Page 107 of Memory of Ashes

“I wish someone had tended to my wounds,” he whispered to Amelia with a grin.

The scout reported that he had seen a cloud of dust in the distance and stayed long enough to identify an immense human army marching towards them, larger than both fae armies combined.

“We need to move fast,” Elthar said, giving the order for them to pack up quickly and leave.

“What will you do if they catch up to us?” Amelia asked.

She knew that if they engaged in battle, it would be futile for the humans, regardless of their numbers. Because the fae were immortal in this world, they would either have to withstand the human attack or annihilate the army—unless Amelia could convince both sides to stand down.

“I don’t want to find out,” he said. “Let’s just get to the rift before that happens.”

They left in a rush, leaving many of their tents behind.

It wouldn’t take long to get there; they were only a few hours’ ride away from Mount Ryjul. She could see it looming on the horizon, climbing into the sky where it vanished into the clouds above.

They were as ready as they could be as they headed towards the mountain. None of them mentioned the flaws in their plan or the fact that they had no alternative.

They were hoping for the best.

“Eleandor, maybe you and Amelia should take an escort and go ahead of us and search for the runes. You could get there faster than travelling with the army,” Elthar suggested.

“I’ll join them,” Casyl said.

“Of course.”

They galloped ahead of the army with Danae, Ruven, and an escort in tow.

The sun was at the highest point when they reached the base of the mountain range. They had a good head start before the army joined them.

The rift shimmered high on the side of the mountain, surrounded by snow and ice. The greenery of the ancient forest was barely visible from their height.

“The runes are in a cave near the rift. I hope you’re all ready for a hike,” she said.

Amelia had wrapped a cloak around herself against the cold bite of the wind. The higher they climbed, the colder it became.

Her legs ached from the climb and from riding, but she continued as fast as she could, leading them to the caves.

Casyl and Ruven barely exerted themselves, but Eleandor struggled. This was the only time he’d shown his age. The fae were youthful in appearance even when considered old. It was hard to judge exactly how old they were. She had learned that Eleandor was among the oldest of the fae, alongside Elthar and the late Tiryn.

They reached the cave, and Amelia peered in. “This is the one,” she said, her breath hastened with the exertion of the climb.

Eleandor climbed through the narrow cave opening. It was small, only allowing space for a few of them. Part of it had collapsed during the earthquake. The crevice she’d fallen into was no longer visible under the debris.

The runes had been carved on the wall but had faded with age. Squinting, he tried to make sense of them.

“Well?” Casyl asked impatiently.

“I’m deciphering them,” Eleandor snapped. “They are ancient and badly eroded. I’ve not read runes like these for centuries. Give me a moment.”

Amelia moved closer to the wall. “The runes in the mine were carved later than these, but they were still ancient. Their edges were sharper and the cuts were deeper,” she said.

Eleandor glanced at her. “How much later?”

“Centuries perhaps. I don’t know exactly, but the same symbols were used again by a different hand.”

“Instructions, perhaps, or a warning,” Casyl said.

“Or a record,” Amelia replied. “Proof that the veil weakened more than once.”