Page 101 of Deadly Maiden

I don’t know where I’m going except that it’s south-east.

Mountains that were distant, peaks that barely poked the clouds, grow steadily nearer. Our elevation increases also, as Rorsyd angles higher.

“Is this a mountain destination?” I yell to him.

One long, slender ear pricks backward, and his deeper voice drifts back to me. “Yes. A hut I used to go to many years past. A quiet place of beauty. It has no name, apart from the mountain’s name—Gormengor. The hut on Gormengor.”

I nod. The rest of the talking can wait. The buffeting from the dry, icy winds is making me hoarse. I fasten the jacket, one last button, and snug the hood down tighter.

When we zero in on a peak, I squint and discern the hut—a dark spot among whiteness that enlarges rapidly. It’s only partially cloaked in snow and seems built from stone and heavy roof tiles. Surely, only a dragonshifter could have created it since the pathway down looks horribly precipitous, if not fatal for a normal fae.

Rorsyd cups his wings.

We land, skidding and stuttering to a halt with great shaking thuds. After sliding off, I back away as far as I can. The hut stands on a plateau, so there is room for a dragon, the hut, and quite a bit more. One might build a mansion here, if one were wasteful and so inclined.

After dropping the kindling, with a small blast of flame Rorsyd starts a fire close to the hut.

Funny how I used to fear the intensity of a blacksmith’s forge but with his dragon flame I am simply in awe. What a tangled relationship. I seem to learn something new, most days I’m with him. If being a necromancer is dark, he is the light to my darkness.

Healing doesn’t count as darkness, does it? Ever? No.

As he shrinks back to man-fae size, I make use of the waiting time and turn in a circle. The view goes on forever.

I inhale, exhale, smiling. This, standing here with nothing much surrounding me except for air, is as close to flying as I can get when I’m not riding Rorsyd.

Below, the trees spread up the slope until the elevation means they cannot grow, but they flood the plains below. Farmland is down there, squares of crops. Roads are faint squiggles, and there, further away, a golem town is forging along its ordained path. Darsum, maybe?

Rorsyd comes to me, and the joy on his face is everything I need. He drags clothes from the rucksack and dresses, pulls on shirt, pants, boots, and coat. Our breaths mist the air.

I will tell him today, what I’ve done to him. I will hope for understanding.

Surely, that is how it will be?

“Darsum?” I point.

“Yes. Your father is close.”

“I wish we could go there.”

“We could, but it’s not advisable. Things are in motion. If the king doesn’t have some inkling of what is coming, I will be shocked.”

“Me, too. Sadly.” Andacc and his C of U had twenty years to plan, but will it be enough? My stomach rumbles, and he holds up the rucksack.

“Lunchtime.”

I know we will be talking about war and more. I’m dreading the direction I will have to take, but I must do this. I gnaw the inside of my cheek and follow him to near the hut where the fire burns in an outdoor fireplace built into the stone. Being a dragonshifter he probably had little need of this.

He lets me have the rucksack to sit on and uses a boulder for his seat.

The fire is for heat rather than cooking, though we brought a kettle that he hooks on a rod and positions over the flames.

The ground is sparsely covered in snow, and dirt shows in patches, as well as hardy grasses.

On a rug we set out the meats and fruits, the fresh, pre-buttered rolls, some jams, and our mugs of fresh tea. For some reason, munching into food calms me. My jitters have settled. Should I let him go first?

I wait for Rorsyd to say what he wants to.

On this windswept eyrie, beyond the hustle and babble of the towns, all is quiet. Serenity breathes in the wind, in a pair of eagles soaring above, in the crackle of the fire and the embers that flare and die as they spiral upward. There is a peacefulness in the absence of anyone else.

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