THE INNKEEPER WAS A LIAR.
That was the only explanation. Or the people of Moonbourne have a very different definition than I do of a short journey. I guess I can’t entirely blame the old keeper, perhaps back in her day this was a quicker journey. However, it’s been two days since I left the inn, two days since I sent a letter back to Queen Elvie in Myrkorvin to inform her that I was still very much alive if only tired and cold.
Tired and cold has been the motto of this journey.
I had set out from Myrkrovin with so much purpose. Leaving behind the comfort of Blackfire Castle, my work, my friends…all in the hopes that a whisper of a rumor was true. I followed that rumor to this barren, frozen land so I could investigate it myself on the off chance that it would lead me to finding my brother.
As a woman of academia, I know there is no great likelihood that my brother is alive in Dread’s Keep. While we have heard talk of humans living on Brokenbone Mountain, the chances of him being one of them are slim.
We were just children when our home was attacked.
Sometimes, in my dreams, I relive that wretched night. I can feel my mother’s frantic hand on my shoulder shaking me awake and hear the front door to our cottage slam shut as my father went to investigate the strange noises coming from outside. The screaming, smell of smoke, and carnage unleashed on our village is what I remember most. My mother had done her best to shield my brother and I from the worst of the blood, the bodies. But I had still seen enough: orcs were raiding our town.
They each had a cruel gleam in their yellow eyes as they cut down another one of our neighbors. It was the same look one of them had as I watched him slice cleanly through my father’s neck, his blood staining the front of his white sleep shirt. Being so young, I couldn’t even process what I was seeing.
My mother understood though, and I watched the light in her dark eyes go out. She had twisted her ankle working in the field that morning and her limp would slow us down. She urged my brother and I to run quickly into the forest and hide until the morning. She made my brother swear to look out for me, a massive promise to elicit from an eight-year-old.
Then I watched her limp over to my father’s lifeless body and sit beside it. I watched as the same orc who had cut down my father brandished his sword at my mother’s throat.
We ran before I could see his blade make contact with her neck.
My brother’s hand was clammy as it gripped mine, pulling me through the scattered bodies and roaring fires. Our blacksmith’s house was in flames; his smoking corpse lay just outside the front door as an orc, its yellow-green skin shiny with blood, pilfered through his tools. The smell of burning flesh was indescribably awful.
I still remember the glint in the orc’s eyes as he spied me and my brother. He picked up a hammer from the forge. It glowed molten red in the dark and even at a distance I could feel the heat it gave off.
Then the great creature gave chase.
Its thunderous footsteps sounded behind us as we ran. My legs carried me as fast as they could at six-years-old, the muscles burning with each step, my bare feet crunching on broken glass and sharp stones. The orcs had set so many fires that the air around us was heavy and choked us with all the ash.
We ran straight into another group of humans trying to flee.
They were shouting at each other, urging us all to make for the river. One of them, our town’s woodcutter, was missing his left arm. The crimson stain on his shirt looked like the filling from one of mother’s moonberry pies. Red and clotted and sticky. The woodcutter was a kind man, always carving me little figurines of bears. I had a whole collection back in our cottage that I wished I had remembered to take with me.
My feet snagged in the damp grass and my nightgown was soaked with sweat. It was me who stopped, who hesitated. Me who allowed us to be swallowed up by the hysteric crowd, and me who lost my brother’s hand in the midst of it all.
All because I was going to ask if the woodcutter would be able to carve me some new bears.
That is my last vivid memory of that night. Once I realized I couldn’t find my brother, panic began to set in and turned everything into a blur. The next thing I remember was waking up at the base of the river with a throbbing head and bleeding palms and knees from tumbling down into the embankment.
A few other survivors were with me, none of which knew where my brother could’ve gone. They said we needed to leave before the orc clan found us. Despite my pleas and protest, I was put into an old rowboat and sent down the river to a new town.
To start a new life.
I stayed in that village for a few years, taken in by an older couple who never had any children of their own. They were kind but were not very fond of my…experiments. One day, an older alchemist happened to be passing through when he spied me, tickled by my ability to transform clay into steel. Under his tutelage, I was taught the art of alchemy before being shipped off to the royal academy.
On our way to the academy, the carriage we took rolled through what remained of my old village. The older alchemist told me that orcs had raided it a few years back. I made no mention of my being there. He also said those who survive an orc raid are taken to Brokenbone Mountain, to live in servitude to their new king.
My stomach sank and I spent the rest of the journey silent.
