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“I grew up there, mostly. I was born in Rhyanaes, even though I spent most of my younger years in Skeioholm. But I was trained in Rhyanaes, and I went back there to become a Keeper of the Ironguard when I was in my late teens. Then returned to Skeioholm a few years ago as a Keeper. There used to be a lot more people of the Old Ways there. More people like Eilith, and more folks that ran the temples of the old gods.”

“That’s what it’s called? The Old Ways?”

“More recently, yes. It refers to everyone who believes in the old gods and fae Sourcery. We didn’t really need a name for it until Enos and his Paragons of the Light arrived and there was an alternative. Nearly everyone in Rhyanaes is of the Old Ways.”

“So what exactly is Rhyanaes?” I asked. My buttocks ached from days in the saddle and I shifted, standing in my stirrups and stretching.

“Rhyanaes was a fae city built near a sacred spring. When the fae left, the few humans who lived there stayed and continued to practice their Sourcery. This happened in other cities around Elvik and elsewhere too, but Rhyanaes is one of the last ones of its kind.”

“And the Ironguard are there too?” I asked.

Byrgir nodded. “The Ironguard have been there since long before the fae left. We’re a vestige of their teachings, you could say. Fae warriors fought not just with blades but with Source too, and many humans learned these ways alongside them. We still train in a similar style.” He paused, rubbing his bearded jaw as if he wasn’t used to hearing his own voice this much, and itwas uncomfortable for him. “Now we’re more glorified monster slayers than soldiers.”

“So you know Sourcery as well?” I asked.

“Some, yes. But not like Eilith, or the other more powerful Sourcerers in Rhyanaes. The Ironguard don’t have nearly the power that they do. But I know a few tricks, a few little things that give me an advantage when I need it.”

“There are other Sourcerers in Rhyanaes?”

Byrgir laughed, deep and warm. “So many questions!”

“Of course I have! A man I barely know drags me to a mysterious city where fae used to rule, and I’m not supposed to have questions? Just follow along like a dumb sheep?”

“Yes, aquiet, dumb little sheep. A lamb, actually,” Byrgir shot back.

I whipped off a glove and threw it at him. It flopped harmlessly to the road.

“Well, now you’re just slowing us down,” Byrgir teased as I reined Anam to a halt and hopped down to retrieve my glove. “Really, how would you get anywhere without me?”

“Much more peacefully,” I said, and he laughed.

“Hurry up, Little Lamb,” he called, riding on ahead as I climbed back into my saddle, smiling.

CHAPTER TEN

It grew warmer as we rode south, winter softening into early spring. The cool rain melted the snow quickly, green moss and bare dirt showing through icy beads turning to slush. We followed the Salakile Valley southeast on the wide main road, then took a smaller track and spent the afternoon climbing into the Gloamspire Mountains. The rain ceased and clouds broke as the late afternoon light turned a warm gold. We wove through a matrix of mountain forests and meadows, occasionally catching glimpses of the ocean far below.

We reached a mountain saddle between ridge lines that climbed to jagged, ice-capped peaks high above us, draped in thick glaciers that curled around them like slumbering ice dragons. From the saddle we looked down into a valley that stretched to the sea, walled on three sides by high mountains; their cliffs extending into the ocean to form a wide fjord.

From a mountain wall at the head of the valley sprang a massive waterfall. Emerging straight from a dramatic cliff below a sharp, towering peak, an entire river coursed from a wide crack in the rock. It dropped in a free fall to the valley below, then ran in several tiered waterfalls until the steepness of the valley mellowed to a more gradual decline and the water slowed.

The river flowed through meadows and disappeared amongst the largest trees I had ever seen. Massive pine, fir, hemlock, and cedar towered above the valley floor, the tops of them reaching so high they were nearly level with us where westood on the mountain saddle. And among the trees –– lights. Warm, twinkling lights beckoned us through the shadows of the great green giants.

As I looked closer at the towering forest, at the dancing lights, dwellings materialized. Within the trunks and evergreens, windows, doors, stairways curling and wrapping around their outsides. Multi-story homes constructed entirely within tree trunks. Others were built in open spaces between huge trees, with living branches supporting them, cradling them in a deep green embrace. A village, no, a city, woven into the trees, into the fabric of the forest.

I sucked in a breath as we paused in the mountain pass.

Byrgir looked at me, narrowing his gaze.

“It’s… incredible,” I said.

“You can see it?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

“Of course I can see it, it’s right there.” I gestured toward the valley, the impossible trees, the nonsensical city laced into them.

Byrgir continued to watch me.

“What?” I said.