Karigan’s body kept moving because Lil forced it to, one step after another. She had ripped off the sleeves of Karigan’s shirt and wadded the knife wound with them. Finally she was able to slow the bleeding.
Karigan! she sent with her mind. She heard nothing in response, and perceived only the damnable snow.
Karigan plowed through the snow, hugging her arms around herself in an effort to keep warm. It piled up on her shoulders and head, and dripped an icy finger beneath her collar. She could not remember why she was here, or how she had gotten into this wintry wilderness in the first place. Blood oozed from a wound to her midsection, freezing in red crystals. She had lost feeling in her fingers and toes. All she knew was that she wanted to lay down and sleep.
No, she thought. Must not do it. But she couldn’t figure out why.
She thought she heard her name shouted in the distance, but decided it was only the wind rushing through the forest.
Dusk was settling in when Lil stumbled upon the ancient road, a road built and once used by Eletians before the coming of Mornhavon. She had never seen Argenthyne in its full glory, for it had fallen before her birth, but like all children, she had heard tales. Yes, even in the war-ravaged orphan camps, there was the magic of stories, and the most magical were those about lost Argenthyne.
A gruff veteran named Ansel visited the children and told them the tales. He was missing an arm, and a patch covered one of his eyes, but he never failed to mesmerize them with his descriptions of Laurelyn’s shining castle of moonbeams. The children, famished in mind and body, had hung on to his words as if they were physical sustenance.
She stumbled over a loose cobble, painfully jarring the knife wound, but at least managed to prevent Karigan from falling. She paused to rest, her eyes drawn to the side of the road. A statue stood there gazing back, arms upraised. A mage who had worked on the building of the wall claimed these statues had once held globes that collected the rays of sun, moon, and stars, and showed the way through the night. Lumeni, he called them. This statue no longer possessed a globe, nor did she have hands with which to hold one.
Lil had not known Argenthyne, but she was not unfamiliar with this road. The old mage had called it the Avenue of Light. She was unsure of the Eletian name for it. She had traveled upon it before, and it only looked more decrepit, more overcome than ever. Perhaps in the old days, some vestige of the goodness of the Eletians had lingered before Mornhavon had perverted the forest wholly.
She now knew where she was, and where the road would lead her. She would seek the tower, and even if there was no help for Karigan there, she could reach the other side of the wall through it.
She forced the body forward, realizing with alarm her fingers and toes had gone numb. She shoved her hands beneath her armpits.
“C’mon, Karigan, lass,” she murmured. “Stay with me.” She decided to sing. Whether it was the novelty of using a real voice, or a way to amuse herself, she wasn’t sure. She did hope a bit of the song found Karigan.
Great heart, stout heart
Strong and bold,
Molten and fiery
Cast in a mold
The winged horse emerges
Iron and cold,
The mage smith bids it
To choose and hold
Lil paused singing and considered the racket she was making. Karigan was completely tone deaf! It should, she thought, scare off any of Mornhavon’s beasts that might be lurking about.
Inspired, and warmed by the singing, she took a deep breath and continued the song.
A Rider’s true heart
It shall seek,
Great heart, stout heart
Strong and bold . . .
Karigan wasn’t sure what inspired her to sing the inane song. She could barely move her frozen lips to form the words, and the cold air stole her breath away. Was it a song Estral had taught her? She hardly remembered who Estral was. A musician?
She sagged against a tree trunk and took up the words once again. They were more croaked than sung, the effort pulling painfully at her wound.
Worn with honor
Worn with pride,
Worn by Riders
Of the Sacor Tribes
Humble brooch
Iron brooch,
Strength it provides
Against the evil tide
“Too humble is this iron brooch,”
The great Isbemic said,
“for the hearts of Riders bold
shine as pure as burnished gold.”
From cold iron he made gold
Molten and fiery,
Cast in a mold
The mage smith Isbemic made it so
Great heart, stout heart
Strong and bold,
The iron hearts of Riders
Glitter as gold
The iron hearts of Riders
Glitter as gold . . .
Lil liked shouting the song into the forest, hearing her voice—Karigan’s really—echo, even though it was off key. She hoped all of Mornhavon’s creatures were cowering at the sound. Truly, she was trying to send a message: A bold Rider walks here. Beware.
Perhaps she was taking an unnecessary risk by drawing attention to Karigan, but she couldn’t help herself. There was nothing so empowering as walking nonchalantly through the enemy camp. Besides, Karigan’s body was warming a little with the singing. She launched into it again.
Great heart, stout heart
Strong and bold . . .
By the time Lil reached the wall and had begun walking in the direction of the tower, she had sung Karigan’s voice hoarse. It had helped pass the time at least, and helped her keep a steady pace. She had come this far even before the forest turned an inky black with nightfall.
When she finally came upon Haethen Toundrel, she wondered belatedly whether or not it would admit her, as it always had during her life.