Chapter 4

Ayana set out at the break of dawn, escorted by Iezabel and the two loyal vyáha from the Royal Guard.

It was the third day of Kilayel, first month of winter. The seasons had little control over Vanthesia’s weather during the day. The incessant rainfall showed no sign of subsiding and raged on, prodded by the freezing winds that howled and screamed like frenzied wraiths.

Their horses plodded along the snow covered road, wisps of condensation trailing behind them. The resin-coated saddlebags sagged with supplies and rations they had packed for the journey. The rain cloak enclosing

Ayana’s sleek turquoise dress and the woolen scarf wrapped around her neck did little to shield her from the frigid cold.

Several leagues along the road, they diverted to a beaten game trail passing through the Woods of Zelien—the great forest surrounding Argent’s walls. The trees on either side swayed and creaked like rotten skeletons, laid to waste by the warring tempests. Snakelike streams and rivulets gorged a mighty river that charged through the woods, a brute force of nature battling against the rocks and boulders in its path.

“River Risetta,” Iezabel said. “We’ll follow its course.” She gave Ayana a questioning glance. “It will guide us to Theos.”

Ayana nodded. “As you say.”

They followed the treacherous trail as it meandered with the river. The monotonous crunch of iron shod hooves on ice pulled Ayana into a trance-like lull. Her breath came in short bursts of white vapor, swirling and twisting into wispy clouds.

She pulled the cloak taut and wrapped her quivering arms around her chest, hoping for mercy from the ruthless Isei Ilvi.

“Well, if this rain isn’t a nuisance,” Iezabel muttered, tugging the hood down to her brow.

The dark line of trees slowly faded into the horizon behind them. Their winding path led them through steep ravines and treacherous swamps, impeding their pace. Days passed as their horses trudged on, fighting the fury of nature. The short breaks in between barely rejuvenated their strength.

On the sixteenth day of Kilayel, around dusk, they came across a small fishing village, a cluster of brown buildings on the western banks of Lake Westria. Its water shimmered like an endless pane of glass, quiet as a crypt and dark as the sky.

Ayana pulled on the reins near a grassy knoll. Lush, beautiful, and moistened land surrounded the secluded settlement, most of it cultivated into wheat fields and vegetable patches. White smoke rose from the chimneys, weaving silvery trails toward the sky.

“It is better if we keep out of the village,” Iezabel said. “What do you think, my lady?”

“I am thinking of a hot bath and a soft bed,” Ayana answered. “I smell like a stray canine.”

Iezabel sighed. She glanced around the countryside, before pointing at a belt of trees that rimmed the lake. “We’ll set up camp near that shore. It is well hidden by the beech-maples.”

“And I am certain it is very cozy too,” Ayana muttered.

Iezabel urged her horse forward. “Yes, the dense canopy will protect us from the rain and snow. It’s good enough to spend the night.”

Ayana sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. She dug her heels and guided her horse toward the shore.

They dismounted by the wooded bank, feet crunching on the snow-covered ground. They led their steeds to a small clearing between a clump of trees where the snow lay sparse. Knotted branches arched overhead, thickly layered with lucid flakes.

“Fill the waterskins and water the horses,” Iezabel told the vyáha. “I’ll try and gather some information from the village.”

Ayana stifled a groan as she slumped down beneath a low branched beech, her stiff muscles protesting the movement. She massaged her swollen ankles, trying to ignore the lingering ache.

Her stomach rumbled like a small avalanche of stones, attracting a pitying look from Iezabel.

“I’ll get you some food on the way back.” With that, she disappeared between the trees.

The two vyáha unsaddled the horses and picketed them nearby. One of them kindled a small fire and went to collect water from a nearby stream, while the other pitched a tent beneath a giant oak. A shiver ran down her spine as a bitter gust blasted through the clearing, nearly dousing the flames with its icy explosion.

Ayana’s involuntary gasp attracted a worried glance from one of the vyáha. He retrieved a woolen blanket from a saddlebag and handed it to her. She wrapped it around her shoulders, grateful for its comfort. “T…

Thank you.” As if the irksome ailments of pregnancy were not enough, she had to deal with the wrath of the winter god.

Her stomach grumbled again, reminding her she had not eaten since noon. She grabbed a waterskin from her bag and took a long swig, hoping it would quell the pang of hunger until Iezabel came back with her food.

She tilted her neck and stared at the canopy, eyes following the rare silvery wafers that made it through the maze of green.

The west wind sighed among the boughs, its breath soft and soothing. Beyond the canopy, the skies changed from bruised black to dark blue as night approached. A lone star sparkled in the twilight expanse, tiny dot of shimmering white in the gaping emptiness.

As she gazed at the dark heavens, her lips began to move, humming the words that formed in her mind.

Bright as a moon, the star shines on,

Boughs in the wind, and clouds it borne,

Dusk or dawn, time moves on,

Through the darkest night, and the brightest morn.

May it be winter or autumn fawn,

Through midnight shadows and the hills unworn,

On a pale white horse she rides on,

To the reapers haunt a soul forsworn.

Ayana’s voice faded into silence as the silvery speck of light disappeared behind a rogue cloud. She sighed and turned back to the burning coals. Sparks flew into the air as one of the guards fed another log to the dying fire. She pulled the cloak taut around her, the reflected flames glimmering in her eyes.

A gloomy darkness had enveloped the countryside when Iezabel returned; a shadow detaching itself from the murky woods.

Ayana’s face brightened when she saw the wrapped parcel in her hand. But her smile wavered at the anxious frown on Iezabel’s face.

“What is it?”

“The villagers speak of soldiers and masked men questioning about a red haired woman,” Iezabel replied, brushing off the snow on her hood. “We can’t linger here for long.”

Ayana’s twirled a dark lock with her forefinger. “Is it that conspicuous?”

“The dye won’t last. Not in this snow.” Iezabel handed her the package and strolled toward the tethered horses. She scratched behind their ears and fed them sugar lumps from a small pack. “We can’t be too careful.”

Ayana unwrapped the leaves covering her food.

She let out a moan as the heavenly aroma hit her nose. A steaming chop of lamb, grilled breast of a turkey, roasted potatoes, and steamed spinach.

“I hope I am allowed to finish my food before we leave?” Ayana asked, digging into the meat.

Iezabel frowned. “Yes, and you need rest.” She gave her an overall glance. “You’re frail enough as it is.”

She tossed a bone over her shoulder. “Why, thank you.”

Iezabel ingored her. “We’ll start at sunrise.”

“Hmm.” Ayana nodded, burying her teeth into a roasted potato.