Elora felt a choke, press deep into her stomach, twisting her guts. “No,” she murmured, wriggling free from Bray’s embrace, where she’d spent the night.
As she came to the Viking’s side, heavy lids struggled open and he peered out through bloodshot eyes, and when he spoke the sound was as dry as sandpaper.
“Feels like I’ve swallowed an entire horn golem and it’s trying to push its way out of me.”
Ejan wiped a tear from her cheek, her smile forming from relief while Elora let out the breath she had been holding. She pulled his cloak back to check the wound.
“It doesn’t look good,” remarked Ejan, peeling back the sticky bandage and revealing the hideous shaft of wood; a yellow puss oozing from the hole in his puckered flesh. “It doesn’t smell too good either.”
Elora placed the back of her hand against his clammy brow. “He’s got a temperature.” When Ragna tried to speak again she stopped him, “No, we’re not leaving you, so you can put that idea out of your head.”
He didn’t try to speak after that, only groaned as they cleaned and changed his dressing, then hissed as they hauled him onto his horse.
They made slow progress, climbing higher along the winding path, the morning sun touching the grey stone and shining off the pink mica as the wind caressed the God’s Peaks - picking up strength the further they rose. By midday Elora stopped counting the amount of times that Ragna nearly fell from the saddle, Bray by his side, the only member of the group with the strength to keep him up and keep him moving.
She knew they were going slow, Diagus, ever impatient, disappearing ahead only to come back an hour later to tell them they were weak and slow and that they would never reach Aslania. Yet when she caught sight of the land far below it seemed further away, spreading out before them, the river appearing string-thin and the camp a dark smudge in the patchwork of green fields.
“So bloody slow,” growled Diagus as the afternoon came on. They’d rode over a ridge that formed a natural saddle to the next mountain, sweeping over a steep drop to either side. Their mounts scrambling for purchase in the narrower parts and sending stones tumbling down into the scree to cause small landslides.
“It’s like herding a rabble of blind slug mammoths. Food for mountain cats and snow jubbs, the lot of you,” grumbled Diagus.
The Shadojak spoke less as they began the torturous climb of the next mountain, allowing a rest for the horses and a chance to clean Ragna’s wound. They ate on the move, nibbling at dry biscuits and bread, chewing the stale food as they were jostled and bounced in the saddles; the horses struggling to keep a steady gait.
By nightfall the air was thin, Otholo complained of light-headedness and Ragna’s wound became too painful to push on.
“Hobble the horses and keep them close. And keep a blade to hand,” warned Diagus. “Might be we get an unwanted visitor or two, before sun-up.”
Elora thought she would never sleep, fearing that a mountain cat or snow jubb might sneak into camp; Bray had explained, when she asked what a snow jubb was. They were a kind of pygmy. Small wild men, no taller than your knee, covered in a white furry pelt: hunting with spear and net they were not fussy what they ate as meat high in the mountains was rare.
The temperature dropped icily low, her breath visible in the twilight as the wind snatched it away to be buffeted into the rocks. Ragna snorted in his sleep, his breathing sporadic as he fitfully moaned and shook, Ejan pressing her body next to his to share heat. Elora on his other side protecting the huge Viking as best they could from the elements.
The night passed slowly. Elora caught animal noises mingled within the howling of the wind: guttural cat-like snarls that put the horses to stamping and snorting and a strange squealing jibba-jubba noise that at first sounded from above, the next below and evoked images of little white men with spears in her mind.
When dawn began to creep over the horizon, outlining the mountains, Elora realised that she hadn’t had a minute’s sleep. She watched Diagus stalk towards them, ready to wake them up for the day’s travel. She dreamed of her own bed back on the Molly, literally another world away. The thought of pulling her duvet over herself and sinking into her soft mattress and pillow made her pine for home.
She sat up before he nudged her with his boot, denying him the satisfaction she was sure he felt. “I’m awake,” she muttered, her voice thick with the sleep that eluded her.
The Shadojak hunkered down. “Good. How’s Ragna?”
“He’s hanging in there. Have you any willow bark left?”
Diagus pulled a small block of the herb from a pocket in his cloak, rolled it around his fingers for a moment as if coming to a decision, then dropped it into her hand. “That’s all of it, so make it last,” he said, rising back to his feet, his aged fingers flexing, his bones clicking. “We’re going to get to a point today where we’re going to leave the horses. Then...?”
“We’ll walk,” Elora scowled at him, daring him to say otherwise, “All of us.”
Ragna had tears brimming his bloodshot eyes when they sat him on his saddle. He coped with the pain as silently as he could, but it was written in the creases, sat deeply in his face, with the sweat that coated his brow and grimace that stretched his lips. Ejan pretended not to notice but Elora caught her wiping tears from her own cheeks more than once.
They set off without a word, the horses making the only sound as they plodded up the broken track, snorting through flared nostrils, showing disdain at the way they were being treated. Elora couldn’t blame the poor beasts, being made to carry them up this giant rock in the cold without any proper grazing.
A fresh wind whipped about their legs and the darkness of the clouds threatened rain. She stroked her mare’s neck, curling her fingers around her dark mane, attempting to infuse some warmth into her hands, as she reassured her mount and wishing Bray was here to reassure her. But he was ahead of the group, hunting for obstacles or dangers that lay in their path. Reassurance was a luxury that she would gladly pass onto Ragna or Ejan before taking any for herself. Even her uncle, the eldest amongst them, who closed his cloak tightly about his thin shoulders, set his face in grim determination against the mountain and the elements. She, being the youngest, played the easiest part of this journey, if the others could manage with the hardships then so could she.
When the rain came, it brought with it ice and snow. Large and sharp, it stung any bare flesh, turning skin red and lips blue. Hoods snapped from heads, cloaks whipped about and hooves stomped against the stone earth. Diagus’s mount suddenly reared up, ahead of the file, almost throwing the Shadojak and threatening to bolt back the way they came, although there was barely enough room for one horse between rock and the vertical drop. But with a lot of cursing and digging in with his heals, Diagus regained control of his flighty horse and led them on; the sleet rapidly becoming snow.
Bray returned to them by mid-morning, stumbling through a deep snow drift and pulling his stubborn horse which limped on its hind leg. When he got closer Elora saw that Bray had a deep gash down one cheek, and dried blood on the shoulder of his cloak. He raised a weary arm to show he was alright which didn’t help the frustration building in her as she tried and failed to squeeze her horse passed the others to get to him.
“Mountain cat?” enquired Diagus, seeming uninterested in his injuries.
“Yeah,” Bray said, pointing to the cut on his cheek which had begun to scab over. “A lone rider was too tempting, But the snow jubbs attacked the horse.”
“We’d be leaving them soon enough anyway,” replied the Shadojak, halting in front of his former Shaigun.
Elora took advantage of the stop and dismounted, flinging her reins at Otholo as she side stepped past the others to get to Bray. He let the reigns of his lame horse drop and the poor animal followed them to the ground. Exhaustion causing its head to drop as it sunk into the soft snow, steam rising from its back.
“That’s not all,” continued Bray. “Empire soldiers have crossed the river. At least half of the division are at the base of the mountain and making their way up.”
Elora finally got to him and kissed his uninjured cheek before turning his face the other way to inspect the gash. The black scab was loose and fresh skin had already knitted beneath. That would be his elf genes quickening the healing process, no wonder Diagus paid his injuries no mind.
“We’re almost two days ahead of them. They wouldn’t reach us in time, would they?” she asked, not liking the look Bray gave her, which said it wasn’t as easy as that.
“There’s a hunting party not far behind us, an hour, maybe two. I caught sight of them from the pass. They’ve got a couple of hounds with them, crank bows and spears. They’re travelling light to cover the ground.”
“How many?” asked Diagus, scanning back the way they had come, the pearl in his eye socket as white as the snow.
“A platoon or more. Too many to fight,” Bray slipped and arm around her. “All they needed to do is pin us down, hold us until the rest of the division caught up.”
“Leave me here,” growled Ragna, speaking each word between breaths. “I’ll slow them some. Make you time to reach the pass.”
Diagus raised a notched eyebrow, ready to accept the proposal, until Elora cut him off.
