Tales of the Vangen: The Dead King of Danic (Book 3)

Chapter 8: She Who Calls the Storm

"I know what I'm doing," Brand snapped back, his frustration boiling to the top before he could stop himself. "And I told you already! It's Cinnis now! Got it?" He gasped as Elba reached over and clouted him hard across the ear. "Ouch! What was that for?" He sniffed back tears as he cupped his stinging head.

"For being a damned boy again." Without another word Elba snapped her reins and rode off, sliding neatly beside her man, staring at Keela the whole while.

"That fething hurt," Brand muttered, rubbing at the sore spot. "She didn't have to hit me so bloody hard."

"You deserved it, Cinnis," Moss muttered as he passed by on his charcoal stallion.

"I did not," Brand called after, but the man didn't even look back, his swagger loose in the saddle. What the feth did he know anyhow? Not as if he'd lost anyone important, the green bearded bastard. He paused at the thought, the swelling shame in his chest reminding him otherwise. They'd all lost someone important. Someone, or something.

*

A snow storm overtook them several hours into their journey. A writhing mass of gray clouds peeled out over the blackened sky, thunder and lightning crackling as frost poured out of their insides. It washed over Brand like a heavy slap, his hands numb by the time he'd pulled his cloak on, fat flakes stinging at his nose.

Their fellowship bogged to a crawl as the horses fought bravely against the chilly torrent. They snarled and chewed at their bridles, kept going by firm grips and assuring words. Cent and Moss had pulled Libro's cloak up first, cinching him tight before they pulled up their own, Elba's own insulated furs fending off the worst of it.

"Stay close!" Libro roared over the booming hells above. "Don't let the horses get spooked! If they run, we're lost!"

A blast of frigid wind knifed over them, ripping at dead tree branches and throwing fresh powder into the air. Brand hunkered down, realizing how unprepared his gear was for this place. Already he could feel his skin prickle, his cheeks red and raw from exposure. Pockets of frost bloomed from the loops of his chainmail, crackling in his ears.

"Brand! Come here!" Elba called. He could barely see her through the thick curtain of snow around him. She reached out, beckoning him, a dark blur in a sea of white.

Brand didn't argue about his name this time. He hitched the reins, pitching his horse to trot faster. They moved in eerie slowness, almost comical, almost theatrical, with death their only reward if they failed to live out the day.

Through some miracle Elba caught him by the wrist, pulling him awkwardly close as she flung a heavy fur around the both of them. Already he could feel his body temperature rise, rivulets of water dripping down his armor.

"You all right?" she asked, breath hot beneath the cloak. "This storm really came out of nowhere, eh?"

Brand swallowed, not quite sure how to feel. Elba's face was close, closer than he'd liked. He was starting to see why Libro fancied her. A strong, lean face, with eyes the deepest blue. Her raven colored hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, running down over one shoulder. She reminded him, much to his own embarrassment, of his mother.

"I'm all right," he said, his voice hushed in the heat beneath the furs. "I should have packed better, is all."

"I'm used to it," Elba smiled. "Living outside most of your life toughens you up for these kinds of things. I've a fur to spare if you want one. A nice, rugged sheepskin I stole back in my old life." She winked, making his ears burn again. "What do you say?"

"I hardly think I can refuse at a time like this."

"Atta boy," Without so much as a warning she dumped the fur on top of him, wrapping him up tight with clasps made of sinew and bone. He almost wanted to protest before she slapped a similar looking hat on his head, long furry ears coming down to cover his own.

"Please tell me that's not a rabbit carcass you've put on me."

"Not entirely its carcass," Elba admitted. "But it is warm, you have to admit."

He had to agree it was warm. So warm he wanted to bury into the furs and never return, hoping to hibernate till the storm had passed. All he could manage, however, was a simple, "Aye. It's nice."

Elba smiled triumphantly as she turned towards the rest of the pack, watching as Cent and Moss kept close to the Captain, protecting him from the worst with their shields.

Brand blinked, narrowing his eyes against the storm. "Where'd Keela run off too?"

"What?" Elba looked around, the question dawning on her as she counted the horses. "Hells, you're right. Where is that witch?"

"Storm might have taken her!" Cent called out, Moss grunting in approval. "Thunder might have spooked her horse."

"Follow the tracks then!" Libro ordered. "If she's ridden off, we'll find her later, but for now we can't get separated! We'll never find each other in this mess!"

Brand didn't need telling twice. He kept one hand firm to the horn of his saddle, the other grasping at Elba's sword belt. She'd taken the bridle from him, guiding his horse with hers as they rode in close tandem.

And then, out of nowhere, someone began to sing. It started off soft, nearly drowned out by the roaring wind and thunder, before it grew in resonance. The others noticed as well, perking up as they searched for the source. A shadow cut through the curtain of white, a tall, lean figure on horseback.

"Keela!" Libro called out. The witch sat before them, robe and hair whipping about in the reeving storm. She held her hands out, voice rising to meet the sky, challenging nature itself.

Brand sat there in utter disbelief, not knowing if Keela was doing anything, or if the woman had simply gone mad. His breath hitched as he felt a familiar buzzing in his arms. Magick was being called around them, reacting to the gold still buried in his finger bones. He gasped as it flared with power, pulsating with strength. Tiny welts of blood began to form, trickling down the backs of his hands.

With a final cry, Keela let burst a long, keening note, darkened storm clouds driven away by her song. They writhed in mock agony, twisting back from whence they came, tiny flakes of snow trailing after. The wind began to die, the air grew still. Silence fell where sound and fury had once laid claim.

Keela lowered her hands, smiling between her fingertips. Her different colored eyes shimmered in the hazy gloom, light ebbing away as the last of her magick dissipated. Slowly, the pain in Brand's palms began to dissipate.

They stopped at a stream to feed and water the horses, giving them time to recuperate from the storm. Not much had been said after Keela's performance. The Vangen, it seemed, were all too accustomed to the ways of Magick. While it took on many forms, the outcome was still the same. A powerful tool for those strong enough to wield it.

Brand dipped his flask into the water, watching as tiny bubbles rose to the surface. He chewed on his lip, remembering the pain from earlier. The gold in his bones had buzzed with such ferocity, made manifest by the witch's magick. She was powerful, he realized, terribly so.

And that meant she was dangerous too.

He looked up, realized Keela was crouched nearby, filling up her own waterskin. She looked calm, skin pale as the snow around her feet, eyes fixed on the water. They darted up in a flash, catching him in a glance, lips curling back in a knowing smile.

Brand knelt there, frozen in fear as a rabbit would under the shadow of a hawk. His heart quickened as she kept her gaze fixed on him, smiling all the while, not angry, not wicked, almost...admiringly so. He swallowed, the muscles in his neck as tight as a drawn bow.

It was Keela who broke eye contact first. She pushed the stopper back into her waterskin and sat up, walking away, the fabric around her hips swaying ever so gently.

"Feth," Brand whispered under his breath. Watching his back seemed like a good idea all of a sudden.

***