knew he didn’t have the right motivation to go into all this. The Turag-Khalins have always been spineless. Not one of history’s greatest tulvars has ever hailed from that line. What matters is that she can’t harm any of us, now that she’s dead.”
“How did it happen?” asked Sheera.
“I killed her myself,” said Enetor. “Your brother Ziglan is in Banran now. His presence alone make her start raving. I killed her because otherwise she would have spilled everything,” he told those assembled. “It had to be done, Sheera.”
She knew he was right. “How did you justify it?”
“I blamed the human slave. I promised him that I would kill him myself without making him suffer…”
Zler Naled turned to Sheera. “We lost one individual to save the whole. Remember the rules you laid down: our goal is more important than any one person.”
“I know, Zler…” she admitted, unable to hide her soft spot for him. Zler was a few years older than her, and they’d known each other from an early age. Zler equaled Sheera in height, and he possessed a beautiful physique but also an angular face. He too was elegant, even if his gait and poise revealed he was a warrior at heart.
The last among them was the witty and bashful Rerik Irbhun. He was an important Archon of Athal, on whose shoulders the burden of all the commercial affairs of his house was placed. He was listening carefully, and thinking over his words. “Sheera, we have to decide how we proceed from this point forward; many are starting to get impatient… what do we know about the dwarves?”
“We know nothing for certain. The wall that blocks access to the Iron Plateau is constantly guarded by dwarves and the warriors of the human Brownbear Clan, killing any and all tulvars who draw near,” explained Sheera.
“Not to mention how isolated Vetmark is; every access-way has been blocked by the snow…” Enetor reminded everyone.
They could hear excited voices from afar: the sentries had sighted slaves. Sheera was forced to return to the city, and so the four saluted each other, and the meeting was ended.
VI
In the following four days, the journey had been relatively uneventful. Kaj and Clarice were walking along a path to a shallower area of the forest. The light became more and more intense, with the sides of the path hemmed by small ferns and shrubs. The trees were very tall, with huge trunks, wrinkled and gnarled. Meanwhile, the branches were entwined in an increasingly dense weave. A light mist embraced the area, and the humidity that made them feel so unpleasantly wet amplified the already bitter cold.
The path often changed direction and incline; they had been walking uphill for a long time, and the stream was now at least three meters below them. The vegetation was constantly changing, and they ventured from very dense areas to clearings and glades. The bend of the stream they were skirting was very sharp, and there they came across the first bridge. It stood out against a small waterfall, and sunbeams were penetrating the thick foliage of the fir trees, creating picturesque light effects.
“Does that mean we’ve arrived?” Kaj asked, hoping.
“I’m afraid not, but there’s a system of bridges and walkways ahead. They’ll help us cross all the rocky ledges to Nidath.”
“Well that’s a relief!”
“I was afraid I’d never see these places again,” she admitted, looking around. “Let’s get a move on. We can pick up the pace now.”
A little further on, the walkways kept crossing over the stream, winding tortuously to avoid the trees.
“These bridges were built during the time of the Great Reconciliation for the sake of pilgrims and travelers who, not being elves, didn’t know the forest. The wood they’re made of comes from ancient trees. I can feel their strength.” Clarice put her hands on one of the trunks, and closing her eyes, perceived its inner essence—or at least, that’s how it really seemed to him.
“You’re feeling its power?” he asked, intrigued. She nodded.
The wood of the walkway was dark, and covered with moss in places. The fallen yellow leaves created a striking contrast with the dark green of the trees and the bright green of the moss. The closer they came to the city, the more surreal it seemed—the leaves were fallen as in autumn, but the trees were not bare. On the contrary, they stood quite lush and leafy. During the first few days of the journey, they had braved blizzards; now they were preoccupied only with trying not to slip on the wet leaves.
Kaj was absorbed in his thoughts. Alana’s appearance. The things Clarice had told him in Fenan. Oloice’s arrival. The orcs that had attacked the village. Every one of these events seemed to be linked by some invisible thread. Eventually, he realized that he didn’t know who he was, or for that matter what he would become. All he knew for sure was that he could shape his own destiny.
Clarice’s voice jolted him from his thoughts. “Kaj, are you listening to me?”
“Err… I… I wasn’t listening.” He smiled, but realized that was not the appropriate response in this particular scenario, as she was quite annoyed.
“How about giving me a moment of your time? As I was saying, it’s not long now. The forest has changed a lot since the last time I was here, so I can’t be sure of our position, but if I’m not mistaken, we should be close to the Sacred Brume of Desail.”.
“One of your gods?” asked Kaj, interested.
“She’s the goddess of the hunt. According to the stories, the Brume is where Desail used to rest after her hunting excursions. Let me let you in on something: ‘Initiates’—that is, elves that are preparing to become hunters—learn the art of hunting from their Master, a position achieved after receiving the Embrace of the Goddess. Have you ever wondered how an elf can outflank their prey without being heard or noticed?”
“I always imagined it’s because of elves’ connection to the forest.”
Clarice shook her head, satisfied. “I’ll tell you a story. It’s said that, in the beginning, Desail was a distracted goddess. During a hunting trip, her arrow missed its mark, and the animal it hit suffered so much that its groans of pain shocked Desail’s kind soul. She then decided that none of the children of Efabi, the goddess of the forest, should ever have to suffer like this, and gave her hunters what we call Desail’s Breath. A hunter is only a hunter if the Breath accompanies them; it’s what allows them to get close enough to their prey that they can exercise enough precision to kill the animal instantly. A hunter does not want to kill; they do it to feed their people, so it is incumbent on the hunter to make their prey’s death peaceful. The hunter entrusts their arrow to Desail, and the soul of the prey to Efabi by reciting some words in the Tongue of Old. The Sacred Brume of Desail is the only place in the forest surrounded by a perennial patch of fog, hence the name. Some like to think that when there are small patches of fog in the forest, Desail is out hunting,” she finished, contented.
“Charming. These sorts of things aren’t widely known in the other realms.”
“I was wondering whether we could afford to take a detour… I’d like to go to the Sacred Brume.”
“I think we have time. Plus, now I’m curious to see the place myself.”
Clarice lit up, happy she had his approval. Kaj understood that it was important to her, so they left the walkway
