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TWENTY-THREE
Two weeks later, we rode out with some much-improved men.
The preparations weren’t without an intense debate between Kelyn and Kenrik about who should stay behind. King Sieffre requested that only one of his sons go on the mission. He would have given command to one of his other captains, but since I was leading the unit, he wanted Kelyn or Kenrik as my protector. The other was to stay behind and assure his people of a future king. I didn’t need a protector. Sometimes mortals were so frustrating.
Kenrik drew the short straw.
I didn’t like leaving him. He had become my favorite sparring companion, and I trusted him to have my back, especially when we fought in groups. I didn’t worry about Kenrik’s bruised ego when I beat him, unlike with Kelyn, who didn’t quite grasp my trump card—an immortal’s strength and speed, a cunning eye and precision. I didn’t use my light when I fought, but even so, I couldn’t hold back what I was made of.
After ten days on the road, we drew near Alwyn Foothills. The woods were dank—depressing—as our horses plodded along. A chill wafted in the air. The first snowfall would arrive in approximately two weeks. The men were eager to finish their mission and return to their families before becoming stuck in waist-high snowdrifts. Kelyn was eager to complete the mission so Lord Mathonwy’s people would have a peaceful winter without fear of being pillaged.
I didn’t understand how devastating a winter was without the proper stockpiles of commodities. I took so much for granted in Gorlassar. A continual bloom and planting season meant food was always fresh. Goods were mostly processed for trips to barren areas, which were few in Gorlassar.
I couldn’t grasp how long winter in the highlands was either. Only during the days on the road, as the autumn gloom drove itself into my bones and I warded the oppressiveness off with my light, did I come to realize winter’s impending severity.
The men became edgy.
Kelyn asked me daily if I sensed the cluster of evil that was the enemy’s men. I wished I hadn’t told him how I could discern the enemy, but the operation depended on my power. Because of darkness in their hearts, flourishing because of every foul, wicked deed they’d ever done, I wouldn’t sense much light. Their souls would feel like blackness, creating a trackable hole in my vision. Though flickers of light vanished from my sight frequently, the occurrences didn’t mean we had arrived at the rabble’s stronghold—yet.
I assessed the townsfolk we came across. The more I looked, the more I realized humans were vastly varied in the range from good to bad. Even Kelyn’s men differed in brightness. The more time I spent with them, the easier discerning their lights became.
When I entered the mortal realm, I was so used to every glaring light of every emrys in Gorlassar that the faint light of the humans was impossible to discern. I’d been taught that all beings made by the Creator carried light to one degree or another. As my sight grew accustomed to the mortals’ lights, my ability to sense humans sharpened, and their lights dotted my sight—never with the same intensity of the men and women of my homeland, but at least I saw them.
And their lack.
Kelyn shone with a regal strength at the start of our journey. Compared to an emrys, he was but a candle beside the sun, but I still admired his spirit. His light wavered on some days, taking hits when I teased him, but when he countered with a clever comeback, he burned brightly once again.
I smiled, thinking of his brother’s light. Kenrik blossomed with the hope of each new day. I could have used him to lift my spirits as the days grew colder.
Lord Mathonwy met us with a group of his men. From his scouts’ reports, we believed the hideout was beyond the next pocket of villages. Those were the ones hit the hardest.
We had no way to estimate the size of the enemy’s band. Raids usually consisted of a couple of dozen brutes. Kelyn promised the total number in the hive might be ten times that. Once we drew closer, my light would follow the trail of evil—the void of light. And we’d know the odds our unit of fifty faced.
I gazed into the darkness beyond our camp. A village was to the north. When I closed my eyes, I saw a sprinkling of lights grouped together. The cheerful lights of children. The harried lights of mothers. Duty-bound lights of fathers. The night was early, and the days grew longer, so most lights were relatively stationary as families gathered indoors around what I imagined were woodstoves and tables for supper.
A bold light flared into my mind’s eye, as if a soul had blinked into existence, and pulsed steadily for ten beats before staying on. In my sight, the light was far away, but it peered over the horizon of my mind.
Seren, doesn’t that look like the light of an emrys? The sparkling light was as far away from where I stood as was the entrance to Gorlassar, but in the opposite direction.
I thought of Siana, the first emrys to leave.
It could be. It’s far brighter than the mortals’ lights, Seren said.
Why am I noticing it just now?
Too far away before?
We don’t have time to investigate. After this excursion, we can discover who the light belongs to. A growing excitement filled my belly. Could the light be Siana’s? I wasn’t the only emrys in this world! It’s half a day away by dragon.
I slipped into contemplation. A peace sifted through my core. My life felt driven. Empowered. Pieces settled into place. Possibilities. A home. Friends to love.
Kelyn edged up beside me. “Are you sick of nights on the road?” He took a long swig from a mug before jiggling it at me. “Warms the blood. Would you like a sip? Cian makes a throat-burning brew.”
I shook my head. “I’m plenty warm.”
“You’re always warm.” He set his mug on a stump and studied my unadorned tunic, neither thick for protection during combat nor quilted to retain heat. Kelyn wore a padded long-sleeved jerkin under his wool surcoat, but he still shivered on cold evenings.
“It’s my light,” I said dreamily, watching my puffy breath, imagining it sailing on the breeze to a sunny place.
