'My Sasha is as deaf as the stones of the Icerim Mountains.' He laughed then, a full-throated guffaw, and slapped the half-elf hard on the back before mounting his horse.
Taen pitched forward, stumbling from the force of the blow. It wasn't until he sat in the saddle of his own mount and the group started forward once again that he realized he couldn't tell whether Borovazk had been kidding or not.
By luck or some unasked-for blessing of the gods, the weather held over the next three days-crisp and clear, with only an occasional dusting of snow swirling and circling to the ground. In the face of such a gift, the group traversed a good deal of terrain. Taen found himself marveling at the steady, economical pace of their horses, crunching through drifts and ice with such surefooted grace. Lulled by the rolling rhythm of his mount and the now- gentle speech of the wind, he began to relax and look at the white-coated world around him, not as a thing to be endured, but as an experience to be savored. There was a beauty-a wisdom-in the broad sweep of plain and rock- strewn valleys of this wild land. Each step of his horse brought him deeper into that wildness, carried him to the heart of a mystery for which he had no name-only a sense of rock, ice, and unforgiving wind. In those moments, he thought that he could understand the pride and strength of the rough-tongued and insular Rashemi people. They were born from the very soil of wilderness, lived in harmony with its harsh rhythms, hewn and formed by its untamed forces the way rocks are shaped by the elements. They were heirs to wind-swept mountains, ice-curdled lakes, and the deep, enduring promise of the land.
Taen traveled onward with his companions. Borovazk must have sensed the half-elf's change in mood, else he, too, was caught in the grip of such reflections, for the Rashemi's stories and songs had eventually tapered off, allowing the wind-ruffled silence of the plains to replace his voice. The half-elf did not speak, dared not speak, against the vast silence of the landscape, and he knew that the others felt the same way.
Once or twice each day, Marissa would dismount and hand the reins of her horse to him. In moments, she would be running ahead of them in wolf shape, scouting their path or hunting in the fading light of day, only to return with a brace of hare, her own hunger sated.
They ate in silence.
Only Roberc seemed unaffected by their surroundings. Dozing in Cavan's saddle or drawing his blade across a whetstone, the halfling appeared to Taen as dour and as solemn as he always did. Early on the morning of their third day of silence, he drew his dun close to the halfling's war-dog and threw a questioning look down at the warrior. Roberc gazed up impassively and simply shrugged before leading Cavan into a loping run that put him well in front of the walking horses.
By afternoon of the next day, their fifteenth day out of Mulptan, the air grew noticeably warmer. Ice-covered snow gave way to wet-packed drifts, and a thin mist had begun to permeate the air. By the first fall of dusk, the horses had to slog through thick piles of slippery slush, and Borovazk eventually called an early halt to their travel.
The change in weather precipitated a change in mood as well. Taen felt free of the awe that had gripped him the past few days, as if the loosening of winter's grip had somehow loosened his tongue as well.
'Why is it getting so warm?' he asked their guide.
'Who cares,' interjected Roberc as he helped his furred mount free of the leather barding that protected it. 'It's just nice not to have your nose hairs freeze every time you take a breath.'
'Indeed, little friends,' Borovazk replied. 'It will be much better for you now. We draw near to Immil Vale. Winter's heart cannot touch it. It is blessed by the gods-a gift to my people for their strength and bravery, eh?'
'How much further do we have to go?' Marissa asked.
The ranger smiled at her. 'Ah, my little witch,' he said with obvious affection. 'You grow anxious. You not worry. Borovazk know a path that will take us into vale. Two days at most.'
Taen awoke that morning feeling uneasy. Twice during the night he had been startled awake by a sound that he wasn't sure he had heard. He'd swept the area surrounding their camp during his turn at watch but had found nothing that would indicate his suspicions were well founded.
Still, the half-elf couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him from somewhere out on the plain. That feeling grew throughout the day as they headed west toward their destination. Taen stood in his saddle and cast his glance as far as he could-but saw nothing. Finally, he indicated his suspicions to Borovazk.
