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RHARRETH TROMPED doggedlyupward, leaning into the blizzard’s gale as he navigated the steep trail up the side of the mountain in his snowshoes. They had switched to snowshoes at the base of the mountain since this path was too narrow and steep for someone as inexperienced as Melantha to traverse on skis, even with her elven grace. They both still gripped their ski poles for extra balance.
They had been skiing, snowshoeing, and trudging southward for three days. And, for three days, the blizzard had yet to relent. If anything, the weather had gotten worse. The wind whipped with such force that it was hard to breathe, even for him. The snow was so thick that he could not see either the drop off to his left or the rising mountainside on his right. He was navigating by the sense that his magic gave him of the ice all around and the stone of the mountain beneath him.
The rope connecting him to Melantha tightened, and when he glanced over his shoulder, she was nothing but a gray shape barely visible in the tumult of snow. She was hunched, struggling to place one snowshoe in front of the other. Even as he watched, she did not set her foot far enough forward and instead placed the back of one snowshoe partially on top of the front of the other.
She staggered, tripped, and fell to her hands and knees. Unlike some of her earlier falls, she didn’t immediately push herself to her feet. Instead, she remained hunched like that, as if she was considering not getting back up.
In this weather, stopping was the same as dying.
Rharreth trudged back to her, lifting each snowshoe in the stomping motion that planted them firmly in the snow with each step. When he reached her side, he knelt and reached for her.
As he gripped her upper arms, he could sense her magic pulsing through her even through the layers of her clothing and his mittens. When she glanced up at him, her eyes were glowing faintly green, and even the exposed skin on her face had a green, magical cast to it.
Where she did not have the physical strength or endurance, she was pushing herself forward on magic alone. Much as her brother Laesornysh had during that final battle in Gror Grar when, even as he was dying, he had fought thanks to the illusion of strength Melantha’s magic had given him.
But, like Laesornysh, Melantha would eventually collapse once the strain of pushing her body past its limits was too much to sustain.
Based on the way she was trembling, she was close to that point now.
“We cannot stop now.” Rharreth had to shout to be heard over the howl of the wind gusting through the mountain pass. The cold cut straight through his layers of clothing, and only his magic’s protection kept him warm.
“I know. I just need to rest. Then I can keep going.” Melantha’s voice was raw and shaking almost as much as she was. Her scarf had slipped down, and the mucus from her running nose had frozen onto her upper lip.
It was so intensely cold that any water in their canteens was frozen solid. Any food in the pack she still carried was hard and frozen. In this weather, even his snow shelter would not be enough to warm her.
She needed a fire, and soon.
Rharreth glanced over his shoulder, trying to make out anything of the path before them. Surely they were nearing Gozat Stronghold, the home of Zavni’s parents, a warrior family sure to remain loyal to Rharreth. If Rharreth had kept his bearings, Gozat Stronghold should be just over this mountain and in the valley below.
If he was going the right direction. If his sense of the mountains had not steered him wrong in this murk.
He just had to get himself and Melantha there. Somehow.
He tightened his grip on her shoulders and felt the surge of her magic as she attempted to give herself more strength. “I will carry you.”
She shook her head and leaned on him as she struggled back to her feet. Once standing, she swayed, knees nearly buckling. “No. My weight will tire you more quickly. I can keep going.”
