“Good advice, Pa.” Advice he wouldn’t take. Tomaaz climbed into his saddle.
The first chance he had, he’d make Bill pay.
Soldiering On
Huddled among boulders near Devil’s Gate, Marlies had taken the last of her freshweed so she could stay undetected, but it was still risky being this close to her enemies. She kept her camouflage cloak pulled tightly around her, only leaving a gap for her eyes. This cluster of rocks looked like a giant’s discarded playthings in the barren landscape, but made the perfect hiding place.
Tharuk troops were flooding through the towering icy walls—Devil’s Gate—marching toward the Flatlands.
And, once again, she could do nothing but wait.
§
Wind howled between sheer ice walls of Devil’s Gate. To Marlies’ right, on the mountainside above, was a tharuk hut, occupied since dusk. They’d doused the light a while ago, but Marlies had waited before venturing into the pass. Now, she was half frozen, but it was better than being dead.
Creeping forward, Marlies was sure she stood out like a dark blot. Underfoot, the ice, scoured by the fierce wind, reflected the moonlight like burnished metal. She kept to the right wall where she was protected from the tharuks’ view. Her boots slipped. Marlies thrust out her arms. Her sword arm hit the wall. It hurt. Had she opened up the wound again? Shards, there was a dark patch on the ice—her blood. She scraped at the wall with her gloved fingers, trying to remove it.
A guttural voice sliced through the night. “Where are you going?”
Marlies froze.
“To check the pass,” another answered.
Tharuks, out and about! Their timing couldn’t have been worse.
“The pass don’t need checking.”
“I saw a shadow.”
“Get back inside. No wandering at night.”
Feet crunched and a door slammed.
Crouched, Marlies waited, in case it was a trap. Then she hurried on, every squeak of her boots on the ice like a drumbeat in her ears.
At last, she was through the pass. The snow was churned up where many tharuks had passed through that day. She kept to their trail, hoping her boot prints would be lost among theirs. The only problem was, hers were going the wrong way.
You didn’t have that problem on a dragon. How she ached to fly Liesar again. She would’ve been across the realm in a few days, instead of weeks of travel.
Her arm throbbed, but she plowed on through the snow. At least it was a fine night; she didn’t have to battle through a storm like the one that had raged until this morning—although a storm would cover her tracks.
Near dawn, her head was spinning and her arm was throbbing. Tharuks would soon be on the move. She had to stop. She left the trail to explore. Further along the cliff, she found a cave with a narrow entrance, obscured by a rocky projection. Perfect.
Once inside, Marlies pulled out her bedding, laying it on the cave floor. She couldn’t make a fire here. This was Zens’ territory. But she could eat some cold food and dress her wound.
Shards, she was tired and dizzy.
Lying on her uninjured side, Marlies closed her eyes. Death Valley was waiting below. Tonight, she’d slip down into the valley, hide her rucksack and mingle with slaves to find out where the dragon was.
Insight
The creature was ravenous. It’d been days since the last putrid scrap of meat had been flung outside his cave. He paced, snarling as the chain tugged on his raw leg. Instinct pushed him to keep moving, despite the pain. If he stopped, he doubted he’d get up again.
He scanned the cave, but didn’t dare venture outside to the pallid dawn. He’d tried going out at night, but even the moon had hurt his eyes. Venturing forth under the cover of cloud also hadn’t helped—muted light still made his eyes ache. And sunlight made them sear.
Hours later, he was still moving, but slower. A faint scuff made him cock his head, nostrils flaring. Human. Bringing him his pitiful meal. He moved to the front of the cave, squinting in anticipation of the sharp light. But today, the sun only itched his eyes—it didn’t burn or blind. Surprised, he opened them wider and went outside.
Before, everything had been a drab gray, leached of color—but now he could see.
He was in an arid wasteland, surrounded by stark hills. The human shambling toward him was barely alive—a thin young male with sunken eyes, holding a spade with a rotten rat on the end. The male stopped every few paces, breathing hard, the spade swaying.
The creature stood transfixed by that swaying spade. The rat’s limp hindquarters hung off the shovel’s blade, its tail dragging in the dust. With each of the human’s uneven steps, the rat slid a little further. If the male stumbled, his next meal would land in the dust, out of reach.
Another step.
Then another.
The creature moved toward the dead-faced human until his leg ached from the chain’s bite.
The male tossed the meat off the end of the spade, then put the blade on the ground and leaned on the handle, panting. After a while, he staggered away.
Lying down, the creature stretched its neck toward the stinking rat. He drew back his upper lip, wrinkling his nose, and snapped up the foul-tasting meat. Then he went into the cave to rest.
When he came out again, sunlight seared his eyes. Clawing at the cavern walls, he roared in agony, loosening showers of shale from the hillside. Then the creeping gray blindness took its toll and his mind was dimmed with fog again.
Now, he knew what caused it: he’d only seen clearly when he hadn’t eaten for three days. The life-sapping blindness came from something in his food. There was no other explanation for his burning eyes or the blanket of gray shrouding his thoughts
