“Ferrol is scrambling to head us off,” Fenelyus said. “We must be moving faster than she likes.”
The great warring hordes should have been somewhere in front of them, but in the heavy snowfall, Tesh couldn’t see them. He didn’t hear much, either. Even the sounds of their own feet were dampened by the fresh blanket of snow that was building on the ground. The black slate they walked over was filled with cracks—fissures scarring the terrain. These jagged mouths opened into bottomless expanses. The little ones they hopped. The larger ones they went around or used a makeshift series of bridges. The Plain of Kilcorth was littered with haphazard crossings. Some were fine causeways that were wide enough for an army to traverse. Other spans were nothing more than an oblong stone that teetered when stepped on.
“If the queen controls everything,” Moya asked, “why doesn’t she just—I don’t know—summon us to her tower, or trap us in stone—something like that?”
“She doesn’t control everything,” Fenelyus replied. “Yes, Ferrol is the strongest force in Nifrel, but no single being wields absolute power. Distance and opposing wills limit her. Down here, arrogance and greed are a reasonably reliable indicator of power, and in that arena, few can compete with King Mideon. When he was alive, that little bastard was the wealthiest, most powerful ruler in the world. He started a war between his people and mine because I wouldn’t give him access to a tree whose fruit granted everlasting life. Didn’t matter that such fruit didn’t exist. He sacrificed hundreds of thousands of his own people in its pursuit. And he wasn’t planning on sharing immortality. He just wanted it for himself. That kind of arrogance is powerful down here. Mideon has managed to wrench from Ferrol a sizable piece of land that has become his realm, but he’s still no match for the queen. All of us combined might not be enough to subdue her. After all, Ferrol is an Aesira, one of the five and third born of Eton’s teeth.”
The snow made everything slippery, and Tesh felt heavier than ever. Just as on the climb down, he found he had more trouble than most of the others. To his amazement, Brin practically hopped and skipped. Gifford wasn’t quite so nimble, but neither he nor Rain displayed any sign of effort. Roan walked slowly while holding on to Gifford’s hand. Tressa had it the worst. For her, each step appeared to be a struggle.
They came to a cairn, and Fenelyus called a halt. Slapping the pile of stones, she brushed up a cloud of snow. “This is Eon Ver, which means things are about to get interesting.”
“How so?” Tesh asked. He was bent over, trying to catch an imaginary breath.
Fenelyus grinned, and in that guarded face, he saw the flicker of eager glee that must have won her entrance to the dark realm. “Between here and the Gray Gate of Mideon’s Castle is a choke point with three bridges. Ferrol is waiting until we step out. That’s when she’ll hit us.”
“Can we go another way?” Moya asked.
“Nifrel is one great battlefield. Fighting is what we do, and it’s been happening since the dawn of time in every way you can imagine. Common belief is that there are no new tactics, no strategies that haven’t been tried. It’s all been done over and over again. That’s one of the great disappointments of this place. Everything has been refined to the point that there are only a few sensible maneuvers, only a handful of moves and ways to counter. Everyone knows them, which takes all the fun out of leading with your gut. There’s no going around. This is the best crossing available to us, and the moment we step out there, we’ll be set upon.”
“And from your experience is it likely we’ll reach Mideon’s castle?” Tesh asked.
“No,” Fenelyus said. “To be honest, we don’t stand much of a chance. In this scenario, we should get close, but we’ll still fall short.”
“Way to encourage the troops,” Moya told her. “For a minute, I was starting to get my hopes up.”
Fenelyus smiled, but it wasn’t a warm thing, not a happy expression. Her look was a mix of amusement and irritation, as if to say, Cute. Now be quiet. Your elder is speaking. Like all of them, snow had settled on Fenelyus, frosting the Fhrey and making her appear all the more mystical and impressive. If nothing else, this place was all about mood and image.
“We have two advantages, one being that I hate to lose.” Fenelyus winked. That same eager glee shining out.
“But Ferrol is your god,” Brin said, mystified. “How can you openly defy her?”
Fenelyus laughed. “I think you will find that in Nifrel we are all gods. At least we see ourselves that way. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t belong here.” The Fhrey glanced at Brin in a way that bothered Tesh.
“What’s the other advantage?” Moya asked.
Fenelyus looked up at the flurry of flakes and shrugged. “The snow.”
“Huh?”
“It’s never done this before.”
Moya lifted her hands palms up and looked at the others “So?”
“Ferrol knows more than we do. She always has. Aesiras appear to share that particular trait. So I have to ask—as you already have—why the snow? If I know there’s only a slim chance of reaching the Bulwark, Ferrol certainly should, too, yet she felt it necessary to send snow to slow us down. Why?” She eyed Moya as if she knew the answer. Then she glanced at the others. “Any of you have any special abilities I’m not seeing?”
Moya bobbed her head at Tesh. “He’s pretty good with those swords.”
“How good?”
Moya frowned, and in an embarrassed whisper, she said, “Maybe the best ever.”
Fenelyus studied Tesh for a long moment then shook her head. “When he was alive, perhaps, but he’s dead now.”
“What’s that mean?” Tesh asked.
“You can’t fight. You’re weighted.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Everyone in here is burdened with something. I am, Mideon is, even Ferrol.” She nodded toward Tressa. “Her load is crippling.” She took a step toward the woman and offered a sympathetic frown. “You’re carrying some serious issues, dear lady, and Ferrol isn’t making it easy on you.”
Tressa looked up with a strained face and nodded.
Fenelyus turned back to Tesh. “You’ve got a heavy burden, too. So much so that you’ll be slow and unable to fight.”
“I still don’t understand,” Brin said. “What causes the weight?”
“Guilt, regret, fear.” She ticked these off on her fingers. “If you spend a life doing rather than not doing, you’ll make mistakes along the way. Those errors don’t die with the body. Just like love, they’re rooted in the spirit, and so they go with you.”
Pointing at Moya, Tesh declared, “She’s good with that bow.”
“The what?” Fenelyus asked. She turned her head and studied the stick with the string attached to it. “What? You’re good at starting fires?”
Moya laughed.
“It throws little spears called arrows,” Gifford explained. “They travel really fast and very far.”
“Yeah, except . . .” Moya frowned. “I’m out of little spears.”