He laughs at my reaction and runs a hand through his dark, snow-dampened hair. In a good mood despite the snow, he wraps an arm around my shoulder, squeezing me to him.
“It’s cold out there,” Helmar says.
“Are you sure you want to leave?” Gwen asks us. “You’re more than welcome to stay here until the storm blows over.”
One more day we stay is one more day Father has to endure the change.
I shake my head even though I’m not looking forward to riding in this weather. “We can’t.”
Galinor agrees we must leave despite the snow, and I sip my tea as he finishes his porridge. Once he’s done, I don my heavy fur-lined cloak. We thank Gwen for the meal and then traipse through the snow to ready the horses. The skies are still heavy with clouds, but the snow has slowed to tiny, sporadic flakes.
I stare at the white, rocky landscape to the north. I’m not eager to start on the road that will lead us to the most hostile of Elden’s kingdoms.
I scoop Danver up and wrap him in my cloak. Again, I ask, “Whatdoyou think an iktar beast is?”
Galinor secures his pack to his horse. “I have no idea.”
I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.
Chapter 21
As the days grow colder, they are also shorter. By the time we cross into Errinton, it is mid-afternoon, and the sun is already making its descent. In a few more hours, it will be dusk. The mountains rise around us in jagged ice-capped peaks, but the snow that blanketed the ground this morning has melted in the meager sunshine that broke free of the clouds early this afternoon.
Now the roads are mucky and rutted from wagon wheels. Gray patches of snow linger in shadows under trees and behind rocks and crags. On one side of the road, a sheer cliff rises. Only a few persistent evergreens cling to rocky shelves. There are caves in the rock face that most likely shelter bats. The thought makes me tense. Surely, like rodents, they are asleep for the season.
“You look uneasy,” Galinor says.
“I am a little.”
It’s not bats that truly make me nervous. Though theflying vermin would be unpleasant to encounter, they aren’t nearly as bad as dragons. We’re in their land now.
We’ve passed no one on the road the entire day, and the emptiness is eerie.
“How far to Gelminshard, do you think?” I ask.
Galinor carries a map with him, but he doesn’t consult it, having already studied it at length. “An hour—maybe more, maybe less. It depends on the road ahead.”
I chew my lip, waiting for trouble.
Pika seems nervous as well, though I don’t know if it’s because she senses something, or if it’s all the new smells. She walks beside us, her tail snapping back and forth. Danver darts between rocks, never straying too far from Pika.
A large plain stretches to our right. In any other kingdom, this land would be farmed, but here, it is littered with rocks and the occasional boulder. Patches of dry, brown tundra grass blow in the wind. They are the only sign of life. It’s possible wildflowers grow here in summer, but now it’s desolate. In the distance, a small herd of shaggy cattle graze. What they could have found to eat, I don’t know.
We ride on, never seeing a soul. Soon, nestled in a valley ahead, a village appears in the distance.
“It’s not what I expected,” I say.
Gilded rooftops gleam in the evening sunshine like beacons. A castle rises from the rear of the town, an impressive fortress of gray stone. The gates to the village are flanked with two huge, life-size dragon statues. Even from this distance, it is impressive.
I give Galinor a questioning look.
He shrugs. “Only a decade ago, Errinton was the wealthiest of Elden’s kingdoms.”
“How sad,” I whisper, and then I turn to Pika, motioning to the rocks and trees. “Go on now. Danver, you too.”
We’re well away from any people, so they should be safe here. I don’t dare take Pika into Gelminshard—not into a village of dragon slayers.
Once Pika and Danver are hidden from sight, Galinor and I ride into the village. Sharp-eyed guards watch us enter, but they don’t ask our business. As we ride through the gates, I realize the grandeur from a distance is deceiving. The streets are dirty. Small, pale children sit in groups, playing in the dirt. Half are dressed for summer, and the others are in clothing both tattered and too small. They watch us pass, their eyes intent.
