Page 45 of On a Barbarian World

“Unlike you.”

He was staring at her now, his amber eyes ablaze.

Her heart kicked in her chest. “Kavon⁠—”

“There is a distant mountain in the Wilds. Off limits to all Markarians. No vegetation grows there, and the beasts that call it home…are different. Bigger, twisted.”

Her chest hitched. “Go on.”

“It is riddled with the tunnels of an ancient mine, said to be filled with these beasts. It was cursed by the First Warriors, and no one is allowed to step foot on it.”

Adrenaline surged in her veins. “Why didn’t Chaldora mention it? I’ve seen nothing in the records.”

“Mount Furioso is known only to the warlords.”

“This could be it, Kavon. We need to get there. Durendal could be on that mountain.”

He was silent for a moment. “It is a dangerous place⁠—”

“We made a deal. I help you find the sword, and you give me the e-beacon.”

He cursed under his breath, then gave a short nod. “We’ll leave at first light.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kavon hated this.

He held the reins as Tarm negotiated a section of particularly bad ground near the base of Mount Furioso. It rose above them, a fierce spire of black rock. Their journey through the Wilds had been uneventful, although he and his warriors were alert to any signs of the unfriendly denizens that called the place home.

Colm and another two of Kavon’s most experienced warriors, Darroch and Viken, rode their hargon beasts nearby.

Aurina was nestled in Kavon’s arms, her head tipped back as she stared up at the mountain.

“Well, it’s certainly creepy enough,” she said.

Yes, he hated that he was approaching a mountain forbidden by his people, that he’d brought Aurina to this dangerous place. And he hated that he was doubting his ancestors.

Could the First Warriors really have been skyflyers? People stuck here, trying to make the best of a bad situation?

Hardly the lofty stories his people sang about. Or the tales his father had told him with such pride.

“Kavon, are you sure this is a good idea?” Colm asked.

Hells, no. He stared up at the sharp, ragged spires of the mountain. It was made of a dark rock and devoid of vegetation. Only a few twisted, black trunks that may have been some sort of tree once remained.

“We need to check for a crash site,” Aurina insisted. “The sword might be in the wreckage.”

And if they found it, then she could leave.

The thought made Kavon unhappy.

“Warlord, there is a path over there,” Darroch called out.

He spotted it. A path, probably made by beasts, that wound its way up the mountain. “We’ll follow it.”

They climbed. It was steep, the hargon beasts at times snorting their displeasure, their hooves slipping in the loose scree, but they kept climbing.

Kavon stared resolutely ahead. To one side was the wall of rising rock, on the other, the steep drop to the distant ground below. No warrior belonged this high in the sky.