“Or they will send your messengers back without a pulse,” another man warned. “That was what happened the last time we questioned the council’s motives.”
Ceran cleared her throat, silencing several other Turessians who seemed determined to speak. “Given that Raeln and his companions have been outside our lands and seen what is happening, I would like to give their descriptions credence—”
“No,” snapped a woman near Ceran, stepping forward. “He is a slave by birth. He has earned no degree of respect from our clan. Why would we allow him to speak to a war council, let alone guide our decisions? That is beyond foolish. I move for him to be taken outside and left there. Do I have the war council’s vote?”
“He is not even a person. I move for its whipping,” another man declared, looking up at Raeln and adding, “No offense intended, slave.”
Raeln glowered at the man. “You spoke in my language. How would I not take offense when you could simply have spoken in yours?”
A sudden procession of loud agreements that drifted from the common trade language into Turessian soon filled the cave where they had been talking, echoing off the walls and making their arguments against Raeln seem even more numerous. Repeatedly, Ceran tried to intervene, but they spoke over her. Even Yiral tried to get a word in, but nearly every other person in the room was loudly objecting to Raeln’s presence. Several had even turned to suggesting he be killed for trying to give them advice.
Taking a deep breath, Raeln looked down at Dalania, who gave him a sympathetic half smile. He would have to do something or it would continue to escalate.
“Enough!” Raeln finally shouted, bringing the arguments to a halt and turning every set of eyes on him. “You want me to prove myself? Name the trial. I’ll do whatever I have to. I need you all to listen to me if you want to live through this, and if I have to risk myself to prove I know what I’m doing, I will.”
It took several seconds before a low whisper spread around the room, with Ceran and Yiral watching him with delight. Somehow he had played into their intentions, but he had no idea how, just yet. The others in the room talked briefly in the Turessian language, hiding their words from him.
“The trial of Turess,” a man from Nellic’s clan said, getting nearly two dozen nods in agreement, while others stared at the speaker in surprise. “Many of the clans still require it for anyone who wishes to lead in battle. It is not as telling as the trial of a preserver, but it would alleviate many of our concerns. Slaves die doing it all the time in a stupid attempt to prove they are worth freeing. I would consider it the least of the things he would need to do.”
“Few survive that, even among the educated,” Yiral said, giving Raeln a look somewhere between worried and amused. “Are you certain that would be enough for a slave-caste to prove himself? We don’t openly let slaves do the trials, and you are asking to have his attempt sanctioned…”
“That would be enough for now,” the man said, glancing around at the others for their approval. “Do not let the beast speak to us again until he has done that much. If he lives, it means he is more than his heritage would imply. I will listen to his words if he succeeds, though I will not promise more than that.”
Raeln felt everyone’s gaze turn to look at him, waiting for his reply. Not knowing what the trial actually meant, he had little basis for argument. He could either do it or leave. Anything else would escalate to violence soon enough. His options were as limited as usual. “I accept,” Raeln said loudly enough for everyone to hear him. “When and where is this test?”
Yiral stepped up beside Raeln, whispering, “It will take a few hours to ride there. We would need to leave within the next hour or two, or the trial would be delayed another day. The trial will test your ability to survive the wilderness in the worst part of Turessi.”
“I’ve lived in the wilds before—”
“Not like this,” she said sharply. “You are allowed to take anything or use anything you have at your disposal. The only stipulations are that you must be able to carry what you bring, you must live through the night, and must do it alone.”
“How bad can it be?”
Yiral’s eyes widened slightly at a thought she chose not to share with him. Instead, she said, “We will make any supplies you want available to you. If your friends can offer anything, please accept. You need every advantage you can get. This is as much a test of your resourcefulness as your own capabilities.”
Swallowing hard, Raeln looked over the stern faces of those watching him and then down at Dalania. She took his hand and gave him her most reassuring smile, though he could see she was panicking as much, if not more, than he was.
“Give me one hour,” he said, watching Dalania. “I want this over with.”
*
An hour later, Raeln was wishing he had stalled for another day. A dozen Turessians and twice that many slaves stood beside the path into the village, their heads down and hands clasped in front of themselves, as though in prayer. Yiral had explained—to his dismay—that it was a right of mourning for those who were about to die. It was apparently routine for anyone attempting the trial he had agreed to, Turessian or not. Not reassuring.
“Do you have all that you need?” Yiral asked yet again, sitting atop her horse while Raeln checked the packs on his own. She sounded like the nagging mothers other people in Raeln’s village had been raised with. His own had been silent much of his life, using looks to nag at him…or a strong hand on the scruff of his neck. “Once we leave, there is no turning back.”
Raeln went over the horse strap by strap, making sure each was snug. One held four short spears. Another had a bow and quiver tied to it. A third kept two sheathed swords against the body of the horse. The last held two saddlebags, filled with water and food. He had asked about bringing a tent or wood, but Yiral had warned that those were not allowed. He had to endure the wilderness on his own merits. Even the horse had to wait elsewhere, though he could ride to the edge of the trial area. He would have to carry all of the supplies on his own back.
“I have everything I can take with me,” he said, tightening the strap that held the saddlebags. “Are you certain that things will remain under control until I can return?”
“Ceran will manage in my absence. She always has. Yoska will keep the slaves under a watchful eye, as well. Do not concern yourself with people here. You have far more to worry about. Concern yourself only with survival.”
