Page 39 of Anwen of Primewood (The Eldentimber #2)

T he wind is bitter high in the Errintonian mountains. I can’t imagine what it will be like come winter. Thankfully, we won’t be here then.

I secure my cloak and attempt to tuck the hood more tightly around my head. Though cold, the weather would be bearable if it weren’t for the sporadic gusts of wind that send snow flying into my face.

Penrith rides in the lead. I’m behind him, and Galinor follows. I’ve kept up fine, but I am growing weary. The sun has almost set, and I wonder if Penrith plans to travel through the night. I will surely freeze if he does.

Pika and Danver are somewhere behind us. When we left Gelminshard this morning, I watched for them, hoping they would follow at a distance. Pika has yet to show herself, but I do steal a peek of her occasionally.

I’ve seen no sign of life since we’ve neared tree line. The birds have already flown south, and the weasels and small rodents are in their cozy holes.

What are the iktar feeding on ?

Again, the wind screams past the mountains and through the trees, crying its desolate wail. I shiver, both from the frigid air and from fear. With the absence of sustenance, the iktar could well be hunting us.

“We’ll make camp just over this ridge,” Penrith calls back.

The sun has set by the time Penrith finally arrives at his destination.

The colors are leaching out of the already dull landscape, and it will be impossible to make camp if we don’t do it soon.

The spot Penrith has chosen is protected under a lip in the cliff face.

The only snow is that which the wind has blown in.

A ring of blackened rocks sits in the middle of our soon-to-be camp, and there are ashes asleep in the center.

We’re not the first to use the sheltered nook.

A sharp cry fills the air, and Penrith’s head snaps up as he surveys the land around us. It’s Pika, and she’s hunting. Galinor and I share a glance.

Has she found our quarry?

Penrith doesn’t mention the cry, probably hoping we didn’t catch it, but he looks unsettled. He and Galinor set to work starting a fire, and then they construct a tent. The stained ivory canvas looks nothing like an opulent caravan tent, but it should keep out the wind and snow.

As night falls around us, we sit by the fire and eat a meager meal of dried meat and hard biscuits, sharing a single skin of mead between us.

I notice Galinor doesn’t drink much, having had the bad experience with mead in Lauramore.

I don’t like the drink either, and only gulp down enough to wet my throat.

I take another bite of stringy meat and then pause mid-chew. There is a strange cackling noise coming from somewhere on the cliff above us. The men speak low, and neither seems to hear it over their conversation. I strain to pick it up again, but the mountain is silent except for the wind.

I take another bite but set the rest aside. Having been spooked, my appetite is gone.

Wait.

There it is again.

It’s not a mammal of fur and bone; it’s something else. The faint noise grows louder. It’s almost as if it’s speaking to itself. Whatever it is, it’s a wholly inhuman sound. Its voice is raspy and high pitched, like a bird or a—

I scream when the dark shape dives from the cliff above us and stretches out its large, leathery wings to break its fall. It lands, shaking the ground.

I grasp hold of Galinor. His hand finds his sword, but he doesn’t dare unsheathe it.

The creature moves closer.

Penrith looks up from his meal, undaunted. “Away with you, beast. Our business isn’t with you.”

“You are on my mountain,” the dragon says, tilting her green head. “That makes it my business.” She turns her reptilian eyes on me. “Why are you trembling, human girl? You have nothing to fear from me.”

The memory of Marigold’s villa thick with flames bursts unbidden to my memory, but I nod anyway.

The dragon turns back to Penrith. “Nothing to fear unless you have come to my mountain to hunt me or my young—then you will have much to fear.” A wisp of smoke curls from her nostril .

She turns toward Galinor, whose downcast eyes are focused on the fire. “Why do you not look at me, young slayer?”

“He has taken an oath to one of your own,” I answer for him, my voice quivering. “To never again speak to your kind.”

The dragon breathes a soft flame on the waning fire. “And you still respect that, even after the treaty?”

Galinor nods, his teeth clenched.

“Consider yourself free of it,” the dragon says, stretching her scaled shoulders in an almost human shrug. “No dragon will break the treaty. We are honorable creatures—unlike humans.” She settles down as if she’s going to stay awhile. “What is your name?”

Galinor looks up, meeting her eyes for the first time. “Galinor of Glendon, second born of King Howell and his queen, Penelope.”

Penrith’s eyes go wide.

The dragon is silent, thinking. Finally, she says, “I know of you and your oath. Old Murgstead died years ago. You are free.”

“Thank you.” Galinor’s shoulders sag with relief. “Truly.”

