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Chapter Nineteen

Haron

There is still a shroud of mystery surrounding what happened to the Hilj family on the last three days leading up to

the momentous Frigid War. From what Sinna and other royal staff refugees witnessed, the murderer of the Hilj

family appeared to be Prince Ettion Werren of Golath. There was no love lost between Julra and Golath, but Ettion’s

marriage to Maura was meant to begin mending their tumultuous history. Did Prince Ettion act on his own? Or did he

kill the Hilj family on orders from Golath?

-"The Tragic History of Julra," by High Scholar Yuret Wend, Year 39 of Ber's First Reign

I thought camping in Ber’s Forest for a couple of days would shake that hound Beolf from my trail.

From where I was positioned, I could keep an eye on who came and went from the north and east gates of Gilamorst and traveled north toward Covenant Crossing.

It was the only logical way to go if Irin assumed I was heading to Julra.

What I didn’t anticipate was Beolf coming out the very next morning with a whole fucking infantry of scouts and cavalry to run my ass down.

I had barely made it halfway to Covenant Crossing when he caught up to me, and that was with me leaving before the crack of dawn.

“Halt, traveler!”

The litany of curses running through my brain miraculously stayed there, even as I pulled Maura’s reins to slow her down to a walk.

There was no point in trying to outrun him now.

That would only make me more suspicious and possibly end with an arrow in my back.

I’d have to find a more creative way to lose the dolt before retreating to Julra.

Beolf came up alongside my left, and another spellcaster blocked me in from the right. Then he reached his armored hand out to rip the hood from my head.

“If you touch me, I guarantee you will lose that hand.” I glared at him from the limited shade, squinting in the bright sunlight even though my head was entirely covered. He was wise to snatch it back before I made the appendage rot.

Instead, he snarled a command. “Haron, get your ass back to Gilamorst immediately. Prince Irin is worried about your safety and sent us to escort you.”

“How courteous of him,” I spat back. “Do me a favor and tell Irin to kindly fuck off.”

The man on my right gasped dramatically. “You do not speak of His Highness in that way! Who are you to drop his title and say such vulgar things?”

I finally turned to address him, an eyebrow raised in irritation. “Who are you ?” Looking back to Beolf over my shoulder, I asked the more competent of the two. “Who is this guy? Does Irin have enough bootlickers in the palace to spare this one?”

Beolf rolled his eyes so hard I hoped one of them would pop straight out of his skull. His heavy sigh was response enough he was already fed up with me. “This is Dayer Montemen, and he is one of the prince’s magic specialists in hydromancy.”

“I see. So, he’s your scryer whenever you need to report that you’re dragging me back.”

Dayer sputtered, and Beolf sighed again.

“We don’t want to drag you back, Haron. As I said, Prince Irin is worried you are in danger and asked us to ensure your safety.

If you would stop acting like a feral animal, I can let him know you will be safe during your travels wherever you need to go and then return to Gilamorst.”

I wanted to snap my teeth at him like the animal he accused me of being, but I didn’t think that would help my case much.

I needed to get out from under these goons if I was going to make it to the Clifftombs unhindered.

Gennel had already showed her hand; no one was trustworthy anymore.

Any one of these soldiers Beolf dragged along with him could be her in disguise.

“Fine,” I pretended to fold. “Can we at least stay the night in Covenant Crossing before turning back? I’ve been riding a long time as it is, and my kisteral needs to rest. We are already practically there.”

“I would prefer to rest there as well,” Dayer chimed in. “Camping outdoors is not something I particularly enjoy. And that would give me an opportunity to contact the prince and let him know Lady Haron is in our custody.”

Beolf’s head tilted to the sky, obviously judging the time of day and how far we would have to travel to Gilamorst versus Covenant Crossing.

It was almost three-quarters of a day’s ride back at this point, and the sun was already starting to creep close to the horizon.

We were almost an hour out from the inn.

“Let’s carry on, then,” he finally conceded.

He clicked his tongue and urged his mount to a faster trot, expecting us to follow along at the new pace.

