”
“So it could be that he was injured badly enough to take him out of the battle.”
“Or not. He has never worked on any kind of regular schedule,” Grimbald pointed out. “Perhaps he is just waiting for the next good opportunity.”
“Perhaps,” she said, looking troubled. “And I have a message to be delivered that might be just that.”
But her expression didn’t clear. And he knew what was coming.
“I must know, Grim. Not just for myself, but the very future of Ziem depends on him.”
He sighed. He’d expected this. “Yes, my lady. If you will allow me a night’s rest, I will return to my search for news, and check for any messages left you by supplicants or those grateful to you.”
He studied her for a long moment, wondering if he dared.
“Speak what you will, Grim.”
“Will you ever return yourself, my lady?”
“You know why I have stayed away, Grim. I had much to learn, much power to absorb from our mountain. And painful as it was, for Ziem and the ones I love, certain events had to happen without me. I’ve shared that vision with you.”
“I know. But you have held yourself apart for so long, even from—”
He stopped when she waved a hand. “No.” But then, for the first time, she added two more, very telling words. “Not yet.”
Someday, then, he thought. He would have to be content with that.