When Yarif mounted, Draylon led the way through melting slush down the track leading away from the keep. Guards loaned to them by Niam closed in ahead of and behind them.
Now, the true battle began.
Chapter Thirty-two
Yariffellsilentwhenthey traversed the pass, which Draylon found a bit worrying, as they would be retracing a route filled with bad memories. He also couldn’t help wondering if Niam’s men were guarding Yarif and Draylon or guarding against them. Maybe a little of both. He’d spoken often to Niam and thought him honest, but if the situation turned violent between the empire and Delletina, Niam would take care of his own people first.
As would Draylon.
While two soldiers split off to check the cabin where they’d taken refuge, Draylon scanned the area for survivors who might have returned, either Jayra’s or Illa’s. His shoulder throbbed at the memory of being shot. And worse, the mental image of Jayra smashed to pulp by the avalanche. Being here inspired new respect for this wild country, especially the dangers lurking around every corner.
Draylon steered his mount around the remains of a man lying face down, partially covered by snow. His tattered rags might have once been a Delletinian army uniform. Then came another body and another, some partially eaten. Paw prints surrounded the carnage.
He pulled his mule up beside a guard. “What will become of the bodies?” Or what was left of them—not much, in some cases. “Will anyone bury them?”
“Those the mountain claims, it keeps, Mother Mountain feeding her children, the wolves, and other creatures in need of a meal during the cold months.”
Finally, Draylon reached the spot where he’d struck Illa down. Mauled remains lay still and frozen, snow dug away by predators. Her clothing and armor gave away her identity. “Stop!” Draylon dismounted and sank to his knees beside the body, removing his gloves.
“Mother Mountain frowns on robbing the dead.” The guard gestured, touching his fingertips to his head and then his heart.
“I’m not robbing, just searching.” Draylon rifled through Illa’s clothing, doing his best to ignore her empty eye sockets and teeth marks on her jawbone. Too bad he couldn’t search her horse’s packs. A leather thong hung around her neck, holding…
Yarif’s wedding ring.
Father had acquired the ring, not Draylon, and the simple gold band would be forever spoiled by horrible events. Draylon left the ring where it lay. He’d get Yarif a new one.
Nothing else of value waited to be found. Draylon made his way through the battlefield, leading the world’s most ornery mule, dodging nipping teeth,
He found the remains of two horses, one stripped of its pack, the other fully loaded. With the help of two guards, Draylon managed to unpack the horse from one side, but they couldn’t lift it enough to get to the other.
Mostly clothes unsuitable for this unforgiving climate. After much digging, he found a small scroll with a broken seal. He didn’t recognize the sigil pressed into the wax. While he couldn’t read the message, he recognized Cracian.
Cracian? Had Illa’s treachery sunk so deep? Was this another part of the emperor’s plot? To have a message in Cracian found on Yarif’s body?
Or perhaps Illa made deals with Lord Whreyn and someone from Craice.
Draylon asked the guard, “If this message is critical to the country's future, would Mother Mountain allow me to take it?” He wasn’t about to go against local customs, but he needed this scroll. Yarif mentioned reading Cracian books. Maybe he could decipher the message.
“You must leave something of equal value.”
What would be of equal value to a message that might or might not be critical?
The guard barked something too quickly for Draylon to understand, then said more slowly, “My brother is a skilled hunter. He’ll leave a bird or a rabbit. After all, paper cannot feed the Mother’s children.”
Draylon donned his gloves again, his fingers numb from cold, and pulled his hood over his head. The guards wore long hair, offering additional protection for their ears and necks. They also wore furred hats.
Once the brother returned with his offering of a rabbit, Draylon and the guards remounted, resuming their journey. Down and down they traveled, Yarif looking a bit sick. Better to take his mind off his time as a prisoner. Maybe Draylon should have sent him ahead with half the guards before investigating the dead. “You’ve known King Niam was your cousin for some time, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Yarif murmured. “I suppose there’s no point in keeping secrets now. My father warned me never to speak of it.”
“You seem to get on well with your cousin.”
Yarif shrugged, the gesture barely showing through his heavy cloak. “I don’t remember meeting him when I was very young, but I knew I had cousins. I wished I’d had some close enough to play with since my brother was so much older, and the courtiers’ children were generally sent by their parents. How could I know who my true friends were?”
“I think many royal children suffer the same thing. I’m glad Adrina and Emile have each other.”
“What about you?” Yarif asked. “Did you have many friends growing up?”
