The Warden

Chapter 48

Masis woke with three fingers of daylight left. Wilo hung just over the dark, craggy line in the distance—the Leng Biurg, the cordillera that stretched the entire length of Haimlant, and beyond, unseen, the duchy of Monvé, a forest region starkly different to Asthurn.

Farther north beyond the Leng Biurg's sharp peaks, dark, scraggly pines made up the woods, perpetually blasted with the northern sea's bitter gales. It received a brief reprieve perhaps for a month out of each year. But even then, a dusky gloom pervaded it.

Masis had gone with his father some years ago to settle a trade dispute. The people had been a dark lot, permanently hunched, never smiling, sticklers for night customs. Immediately attacked with glares, Masis had kept close to his father's side as they descended from the carriage, snow swirling about them in the fuscous half-light.

The duke and duchess of Monvé had done little to warm their visit.

Wreathed in mangy fur cloaks, they hardly said a word when they arrived, offered them no accommodations, and flatly refused anything that Lord Domrae had proposed. In short, an unkempt, unyielding lot, bent on their own way and frigid to any outsiders.

Rolling over in his blankets, the conversation that Masis and his father had had while leaving came back to him crisply.

"Just remember son," Lord Domrae had said, "they don't mean to be so rude, but life up here, well, is much harder than in Asthurn."

With shorter days, the threat of night wights was far greater. Of course, Masis had not fully understood that at the time. Not like he did now. He had asked his father why they did not just move away if it was so bad.

His father had just smiled. "If Asthurn was attacked would you just abandon it? Or would you stay and fight?"

Masis had insisted he would stay and fight.

"Well, there you have it," his father had said. "Monvé is their home, so they'll stay and fight." He had smiled conspiratorially. "But they could stand to bathe a bit more."

Masis and his da had laughed and laughed until their bellies had ached. Even now the memory still brought a grin to his lips.

The image of his family's heaped bodies flashed into his mind, killing what little joy he found in the nostalgia.

Tossing aside the blanket covering him, he shook his head to clear the last remnants of sleep from his mind along with those grisly images. He sat up and cradled his face in his hands, running the rough palms over his nose and cheeks. Grumbling up to his feet, Masis arched his back, stretching and groaning as the dregs of sleep finally melted away. The images lingered. No matter what he tried those memories always seemed to be near the surface, like hungry brambles just waiting, barely beneath the underbrush, to ensnare him. It took very little to get snagged: a thought, a word, even a scent would tangle him in those spiky fetters.

Gritting his teeth, he wrenched his thoughts as far from those jagged memories as possible. Even then the threat pricked his mind.

Turning about, the open prairie stretched until Werold's curve obscured it. Beyond that it still went on. Tall grass, baked brown beneath Wilo, shushed and chittered in all directions. All but to the west, their destination.

Days of walking had brought them this far. And from the lack of pursuit, it appeared that their various false trails and other ploys had worked as intended. They were on their own.

Of course, with Wilo still in the sky, Lady Telias was not with them. They had traveled by night and slept by day. For Masis it had hardly made him flinch, as Lady Kyla had trained him by day and night. But for General Biligrim especially, it seemed disconcerting. He had trod as though every step might be his last and cast his eyes about as though a nightling might spring from every shadow. Masis had chuckled to himself at his antics. That is until he noticed Lady Telias doing the same. That they might share in the same humor made his face screw up in a determined scowl.