Page 32 of The Pastel Prince

“Very well then. We shall offer them her flute for passage over their lands.” I rose to my toes to kiss him on the cheek.

“Thank you.” He slid the flute back into his saddlebag.

“Well, now that we got the payment settled, I’ll also pass along that riding up on them with weapons drawn and armored will get you a crossbow bolt in the eyeball. We want to keep calm and show them that you’re friends. They don’t got a big trust of people.”

I threw my leg over my horse, then settled into the saddle. “I remember seeing a few at court when we would visit the capital. They clung to the sides of the banquet rooms, taller than any others in attendance, shy creatures it seemed.”

“That’s a yeti. Big as split pine conifers, as furry as a dog’s ass, and as meek as a mouse outside of their hunting grounds. Once you get them back on the mountain, they’re not ones to feck about with. My people and them live in a kind of truce state with an occasional skirmish every hundred years or so but mostly peaceful. Course we know how to deal with the buggers, and they know how to deal with us charmers.”

Beirach chuckled lifelessly as we began our climb. The day wore on slowly, and the horses grew more and more anxious the steeper the mountainside became. With temperatures falling throughout the day, it led us into lands coated with snow and ice. The tops of the Witherhorn range were thick with clouds that clung to the tips, fragile flakes tumbling down from the sky to coat the horses’ coats and our pelts within an hour.

We paused for a fast lunch of dry beaver meat—which I declined—and some black beans spread on flat bread, which I enjoyed. Water now was not an issue, for we could simply melt snow in our mouths. The horses did the same, but Beirach said we should find open water for them before nightfall. The rumble of Mother Moth could be heard if we stood silently and tipped our heads.

“This is as far as the horses can safely go,” Bissori called out after we rode for several more miles after lunch. The going was perilous now, our horses’ hooves sliding out from under them more frequently. Snow now fell steadily, clinging to our lashes and Bissori’s thick black beard. Our guide dismounted and began pulling plate armor from his saddlebags. I looked at Beirach with confusion. “We’ll pass under a rock outcropping and that’ll be where the first yeti will be sitting. They’ll call down to us in their tongue. Any of you talk yeti?” We shook our heads. Tezen was hiding in my braids, the snow caked to the thin plaits running down my back. “Okay, well, it’ll sound like a dog with his nuts caught in a door. When you hear it, you’ll know. I know a few sounds but nothing to run a full conversation with them. I brung a few bobs and bits. My stock is depleted. Stop dead and hold that flute over your head. If they like it, and I wager they will, they’ll bark down at us. Sit still. Wait for them to come to us. You hand over the flute, I’ll drop my earrings, and they’ll give us a rock.”

“A rock?” Beirach asked and got a bob of a fur-hatted dwarven head.

“A rock. They like them. It’ll be painted. They may speak to you in elvish like we all do down off the mountain, or they may not. Most likely not as the ones who speak other languages will be the clan chieftains. You think one of you can give me a hand here? Ain’t easy armoring up alone.”

“I’m sorry, cousin, but…what in all the depths of hell are you doing?” Beirach asked as a strong wind blew the falling flakes sideways. “I distinctly heard you tell Agathe that you were dropping us off and then heading home. She wants a recipe?”

“Oh that.” He lowered the intricate bronzed breastplate to rest on his toes. “That was our way of saying not to get dead. Agathe ain’t one for sappy talk, bless her. She and me talked when you two were getting frisky in the steam hut.” Even in thecold temperatures, my cheeks grew warm. Momentarily. “Since you ain’t heard from that crusty old cunt Umeris, we both knew you’d need a good sword arm.”

“Hey, I’m a great warrior!” Tezen called from my braids.

“No disrespect, my lady. A second fighter. How’s that? Now, can someone help with the chain mail and chest plate? I can do the rest alone.”

“But…this is not necessary, Bissori. We cannot ask you to risk your life when the curse is not aimed at your people,” Beirach argued from the back of his horse, fully armored, as was I and Tezen.

