Zach Brenner's Arc

Chapter 22 of 86

The town rose from the dark before them. Black timber and heavy stone. Steep roofs pinned against the mountains. Smoke curled from a dozen chimneys. A wooden wall ringed the whole place, spiked and grim. Zach reined in his horse and stared at the gate. "We don't know a soul in there," he said. "We could walk into the wrong hands." Raven brought her horse up beside him. Her cat ears flicked toward the wall. "Barbarian country," she said. "They don't trust strangers. And a marked man with a sword?" She glanced at his tattoos. "They'll notice you fast." Ayla gripped her staff. "Then we don't guess. We find someone who knows the passes and pay him honest." Her healer's calm steadied them. Since she'd joined at Tyr Alys, Zach had come to trust that calm. Lyra pulled her book out and traced a line of light. "Malachar's still short of the pass," she said. "We have time. But not much." They led the horses through the gate on foot. Inside, the town was loud and rough. Men hauled timber. A forge rang. Eyes tracked Zach's cloaked sword. Raven kept close, her hand near her dagger. They stopped at the largest hall, a fort of dark beams under smoking vents. Inside, men drank at long tables. At the head sat a bald, broad man with a great axe leaned against his knee. He was carving a strip of meat with a knife, not looking up. When Zach approached, the hall went quiet. "Strangers," the bald man said. He set the knife down. "You come armed into my hall. Speak, or leave through the gate you found." "We need the fast way through the pass," Zach said. "Before a man in a cloak reaches the Dead River. A sorcerer. Malachar." The hall stirred at the name. The bald man rose. He was Garrok Ironhide, and the room bent toward him like grass in wind. "That name walked through here three nights back," he said. "His kind woke things in my mountains. My hunters don't come home now." Zach set his jaw. "Then help us stop him. Show us the trail." Garrok studied the group. His eyes settled on the sword shape under Zach's cloak. "Show me the blade," he said. Zach drew it. The enchanted steel caught the firelight. A murmur ran the tables. Garrok's face changed. He knew the old stories. "The chosen blade," he said, low. "So the tales weren't dead." He gripped his axe. "There's a trail above the north spring. It cuts a day off the pass. But it crosses ground the woken things claimed." He met Zach's eyes. "I'll take you. My hunters died for that sorcerer. I mean to collect." Zach exhaled. They had a guide now, and a shorter path. But Garrok had named the price. The trail ran straight through the monsters Malachar had roused. They would reach the pass faster, and bleed for every mile.