The dragon stretches and shakes the falling snow off her wings. “I like you, Galinor of Glendon.” She turns to Penrith. “I don’t like you, Errintonian. See to your business, and get off my mountain.”

Penrith gives the dragon a mock half bow.

She pins him with a gaze so hard, I shrink back. Penrith doesn’t flinch.

The dragon opens her great wings and takes to the sky. It isn’t until she disappears into the clouds that Penrith turns to us. “I’ll take the first watch. You two get some sleep.”

Galinor agrees, and we lay our bedrolls on the cold, stone ground. I toss and turn and shiver. I’m sure I won’t sleep at all tonight.

I wake, unsure what’s roused me. I glance across the tent. Galinor is asleep, and the night is still black. Not yet time for our watch, I close my eyes and try to find sleep again. I ache with the cold. I don’t know how I fell asleep at all; I have no idea how I will find it again.

I stretch my toes, trying to warm them, and then I freeze. Voices drift through the tent.

“I checked on them myself. They’re both asleep,” Penrith says.

“Did you give them the draught?”

Penrith laughs. “It was in the mead. Since I drank it as well, they never thought to check it.”

I suck in a gasp.

“Lucky you’re immune to the stuff,” the second voice says.

“Drink it enough, and it stops working.”

There’s the sound of footsteps, and I believe the men have sat down in front of the fire. Now that my eyes have adjusted, I can faintly see two silhouettes through the canvas.

“Do you think Peter knew he sent us a prince?” Penrith asks .

“Peter is a fool,” the visitor says. “He saw their clothing and guessed at wealth—nothing else.”

His voice is familiar.

I stretch over and shake Galinor. He doesn’t wake.

The men continue to discuss their luck. We don’t have much time. If they’re planning to rob us, I doubt they’ll leave us alive.

I jump back to my bedroll and close my eyes when I hear the men rise. For now, it’s probably best to appear asleep.

“I want the girl,” Penrith says.

They pause outside the tent, and the second man answers, “If you keep the girl, you’ll get no share in the gold.”

“They’ll be more gold. I want her.”

“What will you do with her? Take her as your wife?”

Penrith snorts. “Not likely.”

They enter the tent, and the firelight glows through my eyelids.

“I didn’t think the draught worked on her at first. She tossed and turned for a good hour before she finally fell asleep.” There’s an odd strain of admiration in his voice.

“You’d keep her alive even though she could be your death?”

It sounds as if they’ve turned away, and I chance a peek. As I suspected, it’s the barman.

Penrith is quiet for a moment. “I don’t think we should kill him either.”

“What?” The barman quietly hisses. “Leave him alive? Are you insane? Did you see how close he was to killing that fool Maynard for touching her? He’ll run you through without so much as a regret.”

They leave the tent, and I can finally breathe again.

“He’s a prince, Edmund. Imagine the life we could have if we befriended a high and mighty royal of Glendon. No more preying on lowly travelers. We could leave Errinton for good.”

Edmund snorts. “Yes, he’s likely to become chummy with you when he finds out what an iktar is.”

“That was your story, not mine.”

What does he mean? What is an iktar?

My arm is going to sleep, and I’m forced to shift. Next to me, Galinor groans and rolls over.

“Shhh,” Penrith says. “Someone stirred. Get back, I’ll whistle when I need you.”

Since they’ve heard me anyway, I pull back my bedroll and go to the tent flap, giving Galinor a good shake before I step out. Only Penrith sits by the fire.

He turns as if startled to see me awake. “Anwen,” he says. “What are you doing up?”

If they are continuing with the ruse, perhaps Penrith has convinced Edmund to rethink his plan.

“I’m not a sound sleeper.”

He motions to the fire. “Sit with me.”

I take a seat across from him. He watches me, questioning my hesitation. Despite the scar, one could say he is a decent looking man, but even before I knew his dark intentions, he made me nervous.

“Why do you look at me like that?” he asks.

“Why a sleeping draught instead of a poison?” I whisper so Edmund can’t hear me .

His eyebrows shoot up, and then his lips purse to a thin line. He takes a slow breath before he finally answers, “You think I like to murder people, Anwen? I don’t.”

“It was your plan anyway, wasn’t it? Wouldn’t poison have been more expedient?”

His eyes are hard. “It was not my plan. It was Edmund’s. All I came to the tavern for was a tankard of mead.”

“But you accepted it.”

He nods. “I did.”

“Why?”

“My sister’s husband was killed in the wars. Her children are starving.” He narrows his eyes. “We are all starving. The only money that enters this forsaken kingdom is in the pockets of travelers.”

I shake my head and look at the fire. “There must be something—’