“It would appear that our journey west is at an end,” Aisling said. “And if we go south, I suspect that this ravine is the same one that kept us from making for the pass south earlier. Any suggestions?”
“North or east,” Cyrus said. “We know for fact that they’re east, so the only alternative is north.”
“The problem with that idea,” she groused, “is that we suspect that they’re north as well.”
“Go with what’s suspected or what’s known?” Cyrus asked. “I know which I pick.”
“Not fair. Not sound, either. It’s a choice between certain death and uncertain death, and I want to pick ‘neither.’”
His smile disappeared. “Then you probably should have retreated with the others and left me behind.”
The snow came down harder now, blowing in their faces as they headed north, across the hills. They crested another rise and Cyrus looked east, and in the distance, he wondered if the village that they had seen from the pass that morning was nearby, if it was somewhere out there, teeming with the scourge. “Do they eat people?” he wondered aloud.
“Morbid thought,” Aisling said. “But I can’t say I haven’t had it myself. It seemed as though J’anda had something on them, had figured something out that he wanted to tell us, but the whole lot of them stopped it.” She held her breath for a moment. “Can’t pretend I’m not curious about what that was about.”
“Nor I,” Cyrus said. “This snow is getting worse.”
“It’s not even sticking to the ground,” Aisling complained, “but it’s turning everything to mud.” Windrider made a noise that sounded to Cyrus’s ears like assent. “This is going to slow us.”
“I know Windrider can handle a long ride,” Cyrus said, “but it’s been months of walking, hell, almost a whole month now with only a day or two here or there for a break. This hard escape can’t have been easy on him.” The horse was stoic but turned his head to favor them with one eye.
“What are you suggesting?” Aisling said, the coolness in her voice just covering the dread beneath.
“I’m suggesting that if we keep heading north in this, we’re likely to blunder into the enemy. I’m suggesting that we find somewhere that looks safe to hole up for the night, and we take it.” He blinked the snow flurries out of his eyes. “We try and sleep in shifts, so as not to be surprised if these things track us like bloodhounds do.”
“I don’t love the sound of that,” Aisling said. “Resting while we’re being hunted seems like a bad idea.”
“And getting lost and falling in a ravine or having Windrider die from exhaustion seems like a better one?” Cyrus looked around. “We don’t even have any oats for him to eat, since the wizards are all gone and we’re isolated on our own.”
“Perhaps some field grass?” Aisling suggested. “He could try and find it under the layers of mud.”
“We need a rest,” Cyrus said. “Not so much for us as for him.” He let out a breath. “Maybe a little for us.”
“I can’t imagine the conditions under which I’d feel I could rest right now,” Aisling said, and Cyrus felt the tension in her, pressed as he was against her back. “But I’d imagine that some reprieve is better than none. And,” she grudgingly admitted, “you’re right about seeing ahead. We’re more likely to stumble over the edge of a cliff in this mess than to be able to see clear forward on a decent path.”
“Right,” Cyrus said. “There’s likely a place where that ravine shallows, and we might be able to cross it to get to the flatter ground on the other side, but we’ll miss it if we keep going in this.” He looked back behind them. “Also, we’re leaving tracks right now. It might be best to find a place to lie low, so we can give them a chance to cover over.” He shrugged. “Not that these things are trackers, but you can never be too careful when you’re surrounded by the enemy.”
They kept on for a while longer, as the terrain got rockier. They came upon another sheer cliff face, having wandered to a point where the ground rose to the east forcing them along a path parallel to the ravine. They went along, now boxed in by a cliff face on one side and a ravine on the other, forced along a steadily inclining grade, the ground carrying them upward almost against their will.
“I don’t like this,” Aisling said, so low that Cyrus almost missed it.
“What’s that?”
“Being trapped,” she said, pointing to the face of the rock to their right. “It’s too sheer. If they come at us from behind we have to run ahead blindly, we can’t even swerve right or left.”
“Story of my life,” Cyrus said, and when she shot him a confused look, he went on, “Running blindly.”
“Ah,” she said with a nod, “I thought you meant not being able to swerve left or right.”
He thought about it for a moment. “That too, actually.”
The skies were a deep grey, laced with swirls of clouds that stretched to either end of the horizon, punctuated by light streaming through the gaps between formations. The gaps between the clouds started to darken as the sun set. The cold air blew through Cyrus’s armor and he felt it all the way through, even over the sense of weary tension that had him in its grasp.
Aisling’s breathing was something he could feel even through his armor, and the tension was noticeable from her as well. Her shoulders were upright, and when Windrider would occasionally take a jarring step, Cyrus felt her go taut in his grasp. He tried not to wrap his arms around her waist, but every now and again he was left with no choice as he leaned, sitting as he was off the saddle. Her hair blew in his face constantly, the white mane possessed of a smell that reminded him of herbs, for some reason, as though she had some sort of greenery in it even now.
The howling of the wind was the only thing that surrounded them, blowing past, dampening all other sound. The canyon channeled it toward them, and Cyrus felt the razor claws of it, so shocking for a summer’s day, and he reached to the saddlebags for his cloak, tucking it around himself and Aisling as best he could. He heard her murmur her thanks as he drew closer to her, the night air gradually growing colder and colder.
“Up there,” Aisling murmured, and her finger came up to point. “There’s something against the cliff face.”
They drew closer and Cyrus saw it too. It was wooden, carved, and set up on small pillars, though broken and crumbling. “An old mine?” Cyrus asked.
“Looks like,” she answered as they came upon it. It was square, two posts on either side and a lintel over the top, a beam to keep the roof from collapsing. It jutted only a little out of the rock, just enough to be noticeable if someone was traveling along the ravine.
Cyrus carefully dismounted and ducked into the entrance. The cave was dark, and his eyes couldn’t adjust to the low light.
“You blind fool,” Aisling said, appearing at his side. “Here.” She pulled something out of a pack on her belt, and grabbed an old discarded stick out of the ground at their side. She ripped the sleeve under her armor, pulling a layer of cloth out and wrapping the old branch with it. When she was done she opened the small container she had pulled from her pack, then ran it along the blade of her knife. Sparks came, and the cloth caught, the stick becoming a torch, burning brightly and lighting the cave.
It turned ahead of them, twisting off to their right. Cyrus heard Windrider snort behind him, then felt the horse put his face on the back of Cyrus’s head and push him forward. “You know,” Cyrus said, looking back at him, “every day I’m with you, you become less a horse and more of a comic sidekick, I hope you realize.” Windrider whickered and shuffled off beside Aisling, who idly stroked his face as they stared into the darkness ahead of them, contemplating it.
“If we don’t look around and make sure the cave is secure,” he said, staring into the distance, “we’re probably not going to have a lot of luck sleeping tonight.”
“Agreed,” she said. “You first.”
He sighed, and drew his sword. “A comic sidekick for a horse and a skittish ranger as a traveling companion, miles from a friendly face, surrounded by savage creatures that want to eat us alive.” He frowned. “Why does this always happen to me?”
“You wanted to be an adventurer,” Aisling said, with a little snap, “now you are. And oh, what an adventure we’re having today, eh?”
Cyrus prowled forward, sword in hand, Aisling and Windrider behind him. Three branches of the main chamber turned into dead ends, and a fourth led to a narrow passage. When Cyrus thrust the torch into it to shed some light, it stretched through a narrow gap in the rock that was only just large enough for him to squeeze into.
“I think we’re okay,” he said, “though I suspect we’ll be in some manner of trouble if the light from our fire or the smoke is seen outside.” They walked back to the entrance, and as they approached the mouth of the cave,
