Verice ignored her, setting the basket down and sweeping the cloak over her shoulders. “Trust me,” he said, clearly amused by her confusion.
Warna huffed out a breath, but left the cloak in place. Verice picked up the basket and led the way.
The door opened into a kitchen garden with a privy beyond. Verice opened the door with its moon carving, and bowed her through.
Warna had brothers; she gave Verice her best ‘what-are-you-up-to look’. But he just shook his head in denial of any trick. “Watch the first step,” he said as she entered.
She found herself on a high mountain trail, ice and snow glittering in the moonlight, the fierce wind stealing her breath.
Chapter Nine
Warna staggered, for she had stepped from bright warm day into crystal cold night. She felt Verice’s warm arm wrap around her waist.
“Told you.” His breath was warm on her ear as the cold wind swirled tiny snowflakes around them.
The path was clear, but not the peaks. Hard, sheer spikes of stone, decorated with the rims of frost sparkled under the moonlight. What stars could be seen were bright in the midnight sky. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.
She breathed in. The air seemed thin and insubstantial, as if her breath was not enough to sustain her. And the bitter cold cut right through the cloak. A gust of wind hit them, carrying sparks of icy snow that stung her face.
But Verice stood behind her, warm and strong. She wasn’t afraid; although a glance back showed that there was no door behind them. “Where are—”
The rock face farther down the path split open, spilling warmth and light. “Verice! How good to see you,” an elderly elf with wisps of white hair poked his head out the door. “And company! Even better. Come in, come in!”
Verice guided her the few steps up and through the door. “Wolfe, it’s good to see you.”
It was a small room, that smelled of leather, soap, and bread. It was lined with shelves, and cloaks hanging from pegs. Warna watched where she stepped. The floor was cluttered with boots tucked under benches, and parcels and baskets at her feet. Winter woolens spilling from the shelves.
There was a scrabble of nails on wooden floors, and they were surrounded by a pack of large smooth-haired dogs, noses lifted to take in the scents, tails high, barking in their excitement. Warna laughed, trying to scratch as many ears as she could reach.
“Now, now, stop that, settle down,” The old elf closed the door, cutting off the cold air. The dogs ignored him as they milled about, knocking into Warna, scattering parcels and tipping over baskets.
“Sit,” Verice commanded.
The dogs all sat, tongues lolling out of their mouths, uttering muted whines of excitement and happiness. They were various hues, running from dark brown to soft gray, long noses and all leg.
“They’re beautiful,” Warna said, as Verice took her cloak. The whole room reminded her of home so much. Her brother’s hunting dogs, her father’s boots. She blinked away her tears, reaching out to pet the closest. The animal wiggled all over, darting pleading looks at Verice. “Down,” Verice said, shaking his head.
The dog yipped as it collapsed onto its side, rolled over and begged Warna to rub its belly. Warna laughed, and obliged.
“Shameless,” Verice said gruffly, as he gave the others attention.
“None to blame but yourself,” the older elf snorted. “Since they’re your dogs.”
“They are?” Warna glanced up to find him staring at her, his gaze flicking to her ears. Suddenly self-conscious, she stood.
“They were,” Verice straightened. “Wolfe, may I present—”
“No, no, let’s wait until Kalynn is with us,” Those considering eyes were now twinkling with some inner joke. “Come up, come up,” The elf smiled at Warna. “We’re on the roof. It’s a bitter night, but perfectly clear.” He led the way to a door opposite, which opened onto a spiral staircase. “Kalynn will want to hear every word.”
Verice gestured, her lidded-basket still on his shoulder. Warna followed the elf up the most cluttered staircase she’d ever seen. The staircase was narrow, the stone steps all worn in the center from years of use. The light was warm, welcoming and steady, but it was as if the very stones glowed, since there were no torches she could see. Even the wooden doors they passed glowed yellow with age.
On each side of every step was a basket, crock, chest, with piles of books and scrolls adding to the clutter. All filled with such a variety of things that Warna’s head was spinning before they’d gone a single flight. Baskets of crystals, of rocks, of yarn and cloth. Beads in one, and gold coins in another, none of which she’d ever seen before. Shells, and feathers and dried plants all haphazardly piled in various boxes and containers.
The walls held swords and daggers, shields and lances, all displayed with animal skins spread out between them. At one point she saw two crossed lances, and between them a large rib bone decorated with beads and feather and a strip of bells.
She actually stopped before one beautiful tapestry, showing a warrior-woman on the back of what at first appeared to be a winged horse, carrying a glowing blue sword. But a closer look showed that it was more of a hawk-horse, with fierce eyes and clawed front feet. Still, it took her breath away, the details of the feathered mane, and the light in the woman’s eyes.
“Airon,” Verice said behind her, re-balancing her basket. “They are called airons. Fierce fighters, and rulers of the skies.”