The ranger nodded. 'I feel it too,' the Rashemi answered. 'We are being followed.'
From then on, they all kept a careful watch. Taen noted that Cavan threw his thick muzzle into the air and sniffed suspiciously several times, while the horses seemed unusually skittish.
The tension mounted.
Sometime after midday, Marissa's white raven flew raucously to her outstretched arm. The druid nodded as the bird continued to caw and croon. Finally, she sent it back into the air with a flick of her arm.
'We are being followed,' she confirmed their fears. 'Rusella says that there are several landwalkers keeping their distance behind us.'
Taen nodded at the news. At least he hadn't been imagining things. His heart began to beat rapidly. Whatever it was behind them, the fact that they were trailing them probably meant that they weren't friendly.
Roberc drew Cavan even with Marissa's mount.
'Exactly what is behind us?' Roberc asked. 'How many will we need to face?'
The druid shook her head. 'I do not know,' she replied. 'For all of her intelligence, Rusella is simply a raven.' Taen watched as she stared at the sky. 'There is an easy way to find out, though,' she said after a moment and dismounted abruptly from her horse. Before Taen or anyone else could gainsay her, the druid took the shape of a falcon-a bright red-gold kestrel-and launched herself into the air with wind-swift wings. She cleaved through the air like an arrow, soaring higher and higher, until Taen lost sight of her.
The half-elf cursed. Then, quickly gathering the reins of Marissa's horse, drew close to Borovazk. The Rashemi sat thoughtfully on his stallion.
'The little witch is powerful, yes?' asked Borovazk.
'Yes, she is,' Taen replied, unable to keep the worry out of his voice.
'Then do not fear, little friend,' the ranger said. 'She will return to us and we will know what is following.' Borovazk drew the curved length of his polished horn bow from its resting place across his back.
Taen nodded but said nothing. He kept scanning the sky, waiting for some sign of Marissa's return. A few moments later, the sharp-noted screech of a hunting falcon echoed across the plain, followed by a fast-moving speck circling high in the air. The speck drew closer and closer to the ground, until it finally alit with a rustling of wings and pinions. The air shimmered and Marissa stood once more in their midst.
'Ice trolls,' she gasped, as if winded from her brief flight. 'Five of them. They are heading our way fast.' She grabbed the reins of her horse from Taen and swung quickly into the saddle.
From behind him, Taen heard Borovazk say something harsh in his native tongue.
'Well, little friends,' Borovazk said with a fierce grin on his face, 'it looks like we have some fun today. Ice trolls must be very hungry to hunt this close to vale. They do not like the heat.'
'Can we outrun them?' Roberc asked. The halfling sat astride Cavan confidently, loosening the knot that held his red-hilted short sword in its scabbard. At the first mention of being followed, he had donned the gold-winged helm that he always wore into battle. It gleamed brilliantly in the midmorning sun.
Borovazk grunted. 'Is unlikely that we could outdistance them,' he replied. 'Melting snow, slush, and mud is slippery even for Rashemi horses. No, little friends, it looks like we must fight.'
Unlike many of those who adventured across Faerun, Taen did not enjoy warfare. The prospect of battling trolls in the hinterlands of Rashemen was not a thing to set the blood singing through his veins. Still, he recognized the necessity of it-even welcomed it, if it would silence the nagging voice of doubt that whispered to him of his own failures. Protecting Marissa and his other companions from danger just might do that.
'We should find a better place to stand our ground,' he said.
'Borovazk agrees,' came the ranger's response. 'Come, I know of such a place close by.' With that, he kicked his stallion into a fast trot and motioned for them to follow.
Unlike the sheer plains they had traveled across from Mulptan, the land close to the Immil Vale rolled gently up and down. The ranger led them to the top of one such slope, carefully dismounting and walking his stallion. The
