She hadn’t used snowshoes much in the years since she’d left Trebond. It took her a few minutes to make her legs and feet remember just how they worked: long steps, lift the shoes clear of the snow, then put them down. Stop every six or seven steps to shake off the snow that piled on the top of the broad, flat shoe. It was hard work for her leg muscles, but she welcomed it. She welcomed anything that took her mind off the cold. Even her Gift couldn’t ward off all of it, and her magic was burning up dangerously fast in the attempt.
Was she mistaken, or had the ground begun to rise?
She wasn’t mistaken. With a thump she collided with a tall stone pillar, the one that marked the point where the road left the valley floor and climbed into the pass. Alanna sheltered herself in the lee of the rock for a moment, panting with the effort it had taken to get this far.
On a stormless day this walk would’ve taken me five minutes. How long have I been out here? An hour? She pushed away from her shelter and into the wind again.
A sudden gust shoved her to her knees. Clenching her teeth, Alanna got up and went on to ram into a tree. She stumbled and fell on her back in the snow. Afraid she’d get buried in snow if she stayed in one place too long, she struggled up again, hissing words she’d forgotten she knew at the clumsy snowshoes. Inspiration struck. She seized a tree branch and hacked it off with her ax to form a staff. Miache didn’t have to put up with anything like this to get the Jewel, she thought grumpily as she shook the snow from her shoes and set off once again. She stole it from a nice, warm vault. Now she tested the ground ahead with the wood, always heading face first into the wind. She decided she’d rather face a dragon than this storm.
It helped to recite poems as she walked. First she went through those the Mithrans had taught her in the palace. When they ended, she started with those taught her by foot soldiers, thieves, and hostlers. She was halfway through “The Tireless Beggar”—the song that had almost gotten Coram into trouble in Berat—when she ran out of voice. Stopping to rest, she wondered how far she’d come.
Her internal clock said dawn was still a few hours away and that she’d been at this almost two hours. The innkeeper had said it was two hours’ hard walking from his door to the top of the pass, but under these conditions, Alanna knew it might take her an entire day to cover the same distance.
I wonder if I can sense the Jewel? She reached for her Gift and stopped, feeling afraid. While she’d concentrated on pushing ahead, her Gift had poured itself into the effort of keeping her warm. It was dangerously low and flickering, burning itself up against the killer storm. She couldn’t turn back—it would be gone before she reached the tree, let alone the valley.
Alanna climbed on. She thought wryly that she couldn’t even blame Liam for forbidding her this climb and making her determined to do it. She was a grown woman, and the only person who had ultimate control of her behavior was she, herself.
Serves me right for losing my temper, she told herself. Carefully she began to cut back the areas her warmth-spell covered until it was in force only around her feet, hands, and face. Trying to ignore the increased bite of cold on the rest of her, she plowed back into the wind.
It took five minutes of uphill walking before she realized that the wind had dropped. Halting, she looked up. Drifting snowflakes were all that remained of the blizzard. She slipped up her goggles and turned to look for her tracks. They lay behind her, following an eerily straight line as far as she could see. A cold that wasn’t winter-brought raced up her spine. Her trail should have swung back and forth in the snow. Instead it looked as if she could have drawn it with a straight-edge.
“I don’t know if this is good,” she murmured. “With the wind in my face, at least I knew where I was headed.” Looking again at her tracks, Alanna shrugged and set off again. As her Gift burned lower and lower, staying in motion became a vital concern. Every few feet she’d look back to make sure she kept to her earlier course. Before her opened the pass, white and smooth along the road. Overhead the clouds broke up, revealing a sliver of new moon. The night was very quiet, the only sounds those of shifting snow and cracking rock.
Suddenly she heard in her mind a voice as terrible in its way as the Goddess’s, filled with tumbling boulders and rushing streams. She dropped to her knees with her hands over her ears—it did no good.
So you have come this far. You took your time about it.
Alanna couldn’t reply.
Look to your left.
She obeyed. A line of light stretched up the wall of the pass, over broken rock and pools of snow and ice. The thing you came to take is at the end of this road—as am I.
The voice—it had to be the voice of the being that Mi-chi had called “old Chitral”—was gone. Alanna listened apprehensively for a moment, then remembered the cold’s danger and scrambled to her feet again. Drawing a breath, she turned away from the smooth path, which lay so invitingly before her. She strengthened the spell on her hands and feet, drawing it away from her face and wondering how long her Gift could hold out even now. She was sleepy. A nap would be—
She shook off the cold’s growing spell and made for the slope, stopping only to remove the snowshoes and strap them to her back. Her temper came back with a rush—not at Liam, this time, but at Chitral. “Am I supposed to entertain you?” she yelled, climbing into the rocks. “Where I come from it’s considered honorable to kill a victim outright—not play with her first!”
There was no reply, but she didn’t want one. All she really needed was the heat of her anger. She unhooked the ax from her belt once again, using it to pull herself up.
Her foot broke through a crust in the snow, and she went down, crying out as her leg got stuck between two rocks. Carefully she pulled herself out onto more trustworthy ground, using the ice blade on the ax. When she tried the leg, it throbbed but held.
“Are you enjoying this, Chitral?” No answer. On she climbed.
Within a few feet her staff slid on a hidden bit of ice. She struck the ground with her knees, biting into her lower lip. Alanna grabbed a handful of snow and pressed it against the mask, over her bleeding mouth. Adding another hurt to Chitral’s account, she rose and went on. She knew she got hurt so much now because weariness and agitated nerves interfered with her judgment. The best solution was to stop and rest for half an hour, but she didn’t dare try that. Instead she started to sing “The Tireless Beggar.” She’d finished it and had sung halfway through “The King’s New Lady” when she stumbled into the cave.
Her Gift flickered and died, leaving her with only a trace of its fire. She’d used it up.
Going home will be very interesting, she told herself as she looked around. There was a larger cave behind what seemed to be a small antechamber, and she went into it. Chitral’s line of light ended here, in a large chamber with walls that glowed a dim, eerie yellow. At the opposite end was a tunnel.
“All right, Chitral!” she yelled when she’d pulled down her mask. “I’m here!”
Then prepare yourself for combat, came the nerve-shaking reply. You asked for something you can fight. I will oblige you.
The air in the cave was cool, but not cold. She began to strip, preparing herself mentally. She peeled everything down to her woolen layer, leaving the clothing in a pile on the cave floor. Her mind took careful inventory of her physical condition, and she was unhappy with what she found. She’d never taken on a fight in worse shape.