Suddenly a memory of a night long ago returned to her. She wondered how she could have forgotten. It had simply vanished from her mind into the chaos that her life had unraveled into.
Echoing through her mind were the Northerner’s words during the Night of Fire and Wind.
“Of course, we also hoped that if the poison failed to kill you, the shame of one of your dear sweet brother’s men stabbing you in the back would be enough.”
It hadn’t made sense. It didn’t make sense, she reminded herself. Her mind had dredged up an explanation for that confusing moment and played it for her. Vhalla wrapped her arms around herself. The alternative explanation was too impossible. Like the last fractured dream, she wanted to go to him. Every heartbeat made her struggle with the distance between them.
“Vhalla, what is it?” Larel rubbed sleep from her eyes.
“Nothing,” she panted.
“Are the dreams returning?” The Western woman sat also.
“No.” Vhalla shook her head. “It was a dream, but not that dream. Just a random nightmare.” She began pulling on her armor, hasty to get the day started and shake off the remnants of the vision.
She was so relieved to see Aldrik later that she wasn’t even bothered when Elecia rode up and wedged herself between them. The sight of the prince soothed her nerves and fears, reassuring her that her dreams were nothing more than night terrors. They spoke about some Western holiday, and Vhalla savored the sound of his rare laughter. Much to Elecia’s annoyance, Aldrik worked to include Vhalla in the conversation.
“You have never been to the West before, correct?” he asked across Elecia.
“I have not.” She shook her head.
“A shame we cannot make it to Norin,” he said thoughtfully.
“I would like to see it someday.” Aldrik smiled at Vhalla’s statement. “What is Norin like?”
“Norin is settled in—“Elecia began arrogantly.
“The great oasis by the Western Sea,” Vhalla interjected. “The sea breeze helps keep the city cool despite the desert heats, and the castle of Norin is one of the oldest in the world. Or so I read.” Vhalla savored the look of satisfactory pride the prince was giving her.
“Well, much of Norin is the oldest in the world. There’s a reason why it took ten years for it to fall to the Empire.” Only Elecia could turn a defeat into a point of pride and she turned up her nose at Vhalla.
Vhalla paid Elecia no mind, her attention only on Aldrik. His mother had lived in that castle as one of Mhashan’s princesses. He was a prince of two worlds. “What is the food like?” she asked, deciding to stay involved in the conversation.
“Western food is cleaner than the things you have in the South. We use less butters and oils,” Elecia proclaimed haughtily.
Vhalla barely refrained from rolling her eyes.
“There is a dish I think you would like, actually,” Aldrik hummed. “They take the peel of lemons and candy them with sugar.”
“That does sound delicious.” Vhalla smiled conspiratorially, remembering the lemon cake they shared in Aldrik’s garden.
“Perhaps we can find some at the Crossroads.” The prince removed his helm a moment to run a hand through his hair. Sweat made it stick to his head and Vhalla debated which style was better.
“And what about Eastern food?” Elecia asked, interrupting Vhalla’s admiration of the prince.
“It’s simple, I suppose.” In truth, Vhalla’s family had never had money for expensive or fancy foods. “I’ve never had a better bread than from home around harvest time. But I grew up mostly in the South.”
“Oh yes, library apprentice,” Elecia said matter-of-factly.
It annoyed Vhalla that this other woman just happened to know things about her and never explained how.
Vhalla opened her mouth to speak when a horn blew out from the south of the column. They were not more than a few hours into the march; surely it could not be time to stop. Everyone turned when the horn blew again in warning.
Vhalla heard Aldrik curse loudly before his horse broke into a run, sprinting through the ranks toward his father in the legion ahead of them. Elecia squinted at the horizon. Vhalla looked also.
“What is it?” she asked, trying to discern the reason for the sudden change in mood.
“It looks like a sandstorm. Mother save us.” Elecia’s head turned forward and back again. “There’re too many on foot ...” she mumbled and her head snapped to the right. “Larel!” Elecia called. Larel caught the other woman’s eyes. “How far out is the first barrier wall of the Crossroads?”
“An hour, maybe, of hard riding,” Larel replied, squinting over her shoulder.
“A closer town?” Elecia gripped her reigns.
“None that I know of.” Larel frowned, her face pulled taut.
“We’ll have to make a run then.” Elecia cursed and sped forward toward the Imperial family.
“What’s going on?” Vhalla was confused.
“It’s a sandstorm, Vhal.” Fritz looked back again uncertainly. “It’s far off, but we don’t want to be tangled up in one of those. They’re temperamental and fast. If we can make it to shelter, it may only kill a few from suffocation. There’s a lot here the wind could pick up and turn into projectile nightmares.”
“Is it that bad?” she asked in shock.
“The Western winds are known to be strong enough to rip trees from their roots and sweep grown men off their feet like ragdolls. They normally blow with the summer air. It’s abnormal for a winter one. We’re not prepared,” Fritz replied gravely.
Vhalla twisted in her saddle, looking at the dark point on the horizon. At best it may kill? That didn’t sound like a best case scenario to her. She wondered if she imagined it growing in the southern skyline. Another horn blew out, a series of blasts and others picked up its call. Aldrik and Elecia rode back together.
“We make haste for the Crossroads!” the prince shouted, calling attention of all the soldiers in the Black Legion. “Speak not another word and listen for orders.”
It seemed as though everyone understood at once what was happening and the host picked up its pace. But with so many soldiers on foot, they were severely limited in speed. Vhalla glanced over her shoulder. It seemed like they were making headway against it, or it wasn’t coming their way.
Then the wind shifted.
She felt it there, the raging angry mass behind them. It was a fury unlike any Vhalla had ever felt before. It was pure power and wind that pushed forward to consume every last person in their host. Vhalla turned back and saw it again. It appeared no bigger, but she knew better.
“How much longer until the Crossroads?” she hissed to Fritz and Larel.
“I don’t know. I’ve only been this way once before,” Larel whispered back. Her voice was barely audible over the horses’ hooves on the stone road.
“How much longer?” Vhalla tried Elecia, the other woman glanced at her in annoyance but Vhalla gave her an unwavering stare. She’d have none of it.
“Maybe less than thirty minutes?” Elecia said.
Vhalla cursed. They wouldn’t make it. She felt it.
“My prince!” Vhalla called. Aldrik glared at her sharply for speaking out of turn, she ignored it. “We’re not going to make it if we don’t go faster.”
Seriousness furrowed his brow. “You’re sure?” he asked gravely.
Vhalla ripped off her gauntlets and stuffed them into her saddlebag. Clenching her hands into fists, she let go of the reins completely and held them in the air. Closing her eyes, Vhalla unfurled her fingers, not caring how silly it may look. The wind pushed through and around her hands, she felt the storm’s power at the end of every gust.