Brightly Burning

beside him.

'This is a very narrow passage,' Fedor said, as they rode side by side through a thick grove of pines. 'You'll be able to stop them from coming through the pass directly, and we think you'll also be able to block most of the attempts to use the high passes, because you'll be able to see them from where we're putting you. And they shouldn't be able to get anywhere near you; you're going to be on a slope that had a rockslide in the last year or so, there is no kind of cover on it.'

'Do you know much about what's coming?' he asked, rather shyly.

Fedor shook his head. 'Only what they told me. All of the Karsite forces have consolidated for this, so I suppose this is their big push to break us. If that's true, winning here could win the war for us.'

'Oh, I hope so,' Lan said fervently. Fedor smiled, with understanding in his brown eyes.

'I hate this, too,' Fedor said softly. 'That's one reason why I asked to be a scout. Blood makes me sick.'

'It does?' Lan felt immensely better to hear a senior Herald confess the same weakness he felt. 'I hate killing people,' he said in a rush. 'I hate it! I don't care if they're our enemies!'

'And thank the gods you feel that way, Lan,' Fedor said solemnly. 'Anyone who doesn't is perilously near to becoming a monster. Most of these people wouldn't be fighting us if their leaders weren't forcing them, or at least telling them such lies that they're afraid we'll slaughter them if they don't get rid of us.'

Lan wanted to talk more to him, but the trail narrowed at that point and he had to fall back to the rear. They came out of the pine trees onto the lower slope of the mountain, and began to climb it on a switchback path rising alternately through more trees and stretches of barren rock.

Only a goat, a mountain pony, or a Companion could have taken this route safely, and Lan's attention was entirely occupied by helping Kalira as she climbed by shifting his balance in the saddle like a tightrope walker on a rope. At times he hung over her neck, at others over to one side, or practically hanging off her tail. He kept his eyes down on the ground—and on the sheer drop-offs just beyond Kalira's hooves. The trail didn't always switch back under itself, and even when it did, the likelihood of catching themselves if they started down was minimal.

It wasn't until Fedor said, 'We're here,' that he looked up from the trail, and gasped at the vista that unfolded before him.

This place that Fedor and Calum had chosen for him was a little scooped-out section in the middle of the goat trail. A boulder might well have once been here, and been knocked out of place by that rockfall. He had a perfect view of the passage between two snow-covered mountains, and the zigzag valley below. A mist hung over the valley, glowing with the golden light of morning, rilling the vale to a point halfway up the peaks. It wasn't a thick mist; he could see the sparkle of a river and the forms of trees perfectly well through it. The mist was nothing more than a tenuous, gilded veil that softened the edges of what lay beyond.

A few puffy white clouds soared just above him, barely touching the mountain peaks, and somewhere in the distance, a blackbird sang. For a fleeting moment, the peace of his dream descended on him. This was so beautiful, so peaceful—his soul opened up to it.

'Dear gods,' Fedor murmured. 'How I hate mankind, sometimes.'

Lan knew exactly what he meant by that. This peace, this loveliness, would be shattered irrevocably in a few candle-marks, and for no more reason but that one group of men desired dominance over another.

'Make yourself as comfortable as you can, Lavan,' Fedor said a bit louder, shaking himself out of his melancholy. 'If you look up that way, you'll see the signs that they're coming. Then—well, do what seems best to you, and what you can to hold them back.' Fedor smiled weakly. 'No one knows better than I how unreliable Gifts can be.'

Lan was touched and terrified at the same time by the trust implied by that order. He could, if he chose, do nothing, and claim that his Gift had deserted him. Not that he would—but he could. Of course, if he didn't, more people would die, his own people—they wouldn't die at his hands, but they would die because of his neglect.

'You can depend on me, sir,' he said solemnly. Fedor saluted him, and turned his Companion's head to go back down the trail.

Well, if he was going to be here a while, there was no point in sitting on a lump of ice until he became one. Once again he gathered wood, this time from among the tumbled rocks where the remains of smashed trees poked up out of the boulders, the remains of a grove of pines that had once stood here. In no time he had a fine pile of dry, seasoned wood; he made a fire, and warmed himself at it, while Kalira sidled up to the flames on the opposite side. From time to time he looked up to see if there was any sign of the enemy, but the fire had burned through the first feeding and halfway through the second before they appeared.

A moving blackness, with bright glints of metal in the midst of it, crept forward imperceptibly at the farthest range of his vision. Again, a shiver of fear crept over him. Could he do this thing? He was only one person—

:You can.: Kalira came up close to him, supporting him with her shoulder. Together they watched the enemy approach, filling the entire valley from slope to slope, announcing their presence with trumpets that frightened the blackbird into silence.

Black anger roiled sluggishly in his gut; they were a pollution, a desecration of this peaceful place. How dare they come here with their bows and swords, their warhorns and their noise? How dare they trample this pristine place, churning up the untouched snow and leaving the landscape ruined?

They poured through the valley in a sluggish stream, with no end in sight; not only were there glints from their weapons flashing among them, but bands of color from banners waving among them. And a safe distance from the front, something shining moved in the midst of them; something bright gold, reflecting the sun, that almost seemed to float on the surface of the throng, bobbing in the current of humanity.

:That's a shrine to their god,: Kalira informed him.

'Oh, really?' he responded aloud, and a spirit of angered devilment suddenly took hold of them. 'Well—I think maybe they can do without it, don't you?'

A whicker and a toss of her head answered his question, and he reached out with his Gift, feeling Kalira behind him, acting as a check on his power.