“Oh, Asta.” Brit stroked the side of Svald’s sleek neck. “Come on. There’s not a cloud in the sky.”
Eric, on a muscular gelding, gestured at the barometer beside the front door. “Falling fast.” Brit only looked at him. He turned to his aunt. “It appears the coming storm will not stop us. We are going today.”
Asta’s frown deepened, but she said no more. She stood out in the street and waved as they rode away. Pure foolishness, she’d called the venture the night before, when she returned to her house to learn that Eric had failed to talk Brit out of going. An idiot’s quest.
To a certain degree, Brit had to agree with her. But she wasn’t going to learn a damn thing sitting around the Mystic village, being coddled by Asta and the other women, getting no answers to her questions, daydreaming too much about Eric while she plucked the occasional game bird and helped Sif with the wash.
And wait another day in case the weather turned bad? No, thanks. A little rain wasn’t going to slow her down. And, anyway, it was warmer than it had been. Felt like in the low forties already. A much more pleasant temperature for traveling than yesterday or the day before.
She felt eager. Ready. Felt… a sort of happy shiver running beneath her skin to think that they were on the way.
She glanced at the man on the gelding beside her. Taking her daydreams right along with her. Oh, yes, she was. Hey. Couldn’t be helped. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. She needed a guide, and he knew his way around the Vildelund.
They rode with the rising sun at their backs until they reached the forest that rimmed the village and its fields. About a mile into the deep, cold shadows of the tall trees, the trail came to a three-way fork. Eric laid his reins to the gelding’s neck and the horse, bridle wise, took the right fork, to the north. Brit followed his lead.
At first the horses jogged easily on level ground, the trail wide enough that they could ride side by side. But soon enough they began climbing. The trail narrowed and Brit fell in at the rear. Above, through the lacy branches of the trees, clouds gathered. The wind was rising.
For a couple of hours it was much the same kind of travel as the day before and the day before that—up and down the sides of steep hills, on trails that led them in zigzagging switchbacks—much the same, only darker and windier.
They had just reached the base of a hill when Eric reined in and put up a hand. Quietly he slid to the ground. Brit followed his lead. He indicated a clump of black boulders faintly visible through the trees, perhaps fifteen feet from the trail. He took his horse by the bridle. Brit did the same.
They moved cautiously into the trees. When they reached the black rocks, Eric signaled her in close. They held the muzzles of the horses and were silent. Waiting.
Eric tipped his head, gesturing at a gap in the high, sloping rocks. Two quiet steps to the side and she could peer through.
She saw four men—young, on foot, three armed with crossbows, dagger hilts visible in sheaths tied at the thigh. The third had a rifle. Two carried a rough pole between them; a slain doe, gutted, was tied to it, dangling.
“Renegades?” She mouthed the word, careful to make no sound.
“Perhaps,” he mouthed in answer.
She understood. No percentage in finding out. Better to just keep their heads down and their mounts quiet until the potential threat could pass on by.
The wind rushed down the canyon, keening. Svald shifted, nervous, ready to dance. Brit laid her face to the silky muzzle and whispered very low. “Shh. Easy, my darling, easy my sweet girl.” The mare quieted.
They waited some more, as the wind whipped around them, singing eerily through the trees. Lightning flashed and booming thunder followed. The first drops of rain began to fall. Finally, after the four men were long gone, Eric led her around the stand of boulders and onto the trail where the men had passed.
“How did you know they were there?” she asked before they mounted up again.
He shook his head as lightning blazed in the sky above. Thunder boomed and rolled away. “Later. Now we must move on.” They mounted and went in the opposite direction from the four men.
They covered what was left of the ravine floor quickly and within minutes they were climbing again. The wind tore at them, lightning speared the sky, angry thunder booming in its wake. The sky opened up and the rain poured down—fat drops, coming harder and faster.
They fought their way upward as the downpour intensified. In no time the trail was awash in mud. The mud turned to rivulets, then to small, rushing streams.
“We must leave the trail. It will soon be a river,” Eric called over his shoulder, shouting against the wind.
Brit followed him into the trees, her head low against the mare’s neck, smelling rain and wet horse, her beanie and the hair beneath it plastered to her skull.
Eric led her on, through the close-growing evergreens. More than once she got whacked by low-hanging branches. And even there, in the thickness of the trees, the rain got through, whipping at their faces, driven by the relentless wind. Svald, bless her sweet heart, was a surefooted animal. They picked their way along the steep slope of the hill, moving east now, climbing as they went.
They were practically upon the mouth of the cave before she saw it: two shelves of rock surrounded by trees, a tall, dark hole between. Eric dismounted and climbed the rest of the way on foot, leading the gelding, slipping a little on the soggy ground, but jumping at last to the lower shelf at the cave’s entrance and urging the gelding up after him. There was space on the ledge for him, his horse, Brit and Svald, with room to spare.
He waved her on. She slid from the saddle and followed, leading her horse, landing on her feet at the cave’s entrance, Svald scrambling a little, but ending up at her side.
“Stay here.” Eric handed her the gelding’s reins and vanished into the darkness. Brit surprised herself by letting him go without a word of protest. Truth to tell, she thought as she stood there in the mouth of the cave, dripping wet and shivering with cold, she was feeling more than a little discouraged with herself. Concerning the weather, Asta had been all too right. Maybe she should have listened.
But she’d always been that way. When she was ready to go, there was just no stopping her. A character flaw? Well, yeah. In some circumstances.
Like, for instance, this one.
The horses shook the heavy, soaked braids of their manes, flinging icy water everywhere, including on her. Beyond the ledge, the rain was turning slushy—a snow and rain mix.
Terrific. Perfect. Wonderful. Would they end up snowed in here, thanks to her pigheadedness?
Now, wouldn’t that be lovely? Way to go, Brit.
“This way,” Eric said from behind her. He stood about fifteen feet into the cave. He was carrying… a flaming torch?
“Where did you get that?”
“It’s always wise to keep safe places, stocked and ready, for times like this one. We’re fortunate. No scavengers have found this cave since last I was here.” Really, the guy never ceased to amaze her. “Come,” he said.
She went, leading the horses into the darkness, toward the tall, proud man with the blazing light.
Chapter Ten
The cave was a tunnel for about a hundred feet. Then it opened to a wide, shadowy chamber. Eric went directly to the circle of stones at the center. Within the circle a fire was laid and waiting to be lit.
He lowered the torch to the kindling and the fire caught. The smoke spiraled up and disappeared into the shadows above. Apparently, there were gaps in the rocks up there, a natural flue that let the smoke