Frey (The Frey Saga, #1)(26)
The next morning I woke to the sound of rock against rock. I looked around and didn’t see Chevelle or his horse. He left me? I sat up, rubbing my sore legs and all of a sudden the rock wall of the hollow struck me in the face.
“Damn it!” I screamed, my voice a little hoarse from just waking. The wall was coming at me again. Smack! “Okay, okay! Let me up.”
Chevelle’s camouflage dissipated and he stood looking at me, disappointed.
“Where’s your horse?” I smirked, trying to buy some time.
He smiled slyly as I was attacked from behind, his horse nipping the back of my head and yanking my hair.
Ugh. I swatted it away and then ran my hand over my face, sure it looked like a rotted pear, mottled with bruising and scratch marks.
“Drink this.” Chevelle offered me a hide flagon and I took it, swallowing a mouthful before the taste hit me.
“Gah, that tastes like cat pee smells.”
He smiled. “It will help with the healing.”
Why bother? I wondered. I was sure it would be another day of bombardment with mountain fixtures… maybe whole trees this time. Grrr… I thought I saw him trying to hold back a smile as the irritation flooded my face. He threw me a piece of dried meat and jumped on his horse.
“You’d better get started,” he said, “it’s going to be a long walk.”
As he kicked his heels, I spun toward the corner where my horse had been. Yes, had been. He was galloping up the mountain now, just over a hundred yards away. I tried to think quick, keep the anger from slowing me. I pulled Chevelle’s horse by the tail with my magic, planning to stop or slow him enough to jump on. A tree branch came from no where and smacked me flat across the face. His horse whinnied as they rode away.
“Why always the face?” I yelled at his back.
Thwack! A second branch, this one more like a whip, struck me from behind. A fierce growl escaped me and I took off, running at full speed in the direction my horse had gone.
By midday, I was completely spent. I had caught my horse but the training hadn’t let up. I was too tired to have any anger left, but I had a sneaking suspicion Chevelle was enjoying my “lessons.” He stopped by a patch of snow that had gathered in a rock basin, warming it to water for the horses. He jumped down from his horse as I melted off the side of mine and onto a rock, my limbs like molasses. He came to sit across from me and I flinched, expecting another attack. He smiled.
“Well, at least you’re anticipating assault.”
I didn’t have the energy for casual banter.
He indicated northeast as he spoke. “The village is a few hours’ ride from here.” He retrieved a pile of material, more clothes, from his pack and handed it across to me. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”
I tried to pull myself together as he strode away. I stood, easing my clothes off, soiled and tattered from the days of battery. The damage on my bare skin was minimal, I had imagined much worse as I failed to block so many of the strikes. I satisfied my ego by giving the cat pee-smelling elixir more credit than was probably due. I put the new shirt on, soft black leather and fitted, corseted tight around my waist. Slim, dark wool pants and tall boots went on next and I wondered at the village we’d be entering where black was appropriate. I could think of no one at home who had worn black; I envisioned the dainty blond elves dancing around in black leather and giggled.
I glanced up and Chevelle was there, wearing an unfathomable expression. I hurried to finish lacing my boots and threw the cloak around my shoulders as he placed my food on the rocks and went to ready the horses. I sat to eat and he disappeared again. When he returned a moment later, he took my breath. He had exchanged his worn traveling clothes for dark gray and black, the laces at his chest loose, a long dark cloak around his shoulders. I struggled to gather my composure before he noticed me gaping. He despises you. I worked to unknot my stomach as we mounted the horses and headed north again.
By late afternoon, our path opened up and we were looking down on the village, nestled in the rocks of a small valley. Chevelle stopped on a ridge and I rode up beside him to get a better view. I would have never called what I was seeing a village, I couldn’t count the structures from our vantage point but it must have been ten times the size of home. The buildings were the gray stone of the mountain, none were trees; there was really no vegetation at all, no greens, no browns. The entire layout was dark, gray stones and aged wood that seemed to melt right in to the blue gray of the mountain. The cloudy mist kept the sun filtered nicely. I decided it was beautiful.
“Where are we?” I asked. He nodded toward my hands as he started down the path. I glanced at my palms but the map was gone. I was dumbfounded. My skin had returned to its previous state, no indication whatsoever it had ever been burned. Was this our destination? My gaze shot automatically up to find the village once more and then I hastily clicked my heels when I realized I was being left behind.
As we advanced, I could see movement amongst the elves. There was much activity but it was nothing like home. No flags of quilts and rugs blowing in the breeze, no bright sunlight on a rainbow of colors, no dancing. A raucous sound traveled up to us and Chevelle turned to me and waved a hand, his magic bringing the hood of my cloak up to cover my head and then his own. At once, my stomach was a knot again.