Read The Scepter of Namiss (The Books of Braenyn 1) Page 5
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Braenyn spent three days recovering in Oasis. With the Ogres’ gemstones he bought a tent for the three nights, filled his belly and drank honeysuckle wine. He purchased salves from the local healer and rubbed his muscles with it each night. One night he flirted for hours with a young human warrior in a tavern. The young man was adorable but Braenyn couldn’t bring himself to go any further than that. He thought of Tarrow and remained true. Besides, how would his mother react to taking up with a human? She always spoke of how she did not trust them.
The town was vibrant and alive with commerce. Fish markets lined the shores of the lake. Furs and clothing were sold in the street made from animals trapped in the local mountains. Magicians, jugglers and acrobats performed on every corner. Many races conjoined and traded here, some traveled on the lakes while others came through the mountains. Cooked meat and baked goods filled the air tempting Braenyn at every step.
After he had rested to his satisfaction, Braenyn said goodbye to the town of Oasis and continued on his journey. Miles out of town he found a path riddled with jagged stones resembling teeth. He was still heading the right way. The map clearly identified the path of Fangs, so named for its interesting rock formations.
The path ascended, climbing ever steeply into the Shade-Spun Mountains and it was not long before the elf had to sheath his sword and use his hands to climb. The way was treacherous, fraught with sharp stone that nicked and bit into flesh, thorny brush that lashed like dragon tails and tree roots that tangled like serpents.
Rubble shifted beneath his feet and rolled hundreds of feet below. One slip, one unsteady grip and he could plummet to his death. He tasted dust in his mouth, sweat poured from the tips of his pointed ears, and his arms ached intensely but he pushed on.
The plant life began to grow scarce, the air grew cool and his breathing became labored. Braenyn knew he was up higher than he’d ever been, getting closer to the top of only the first peak.
Having scaled over the first peak Braenyn and found himself in a gap between peaks. He dropped to his knees and caught his breath. His heart pounded, his arms and legs were wracked with pain and a sound caught his attention.
Braenyn looked around then back at the peak he scaled. Up on a ridge a patrol of Black Hearts suddenly appeared and spotted him. Where had they come from? The way up the mountains was treacherous surely he would have heard them. The walking monstrosities of black armor lumbered and made a clattering when moving. It was rumored that they were nothing but armor, that there was nothing beneath the suits of metal that shambled. Their bloodstained weapons never lost their scarlet hues. They came to a halt and gestured to the elf before drawing their bows and taking aim.
The elf sat cross-legged and waved his hands. His eyes glowed and a rumble echoed through the valley. The rocks around Braenyn shook and shifted.
A rain of arrows cut through the air and whistled toward the elf thief but the rocks around him rallied to his call. A dome of solid stone formed around him blocking the onslaught as hundreds of arrows shattered or bounced back through the air.
Braenyn continued to call in his Elven tongue and the ridge above wobbled. Massive rocks fell from the peak above the Black Hearts, tramping them, scattering them.
The elf did not stay around to see the rest. He cast the rock dome away from him and ran off to the next peak as the ridge finally collapsed behind him. Eventually the thunderous sounds dwindled as he prepared to climb again he hoped he was rest enough. There were seven more peaks to go each more difficult then the last.