icy, with a metallic taste. Thunder rumbled, soft and blurred. The horses jittered on the narrow path and the usually placid pack chervine shook its antlered head nervously.
Coryn pulled his horse to a halt at Rafe’s signal. The old soldier lifted his head, turned to the north. “From up Aldaran way, I reckon. Ages ago, they worked weather-magic there. Mayhap they still do. We’d best find shelter.”
Dancer whinnied and pawed the trail, pulling at the bit. Coryn nudged him on. Clearly, this was no ordinary storm—the taste of the rising wind, the sudden chill, the prickly feeling along the back of his neck—all bespoke some kind of laran at work. He’d never heard of weather-magic, and Aldaran, though fearsome, had always seemed far away.
They urged the horses around the curve of the hill. Hooves clattered on loose rock, sending a rain of chips downslope. The thunder took on a sharper tone.
Coryn lifted his eyes to the featureless white sky, but saw no lightning. “Rafe—”
But the older man, in the lead, wrestled his mount to a halt. The horse pranced and swished its tail. In an instant, Coryn’s heart fell. The entire hillside lay covered beneath a rockfall. Instead of a narrow trail bounded on either side with barren soil pocked with boulders and scrub brush, steep but passable, they faced a pile of jagged boulders, many of them chest-high to the horses. Upward, the entire cliff face had fractured and fallen away. In the V-shaped crevice at the bottom of the hill, a small copse of brush and a few straggly trees still stood.
Lightning flashed across the sky and thunder cracked again. Clouds, gray and swollen, billowed out from the north, building visibly from one moment to the next. The wind, even colder now, whipped across Coryn’s face.
“Which way?” he called to Rafe, raising his voice above the wind.
The old mercenary’s mouth twisted as he brought his horse to face downhill. The horse squealed, refusing for a moment until Rafe reined him in a tight circle and clapped his heels into the animal’s sides.
The horses stumbled down the rise, following the rockfall. Even the surefooted pack chervine lost its footing once. After a few minutes, Rafe signaled for them to dismount and lead their animals.
Dark, angry-looking clouds now stretched from one horizon to the other. Lightning kindled the sky, followed almost instantly by ear-splitting thunder. Dancer whinnied and pulled back, ears pinned flat against his neck. Coryn patted him and urged him on. The horse moved forward, reluctance in every tense line of his body.
Wetness spattered Coryn’s face: huge, icy drops. Within moments, the rain increased to a downpour. He pawed through the chervine’s packs for his hooded cloak. By the time he managed to pull it out, his shirt and vest were soaked through.
Coryn shouted to Rafe, who’d wasted no time in donning his own cloak. “We’ve got to get out of this!” Through the downpour, he could see the copse at the valley floor. It wouldn’t offer much shelter, but it was more than they had here.
Then he saw— sensed —an invisible river tumbling down the V-cleft, gaining power with each passing moment, carrying away everything in its path—men and horses as well as straggly trees.
“Flash flood!” Coryn cried.
Rafe already had brought his horse and pack animal to face upslope. Dancer and the chervine turned eagerly, as if they realized the danger also.
Climbing back up was harder than Coryn imagined possible. His boots slipped on the loose rock, now slick with rain. A stone tipped and slid away as he stepped on it. Pain shot up the outside of his ankle.
A few minutes later, Dancer lost his footing and slid backward in a hail of stones. The horse’s forehooves pawed the slope frantically. From below, Rafe cursed; one of the stones must have struck him. Coryn dropped the reins rather than risk them snapping. He watched, his heart pounding, as the dun horse slid another few feet and came
Coryn pulled his horse to a halt at Rafe’s signal. The old soldier lifted his head, turned to the north. “From up Aldaran way, I reckon. Ages ago, they worked weather-magic there. Mayhap they still do. We’d best find shelter.”
Dancer whinnied and pawed the trail, pulling at the bit. Coryn nudged him on. Clearly, this was no ordinary storm—the taste of the rising wind, the sudden chill, the prickly feeling along the back of his neck—all bespoke some kind of laran at work. He’d never heard of weather-magic, and Aldaran, though fearsome, had always seemed far away.
They urged the horses around the curve of the hill. Hooves clattered on loose rock, sending a rain of chips downslope. The thunder took on a sharper tone.
Coryn lifted his eyes to the featureless white sky, but saw no lightning. “Rafe—”
But the older man, in the lead, wrestled his mount to a halt. The horse pranced and swished its tail. In an instant, Coryn’s heart fell. The entire hillside lay covered beneath a rockfall. Instead of a narrow trail bounded on either side with barren soil pocked with boulders and scrub brush, steep but passable, they faced a pile of jagged boulders, many of them chest-high to the horses. Upward, the entire cliff face had fractured and fallen away. In the V-shaped crevice at the bottom of the hill, a small copse of brush and a few straggly trees still stood.
Lightning flashed across the sky and thunder cracked again. Clouds, gray and swollen, billowed out from the north, building visibly from one moment to the next. The wind, even colder now, whipped across Coryn’s face.
“Which way?” he called to Rafe, raising his voice above the wind.
The old mercenary’s mouth twisted as he brought his horse to face downhill. The horse squealed, refusing for a moment until Rafe reined him in a tight circle and clapped his heels into the animal’s sides.
The horses stumbled down the rise, following the rockfall. Even the surefooted pack chervine lost its footing once. After a few minutes, Rafe signaled for them to dismount and lead their animals.
Dark, angry-looking clouds now stretched from one horizon to the other. Lightning kindled the sky, followed almost instantly by ear-splitting thunder. Dancer whinnied and pulled back, ears pinned flat against his neck. Coryn patted him and urged him on. The horse moved forward, reluctance in every tense line of his body.
Wetness spattered Coryn’s face: huge, icy drops. Within moments, the rain increased to a downpour. He pawed through the chervine’s packs for his hooded cloak. By the time he managed to pull it out, his shirt and vest were soaked through.
Coryn shouted to Rafe, who’d wasted no time in donning his own cloak. “We’ve got to get out of this!” Through the downpour, he could see the copse at the valley floor. It wouldn’t offer much shelter, but it was more than they had here.
Then he saw— sensed —an invisible river tumbling down the V-cleft, gaining power with each passing moment, carrying away everything in its path—men and horses as well as straggly trees.
“Flash flood!” Coryn cried.
Rafe already had brought his horse and pack animal to face upslope. Dancer and the chervine turned eagerly, as if they realized the danger also.
Climbing back up was harder than Coryn imagined possible. His boots slipped on the loose rock, now slick with rain. A stone tipped and slid away as he stepped on it. Pain shot up the outside of his ankle.
A few minutes later, Dancer lost his footing and slid backward in a hail of stones. The horse’s forehooves pawed the slope frantically. From below, Rafe cursed; one of the stones must have struck him. Coryn dropped the reins rather than risk them snapping. He watched, his heart pounding, as the dun horse slid another few feet and came
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