Dusk Over Arcath

Chapter 16

Smoke curled lazily off the dwindling coals of their breakfast fire. 

Gritty flavors of wild mushrooms mixed with smoke from the scraggly brush that fed the fire. The spongy grey mushrooms had been a welcome surprise, if an unconventional meal. 

Thankfully the wild flavor had replaced the bitterness of the previous night. He could not understand where it had come from. It was not in him to complain or regret. The past is the past. Furrowing his brow, Canth nodded. Last night was a frenzy of emotions and an unexpected one snuck in. 

Against the drifting screen of smoke, the High Mountains were a tall crest of blue rising against the horizon.

"Hurry up," Castleia ordered across the fire from him. Canvas jostled and her horse whinnied as she packed the saddlebags. "Shh, come now, dear." Her hand rubbed the horse's side affectionately. 

"I will try, love. You too." 

The huntresses shot him a dark look. 

Tightening the last strap, Castleia leaped onto her horse's saddle. She anxiously wrapped the reins around her hands. "Honestly, Scribbler. Some eyes may see our fire's smoke through the shadow of the mountain. We'd best be off." 

"You're right." Canth finished wrapping the leftover mushrooms and tucked them into his bags. It took two tries to pull himself onto his horse, ushering the disapproving look of his companion. 

"Do they teach you nothing but writing in the tomb you call a library?" 

Canth grunted. "Do they teach you nothing but how to insult a man or split his skull in the Watch?" 

Castleia's horse darted past him without answer, but he thought he caught crooked smile

The horses' battering hooves kicked up a column of dust that followed at their backs. As they drew closer to the peaks, Canth made out bristling pines, sharp with the crisp northern air, rising from the uneven surface of the rocks. Caves dotted the grey face answering his gaze. Most appeared little more than pockmarks, but others disappeared in black holes created by the twisting spires of jagged stone. 

Squawking of a distant bird echoed across a deep divot in the otherwise seamless mountain range. A consistent breath blew from the high summits in frosty gales. The icy wind grew even more intense with their approach. It was not long before cold air had kissed their faces pink and their horses grew tired on the rising ground. Castleia called for a halt. 

"The mountains are alive," Canth gestured. "Tegonoragoth's breath is heavy." 

"I'm well aware," the girl answered without tearing her gaze from the sight. "What concerns me is what it is alive with." 

Canth pointed to the highest parts of the mountains. The jagged spine of the mountain range seemed to arch like a sleeping beast, elevating three summits far above the others. 

"The Half-men will be there. It is said their king sits at the lowest point of the highest peak." 

"So do we ride up or down?" 

"Through," he answered. His hand pointed to the dense coalescence of trees that seeped from the steps of the mountains. Wiry trees twisted from the sandy ground, melding together in a patchwork of green and brown. 

"Great," Castleia muttered. "Another forest." 

A forest this is not, Canth decided nearly immediately. There were leaves, branches, twig-like trees, and, yes, even a thin canopy of brush overhead, but it hardly compared to any forest he had seen before. Sandy soil tossed loosely from the fingery twists of root underneath their horses. Branches gave weakly, swaying like flags in the face of the unwavering wind that blew from the mountain. Afternoon light flooded the forest floor unlike any near Arcath. More a collection of overconfident bushes, he mused.