HEIR | The Cursed Monarchy | Book 1

Mercy: Part IV - Chapter 23

The following morning, Cecily awoke before the sun rose. She dressed and went to the stables to oversee the packing of their horses. Feredir had wasted little time blaming her and Heal for the attack on the village, and so she would waste little time leaving when the city was alive the next morning at dawn. As she saddled and bridled her horse, she couldn't help but feel anxious about the journey ahead.

Cecily hadn't counted on Aedan joining her quest. No matter what she'd intended, she refused to come between a father and his son. Even though she thought it would be best if he stayed behind, it was Aedan's war too. It was a chance for him to lead, a chance to show that growing up in Rilien's shadow hadn't affected him at all.

As they moved out, the first rays of the sun gilded the village gates, and within a few minutes, the Silent Outpost was behind them. There was a trace of ash and sulfur in the air, and the shadowy peaks of the Hollow Mountains were like dark smudges against the sky to the east.

Outside the forest, the wind picked up strength, pelting their faces, shields, mail, and every inch of unprotected flesh with dirt and debris. Battered by the gusts, they struggled onward, mounted on horses. Scarves muffled their faces, but the cloth was no match for the fine dirt, which worked its way through the fabric, clogging their noses and grinding between their teeth.

"Bedeviled wind," cursed Hael. The dwarf tugged at his scarf, pulling it over his nose. His heavy tunic of finely forged mail was worn with pride, despite the trying circumstances. Beneath his helmet, his hair and beard were matted with dirt, but he followed her unflinchingly through the sirocco.

"There wouldn't be sandstorms below the surface," Cecily complained, longing for the cool air of the warrens.

"The gods knew what they were doing when they sculpted our homes from rock," Hael said proudly. He tightened the scarf around his cheeks and stroked his beard. "I'm no friend of sorcery, but if ever we needed your magic - it's now."

Cecily raised an eyebrow. "What would you like me to conjure then?"

"Command the wretched wind to stop."

The horses that had borne them on their long journey to the Hollow Mountains snorted and whinnied fractiously, trying to clear their nostrils, but only blocking them further with all-pervasive sand. Though the map led Cecily forward, information proved to come at a price. They were endeavoring to cross a landscape that consisted of nothing but barren dunes and godforsaken wasteland, a vista so cheerless that they would have preferred to stare at the tangled manes of their horses or the tips of their boots.

The passage up the mountain was the last and most grueling leg of the journey, beginning with the swathe of desert forty miles wide that lay at the foot of the mountains like a moat of fine sand. It was almost as though nature wanted to prevent them from reaching their destination.

She'd had enough. Cecily concentrated her will and began to draw energy from her body. A final gust swirled toward them; then the gales died unexpectedly. She sighed with relief, continuing forward . Only five miles separated the company from the comb of rock that ran from east to west.

Aedan rode up next to Cecily, holding his reins with the confidence of a man born in the saddle. "I've never seen magic like that in a human," he said.

"That's because I'm not a human," she said, turning her attention to the road ahead. She was amused by his curiosity, his need to wriggle his way into her thoughts. She could almost hear the questions racing through his head. "Not entirely. But I'm not here to talk about myself. Not this time."

His next remark disconcerted her. "Ten elves of high magic on my father's council, and the Veil spoke to you and you to it." He looked away for a moment. "Why?"