The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [257]
Anger crossed his scarred face. “There's no time for such unimportant things.” He limped toward Travis. “You must take the Stones, Master Wilder. You must go to the First Rune. That is what I had to tell you, and now I have.” He held out his hand. Gelthisar shone blue-white on his palm.
Thunder rolled across the world, shaking the ground. A wind sprang up, rushing from the mountains, slicing through cloth and into flesh like a bitter knife. Forks of lightning tore apart the clouds, and the air deepened into dusk, as if a shadow had fallen across the world.
“The Lord of Nightfall comes!” Larad shouted above the moan of the wind. “Mohg will be upon us in a moment, and he will wrest the Imsari from us.” He thrust the Stone of Ice forward. “Take it, Runebreaker. Go, before it's too late!”
Melia and Falken gazed at Travis, their faces pale, their eyes imploring. The wind blew ash into his eyes, stinging them. When he blinked the grit away, he saw Beltan standing before him. It was impossible, but the blond man was smiling.
“I know you're afraid, Travis.” Beltan took his hand and squeezed it tight. “We're all afraid, too. I can't really see how all this can possibly work out. But maybe it's like the guard tower at Calavere after the explosion. Sometimes, to save something, you have to destroy it first.”
If Travis had added up all the grief, all the sorrow and despair—and all the love—he had ever felt in all the years of his life, it would have been nothing compared to what he felt in that one, single moment. He tried to speak, but the only sound he could seem to make was a sob. Over the knight's shoulder, Vani was looking at him, her gold eyes filled not with fear or doubt, but with hope. She held both of her hands to her stomach, and she was smiling at him.
Beltan kissed his brow. “Go.”
For a moment Travis stood frozen. Then another crack of thunder rent the air like the sound of a great and terrible whip. The shadow deepened, stretching out over the world. Travis turned and took Gelthisar from Larad's hand. It was not cold against his skin as he had expected, but rather cool and smooth as glass. He drew the other Stones from his pocket and held all three in his hand. They glowed softly, one blue-white, one fiery red-orange, and one as gray-green as twilight in a forest.
The two Maugrim—the shaman and the gnarled witch-woman—had drawn close. Travis looked up at them. “Take me to the Dawning Stone.”
The man pointed with a thick-knuckled finger, toward the mountains, and made a low grunting noise in his throat.
This way.
59.
Travis did not look back.
If he had, he was afraid he would fall to his hands and knees, that he would crawl back over the dusty ground to Melia and Falken, to Beltan and Vani, that he would clutch them and beg them not to make him go.
Instead he kept his eyes forward and clenched his jaw as he followed after the Maugrim. They moved quickly across the valley, walking with a strange, loping gate, and he had to hurry to keep up with them. The cold, dry air knifed at his lungs, and the metallic taste of blood spread through his mouth. How far would they have to go? Was it even possible to reach the Dawning Stone before Mohg?
The sky grew darker. The lightning had ceased, but the wind blew harder, howling down from the Ironfang Mountains, blowing away the clouds to reveal a jagged line running across the sky.
Grit clawed at Travis's eyes. By the time he blinked them clear, he had lost sight of the Maugrim. He turned in circles, calling out to them, but the wind snatched his voice away. He was lost, and this was the end of everything.
A strong hand gripped his arm and pulled him to the side. The buffeting of the wind ceased, though Travis could still hear its keening. He rubbed his eyes and saw he was in a cave. Walls of rough stone pressed close, only the force was comforting rather than oppressive. In one direction lay the mouth of the cave; dust swirled beyond. In the other direction lay . . . what? Travis