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“I . . . thank you,” she said as he finished.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes . . . I . . . I’m fine.” She forced a blank expression onto her face.
Eldrion studied her a moment longer, placing his hands on her shoulders, and then, “I have something for you,” he said, tracing his fingers down her arms before turning and taking three sleek knives from his backpack. “These are yours now. Learn them. Know their weight, their balance—until they’ll become an extension of you.”
Anthea took the knives, feeling the cool metal in her palm. They felt oddly right. “I will,” she whispered, looking up to his stormy gaze.
“Let’s go. We need to reach the first mountain pass before the dawn.”
Anthea sheathed the knives, bagged her dress and collar, and followed him out of the room.
44
The Iron fortress was built into the side of a rocky mountain, the terrain offering a wealth of hidden pathways. Pathways that had been originally created as secret escape routes during the times of wars.
Moving like shadows, the group slipped into one of these hidden caverns.
Beldor took the lead with the red-haired elf, Anthea and Eldrion followed, and Kaelan and Haldrian had the back. Keeping as silent as possible, they made their way through the tunnel. The only sounds were the soft rustle of their clothing and the occasional scrape of a boot on the rocky floor.
After what felt like hours, they finally emerged from the mountain, finding themselves on the outskirts of the Iron fortress, under the cover of the towering mountains.
Anthea took a moment to catch her breath, the cool night air filling her lungs.
And then, they walked. With only the moons as their light, they ventured further into the wilderness, threading through narrow paths and climbing serpentine pathways up steep inclines.
She was thankful when they stopped to rest. Looking around, she noted she was the only one out of breath. “Thank you,” she whispered as she took the water pouch from Kaelan. He merely shook his head, signaling her to keep quiet.
After the brief rest, the terrain seemed to turn even more treacherous: steep cliffs with narrow paths. Where he could—Eldrion kept Anthea between himself and the mountainside. Where he couldn’t—he let her go first, ready to pounce at the first sight of her slipping.
She felt slightly insulted.
After the sixth time, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Glad to see that your trust in my abilities is unwavering,” she muttered to the hovering elf.
“This is not . . . I just . . . I cannot watch you fall again.”
Anthea didn’t comment on it again.
It was grueling—hiking up the rocky path. Her legs ached with fatigue and her lungs burned with exertion. Looking up, she could see the faint signs of the sunrise. It was dawn—and they weren’t at the first mountain pass.
It took them two more hours to reach it. Anthea heard Haldrian talking with Eldrion—they were slower than they had anticipated. Anthea knew what that meant—she was slower than they had anticipated. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she finished her breakfast: two pieces of flatbread and some dried meat strips.
They continued downward until late afternoon. Anthea was exhausted, but she pushed through. She had started to count her steps. Every time she got to a thousand, she would start again, gritting her teeth—she would push through.
At the end of the first day, they made camp under the protective cover of a rock overhang. A silver blue stream ran through the copper hued rocks nearby. They filled their water flasks and rolled out their sleeping mats. With the Iron legion’s patrols known to frequent these lands, they didn’t make a fire.
Anthea nibbled on a strip of dried meat and watched a large flower with yellow petals and lilac center sway in the wind. She was too tired to speak, too tired to even think.
The elves took turns keeping watch, letting her sleep.
She woke to the sound of rain pattering against the rocks. Turning to her side, she clutched her cloak tighter—no, not only her cloak—there were two cloaks on her. Her eyes shot to Eldrion. As she had suspected—he wore only his leathers.
Rising from her mat, Anthea gritted her teeth to keep in the moans of discomfort. Everything hurt: her legs, her thighs, her back—everything. She stretched a bit to lessen the stiffness of her limbs, rolled her sleeping mat and packed it in her bag.
“Did you sleep well?” Eldrion offered her a cup of something steaming. They had risked a fire. The rain was giving them cover.
Anthea didn’t answer, instead she handed him his cloak with a questioning gaze.
