Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2) (22 page)

“Impossible, it would be suicide for them both!” Krem riled incredulously.

“I know—but those who seek power do so blindly, often at the expense of more precious concerns, such as life itself,” replied Reap.

“Better still, I hope they have merged. Poor fools! That would ease my heart, knowing they’ve helped us along. They’d have nigh a month to live from the moment the spell was cast,” Krem convinced himself.

“He has merged with Vesleathren?” Adacon asked.

“Precisely, friend,” Reap replied.

“Pay it no mind laddy, truly—your errand is all that concerns you: to know Tempern’s mastery.”

“Tempern? There’s a name I’ve not heard in a long time,” Reap replied.

“We suffer to find his forsaken abode amidst this white labyrinth,” Krem said.

“So much commotion a drake can barely sleep,” Falen reproached them all, annoyed that they’d woken him from slumber. Adacon looked to the stirring fire drake: a wisp of smoke curled from the tip of his scaly nose as he gathered himself to face his fellows.

“If you please, I’ll guide you in,” Reap returned.

“You to guide us? Full-well explain yourself for nearly killing us would be a better start!” Falen demanded.

“Patience, dear Falen,” Krem interjected, calming the agitated dragon. Reap quickly handed out more of his supply of dried meat, letting Krem and Falen have their taste. The small food, though delicious, seemed to do nothing to ease Falen’s agitation. They all listened to the thick-robed mage, watching intently his lidless green eyes as he reiterated his tale.

Adacon sat patiently, listening to much the same story he’d already been given. By the end, Falen did not seem the slightest bit pleased to have a third traveler on his back, one that had nearly killed him. Despite his reservations, Krem decided that Reap would serve as a much-needed guide. They set off from the white gulch, soaring deeper into the mountains. Reap directed them, jogging Krem’s memory of Nethvale’s geography as they flew. Every once in awhile Krem gasped: “Ah yes!” and Adacon wondered how they ever would have found the way without Reap. Eventually, icy spikes attacking the blue sky filled the horizon so that they were the only feature visible—behind, in front, and at all sides—as they flew low between some of the steepest peaks. Falen batted his wings fiercely into strengthening winds, and soon in sight was a deep crevasse, pitted from the side of what seemed be the widest of the ice-laden mountains. Reap directed Falen to land along the flattest bit of slope near the top of the ravine. He barely managed to descend before a gust threw him against the face of the mountain. Two great flaps and they landed, Falen’s nimble wings saving them from a death-smash against ice-coated granite.

Adacon hopped off first, peering at the whitewash around him—walls of frost towered over them, the great chasm of the crevasse lay behind. It sunk immeasurably into the heart of the mountain, a cold dark line of abyss. There was only one shred of what appeared to be a walkable passage, curving directly left and upward, a ridge from a piece of mountain that showed its bare face briefly before concealing it again higher up with sheets of cascading white. The wind roared steadily and Falen breathed hard, winded but relieved to be out of the sky.

“It gets worse,” said Reap. “There’ll be no more flying from here. The gusts are too strong.”

“I’ve never been this deep inside Nethvale before, I—,” Falen tried to speak, his deep voice struggling between much-needed gulps of air.

“You’re still getting over your cold,” Krem said. “And now you have to deal with this. No fun at all. I think we’ll need a fresh smoke before we start our march.”

“March? Look where we are!” Adacon shouted, fighting to be heard against the scream of the wind; his plea fell on deaf ears. Krem went for his pipe and Falen fought to catch his breath while Reap walked off to survey the nearby gorge, fetching more meat from his pocket.

“Calm yourself, lad. I’ve not been to Tempern’s in some time, but he lives in a warm hearth, awaiting us with stewed treats and piping tea. We have but a bit of legwork before us, and then all will be cozy again for you,” Krem said.

“I hope so—it’s much colder here,” Adacon replied, shivering under the winter garments Krem had provided him with before the trip.

“Of course it is Adacon—the higher you ascend, the colder it becomes, the fiercer the wind is, the harder it is to draw breath.”

“He’s rather unaffected by the loss of his entire tribe, don’t you think? I still don’t trust him,” Falen said after finally catching his breath. Krem and Adacon turned to see Reap away in the distance, peering past the edge of the crevasse, too far to hear them.

“He is crestfallen,” Krem answered.

