Age of Myth (The Legends of the First Empire #1)

Because of its name, Arion expected the frontier of Avrlyn to be green, but for the last several days all she’d seen was brown. Brown rocks, brown grass, brown mud; even the trees were dingy. She’d also been disappointed by the lack of fields. Arion had seen paintings of open valleys—large expanses of flat land or rolling hills—that granted visions of massive skies and wondrous sunsets. Instead, since crossing the Nidwalden, she had walked through an endless tunnel of forests, and the vast woodlands known as the Harwood weren’t anything like the ancient groves of Erivan. They didn’t invite guests to wander in dappled shade. Instead, dense thickets shunned the light and barred passage with thorny brambles. Forests here were wild, hostile things, and she imagined secrets cloaked in moss, leaf, and needle.

She followed Thym, who rode on a cream-colored horse. Gryndal had offered to supply her with a guide, but she had declined. It wasn’t due to any concern about him harming or spying on her. She simply didn’t want to spend several days of isolation with one of Gryndal’s toadies. Still, she recognized the need for a guide.

To her surprise, Arion learned that no living Miralyith, aside from the fane, had set foot outside of Erivan. That forced her to pick a guide from one of the other tribes, which widened the choices, but not by much. Few Fhrey besides the Instarya had ever crossed the Nidwalden River, and none of them could be found in Estramnadon. Eventually, she narrowed the choices to six. They included an Eilywin architect who had once been employed by the Instarya to do some repair work on the northernmost fortress of Ervanon after it had suffered an attack from a band of giants. She’d asked three times about the giant attack to be certain she’d heard correctly. She had. There was also a trio of Nilyndd builders, the same ones the Eilywin had brought with her to do the actual repairs. Another possibility was an Asendwayr hunter, who had served for several hundred years at each of the four Avrlyn frontier outposts, but he was ill when Arion visited. And then there was Thym, an Umalyn who was charged by the tribe of Ferrol’s faithful to spend the warm months ministering to the outer reaches.

Arion chose Thym because she felt comfortable with one of Ferrol’s faithful, having grown up among that tribe. After two thousand years, Arion recognized almost everyone living in Estramnadon, and Thym was no different. Still, he had been just a face and a name. And although she’d probably met him before, she couldn’t recall any conversations. Thym was in the process of preparing for his yearly trip west when she explained about the fane sending her to Alon Rhist, and she asked if he would act as her escort to the frontier. He replied with a stiff smile and a dutiful nod, then introduced her to the horse she would ride.

Arion had never ridden a horse; few sane Fhrey had. The skittish animals were known to bolt or throw their riders. Ferrol had blessed the Fhrey with three thousand years of life, and given that falls often resulted in permanent injury or death, the idea of getting on the back of even the most docile animal was reason for concern.

“Can’t we walk?” she had asked when meeting the horse for the first time.

“It’s nearly a hundred miles over rough terrain to Alon Rhist,” Thym replied. “And forgive me, Your Eminence, but you don’t look like you do much hiking.”

She conceded, accepting the logic that there was little point in obtaining a Green Field Guide’s services if she didn’t take his advice. And that’s how Arion came to be precariously perched on the back of an extremely tall white horse named Naraspur when she and her guide reached the edge of the Harwood. The long tunnel of trees ended, and Arion beheld a wondrous sight. Leaving the forest, she discovered they were at a great height, on a ridge that afforded a breathtaking view. Having lived her entire life under Erivan’s canopy, Arion was amazed.

So this is the sky!

The entirety of it was so broad and deep, it appeared endless. There were inexplicable white wisps floating above them, and a brilliant light. Previously, she’d experienced the sun only filtered through layers of leaves and needles. Looking straight out, Arion saw her first horizon. She could see for forever. Hills rose and fell in blue ridges. Even more impressive was the monstrous mountain that towered over them. Cone-shaped, it appeared to challenge the vast blue of the sky for dominance, its peak a brilliant white. From it flowed a river, which snaked below them, glistening silver. But not even the mountain could rival the awe-inspiring sight of the sky.

Thym waited patiently, his horse’s tail swishing. The Umalyn were a patient lot, but he also must have known the effect of that bend in the road. She imagined that everyone he traveled with paused in that exact spot.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“From here on, you’ll need to travel with your hood up to guard against the sun. Cover your skin except during early morning or late afternoon. Otherwise you’ll burn.”

“Burn?”

Thym nodded. “If you limit your exposure, your skin will gradually darken. Then you won’t have to worry. A lot of sun too quickly will burn you.” He patted the top of his head with the flat of his palm. The priest had a full head of curly brown hair, so full and buoyant that he might have been wearing a furry hat. “My hair protects me, but you won’t fare so well, so do as I say and keep your hood up.” Thym urged his horse onward.

Arion did as he said, but sneaked tentative peeks skyward from under the lip of her garment. She wondered if Thym was lying to make a fool of her. That marvelous sense of freedom that had come with such a wide view was lost within the confines of the hood, but she followed Thym’s advice. Her guide hadn’t spoken much, and she didn’t think he’d break his silence if the danger wasn’t real.

“How far are we?”

“Still a few days out, but you’ll be able to see it once we reach the top of that next ridge.”

“Really?” she said skeptically. “I’ll be able to see the distance of more than one day’s ride?”

He laughed and caught himself with a hand over his mouth. “Forgive me, that wasn’t very respectful, Your Eminence.”

“I told you to call me Arion.”

“Of course, Your Eminence, but do understand that not all Miralyith are as nonchalant as you. Should I fall into the habit of familiarity, I might find it a habit hard to break. If I slipped up with someone else, someone less inclined to dispense with the honors of your tribe’s station…well…I don’t even want to consider what could happen.”

She sighed. “Fine. But I’m curious, why did you laugh?”

He looked down, embarrassed. “Please forgive me. That was rude.”

“But why did you do it?”

Thym’s eyes came up, and a bit of his smile lingered. He pointed to the rows of hills. “You already see more than a day’s ride. Those distant peaks are the Fendal and Adendal Durat, mountain ranges that cross the west side of Avrlyn and are easily a hundred, maybe a hundred fifty miles away.” He pointed at the mountain looming over them. “Just to reach the peak of Mount Mador would take you days.”

Arion gazed out amazed. “But it looks so close.”

“Distances are deceiving, especially when climbing is involved.”

The two followed a constricting path that twisted back on itself, descending the ridge into a shallow valley.

“And all of this is uninhabited?” she asked.

“Of course not.” Thym had moved ahead as the path narrowed, and she couldn’t see his face any longer. “These hills are filled with all manner of creatures.”