Seeing the scorched remains of what used to be my home as our carriage rolled passed made me vow to myself that as soon as I could, I would search for my brother. Even as I looked at the barren earth, a part of me, a very small hopeful part, believed my brother had found a way out and was safe somewhere waiting for me to find him.
Even as I devoted myself to my studies and worked my way up to the top of my class, I held on to that hope. I kept my past a secret, even as King Arkain began to take notice of me and brought me to his castle to work on a secret mission of his own. He wanted me to find a cure to the orc’s teeth poison, the same poison that had killed his father during the Orc Wars centuries earlier. I was more than happy to find a defense for those who were defenseless like me. Like my brother.
My life has been full of so many wonderful things and experiences. The self-blame I carried for losing my brother lessened over time, but my resolve to look for him never did. It’s what kept me going for the last twenty years and now I am so close to finding out the truth, to finding out what happened to him.
Wait, have I passed this tree before?
I look up and see a familiar evergreen tree looming in front of me. There is an ornate carving at its base that looks like some type of flower, maybe? A bird? Who knows, but it was distinct enough for me to remember it when I first passed by it.
Two hours ago.
Groaning, I pull the map from my satchel but instantly regret it as I watch snow soak the thin paper. Survival skills were not taught at the Royal Academy of Alchemy and the Arts. I glance arounding, noting that the snow is beginning to fall more rapidly. Making camp before the last golden rays of sunshine are swallowed up by a fathomless night sky is now my top priority.
I’ll figure out just how lost I am in the morning. The King of the Orcs is expecting me in two days-time, and I worry my visit will be denied if I am late. King Arkain, who I am sure was coaxed into doing so by his mate and my friend Elvie, wrote a letter stating my purpose in coming to Dread’s Keep; to train their healers and alchemists as a peace offering between our two kingdoms.
That was as much protection as King Arkain could afford me and I will not blow it by being late.
I need to find shelter from the wind. Night means colder temperatures and more snow. More snow means my clothes getting more soaked and more soaked means I’m definitely at risk of losing a toe or two.
I regret not buying more supplies in Moonborne.
As I survey the scene around me, I realize my options are quite bleak. This close to the mountain everything is covered in snow and ice. Last night, I was still far enough from the summit that the earth was dry. In this snowy wasteland, however, my meager bedroll will be ruined in a matter of seconds.
How have I made it this far being so woefully underprepared? Maybe instead of twenty vials of merc weed, I should’ve packed another cloak. One that repelled water.
While I stand at the base of one of the great evergreen trees, I weigh the possibility of climbing it with all of my gear. However, one wrong turn in the night and I plummet thirty feet to the ground with only two feet of snow to cushion my fall. The bright, pine smell of the tree tickles my nose and the cold wind tugs at my hair while I continue calculating the climb.
Suddenly, a long, resounding howl cuts the air and my blood freezes. Great, just great.
Not only am I soaked, starved, and cold, I am about to be something’s dinner.
Pivoting slightly, I glance over my shoulder only to spy the outline of a figure on the other side of the tree line. Whether it’s an animal or a man I can’t tell, but I can feel its eyes on me. Waiting for the moment to strike.
What did some of the guards tell me before I left? If it’s a wolf I should play dead, or was that for a bear? Is it for both? No wait, one of them said to run if I could. Or maybe he was joking? I curse myself again for not being better prepared.
With all of my education, you’d think I would’ve remembered the cardinal rule to never go into a situation without knowing all the variables. It looks like the first time I don’t heed that rule I will be paying for it with my life. Okay, think. Play dead or run? Which one, which one…
I decide on a third option: walk quickly.
It seems like a good middle ground. If I run, I become prey; if I play dead for too long, I’ll freeze to death in the snow. This way I can at least put some distance between me and whatever is lurking behind my shoulder. Impressed with my sound logic, I take quick and measured steps away from the evergreen tree.
The smell of smoke is faint in the air as I walk deeper into the trees. Are my eyes playing tricks on me or is that…a fire? Just up ahead I can make out a faint orange glow. Perhaps there are other travelers who will allow me to seek shelter with them tonight. The innkeeper had said that this side of the mountain was the safest for humans since the orcs rarely come down this far from Dread’s Keep.
I practically feel the warmth of the fire on my skin, and the prospect of having a warm, dry night’s rest has my feet, rather clumsily, moving faster. Stray branches tangle in my braided hair, snagging on my clothing but still I move forward towards the light.
My foot snags on a branch and I hear a distinct snap. It isn’t until I feel the net close around my body, simultaneously launching me into the air while a scream is being wrenched from my lips, that I realize the fire up ahead was likely meant to be a trap.
Suddenly being a wolf’s dinner is the least of my concerns.
