Morwood had a fatherly smile on his lips, a proud smile. “She is, I am glad to report. She goes among the people and helps to give them strength and succour. There is a certain power that women like Amilia possess. Their beauty and radiance can be inspiring. Many of the people have chosen to journey into the mountain on account of her word alone, and much of that has to do with you, I think.”
“Me?” Elyon asked.
“I do believe so, yes. She has been drinking less and doing more ever since you flew together to Thalan. I daresay your actions have helped inspire her, good prince. There is no one in the realm who is doing more than you.”
Elyon appreciated that. “My thanks, Trillion. That is kind of you to say.”
“Not at all. I do not see truth as kindness, Prince Elyon. Only truth.” He smiled. “Did you rest well?”
“Well enough,” Elyon lied. He and Walter Selleck had arrived long past midnight when the city was sleeping, and had been ushered straight to private bedchambers by the palace steward and his guards. He had slept perhaps four hours before rising at dawn, stiff, tired, and dreading the day to come. Taxing as yesterday’s flight had been, today would be longer, harder, and most importantly, colder. He looked out over the city again. “How long has the snow been falling, Trillion?” It was not so the last time he was here.
Morwood looked out in consternation. “Ah. The snow. Yes. It reached us several days ago. People are saying it heralds some great doom, this snowfall in summer. It has all the city frightened.”
“Good. Use it. The more people who flee in fear to the refuge the better.”
The Watch Commander nodded. “As you say. We have criers out there, calling out of the Dread’s return, but too many refuse to believe it. They trust their eyes, Elyon, and their eyes see the snow. That at least we can use.”
Thousands, Elyon mused. Thousands in three days was a good start, but how many were there here? How many Ilithorans and smallfolk from across Tukor? How many Vandarian refugees camped outside the city walls? He could see the vastness of their numbers grouping down there in the valley. If the Dread should come again, it would be a slaughter, and there was no knowing when that might be.
“What of Sir Mallister? How has he taken to his new role?”
“Very well, I am reliably told. He has some three dozen under his command now. They’re keeping a tight watch on the peaks and passes.”
It sounded much like a new order, Elyon thought. He wondered what his Shadowknight brother would make of that. “Have there been any attacks?”
“On the refuge? No. But Mallister and his men have gone out on hunts, I know. Mountain wolves, mostly, great white ones I’m told. There is a large pack of them up there that howl through the night. But there are worse things too. I understand there are fears of a greatbat lair, but as to that, ah…” Lord Morwood broke off as Walter Selleck came stepping through the hall to join them, accompanied by a pair of palace guards. “You must be Walter,” Trillion Morwood said. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“And you, my lord.” Walter bustled forward.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Oh yes, very well thank you. The featherbed made quite the change from King’s Point, I must say.” He chuckled. “What do you stuff in your pillows around here? Goose down, is it?”
“The Aramatian Wanderer,” Morwood said, smiling. “Finest down in all the world.” He looked him up and down, most amused. “Are you sure you have enough layers on, Walter?”
The two soldiers behind were grinning, and rightly, because Walter Selleck cut a frankly ridiculous figure. He wore so many layers of wool and fur he looked positively round. “If you’re offering to give me that fine cloak of yours, I’m not going to say no.”
Morwood gave a laugh. “Very droll, Walter. Yes, I’d heard that about you.”
“I’m glad to hear my reputation precedes me.” Walter turned to Elyon. “Are you ready for round two, good prince?”
“No. But we’d best get going anyway. Come, let’s get you strapped up.”
The soldiers were dismissed, snickering, leaving only Morwood there to observe as Elyon fixed Walter Selleck into place. It required a slight loosening of the straps given Walter’s absurd garb, but Elyon supposed the man knew what he was doing, having ventured into the Icewilds not once, but twice before.
“Oh. I should say. We had word from Rustbridge. It seems that Borrus Kanabar has returned, if you’ll believe it.”
Elyon stopped in his work and looked at Morwood. “Borrus? He’s back?”
“So we hear. And Lord of the Riverlands and Warden of the East now as well.”
Elyon took a moment to digest that. “How long has he been there? In Rustbridge?”
“On that I could not say. Word came from a rider sent up from the Undercloak, so I would imagine it’s been a while now.”
Elyon didn’t like the sound of that. Borrus would have taken charge, no doubt, and he was not a man to sit idle for long. He’ll want vengeance for his father. And Ven will try to goad him out. “But no word yet of battle?” he asked Morwood.
“Not that we’ve heard.”
That didn’t mean much. Not in this crow-less kingdom. Elyon felt a new urgency pulsing through his veins. I’ve been gone too long, he fretted. For all he knew, there was battle to both the east and west and here he was, flying about with a scruffy old scribe dealing in hope and hunches.
“We’d best go, Trillion. Express my apologies to the princess for not seeing her on this visit. I will return as soon as I can. And please, hasten as many people into the tunnels as possible. Tell them that people are freezing to death in Thalan, and it won’t be long before that happens here.”
“I will do as you say, Prince Elyon. Be safe up there, and Tukor be with you.” He gave a bow.
Elyon nodded back, then waddled with Walter to the edge of the balcony to give themselves room to take off. On his back he bore his satchel bag, the Eye of Rasalan wrapped up safely within, alongside Walter’s things. He drew the Windblade from its sheath and pointed it skyward. “Ready?” he asked, lamenting that it was Walter, and not Amilia, for the hundredth time. Her hair smelled nice, he thought. Walter’s scraggly dome gave off a sour odour that was much less pleasant, and he did not much like the musty smell that came off his clothes either. The winds would help with that, and the cold as well. My nostrils will be frozen shut soon enough, and I won’t have to endure it. Would that Walter’s lips might freeze as well. The man did like to chat.
“I’m ready, yes. What pace will you set today?”
“A quick one. This cold could kill us, Walter. We may have to stop and find shelter if it gets too bad.”
“I know what a killing cold is, my prince. I’m not wearing all this fur to be fashionable.”
The notion of Walter Selleck doing anything to be fashionable was preposterous. Aside from city strays and alleyway bums, Elyon had never known anyone to dress so poorly. He smiled, letting out a bit more light from his soul, as Ilith had commanded. Walter at the least was an amusing fellow. Smiling came easily in his company.
“Hold tight,” Elyon said. “I’m going to start quickly and gain some speed. And think positive thoughts, Walter. Channel your luck into our safe passing.”
“And the finding of this tower,” the man added. “I know.”
