In my awe, the song in my mind dies, and the magickal weapon evaporates like stardust on a breeze. Nevertheless, relief washes over me as I take in the surrounding wood.
When I turn around, Alexus stands flanked by our horses, wearing a proud, closed-lip smile. The Eastlanders’ wall still stands behind him, a truly mighty work, only now a carved path exists through the blackened thorns and twisted trees.
“I…I did it,”I sign, half-believing. I conjured a powerful magickal sword, and I managed to use it to cut through the most impressive barrier I’ve ever seen.
Alexus’s smile brightens, and a dimple dips deep into his left cheek, unobscured by his beard. I bite my lip and silently damn him, because that smile is a lovely sight that I want to hate but somehow can’t.
“Be proud,”he replies and then signs,“You conjured the perfect song, and your magick delivered us.”
Much as I want to feel powerful and excited, the thrill of conquering the wall fades. For one, I didn’t truly conjure the perfect song. He sang it to me. I wouldn’t have known how to manifest a magickal sword without him. Secondly, I have a feeling the hard part of this journey is only beginning.
With a worried eye, I study the landscape around us, feeling so small and insignificant in comparison. I’ve never seen the forest’s immensity from the inside. It’s always been a mystery realm lying at the edge of my world. Witch Walkers never cross the tree line, never step foot in the wood’s shade. Frostwater is as foreign to me as Winterhold will be.
If we ever get there.
The trees here appear as ancient as Tiressia, colossal and mostly evergreen, though there’s plenty of timber showing autumn’s burnishedshades, bearing soon-to-be naked limbs. Thousands of trees stretch as far as the eye can see, creating a sense of confusion I’m certain could trap anyone here.
Though the wood is intimidating, it’s also a wonder. Gnarled roots sprawl across the forest floor, twisting beneath soft moss and winding around verdant ferns with retreating fronds turning brown for winter. It’s darker here and cooler, the sun struggling to stretch its rays through the forest’s thick canopy. Frost has settled and survived on exposed branches and in tiny windswept dunes amid fallen leaves.
I don’t know what I expected, but it isn’t this. Perhaps monstrous trees that come to life or shadows that can swallow a person whole? Beauty, quiet stillness, and archaic mystery aren’t what I’d imagined.
Alexus drops to one knee and grabs a stick. “We’re a day and a half behind the Eastlanders, and a sennight from Winterhold without the enchantment ahead to endure.” He clears a swath of moss to reveal the soil beneath and begins drawing a crude map that means absolutely nothing to me. “Nephele and the others will do their best to keep the Eastlanders far from Winter Road.” He draws a double line for the road, sharp slashes in the dirt. “And that’s where you and I need to end up if we plan to journey to the castle with any sense of direction. We just need to avoid the ridge to the west and the ravine to the north.”
“What if we cross paths with the Eastlanders before we reach Winter Road?”I ask.
The Witch Walkers’ magick might not harm us, but the enemy is another story.
“It’s possible,” Alexus replies, drawing another odd line and an X to mark some random spot in this never-ending wood. “Which means we need better weapons than what we have.” He pauses, scrubbing his brow. “But I can’t remedy that until we get to Winter Road. We have to hope for the best between now and then, and that it’s even reachable.”
Hope for the best? All the sexy dimples in the world wouldn’t still my hands at that remark.
“Wonderful. Sounds like a great plan.”This time, Idoroll my eyes.
He arches a brow. “I’m not sure what you want from me, Raina. This is a game of chance we’re walking into. I’m trying to give you someidea of where we’re going, should we become separated, gods forbid.” He carves out a tower and stabs the stick in the ground before sitting back on his haunches. “We may already be too late to stop the Prince of the East and his men from reaching Winterhold. There’s no way to know. We have no idea which band of Eastlanders your vision is showing us. And this wall? This wall and the fire magick we saw in the vale could be the simplest of their power. The prince is all but infected with the Shadow World, and he clearly has a sorcerer in tow. We can’t know what we face.”
Words blurt from my fingers before I have time to think them through.“I thought you held no doubt for your Witch Walkers’ skill.”
“I don’t,” he snaps, my hateful tone clearly irritating him. “Between them and our king, the Eastlanders are in trouble. But I’ve seen things in the last day and a half that I never imagined. The Eastlanders shouldn’t know this type of magick, or at least they haven’t before now, and the Prince of the East is…” He sighs. “I don’t know what he fucking is anymore, but I can’t help worrying that we’ve highly underestimated his ability.”
Anotherwe. This time it means him and the Frost King, I’m sure.
And maybe Nephele.
“If the Eastlanders make it to the castle and take the king,” he says, “then there’s always a chance we can intercept them on their trip back through.”
I frown, questioning this man’s strategy and mapmaking skills, but also the logic.“There is more than one way out of the Northlands,”I remind him.“The Mondulak Range. The Western Mountains. The Iceland Plains. They may have a different exit strategy.”
There are other ways in as well. Maybe we should’ve tried another route, too.
“If the Eastlanders conquer the Witch Walkers’ magick and take Winterhold,” he replies, taking his stick and forming rugged ranges, “they will avoid both stretches of mountains when they leave. As will we. There are too many fatal passages on either side this time of year. As for the plains, they would never survive the trek to the northernmost villages. I’m sure they realize that. Frostwater Wood is the only possible way in or out.” He pauses and glances toward the sky before meeting myeyes. “So the plan is simple. We get to Winter Road and save our king, one way or another.”
He stands and turns to help me mount the mare again, bending with cupped hands. When I make no move, he straightens to his full height, and with those big, strong hands planted on his hips, narrows his eyes like he senses something wrong.
Somethingiswrong.
The Witch Collector and I have indeed found ourselves on the same side, but now that my mind isn’t so clouded and I’m finally inside this forest, I fear we have very different objectives.
“What is it?” he asks. “Say what you mean to say. Your face hides nothing, Raina.”
