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Chapter Sixty-Three

Tolek

“What exactly are you leading us into, Dax?”

I squinted into the darkness. Even with our heightened vision, it was damn near impossible to see through the closely-packed trees, bare limbs jutting out at odd angles. Snow drifted down where it could force its way between the tangled canopy, flecks dotting the leaf-strewn ground here and there, turning it to soft mulch beneath the horses’ hooves.

I didn’t know how far off track we’d traveled, but I could feel myself getting farther away from Ophelia. Desperation was beginning to claw at my gut.

“Not much further,” Dax said.

“What though, General?” Not where. I didn’t much care where we were going if it was a way back to Ophelia, but I figured it was worth preparing myself.

“When I was in the army,” he whispered, jerking his head to the side, “we had a number of camps in the woods. And there’s one in Mindshaper Territory—near the Mystique Mountains and Thorentil—the queen was partial to. There’s something there we can use.”

I nudged Astania along quicker in the direction Dax had indicated. Around the ash-white cyphers and dark brown trunks, a white light pulsed.

Holding up a hand, Dax signaled to stop. I swung one leg over my horse and landed lightly on the balls of my feet. Thank the Spirits for warriors being naturally swift-footed. Not much snow had snuck through the thick canopy overhead here, the ground free of prints, but I looked for fallen leaves that may crunch as I crept forward slowly; following Dax, I pulled my sword from my belt. I left my bow and quiver with Astania.

The general had an ax in hand, but his grip was loose. That glow pulsed around Dax’s frame as he peered through the trees and exhaled quietly. “Abandoned. As I expected.”

“What is?” I demanded. Impatience was eating at me.

“Kakias kept very few warriors at this camp. I never understood why. But they were her closest. The ones likely with her now.”

Dax marched through the trees. Pushing past branches, I followed. Tents formed a ring around the clearing, surrounding something. The light was not from a lantern as I had expected. And as the general predicted, there were no warriors here.

Instead, only a slab of marble the size of a great table waited, illuminated and carved with?—

“Is that Gallantia?” I asked, creeping closer.

“No,” Dax said, determination solidifying his tone. “It’s all of Ambrisk.”

I observed the lines slicing through the ice-white sheet. A map of our entire world, delicately etched into a pristine granite surface like a work of art, valleys dipping and mountains jutting above.

“And we’re going to use it to find a way back to them,” Dax promised, walking around toward the southeast side and studying the Mindshaper Territory.

“Why is it here?” I asked. My spine tingled. It was too convenient, too random for the queen to store a map in the woods.

“I’m not sure.” Dax shook his head. “But something about the strength of the mountains.”

“Magic, then,” I murmured. “The capitals are all marked. A few major cities, too…” The thought trailed off as I surveyed the locations flaring in the night. A small cluster of dunes in Soulguider Territory. An unnamed city in Mindshaper land. The Cliffs of Brontain. The list went on, the mountains being the brightest of them all with tiny X’s spotting their surface. A circle of them in the southern half. “There’s no reason to it.”

“Knowing the queen, I’m certain there is.” Dax tightened his grip on his ax. “But she never told us.”

There was an edge to his voice I suspected had to do with the queen’s secrets from her son.

Stretching out a hand tentatively, I picked up one of the figures amassed around the southern mountains. Little shards of obsidian rock, no real shape to them, but they reminded me of infantry markers on Lyria’s battle map, though less precise. More brutal and quickly fashioned. It rolled across my palm, almost seeming to vibrate in my hand.

“I wouldn’t touch those,” Dax warned. My eyes flicked to his heavy stare. I wasn’t sure precisely where the marker had been before, but I set the sliver of rock among the pieces atop the mountains.

Dax inclined his head toward the top of the map where he stood. Creeping around the marble, I joined him.

There, staring up at us, was a bloody signature. The otherwise smooth surface had been scratched with what I thought was supposed to be the Engrossian sigil, a symbol Barrett’s family had instilled many monarchs ago. It was lopsided and ridged, as if someone unskilled had carved it, but it was clear that it was a proud mark of ownership. Blood sprinkled the surface, filling in the hollows of the axes. My stomach turned over.

And around the trim of the map, there were grooves I recognized. “Endasi.” I pointed to the words scrawled hastily into the marble. “That’s the language of the Angels.”

Like the axes, they were messy, impossible to fully translate, but I strolled along the edge of the slab, doing my best with my meager training. They seemed to resemble words of myths and burials and death.