As promised, Lord Sagan had topped up their coin purse, replenished their food supply, replaced the weapons they’d lost, and, to Thia’s amazement, performed a handful of spells to aid them on their way. He twirled his fingers, cutting patterns through the air, and muttered a string of rehearsed words she didn’t understand. Her cloak, draped across her shoulders, lit with what she thought was fire, but it didn’t burn her. Then the light faded. “To keep out the rain,” he said simply. He did the same for her companions and gave them each a magically refilling waterskin, instructing them to leave it open each night to have it full by morning.
He didn’t ask them where they were going, but his face told Thia he knew they still intended to make for the Lightning Tower.
“One more thing,” he said, as they prepared to set forth. His brown eyes shifted back and forth between Thran, Dess, and Oskaren, before finally settling on Oskaren. He reached back to take a large, round object from Archer, who stood just behind.
A shield.
“It blocks witch’s fire.” He grimaced. “Be careful where you bleed. She will track you by the smell of it.”
An hour later, they were walking across a plain toward the craggy mountains that dominated the horizon. Dess strolled beside Thia, Thran a few steps ahead. Oskaren walked on her other side, farther away than Dess, but close enough that she could make out the girl’s ever-present smirk.
A small grove of trees disrupted the monotonous grass, so they decided to stop to rest for the night, counting on the foliage to hide them from Xercae. They arrived just before sundown, stretching their bedrolls between trunks, then sat in a line at the edge of the greenery to watch the mountains.
In Black Forest, trees had obscured the sky. In the Magician’s castle, there had been no need to mark their route. Tonight would be the first time Thia would heed Callista’s instructions and witness the flash of lightning that gave the king’s tower its name. She lounged next to Dess as the sun sank behind the peaks, the sky shifting from orange, to pink, to purple. Then finally black.
The night split in two. Thunder accompanied the flash, quiet at this distance, and it was gone almost as quickly as it had come. But for a moment, a pillar of light crested the mountains, bright yellow and swirling, just to the right of their camp.
“Northeast,” Dess remarked. “We’ll have to bend our path when we emerge from the Dwimor Pass.”
“Ifwe emerge,” Oskaren commented lightly.
“What exactly does ‘haunted’ mean, anyway?” Thia inquired.
Oskaren’s voice took on a singsong quality. “The sanctuary to which ghosts flee, evil specters who resent the living and find nothing more pleasurable than leading travelers to their deaths.”
Thia shook her head.
“It will be alright,” Dess said, patting her shoulder. “We’ll stay close together and light fires. It’s said that flames remind them too much of the warmth of the living. They’ll flee from the heat.” He offered a smile, but Thia could tell it was only for her benefit, and fear simmered underneath. “When we descend, we’ll be in House Nightwing, or what’s left of it. The Lightning Tower is just beyond, at the end of the Dyrstlæcung Valley. Just a quick stop, and you’ll be home.”
She returned the smile, but dreaded dawn.
Thia stared at the mountain looming above her. It was the smallest in the range and yet impossibly steep. A labyrinth of rocky crags, her legs felt tired just from the sight of it.
The morning had passed uneventfully, though Thia couldn’t stop herself from searching the skies for Xercae whenever she heard a sound or felt the brush of wind. Now it was midafternoon, and the Dwimor Pass lay just ahead, a deeper crag in the rocky face that provided a kind of channel up the mountain. Thia eyed the steep walls nervously as they began the ascent, knowing that, while it provided some shelter from Xercae and the elements, it also entrapped them. Once in the pass, the only way out was through it.
It wasn’t long before Thia’s legs began to burn. The incline was brutal, so sharp that she had to use her hands for purchase. After an hour, the temperature dropped noticeably. A strange mist slunk around their ankles, churning like water, despite their shelter from the wind. It kept to the shadows of the rocky outcroppings; Thia and her companions stayed in the sun, but a white tendril reached for her, forming wispy fingers that stretched hungrily from the edge of the shade.
Dess stuck to her side. After a while, he took her hand, his palms as cold and clammy as hers. She squeezed back and shot him a sympathetic smile, which he returned.
After another two hours, they stopped to rest. Thia collapsed. She felt nauseous, her lungs burning, and sweat drenched her shirt under her pack despite the cold air. They ate a meager lunch, attention glued to the shadows.
Something brushed Thia’s shoulder, and she startled. But it was just Mavrel.
“Hey, you,” she said, reaching up to stroke his head with a finger. He nipped gently at her knuckle and fluffed his wings, feathers tickling her neck. She let out a puff of a laugh. The sound echoed eerily against the stone.
A shadow appeared above. Thia yelped, covering her head with her hands, nearly crushing Mavrel, who gave an indignant squawk.
“Twitchy, aren’t we?” Oskaren said.
She uncovered her face. The girl towered over her, hand extended. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
She eyed the hand warily. But when her legs didn’t respond to her command to rise, she begrudgingly accepted the help, half expecting the other girl to yank her forward onto her face.
She didn’t.
Thia shouldered her pack, wincing as her thighs wobbled under the added weight. Dess and Thran were already ahead; she scurried after them, trying not to grimace with Oskaren’s attention on her. Between her terror at the mist, the slope, and the painful straps of the pack pressing into her shoulders, she had to concentrate just to remain upright. Despite her efforts, it wasn’t long before she began to drag behind her companions.
To her surprise, it was Oskaren who finally stopped. She watched Thia for a moment, saying nothing, then reached out an arm. “Give me your pack.”