“You didn’t ask…I volunteered. And if you elves are being hurt, then it does affect my people since you’re half elf and my cousin by marriage. Plus, all you druids are good for the plants and animals. Now would you stop jawing at me and help?” Bissori snapped, his beard now heavy with snow, ice crystals forming and melting on his bushy mustache with each breath.

“Agathe will castrate us if anything happens to you.” Beirach sighed, dismounting then clapping Bissori on the back after a robust hug.

“Then best not let me get a nick, eh? Given the looks on your faces when you snuck back in last night, you’ll be wanting your peckers for further fornication.”

Tezen giggled madly. I tried to wiggle down into my cloak and armor to hide my face but only my chin would fit. Was there no way to hide a night of passion from curious eyes?

“Why did you not don your armor when we all did after breaking our fast?” I asked, the wind howling about us ripping my words away so quickly I had to inquire twice.

“Too heavy for Cornbread to carry once I suited up. She ain’t no war horse. Plus, it’s colder than a witch’s tuppy to sit in hammered bronze for half a damn day,” he replied, and Inodded. My leather armor seemed to keep in some body heat, not enough surely, but some.

The process to armor up a dwarf went somewhat quickly after I stopped asking questions. “Glad we left the horses behind before we started the climb up,” Bissori called through a helm that resembled a wild boar. He looked quite fearsome with his mace, shield, and finely made dwarven armor. “Wind break will keep them sheltered. If we get a rock, then we’ll push on, following the sound of the falls. The white oaks sit just through the waters. We’ll have to walk through the tears of Mother Moth, which will suck a troll’s sack as the dousing will be bitter cold. That’s as far as I know for certain. I heard rumors that the gilded doors are a ways in, but them are only rumors. I don’t know many people who ventured into yeti lands or to the door and come back alive.”

“Then we shall hope that we are some of the lucky ones,” Beirach said while I slipped from Atreil’s back.

I checked the snowy sky again as we led our steeds along a narrow ledge. No sign of Nin. It should not have taken the raven this long to return. Umeris surely would not abandon us to face a mad necromancer alone. Would he? No. If the forest elves fell, the loss would be felt across Melowynn. Nature would fall into disarray, the woods would be without wardens, the goddess would wither away with no children to pray to her. Life on Melowynn would be forever changed, for once the woods died so did the creatures that called them home. Once the creatures were gone, those who shared this world with them would suffer. Even if we were considered lesser than, the titled ones would not let us be wiped out. Umeriswouldsend help. We were his people, even if our skin tone was different.

Bissori found the crevice in the side of the mountain. It was large enough for our horses and Cornbread to rest comfortablyout of the elements. Tucked in the back of the icy crack was a cold firepit.

“Probably a hunting party,” Bissori offered. “The yeti are really fond of the crag goats that live on the mountains.”

I recalled hearing the yeti were strictly carnivores at one of the court dinners I’d attended several years ago. It made sense. Growing vegetables on the side of a snowy mountain would be difficult. Hopefully, they disliked the taste of elf.

We pushed on then, leaving our steeds behind. After a short walk, I was glad we’d not brought the horses. The path was no wider than a washboard, and the rocks were coated with snow and ice. Each step was perilous. We moved with great care, our backs to the side of the mountain for what seemed an eternity, my heart thumping madly with fear. I was not afraid of heights. I lived in a tower after all. What I was scared of was falling from a great height.

“The first sentry post is just up ahead,” Bissori shouted back to us, then led us from a thin walkway to a wider path. I glanced up, the snow hitting me in the face, and saw a massive stone ledge jutting out from the side of the mountain. It looked oddly out of place as if an ancient immortal had thrown it in a fit of pique. “Get out your gewgaws.”

Beirach held his flute in his hand. I had nothing shiny to trade for passage, so I took a moment to wipe the slush from my cheeks and study the area and sky. Still no sign of a raven. I sighed heavily, took a step, and nearly went on my face when my boot caught on something buried under the snow.

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