The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [107]
‘That is your choice. We will wake your companions in either case, once we are under the mountain.’ He looked skyward. ‘Choose now, Rosette. Dark comes quickly on the mountain.’
A hawk whistled from the far side of the plateau.
Follow them, she heard whispered softly into her mind. She turned to Drayco, but he hadn’t moved. Dray?
The Lupin motioned her forward.
She let out her breath. ‘All right. I’ll meet your Kreshkali, though I think you’ve made a big mistake. I don’t have the blood you speak of and I don’t know the Spell of Passillo.’
‘She’ll be pleased to meet you, just the same.’
‘And you will wake them?’ she asked again.
‘I will.’
‘All right, Hotha, please lead the way.’ Her spine erect, she forced her shoulders back and followed as they moved towards the far side of the summit. She sensed for her familiar and was relieved to feel Drayco’s dark dreaming. He was only unconscious. They would release him. It was all right.
As they approached the far side of the summit, she heard his voice, faint like a distant sea.
Don’t go, Maudi. Not without me.
It’s all right, Dray. When you can, get to the cave with the others. It’ll be fine. I’ll meet you there.
She sent him the message with a blast of healing magic, discovering that as long as it wasn’t directed at the Lupins, she could boost all she liked.
Listen for me. Wait for me. I’ll be back by morning. I promise. Just get to the cave.
The Sword Master? Scylla?
They will wake up soon. You all need to get to the cave.
And you? Why are you going?
To meet Kreshkali, High Priestess of the underworld. Don’t try to talk me out of it, Drayco, or I’ll lose my nerve. This is a chance of a lifetime. I’m not going to pass it up.
She sent him another boost of healing energy and followed the Lupins through the snow.
It took Jarrod a few seconds to realise that Rosette was not on the mountain summit. It was less than half that time again before he saw how badly things had gone. The place looked like a battlefield: the victors fled, the casualties left to freeze.
He moved to a body lying face down and covered with snow. Had he fought the wildcat beneath him? He pulled his glove off with his teeth and felt the throat for a pulse. A regular beat pushed against his fingers. He did the same to the feline. Both were alive, just unconscious and impossible to rouse.
Jarrod levered the man onto his back. He could find no wounds. He pulled back the eyelids, checking the pupils then gently patting the man’s face. ‘Are you with me?’
The man groaned and coughed.
Jarrod held his head above the snow. ‘Can you tell me your name?’
‘An’ Lawrence,’ he whispered.
‘What happened?’
‘Scylla…’ He tried to reach towards the feline lying motionless beside him.
‘She has a heartbeat,’ Jarrod assured him. ‘We’ll see to her shortly. Where’s Rosette?’
‘Rosette?’ He frowned, unconsciousness taking him again.
‘Great,’ Jarrod mumbled, going to his horse and retrieving a small medical kit from his saddlebag. He looked skyward at the darkening clouds that threatened heavy snow, and sent a shrill whistle for Nell. She should have been here by now, so where in this frozen hell was she?
Within moments his summons was answered by a distant cry beyond the far edge of the peak, but he couldn’t see her. Wherever she was, she’d better hurry. If he didn’t get the injured to shelter soon, they would die of hypothermia. Nights on the summit were subzero.
Jarrod examined the Sword Master. Other than a bang on the head, he had no injuries. ‘Just a concussion,’ he said, looking west.
The sun had set, the clouds thinning to reveal Ishtar, the evening star, bright in the pallid green sky. The scrunch of boots in the snow brought his head around. Nell was bent over the black temple cat. She acknowledged Jarrod only when the feline had struggled to his feet.
‘How is he?’ She gestured to An’ Lawrence.
‘Unconscious, but he’s breathing all right. We’ve got to get him off the ice and build a fire. Same for this one,’ he said, stroking the buff-coloured fur. ‘His familiar, I guess.’
Nell nodded before putting