Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [56]
It was tempting to halt and retreat. He could rely on his own knowledge of the trails to take them down safely again. But the glacier was so close now. The wind blowing in his face smelled of ancient ice.
Caelan’s blood stirred. He loved the glacier. For too long he had been away. He would not turn back now.
“Let’s keep climbing,” he said, and kicked his pony forward.
The pony scrambled and lunged up a series of stair-stepped ledges that looked suitable for a goat; then the fog cleared, and they were above the cloud band, up on top above the rest of the world.
Caelan glanced down at the treetops below, dark green tips peeking out through the cottony cloud. The pass plunged a dizzying distance far below them; overhead, the blue wheel of sky arched clear. Caelan’s head swiveled as he drank in the sight of the vast gray-green ice of the glacier itself.
His heart filled his throat, and suddenly he was a heedless boy again. Tipping back his head and whooping in sheer joy, Caelan glimpsed the herd of nordeer in the distance and kicked his pony after them. This was the one place where he felt at home, truly one with earth and sky. The glacier had been his refuge, his place of restoration, his own private sanctuary. Now his mind felt clear and peaceful for the first time in too long. He bent lower over the pony’s neck, urging it faster after the bounding nordeer.
Lea followed at his heels, never falling too far behind.
The nordeer ahead slowed down. Suddenly he was among them, riding in their midst. The sunshine flowed over them, gilding their rippling shoulders. Their antlers looked tipped with silver; then, in surprise, he realized it was no illusion. The silver was real, and their large, solemn eyes were blue, not animal brown.
Nor were they wild creatures as he had originally thought, for now each animal wore a bright green collar around its neck, from which hung a silver bell. The bells were ringing with every bounding stride the animals made, heralding their arrival in a melodic, tinkling cascade of sound.
He had not noticed the bells before. Nor had he ever traveled so far across the glacier so fast. He seemed almost to feel distance slipping past his ears along with the rush of the wind, then they dipped down a slope and raced up the other side. At the crest of the rise, the nordeer stopped in a kicked-up flurry of snow and ice, great plumes of white breath shooting from their nostrils.
Caelan’s pony stopped with them, and he sat there in the saddle, his fingers slack on the reins, his heart pounding from exertion, and stared at the array of tents spread out before him. They were fashioned of every possible color and hue—bright, billowy shelters that could be knocked down and moved in a matter of minutes. Smoke curled from holes in the tent tops, and there was a general bustle and activity in all directions, punctuated by the rhythmic hammering of smiths at work.
Some of Caelan’s joy faded, and he felt nervous again. He wasn’t sure why he had come here, or why Lea had insisted. The Choven were mysterious and nomadic. Seldom had he seen one; now and then they appeared at summer fairs to trade. Never permanently at one location, they could not be found by anyone who sought them. Those wishing to buy their magical wares had to leave word, and eventually the Choven would come of their own accord. They could not be haggled with. They could not be cheated. Sometimes they brought what a person had ordered; sometimes they delivered objects that they felt were more important. It was considered unwise to question a Choven selection; to refuse or break a deal was unheard of.
The nordeer trotted down to the camp, bells tinkling, antlers flashing silver in the sun. Caelan and Lea followed in their wake, and suddenly the flap of every tent seemed to open at the same time. Staring openly, the Choven peered out at them in silence.
Feeling very self-conscious, Caelan moved one hand nervously to the hilt of his sword, then dropped it. Could he be one of these people, as Lea had said? No, it was too