“It’s just one night,” Raeln said, as much for his own sake as it was in reply to Yiral. “I’ll be fine.”
Coming up beside him, Dalania forced herself between Raeln and the horse. He had tried to avoid her since making his decision, knowing the amount of worry she would endure until he could return. Instead of the fear he expected, he found determination in her eyes—a pleasant change. That simple look gave him more strength than he had possessed prior.
Taking his hand and holding it up with both of hers, she said, “I’ve given you magic before to fight things greater than you. This time I’m going to do something different.”
“Dalania, I’ll be fine.”
“Tell me that when you come back,” she insisted, closing her eyes. “You’ll have all the strength and speed I’ve shared with you before, but this time it will come when you need it and not before. If nothing happens, the magic will linger at the ready for days. If you start fighting, it will only last a short while. The harder you fight, the shorter it will last. Be careful.”
Raeln felt nothing different, but Dalania had never really lied to him—unless he counted the weeks she had pretended to be a mundane animal to spy on their group. He had to believe if she said it would work, it would.
Bending down, he gave her a firm hug, despite her initial flinch at his arms enveloping her. A second later, she hugged him back, barely able to wrap her arms around his waist. They clung for a minute before Raeln let her go and put his hand on his horse. “Let’s get done with this,” he said to no one in particular. “The sooner I’m there, the sooner I can come back and get this clan marching.”
“Don’t overestimate your own abilities,” Yiral warned, nudging her horse. “Turess’s teachings are clear that wisdom is far more important than bravery. Know that you are in danger, and your fear may protect you.”
Raeln watched her go before reluctantly hopping onto his own horse and following. He wanted to argue about whether the Turess he had known would have said such a thing, but there was no point. These people had all but turned Turess into a god, worshipping his proclamations whether he had made them or not.
They rode the remainder of the morning and well into the afternoon, until the sun was nearing the flat tops of the hills west of what he guessed to be their destination. From what Raeln could tell, they were moving roughly northeast toward a section of land where he could make out hills and a low-hanging cloud or fog. Thankfully, it looked nothing like the mists he had seen all too often south of Turessi. Had it glowed, he would have happily abandoned the whole trial in a heartbeat.
On that thought, Raeln stood in his saddle, trying to look across the horizon in all directions. To the west, the light was still too bright to make out anything quite as vague as the mists. But across the east and southeast, he could see a faint line of yellowish light along the ground that covered dozens, if not hundreds, of miles. It spread in an arc across the entire horizon. “Yiral,” he called out. “I need you to see something.”
“The mists. Yes, I know of them,” Yiral replied, nodding toward the east. “They have been coming for weeks. We are one of the most eastern clans, so we were the first to notice them at the edge of Turessi. The other clans are still in denial about what lies out there. Our best scholars believed it to be another sign of the darkness within Turessi. We had hoped to see dark clouds, as that would have meant we only needed to close the door on the mists. That they glow tells us that has already failed.”
“How long have you known?”
“Only about a week,” she admitted, still not slowing her horse. “The mists came quickly in the night, but stopped at the traditional border of Turessi. They spread each night, but they have not advanced farther into our lands. You had larger concerns than an old woman telling you of clouds.”
Raeln squinted at the distant glow and realized Yiral was right. Even as he watched, he could see the cloud thinning as it moved north along the eastern edge of Turessi and west along the southern. It might take months, but it looked as though the cloud was trying to circle the whole region. Having seen what those mists could do to a city, he could only imagine the destruction that would come if they trapped everything in Turessi and then closed in. An entire nation would die in a matter of days, with nowhere to run.
They continued in silence until Yiral brought her horse to a stop at the edge of a rocky region that blocked much of Raeln’s sight. Heavy fog filled the uneven area, giving it an otherworldly appearance, made stranger by the dimming light. The lighting played tricks on his vision, making his head hurt. He could see nothing without staring intently, and that brought headaches.
Turning her horse to face him, Yiral said, “Leave your horse with me. Take everything else you can carry. You will walk into the fog for at least an hour, until you arrive at the broken ground. That is where you will camp for the night. When the sun rises, you may come back to me if you are able.”
Raeln swung off his horse and pulled the saddlebags onto one of his shoulders. Staring into the thick fog, he tried to make out any shapes, but it was impossible and only made the ache behind his eyes worse. “What’s in there, Yiral?”
“I do not know,” she said, taking the reins of his horse from him. “I am a preserver, not a battle leader. Few are willing to do this and take on that title. The last I know of who passed this trial was Therec, of one of the northern clans. We would have been well-served had he come home from a task in the south. None have succeeded in the last four years.”
Raeln clenched his jaw and tried not to think on Therec, the one who had betrayed Lantonne. Hoisting the weapons onto his other shoulder, Raeln began walking, unwilling to wait for Yiral to say anything else that might wither his resolve.
The fog closed in on Raeln within seconds, like some kind of blanket wrapping itself around him. Chill, wet air made the already cold weather worse with each step, soaking through his clothing and fur. Soon he could not even see his own paws and found himself tripping frequently on stones protruding from the snow. He had to slow his pace considerably, feeling his way along as if in a dark room. Little more than the texture of the ground on his paw pads told him whether to bring down his weight with each step. The rough mix of small stones and bits of ice made every footfall painful.