Page 41 of The Iron Vow

“You are not afraid.” The rider’s voice was as faint and wispy as the tendrils of fog surrounding us. “You do not fear the riders. Your pack is strong, but you do not attack. Why?”

“There is no need,” I told it. “We are not your enemies. But we have to cross these lands to reach the mountains beyond.”

“Those are cursed peaks,” the rider whispered. “You will find more dangerous things than riders wandering those crags. Do you not hear the screams? The Wailing One sees all who would enter her territory.”

“We know,” I told it. “But we still need to reach the Howling Peaks. If you let us pass, we’ll be on our way.”

The rider’s mount stepped forward. Ash tensed beside me, and I noted that the beast’s front paws had splayed fingers tipped with extremely long black claws. Its head rose, strands of fur parting to reveal a long muzzle and curved fangs. It snuffed at me like a curious dog, and through the tangle of fur that covered its face, I saw the glimmer of an icy-blue eye.

“You are not from Evenfall,” the rider said as its mount stepped back again. “You are the outsiders we have heard about.” Its head turned slightly, observing the rest of my companions behind me. “Our Whisper wishes to speak with you. We were told to search the Mistless Valley until we found the ones from the other side. Will you come with us to see her? I can promise no hunter in my pack will harm you while you are within our territory.

“The Whisper speaks only when it is of great importance,” the rider went on as I hesitated. “She is silent until there is something urgent that must be said. That she asked for you means that it is vital for you to speak with her.”

“Where is your territory?” Gilleas wondered. “In what I have read of the Pale Riders—which is not much, understand—I’ve never heard of them having a permanent home.”

“We do,” said the rider. “It is not far.”

Puck snorted. “Oh, well, that’s very nonspecific. And not suspicious at all.”

“We will not force you to come with us,” the rider went on, “but know that you will not be able to find your way out of the fog. Without us, you will wander, and may never find your way back to the Mistless Valley.”

“Um, you know that ultimatum is just as bad the other, right?”

I looked at Ash, who gave a tiny nod. It seemed we weren’t going to leave the valley unless we agreed to the terms of the riders. “Very well,” I said. “Take us to your Whisper, then. If she wants to help us, we’ll take all we can get.”

The rider’s mount sidled forward, until I could reach out and touch the wispy body. The long fur drifted around me, shockingly light and silken as it brushed my skin. Without any noticeable command from its rider, the beast lay down in front of me. It was a large creature; even lying down, I was eye-level with its shoulder. The rider itself peered down from the creature’s back, then extended one thin, bandaged arm, fingers uncurling as it held them out to me.

I stifled a grimace. “I don’t suppose we could have our own mounts?” I asked as politely as I could, hoping I wouldn’t offend them. It wasn’t that I distrusted the riders, not exactly, but sitting on a beast in front of a strange faery was pressing the bounds of comfort. “I would much rather have control of my own mount, if possible.”

The rider didn’t lower his arm. “They would not listen to you,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “To tame a mistwarg, you must weave your own essence with theirs on the night of a dark moon. We do not control them with bridle or bit or saddle—they simply know what we want and execute it. If you try to mount a mistwarg without this bond, it will either vanish, or it will tear you apart. But do not worry. You and your companions will be perfectly safe with us, I assure you.”

I sighed, giving Ash an apologetic look. He didn’t look happy about the situation, but he met my gaze and nodded. Turning back, I reached out, grasped the rider’s long, icy fingers, and let him lift me onto the back of the mistwarg.

Settling in front of the rider, I squeezed with my knees and sank both hands into long, pale fur. The creature beneath me didn’t feel entirely solid; I could see the fur in my hands, feel the tickle of feathery tips brushing against my skin, but I didn’t seem to be holding on to anything but air.

Glancing around, I saw the rest of my group seated atop the mistwargs with varying degrees of tension and discomfort. Gilleas in particular looked extremely uncomfortable, his tall, lanky form and spindly legs making him appear like some kind of giant insect crouched atop the warg.

I wonder what Grimalkin thinks of this.I doubted we would see the cat while we were in the presence of the riders, and I really couldn’t blame him.

My mistwarg rose to its feet without so much as a lurch. “Do not worry,” its rider said. “Rend is fast, but I will not let you fall.” The mistwarg’s head tilted, one blue eye gazing back at us at the sound of its name. “Rend,” the rider said again, and a long arm slid firmly around my waist. “Home.”

The mistwarg sprang forward, and I lurched backwards as my grip on the creature’s fur suddenly came loose, my fingers passing through the strands like they weren’t there. Clenching my jaw, I leaned forward, trying to grip with my knees and keep my balance without needing to grab anything. After the initial lunge, however, the mistwarg set a steady, bounding lope through the fog. It made no noise, no grunts or pants or sounds of paws hitting the ground. Both warg and rider were as silent as the surrounding fog, as was the rest of the pack behind us. I had to keep glancing over my shoulder to make sure we weren’t alone, that the rest of them were still there, as we continued our eerie ride through the mist.

15

THE WHISPER’S WARNING

The fog didn’t let up. No matter how far we traveled, it remained at the same opacity: thick and muffling. It reminded me of the Between—endless fog and mist, completely silent surroundings. But unlike the Between, this wasn’t an endless void. I could see shapes in the fog, scattered trees and bushes, large outcroppings of rock, broken statues half-buried in the grass. The ground beneath the silent pads of the warg was grassy and solid. I began to wonder if the mist traveled with the Pale Riders, appearing whenever they did, or if we had somehow slipped into another world, passing through the fog into their realm.

After an indefinite amount of time, I glanced down and noticed that the thick grass of the plains had been replaced with shattered rock and dirt. Jagged cliffs and stony outcroppings rose into the air, towering over us. It seemed we had left the plains and entered a ravine or a mountainous region. I wondered how close we were to the Howling Peaks. I could still hear the chilling cries of the Wailing One through the fog, though it was impossible to tell how far away they were or even which direction they were coming from.

The rocky walls got closer as the path beneath us grew even more narrow. Sometimes, the passage was so tight I could have reached out and run my fingers along the stone. I caught fleeting glimpses of other paths in the mountain, cracks or crevasses snaking off into the mist. Once, I was almost sure I saw something enormous and many-legged, crouched between two craggy walls as we rode by, making my stomach lurch. I tried not to imagine what kind of Nightmares roamed these treacherous paths or crawled along the walls overhead. If I had just seen what I thought I’d seen, Puck would not be a happy camper.

“Where are we?” I asked the Pale Rider. My voice echoed weirdly in the silence of the canyon, muffled by the fog and crushing walls.

“The maze,” was the reply. It didn’t elaborate.

The gaping mouth of a cave opened in front of us. My heart nearly stopped, but the mistwarg bounded straight into the opening without slowing down, plunging into absolute darkness.

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