Forty-Seven: Azara

  The next day the prairie did indeed give way to drier, rockier terrain as the land ascended. We were walking at the foot of the high hills, and by late morning we could see them towering impressively in the distance. We proceeded with them to our left, for the time being.

  “We have to travel east a ways,” Slade said. “And eventually we’ll have to move higher up, due to the river. We may as well stay down here while we can.”

  We walked over hard ground with scattered loose rocks. The patches of grass that remained were a shimmering silver-green, blown by the breeze. The air was clean and seemed to roll down the hillsides as if that’s where it spilled down from the sky.

  “Up there in those hills is where our sage would live,” I told Freydis and Caiside, pointing to my left.

  “Sage?” Slade asked.

  We explained to him our cover story, which we had shared so many times.

  “That’s quite good,” he said. “Believable. A fine story to put the curious and the suspicious at ease. You’ve shared it often?”

  “With nearly everyone,” I said.

  “Did they seem to believe it?”

  “I believe so. Mostly. Highview – the firbolg – seemed suspicious about it. On the other hand, I think the SwornBorn Dwarves are likely to journey up there to try to find her, they were so interested.”

  “You mean our Gray Mount neighbors?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought they were calling themselves the OathBorn.”

  “That has changed. Apparently the Death Crags Dwarves had adopted that same name.”

  “And the Gray Mount boys just took that? I’m surprised at them. In any case, a journey up to a sage who could give them some good advice would be a useful trip, for them.”

  Near midday we decided to eat a bit as we walked. In the distance we could now see trees again, a subdued green not much higher up the slopes. We made it into them by evening. They were more thinned out than those in the area where we had met the dryad, but were welcome cover nonetheless. We bedded down for the night.

  “Wake up! Flicker, Freydis, Caiside! We have company approaching!”

  It was dawn the next morning, and Slade was shaking us by our shoulders. He had been on watch.

  “She’s seen that I’m awake, but she doesn’t care,” he said. He pointed up.

  Approaching us was a flying form which I could barely make out as red. It moved with slow wing flaps.

  “Do you know what it is?” I asked.

  “Must be an alkonost,” Slade said. “It’s not Ilhoniviastorovavisencilavina, though.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “She’s very dark brown, nearly black. And the others I have seen are similar. I’ve never before seen a red one like this one here.”

  “Do you think she’ll be friendly?”

  “I would never describe them that way.”

  “I mean – ”

  “I know what you mean. I don’t think she’d attack us, regardless. She’d just ignore us if she disliked us.”

  The flying creature neared, and I indeed could see that it had the shoulders and head of a human – with long red hair, matching its feathers – despite the wings, body, tail, talons of a great bird. Once it came down close enough for us to see it well, it circled a few times. It was female, and she kept her eyes on us.

  When she finally did drift down and alight she was just upslope on the hill, only steps away from us. She landed with a great flourish of her red wings. She looked stunning, fire red against the grays and greens of the rocky hillside and the fir trees beyond. She had large eyes, and looked us over.

  “Travelers,” she said. Her voice was strong, clear, and musical. “Four humans. With seven legs. What brings you to my high hills?”

  “Well now, we didn’t know they were yours,” Slade said. “We beg pardon for intruding, if we are. We are indeed just traveling. Passing through.”

  She shrugged just a bit. Her shoulders were well-muscled, and covered with tiny feathers. Her wings were long, trailing behind her and touching the ground something like the train of a gown.

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  “I don’t mean to say that I own these hills,” she said. “They are just mine in the sense that no one else bothers to live nearby. Live here permanently, that is. Perhaps I am not considered a good neighbor.”

  She stood straight, her huge wings folded behind her; a noble bird-woman. I felt that she was enjoying our gaze, and it’s true that I could not look away from her.

  “My name is Azara,” she said. “To where are you traveling? I see few humans up here. I know where you have come from; I saw you leave the edge of the Drearwold a few days ago.”

  “We are journeying to see a, um,” Caiside started, but she seemed to run out of words. Azara was staring at her with those wide eyes, and Caiside seemed to wilt. She wasn’t going to mention the wise woman of the hills, which was a relief to me under that red stare.

  “We’re journeying up into these hills, and then over to the east,” Slade said.

  Azara stared at him, silently; it looked to me like she was thinking about demanding more details, or not. After a moment she seemed to drop it, and asked something else:

  “And where are you from?”

  “Enkel Kanindal, three of us,” I said.

  “And I am from the far west,” Caiside said.

  “But you,” Azara said to Slade, “do not look like a Kanindaler. And you are wearing a scarf from Wastemoor. Very unusual for a lowlander, around here.”

  Slade actually bowed to her.

  “You are exactly correct,” he said. “I have been away from my town for many years. And I did pick this up while in Wastemoor.”

  “An odd memento,” she said. She then turned to me and Freydis.

  “The two of you are brother and sister?”

  “Cousins,” I said.

  “Very good. Are you heading across the spurs of these hills?”

  “Yes.”

  “You might be careful,” she said. “The hillsides can be steep, and where the Rupestrine runs through, there is a rather sudden drop.”

  “Is there?” Slade asked.

  She nodded gravely and then sang:

  There’s a place just up ahead

  where some travelers end up dead

  ‘cause they don’t take proper care out on the ledge.

  Dwarves, they call it Khozur Reth

  which means “Dropping to one’s death,”

  which refers to walkers plunging off the edge.

  River trolls call it Cair Rovff

  which means “Cliff where folks fall off

  when they’re overconfident about their skills.”

  “A very efficient language,” Caiside said to me quietly. “That could explain why river trolls talk so little.”

  Azara kept singing:

  I’m told Elves will name it “Lume-rel”

  which is just an Elven numeral

  and refers to some few dozens of its kills.

  She then sang a chorus:

  If you’re going to tread the edge there, do be careful;

  or your walk might well turn into something airful.

  Boggarts might arrive here – stinking –

  and just run up without thinking.

  Not surprising then if down that wall they slid.

  If they come and screw around,

  I could see them all crash down.

  And who would really miss them if they did?

  Kobolds fear that sheer rock face

  and they call it “Deathly Place”

  in their language, which just comes off like a yap.

  I hope any travelers there

  all take due and proper care

  if they pass it and it’s not marked on their map.

  If you’re going to walk the line there, do be careful;

  or your trek might well turn into something airful.

  That had seemed like the end of her song; but then she raised one wing suddenly, lifted it to her breast to indicate herself, and added:

  Now our people, we don’t fret

  About perishing just yet

  If we come up on that rim while passing by.

  We’re a most courageous crowd.

  At that danger we laugh loud –

  Because we fly.

  .

  .

  Gamayun: