Chapter 9

Ayana swayed to the rhythm of her snowy steed as it trotted along the wooded trail. Zelroth and three of his men rode at the lead, followed by Iezabel. The others brought up the rear in a frivolous and disorderly manner.

The towering trees basked in the bright glow of noon, their skeletal arms grasping at each other. The crunch of dried leaves under the iron shod hooves was often drowned out by the raucous babble of voices that permeated the air. Iezabel's clenched jaw kept twitching as she threw frequent glares at the noisy rebels.

One of Zelroth's men, whom Ayana assumed was his lieutenant, noticed the look of disdain on Iezabel's face and chuckled. "Most of them are new recruits," he said. "It usually takes at least one battle for them to fall in line."

She braced herself as Iezabel's features twisted in outrage. "And your Commander saw it fit to send a pack of unruly misfits to escort Lady Ayana?"

Ayana bit down on her lower lip when she caught his expression. If he ever regretted opening his mouth, it must have been now. Before he made the situation worse, Zelroth intervened. "Pardon us, Madame Iezabel. Our unit was nearest to your location. We had little choice in this matter."

Iezabel pursed her lips and turned her gaze to the horizon.

Ayana had no complaints. Traveling with this lot was undeniably better than having a group of stiff-necks breathing down her back. But she knew enough not to share that particular thought with Iezabel.

Their course took them through several grasslands. Ayana hummed to herself as the cold winds of winter caressed her face. Her back still ached, but not more than usual. Dry ground stretched around her, free of snow and rainwater. Though glad to be free of the rainfall, she was unable to shake the uneasiness of being in unfamiliar territory.

Her chest tightened at the thought of home, of Lucien. She wondered what he was up to. If they knew about her, he was in danger. He might get ousted from the Imperial Guard for protecting and hiding her.

"He can take care of himself," Iezabel said, as if reading her mind.

"It is my fault." Ayana's voice broke. "All I have ever given him is trouble."

"You're hunted without reason. You think that's your fault?" Iezabel questioned. "Don't beat yourself up for things you cannot control," she said sternly. "They can't accuse him as long as you don't fall into their hands."

Ayana stared at the snowy mane of her horse with a downcast expression. There was truth in her words. Lucien would not want her to worry about him. He had done his part, and now it was her turn. After all, she had promised Lucien to protect their child.

"I suppose you are right," she murmured.

It was nearly dusk when the grasslands finally gave way to the rugged woodlands of Lycanth. Unlike the northern forests, here the trees grew far apart on rough, uneven land. The wind blew back toward east, weaving through the stunted yews. A strange haunted aura permeated the air, an invisible force of nature resisting intruders and invaders.

Zelroth's men mostly kept to themselves, occasionally throwing wary glances in Iezabel's direction. Ayana saw no harm in socializing with them, but she did not want to irritate Iezabel. Even after almost a week, she eyed them with suspicion and contempt.

"Why do you give them a cold shoulder?" Ayana asked. "They have not been unkind to us."

"And you already trust them." Her eyes narrowed in exasperation. "You are in no condition to defend yourself, my lady, so please stay on your guard. Not everyone is as they appear."

"You are too uptight, Iezabel."

"I have to be," she said through her teeth. "You've always been too careless."

The company halted at a signal from Zelroth. "We can't go any further today. It's already dark, and I sense a storm ahead."

Ayana peered through the gaps in the canopy. A black mass of coalescing thunderclouds had gathered on the horizon, slowly unfurling their dark mantle across the heavens. They churned like depraved wraiths in the pits of hell, resonating the air with stagnant energy. The blades of grass swayed in the surging wind, dancing to the raging rhythm of nature.

It felt like they were back in Vanthesia.

"How long till we reach Jedborough?" Iezabel asked.

"Less than a week, if all goes well," Zelroth replied as he led them to a rock outcropping near the forest fringe. The great monolith loomed above the sea of green, a bulwark against the frenzied winds.

Ayana watched as Zelroth's men kindled a fire and prepared food from their sack of supplies. Some went to gather more firewood for the night, while others set a pot of stew over the fire and fried lumps of seasoned meat on spits.

Iezabel pitched their tent a little farther from the rebel camp.

"I'll be back in a while," she said, patting the flask at her waist.

Ayana nodded.

"Watch yourself," she said, before slipping into the shadows.

Ayana found Captain Zelroth perched on a fallen tree, gazing at the flames with a distant look in his eyes. She walked over and gingerly lowered herself onto the parched trunk.

He did not seem to notice her.

"How long have you been with the Resistance?" she asked casually.

Zelroth's eyes jerked to her face, startled from his reverie. He turned his gaze back to the flames before answering. "Since I lost my family to the Empire's soldiers." He closed his eyes and sighed. "Twenty years have passed."

"I am sorry," she murmured.

"My daughter. I lost her during the lycan rebellions." He entwined his fingers and pressed them to the bridge of his nose. "The renegades had set their camp near the village. When the Empire's soldiers arrived, they did not differentiate villager from outsider. They killed innocents and insurgents alike without mercy."

Ayana wondered what he saw as he stared into the flames. One could only imagine how terrible it must be for him to have lost his only child. She sniffed, hastily brushing her damp eyes with the heel of her hand.

"Within days, my wife gave in to her sorrow and illness." A bitter tone crept into his voice. "They were torn from me," he whispered.

A deep sorrow stirred in his stormy eyes. She continued to gaze at his still form, unable to express her pity. He had lost almost everything that anchored him to this world. A blade of empathy stabbed her heart as his expression flitted through sadness, agony, and regret.

He sighed. "My sister and I joined the Resistance soon after."

The fire crackled, throwing a flurry of sparks into the air. The rebels continued their merriment, shouting and laughing, oblivious to their captain's grief. Their mindless banter, which until now, a noise in the background, stood out in contrast to the awkward silence.

Zelroth started. "I apologize, Lady Ayana," he said, as if he had just awakened. "I did not mean to bother you."

"It is alright," she said. "Pain and sorrow are meant to be shared." She gave him a gentle smile. "I hope you find your peace."

"You are too kind, my lady." He rose to his feet and bowed. "If there is anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask."

Ayana nodded, watching him disappear into the surrounding maze of darkness.

She turned her attention to the rebels, a lump forming in her throat. Now she understood why they chose to fight, even though they were not meant for war. It was all in their eyes, hidden behind the superficial smiles—the consuming anguish, the thirst for vengeance, and a manic hunger to rejoin their loved ones.

Her gaze drooped to the dancing flames. The stew simmered, spreading a rich aroma across the small glade.

By the time it was ready, Iezabel had returned from her hunt. As expected, she did not allow Ayana to touch anything until she had forced one of the rebels to taste a portion of her share.

Ayana rolled her eyes. "Satisfied?"

"Can't be too careful," Iezabel said.

Ayana had not consumed food as spicy as this since her childhood with the Azerian tribes. The meat, though exquisite, made her taste buds scream in agony. Even the fried potatoes tasted pretty good, though she had to empty a full waterskin after.

She barely finished eating when the wind picked up, howling and tearing at the leaves. Cold mist saturated the air as sheets of rain pelted against the leafy roof overhead. Even the dense canopy did not provide enough cover from the hissing tears of the woeful sky.

"It's supposed to be winter," Iezabel muttered. "I'd rather endure the snow."

Branched lightning lanced and flickered through the heaving blackness, great veins of light forged into forked weapons of destruction.

She winced as a peal of thunder lashed through the clouds, shaking the very ground with its resonating whip. The steeds neighed and pawed at the ground, tugging at their restraints.

"Goodnight, Iezabel."

Ayana ducked inside her tent before the stinging rain drenched her clothes. Gusts of wind battered at the trees, which groaned under the onslaught. Only the rocky outcrop protected the tents as they strained on their pegs.

A gasp escaped her lips, before it turned into a giggle as she rested her hand protectively on her belly. "I love you too, little one."

The gods of nature were slow to appease and continued their assault till past midnight, before they advanced to conquer the eastern skies in their rumbling chariots.

Ayana breathed a sigh of relief and slipped into an uneasy slumber.