A Midwinter Fantasy - Leanna Renee Hieber [60]
Chapter Seven
The hills of Eferem, while nowhere near as steep as the high mountains of Para Dubh, were far hillier than anything in the Valley, and there were just so many damn trees. With the snows, they’d turned into a hazardous wasteland of frozen white that Mace was sure would have broken any normal horse’s leg several times over. He, however, barely noticed the holes that threatened to twist or break an ankle, or the hidden gullies that an animal could fall into, other than for how a misstep might unseat Sally.
He did keep an eye on Ruffles, but the dog made her way easily, far more agile on the rough terrain than a horse. She also set the speed of their travel. Mace could walk until his energy ran out, but Ruffles was quicker to tire—as was Sally. The human woman sat his back easily enough, her knees gripping his barrel, but though he’d softened his spine for her comfort, he could feel how cold and tired she became as the day wore on, as well as how utterly determined she was to save her son.
His son as well. Mace felt her absolute conviction about that, her utter refusal to consider any other option. He wondered at her unconditional determination to hold on to the idea, knowing it just wasn’t possible. Of all the battle sylphs in the world, and all of them with lovers, how could it be that he was the only one to father a child? And a boy. There were other battlers far more suited. There were even some who liked men. Heyou was friends with everyone, regardless of gender, and the battler Ril was mad enough to keep his bond to the same man who’d originally enslaved him. Even more insanely, his tie to both the man and his daughter were stronger than anything anyone else had in the Valley except Heyou. Each of those two would have been fine with a half-human son. Mace wasn’t. It was wrong. It couldn’t be anything other than wrong. But Sally said it was true, and if he wanted to feel that sweetness he had when he made love to her again, he could see already that he’d have to accept her son.
The day after they left Falloweld, they came out of the woods into a sloping valley, the trees continuing on either side and a not-very-impressive ridgeline ahead. According to Sally’s imperfect knowledge, and to the maps he’d demanded from her brother before leaving, there was a river beyond. There seemed the best place to try and find the bandits, providing they were still in the area. He suspected so. If they were attacking convoys this late in the year, they must be prepared to stay the winter. Mace hoped so. He wasn’t very interested in tracking them across the world. He wasn’t even sure he could.
Without any covering trees, he had to shoulder his way through belly-deep snow, Sally on his back with her legs crossed and hanging on to his mane to keep from falling off. Ruffles followed, sniffing her way happily along the trail Mace cut. It was cloudy overhead, but there was no snow falling, and he looked up at the cliffs ahead, debating the best way to get over them. They weren’t high, but they did surround the valley like a wall. He’d have to find a place he could climb, hopefully without having to make Sally walk.
Mace felt the bandits before he saw them, naturally. A sudden flick of human boredom came from the top of the ridgeline ahead, followed by alertness. Mace snorted, Sally straightening uncertainly as he reacted to the emotions of two men who were both surprised and suspicious.
“What is it?” Sally asked.
Mace stopped, his broad head lifted toward the ridge. The top was covered in trees, making it impossible to see anyone. “We’ve been spotted,” he told her.
“Are we in danger?” she asked.
“No,” he promised, and