Chapter 3: Blackthorn Pass
1310 Words
Morning came harsh and gray. Arabella woke to the distant clang of armor and the low murmur of soldiers preparing to break camp. For a moment she forgot where she was. The unfamiliar weight of furs over her body, the scent of smoke in the air, the rough stone beneath the bedroll, none of it belonged to the life she had known.
Then memory returned. The ambush. The mountains. Aziel.
She sat up slowly, brushing frost from the edge of the blanket. The fire had died sometime during the night, leaving only dull embers that glowed faintly in the ash. The camp was already stirring outside.
Arabella pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and stepped out into the biting air. The mountains towered over them like silent judges. Thin morning light crept over their jagged peaks, turning the snow pale gold. Soldiers moved quickly around the campsite, packing supplies, saddling horses, dousing the last of the fires. No one spoke loudly. The attack had unsettled them all.
Her gaze instinctively searched the camp until it found him. Aziel stood near the edge of the ridge, speaking quietly with his captain. Even from a distance his presence commanded attention. He seemed carved from the same dark stone as the mountains themselves, still, cold, unmovable.
The captain said something that made Aziel glance toward the ravine. Then Aziel looked directly at her. Arabella held his gaze. He did not look away first.
“Lady Arabella.”
She turned at the voice. Maren approached, carrying a small bundle of cloth and bread. The handmaiden’s relief was obvious the moment she saw Arabella standing unharmed.
“My lady, I feared the worst when the attack began.”
“I feared the same,” Arabella admitted quietly.
Maren handed her the bundle. Inside was coarse bread, dried meat, and a small flask of watered wine.
“You should eat,” Maren urged. “The captain says the climb ahead is worse.”
Arabella nodded, though her appetite was thin. She forced herself to swallow a few bites.
Before she could finish, a shadow fell across the snow. Aziel. Up close, the morning light revealed faint streaks of dried blood on the leather of his gauntlet. His hair was still damp with melting frost, and the cold seemed to cling to him like armor.
“We leave in ten minutes,” he said.
Arabella wiped her hands on her cloak. “Your timing is impeccable.”
His eyes flicked to the half-eaten bread.
“You should finish it.”
“Concern for my well-being, my lord? I am touched.”
“It is inefficient for you to collapse halfway through the pass.”
She almost laughed. “Your kindness overwhelms me.”
He ignored the remark. “The trail ahead narrows. The carriage will not continue.”
Arabella blinked. “Then how exactly do you propose I travel?”
His answer came without hesitation. “You will ride.”
Her stomach tightened. “I have not ridden mountain trails before.”
“You will today.”
She folded her arms. “You assume much about my willingness.”
“I assume you prefer not to freeze to death.”
He turned slightly and whistled. A large black horse was led forward by one of the soldiers. The animal was enormous, its coat dark as night, breath steaming in the cold air.
Arabella eyed it warily. “That beast could crush me.”
“He will not.”
“You sound very confident.”
Aziel took the reins and stepped closer. “He is trained.”
“He looks trained to kill.” The horse snorted as if in agreement.
Aziel’s mouth twitched faintly. “His name is Varkos.”
“Of course it is.”
He studied her expression for a moment. Then, to her surprise, he offered his hand. Arabella stared at it.
“You expect me to trust you?”
“No,” he said calmly. “I expect you to climb.”
For several seconds she considered refusing purely out of spite. But the mountains stretched endlessly around them, and the wind cut through her cloak like knives. Reluctantly, she took his hand. His grip was strong, steady, and warm despite the cold.
With a single smooth motion he lifted her into the saddle. Arabella gasped as the horse shifted beneath her. Aziel adjusted the reins into her hands.
“Keep your weight forward on the inclines. Back on descents.”
“You assume I will remember that.”
“You will if you prefer not to die.”
Before she could respond, he mounted his own horse with effortless ease. The soldiers began forming their riding formation. Arabella glanced down at the steep mountain path ahead. It looked less like a road and more like a narrow scar carved into the rock.
“This is madness,” she muttered.
Aziel heard. “Yes.”
Then he nudged his horse forward. The climb began.
The trail twisted sharply along the mountainside, sometimes narrowing so much Arabella could see the ravine dropping away beside her. Her hands tightened around the reins. The horse stepped carefully over loose stones and patches of ice. Wind howled through the pass, carrying with it the distant cry of birds. Or something else.
They rode for nearly two hours in silence. Arabella’s muscles began to ache from the unfamiliar strain of balancing on the steep slopes. At one particularly narrow stretch, Varkos slipped slightly. Her heart lurched into her throat.
“Easy,” Aziel’s voice called calmly from ahead. She realized with surprise that he had slowed his horse to remain beside her.
“Keep your eyes forward,” he said.
“I am trying not to look down.”
“Good.”
They continued another stretch before the path widened enough for them to ride side by side. Arabella exhaled slowly. “You seem remarkably calm for someone traveling with a moving target.”
Aziel glanced at her. “You refer to yourself.”
“You said it, not me.”
“Fear wastes energy.”
“I find it rather motivating.”
“Only if you control it.”
She studied his expression. “Were you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Unsettlingly composed.”
A pause. “No.”
Something about the way he said it made her curious. “What changed you?”
Aziel looked ahead at the towering peaks. “War.”
The single word carried weight. Arabella did not press further.
They rode another mile before the wind shifted. Aziel suddenly raised a hand. The entire procession stopped. Arabella’s pulse quickened.
“What is it?”
He dismounted slowly and crouched near the edge of the trail. The soldiers watched in tense silence. Aziel brushed aside a thin layer of snow. Beneath it, the ground was disturbed. Hoofprints. Fresh ones. Arabella felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach.
“We are not alone,” Aziel said quietly.
The captain frowned. “Scouts?”
“No.”
Aziel rose slowly. “Hunters.”
Arabella’s voice came out softer than she intended. “The same ones from yesterday?”
“Perhaps.”
His gaze lifted toward the ridgeline above them. The wind carried a distant sound. A howl. Low. Echoing through the mountains. Arabella felt the hairs rise along the back of her neck.
“Wolves?” she whispered.
Aziel’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
The howl came again. Closer. Aziel turned to the soldiers. “Form a defensive line.” Steel rang as swords were drawn. Arabella’s horse shifted nervously beneath her.
“What is happening?” she asked.
Aziel mounted again, drawing his blade in one fluid motion. His pale eyes met hers. “This,” he said calmly, “is why the Blackthorn Pass is feared.”
- Writer
