nodded, remembering the horrible keening and bone-shattering cold.
“Well, it’s twenty times worse in the mountains.”
Shivering, I pulled my cloak tight. The late-afternoon sunshine warmed the land, but I hated being cold. All those years working in my family’s glass factory had gotten me used to the heat. Eight kilns running nonstop kept the brick building steaming hot.
“Has anyone tried skirting them to the north?” I asked.
“Suicide. The mountains run right into the northern ice sheet. Between the icy temperatures and the snow cats you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
A finger of fear traced my spine as the image of bloodstained snow formed. Fierce, cunning and with heightened senses, a snow cat was impossible to hunt. They smelled, heard or saw a person well before the hunter spotted them. With their white coats blending into the ice sheet, the sole warning of an impending attack was movement. By then it was too late.
One man held the honor of killing a snow cat. The Commander of Ixia. Even Valek, the Commander’s chief of security and assassin, couldn’t make that claim. Yet he’d managed to hide the Fire Warper’s glass prison in a snow cat’s den. Interesting.
At least the prison would remain hidden. No one else would risk sneaking by seven snow cats to retrieve the Warper’s soul. It would be suicide.
Four days of travel with Janco proved to be an extended exercise in patience. His curiosity focused on everything and everyone. Nonstop commentary about the strangeness of Sitia flowed from his mouth, and he enjoyed arguing. He found a fault with every issue, and we even debated on the merits or lack of merits of dust.
At least I learned a few self-defense tactics and he promised to teach me how to pick a lock in Ognap.
We reached the edge of the Emerald Mountains on the morning of the fourth day. The rolling terrain painted with lush greenery spread out before us like a rumpled quilt. Farms dotted the mounds, and clusters of buildings occupied the cracks. One large grouping extended along a narrow valley and climbed the hills to each side. Ognap, the Cloud Mist Clan’s capital.
The snowcapped Emerald Mountains loomed beyond the foothills, stretching toward the sky. Impressive.
For once, Janco remained quiet. But as we drew near the town’s limits, he stopped Moonlight. “With your glass messengers in every city, the details about our escape have probably been sent to each one. So there’s a chance the town’s guards will be watching for us. We could do one of two things. Either go in via the main road separately or circle around and find another way in.” Janco glanced at the sky. “And we should go in after dark.”
Although the thought of being alone tempted me, I decided we should stay together. My fighting skills needed to be much better for me to feel confident in them. Devlen had bypassed my sais with ease even though I had three years of lessons at the Keep. More emphasis on training and self-defense went into the final year of the curriculum. The final year I was currently missing.
We found an isolated glade to wait for the sun to set. To help pass the time, I challenged Janco to a match.
He jumped to his feet, his sword at the ready. “The glass warden isn’t bor…ing. Her sais may sing, but I am the king.”
“Warden and boring don’t rhyme.” I set my feet into a fighting stance with my sais in a defensive position. The guard was U-shaped and flared toward the weapon’s point. I balanced one arm of the guard between my thumb and index finger, which lay along the hilt. The rest of my fingers curled around the other side of the guard.
“You try and find a word that rhymes with warden.”
I tried, but Janco attacked and all my concentration focused on his lightning-fast strikes and quick parries. He won every match. Despite his tendency to lapse into extreme smugness, he guided my efforts to defend myself and I learned quite a bit from him.
During a break, he said, “Not bad. Not good, either. You need to practice every day for four hours.”
“Four hours!” My arms ached and sides heaved after just an hour.
He grinned. “The Commander’s soldiers run for two hours every morning, and practice drills every afternoon. When you’re new, practice time lasts six hours and when you’re an old soul like me, practice lasts about two hours. Keeps the skills sharp.”
“Old soul.” I laughed. “You’re thirty.”
He stroked his goatee. White whiskers peppered the black. “It’s not the years, it’s the experience.” He paused. His eyes held a distant gleam as if seeing into his past. “My first practice was a shock. I was a cocky smart aleck—”
“Was?”
“Be quiet. I’m telling a story here. I easily bested my fellow trainees, but the trainers unarmed me in record time. And the Weapons Master was impossible to beat. He would just look at me, and my practice sword would fly from my hand.”
I stifled my dubiousness over Janco’s exaggerations.
He inspected the blade of his sword. “It irked me. Big-time. I started to practice eight hours a day and learned counterstrikes, attacks and strategies from anyone who would teach me. I trained with every sword we had. Broadswords, rapiers, short swords and sabers. Plus, I learned how to use a knife and unarmed combat.”
“And?”
“He kept winning, but each match lasted a little bit longer. Until…”
He waited for me to prompt him. “Until?”
“I discovered my rhythm. My footwork was horrible, but one day it clicked and I started letting my instincts guide my actions. You know those little clues an opponent makes before they move?”
“No. I’m usually too focused on the weapon.”
“A mistake. Here.” He slid his feet into a fighting stance and pointed his rapier toward me. “Get ready. Now watch my blade.”
I concentrated on the silver shaft. He lunged. The tip of his blade stopped an inch from my chest before I reacted.
“Now watch my eyes.”
I met his light brown gaze. Once again he shot past my defenses.
“Now watch my hips.”
A slight hitch of movement alerted me and I stepped back. Countering, I blocked his blade with a clang and deflected it past my body.
“See?” he asked.
“Yes! Are there more?”
“A few. Those clues allowed me to concentrate more on my opponent’s strategy and find their fighting cadence. Beginners are easy because they’ll do the same series of moves over and over, while experts will keep changing it or will lull you into a rhythm and bang! Switch it up.” Appreciation gleamed on his face as he stabbed the air. “It took me well over a year to discover the Weapon Master’s dance. I had been making up rhymes in my mind to help me with my footwork, but for that last match with the Master, I recited them aloud. He hated that! Especially since my rhymes harmonized to his attacks. And anger makes you sloppy.”
“You beat him?”
“Yep.” He danced a victory jig.
“What happened after?”
He stopped. “I was transferred to the Commander’s guard, where I met Ari.” Huffing in amusement, he continued, “Since I beat the Weapons Master, I arrived with a cocky confidence.” Janco held up a hand before I could comment. “I know, I know. Hard to believe. One match with the big brute knocked the swagger from my step as well as knocking me unconscious.” He rubbed his jaw. “Then there was Valek with his super assassin skills and Maren with her bow staff. I had much more to learn. Endless practice ensued, and now here I am, just a humble average guy.”
“Your humility is inspiring.”
He