I wanted to stop just to spite him. Unfortunately, my plan to ditch these two couldn’t happen until we made it to the inn and tavern in Covenant Crossing. I would play nice… for now.

My reprieve of silence didn’t last long.

“So,” Dayer began, still trotting along on my right as we caught up to Beolf.

The rest of the squad fell into a loose formation behind us on the wide road.

“Would you care to enlighten us exactly where you were off to? And why you thought running from Spymaster Sett was a good idea?”

“Obviously, I didn’t want to talk,” I muttered back. Dayer didn’t seem to hear me, since he carried on with his monologue.

“You know, the lands outside Gilamorst are dangerous for a lady to travel by herself! There could be bandits out here just waiting to do horrific things to you! And if you made it any further north than the City of Scholars, you would certainly be caught by one of those hedonistic tribes from the Hollows! Everyone with common sense knows the northern border is dangerous.”

“The farm I’m from is north of the City. Trust me when I say it’s not as uncivilized as you think.”

He seemed to turn his nose up at that bit of information. “I remain unconvinced.”

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to not rise to that particular jab. The sharp, metallic taste of blood was telling enough how difficult a feat that was.

“Prince Irin assumed you were traveling to Julra,” Beolf interjected, likely to save Dayer from getting tackled to the ground by my waning self-control. “What could you possibly be looking for there?”

Dayer scoffed. “The only thing left in those desolate wastes is the Clifftombs. And you would have a better chance of calling down the Old Gods than try to get inside those wards.”

“That name sounds familiar,” Beolf mused. “But I’m confused why they would be warded so heavily if the country has been dead for over a hundred years. Is there some significance to them?”

Dayer sputtered wildly beside Beolf. “Do you not realize what the Clifftombs are?”

“I’m going to guess tombs. How close am I?”

“Julra is known as the cornerstone of all magic practices in Respar, practically the origin of it! Everyone knows the Julran refugees were the ones who brought the practice of spellcasting when they fled their own country. I can hardly imagine the wealth of knowledge being kept in the ruins of the Clifftombs! I’m sure Lady Haron is of the same mind. ”

Beolf shrugged. “Wouldn’t the City of Scholars have copies of all those records? I thought that was their job.”

“Not necessarily,” I answered. “The City of Scholars was more of a country unto itself when Julra and Golath existed. They didn’t get involved with either country in an attempt to be neutral.

All those stodgy researchers cared about was making their own discoveries, not really collaborating with outsiders. ”

“Huh,” was Beolf’s stellar reply. “So how did the scholars get so much information about Julra if they didn’t interact with them?”

“Mostly from investigative trips to the country during their censuses, but also from first-hand accounts of refugees after the countries fell. Many of the citizens escaping the Frigid War stayed in the City of Scholars and became researchers themselves. The rest kept traveling south to join with the nomadic tribes and eventually created Gilamorst and, by association, Respar.”

Dayer nodded. “That’s absolutely correct! Your knowledge of our history is quite impressive, Lady Haron.”

“I’m not a lady. And it’s not exactly hidden information. Some people are just willfully ignorant as to Respar’s origins.” I threw a pointed glare at Beolf. "Some people think the gods themselves carried down Resparians a hundred years ago and called it divine intervention."

“So, what happened to the people of Golath?” Beolf asked. He either actively ignored the jab or let it sail by him unbothered, both of which annoyed me to no end.

I kept my eyes on the road ahead, squinting against the morning sun even as my head was covered with the deep hood.

It was getting painfully bright already, and the day had hardly started.

The left side of my head was already throbbing, with how sensitive that eye was.

“Golath was a much smaller kingdom population-wise, so most of their people were wiped out by the Frigid War. Whatever was left scattered and made tribes, mostly out of survival. The Hollows—or what used to be Golath—is a harsh place to try to live in.”

I could feel Beolf’s stare burning a hole in the side of my face. As nonchalantly as I could, I adjusted my hood to keep more of it hidden from his prying stare. “How do you know all this about a couple of dead countries?”

An unladylike snort escaped my lips. “Because I read , Sir Rocks-For-Brains. I’d encourage you to try it, but I worry you’d hurt yourself. I don’t want that on my conscience.”