“He’s hiding it,” Adacon answered. “I know—it’s the way slaves handle their emotions. I can see it under the surface; he’s sadder than he lets on. I think I believe him—I don’t know why, but I do.”

“Me too, except for that bit about Zesm,” Krem replied.

“How much farther, Krem?” Falen demanded.

“A few hours, if memory serves me,” replied Krem. He puffed on his pipe, content, his small mouth sucking from between a beard and moustache of powdered icicles.

“Krem—you’re a snowman!” laughed Adacon, taking a moment to observe how comical Krem’s windswept appearance was—the magnificence of Krem’s gem-encrusted cap was hidden by snow, as was the rest of his attire, and limply hanging from his chin was a spike of frozen hair, white and sparkling.

“Haugh-haugh-haugh!” boomed a deep laugh from Falen that quickly turned into a fit of coughs. Krem was happy to be the source of such merriment though, and to see his friends return to good spirits.

“My Vapoury is weak here—we are very close,” Krem self-observed.

“What do you mean?”

“Within the field of Tempern’s presence, Vapoury is dried up unless he decides otherwise, as is dark magic—all forms of energy that flow from Gaigas are stoppered near a Welsprin, if he so pleases,” Krem explained.

“Is that why I’m so cold?” Adacon realized, shivering.

“Precisely. A warm smoke is all I can offer in the way of heat now, I fear,” Krem returned.

“It will be four more miles north of here, up that trail,” Reap interjected, returning to the party. “I’ll come as close as a mile away, but Tempern does not take kindly to the League of the Mage, and as such, I will leave you there,” he continued solemnly.

“Will you be able to get back down the mountain?” Adacon asked, hearing desperation in the sad man.

“Surely I will find some way.”

“Bemoan yourself not, fair green-eyed sage,” Krem piped, boisterous and happy again. “That is precisely when Falen will be turning back. Once you return to this flattened crest, he will gladly fare you home.” Falen shot his slanted yellow-black eyes down, feeling his brief sense of joy stripped by the command.

“I wouldn’t ask it,” Reap replied.

“You’ve shown fair valor guiding us this far; not to accept our help would be an affront I will not allow.”

“Fair enough,” Reap returned. “Let’s get on with it then! Up, up, and up!”

Adacon fell in line behind Reap, tracking his snow-covered robe. Krem and Falen traced their footsteps from the rear. They walked together for a brief while, then something struck Krem’s mind; he shot forward from his pace with Falen to tread alongside Reap.

“What of the bird?” Krem asked, surprised at himself for having forgotten. Reap turned his head up as they marched side by side. Adacon ran up to catch them, hoping to hear their conversation—Falen seemed uninterested, remaining yards behind, trudging along the slippery ridge at his own pace.

“Bird?”

“The huge glowing one,” Adacon said, unable to help himself.

“Glowing, boy? It was rather sparkling I’d say, and as big as one of the smaller mountains in this range here,” Krem chimed in again. “Don’t tell me you missed it—the enormous red-lighted cloud that blotted out the sun?”

“Red-lighted?” replied a dumbfounded Reap, bemused.

“You were quite busy trying to blow us out of the sky when it happened,” came Falen, who had somehow snuck up behind them without being heard.

“Good Gaigas Falen!” Krem railed. “You scared me!”

“It’s rather easy to be stealthy when walking on snow—without the earth-cracking footsteps I normally make.”

“You have no idea?” Adacon asked again, also shocked at himself for forgetting the giant scarlet hawk that had flown overhead before the tornado took them down.

“Indeed I do not, I dare think you all delusional from the cold—I find it hard to believe I could miss a bird that blots out the sun,” Reap informed them.

“Three of us, all delusional?” Falen said.

“Then again, creating a drain is the hardest thing I’ve ever done; I suppose with all my concentration focused on it—it is possible I missed something that big.”

“It was no figment of imagination. Had it not been for the bird, we would not have veered off course, into your spiral of death,” said Krem.

“Is it a coincidence that those flying rocks curved to strike directly at us?” Falen growled, unleashing anger he’d been storing.

“There is no control over the evil once it’s been released from within the planet—the rocks flew upward in any path they chose.”

“He’s right Falen. Those rocks were full of dark power, none of the like can I sense in our friend here, who’s name I still do not know,” Krem said, trudging through knee-deep snow, holding one hand up to shield his eyes from the ice-spray flying at them.

“Reap Windfall. And grateful to meet you both too, Falen and Krem.”

“Knows our names does he?” Falen retorted.

“I introduced you as you slept,” Adacon explained.

“And especially grateful to be in the company of one so famous as you, Krem,” Reap complimented.

“I am famous now?”

“I’d say, at least among my clan you were—one of the Great Vapours.”

“I dare not ask who the others are,” Krem mumbled to himself.

“Certainly the one we trek toward now, though he wouldn’t be as kind as you, I think, if he met me,” replied Reap.

“Tempern is an earnest man, but he would pose no threat to you should he see your heart,” Krem reassured.

“It’s not a matter of concern anyway, as I’ll be leaving before you arrive.”

“So what of the bird then, Krem?” Adacon asked.

“I can’t be sure laddy—it was flying this way though, wasn’t it? Perhaps we will see it again on our march.”

“I hope not. By your description, it must have enormous claws,” worried Reap.

“But it seemed so peaceful, graceful, just gliding across the blue of the sky,” Adacon recalled.

“For such a huge creature, that’s saying a lot,” Falen put in, calmed.

They marched on, falling back into a single file as the ridge grew more narrow and steep. Soon winds increased, and the spray blew fiercer than before. Adacon constantly held a hand in front of his face, wishing Krem would have prepared him warmer clothes for the trip; his hands, wrapped in thick gloves made of hide, were frozen solid. A drip of ice had formed underneath his nose, and his lips were cracked from the freezing wind. Krem looked more and more like a tiny snowman, waddling up the mountain. Their pace had slowed as the weather worsened, and it didn’t seem that they were making much progress. Adacon looked around: to his left, beyond an abyssal expanse, not a single streak of blue was left in the sky. The clouds had banded together, concealing the fact that it was day, and darkened, warning of a storm.

Reap informed his followers that they had only two miles left, slightly boosting Adacon’s spirits. A pit in his stomach began to gnaw, and his breaths came more frequently; his head grew lighter, dizzier.

“Ouch! Damned heavens,” Krem spat into the blackening sky. Wind swirled around him, whipping a first shot of hail at the lagging party.

“What is it—are you okay?” Adacon called from several yards behind.

“Ice rain,” Krem responded, loud enough for Falen to hear at the back of the line. Adacon wasn’t quite sure he knew what ice rain was, but soon he felt it: a large bullet of ice hit squarely against his neck.

“Ow!” cried Adacon in pain. Another shot of ice collided into the top of his skull. He stuck his hands beneath his woolen cap to rub his scalp, bringing back bloodied fingers.

“We’re going to need to reach that, up there,” called Reap, who used both hands to shield his face from the pelting ice that fell furiously from the overcast heavens. The party doubled their pace, setting toward a thin canopy hanging over the trail ahead; it was a small jutting bit of snow-covered rock, a break in an otherwise straight-dropping rock face above the ridge they walked. Falen rushed up to Adacon as bullets of stone-hard ice panged against his bruised head. The wings of the drake spread open, his left talons nudging Adacon to keep moving.

“Come on! Not much further, quick, go!” Falen urged, shielding Adacon with his wings, taking an enormous amount of pain. Stumbling forth, blood running in several small streams from his forehead to his lips, Adacon pushed on, blinded in one eye, until finally, in a daze, he reached the ledge canopy. The overhanging rock gave little comfort. Krem huddled together with them, trying with every bit of energy he had to conjure a shield to block the side-blowing hail.

“Is he alright?” Reap asked of Adacon, who had slumped to the snow.

“He’ll be fine. Took a few good ones to the head,” Falen responded, wearily eyeing his own wounds, crimson threads of warm liquid tracing grooves on his wings. He had been hit many times while his enormous wingspan had covered Adacon.

“Hold still,” came Reap. From his pocket he retrieved a tiny glazed jar. Inserting a finger, Reap extracted a cloudy hunk of clay; wasting no time, he dumped it on Falen’s two biggest gashes, rubbed it into the wound deeply.

“I can’t—I can’t manage anything. We’re too close to Tempern. Damn it Tempern!” Krem cursed his master, wishing his power would return. “He should sense us—he should know we’re here.”

“We’ll wait for it to pass,” said Reap calmly, attending Adacon’s cuts, who lay unconscious on the bed of snow.

“Thanks,” Falen quietly said. He watched Reap do his healing work, his back to Adacon, shielding them from rogue projectiles.