The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2) by T L Greylock Page A

he vaulted from his dragon-kin’s back. Catching himself, he tried to speak but could only suck in air. Finnoul rested a hand on his shoulder.
    “Breathe. Then speak.”
    “We are lost. There can be no ambush.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “No worthy sacrifices have been found. The Guardians will not make the journey to the barren lands.”
    Finnoul’s face fell and uncertainty clouded her normally clear gaze. Raef, standing to the side, said nothing but watched them both.
    “I see Lorcan’s cunning behind this,” Finnoul said. “He thinks to keep them safe by keeping them at home. He has made certain no sacrifices are found.”
    “What can we do?” Annun asked, desperate for guidance from his leader. Finnoul did not have an answer.
    “I will go.” Raef spoke quietly but there could be no mistaking his words. Finnoul turned to him, already shaking her head, but Raef went on before she could speak. “You yourself said I must be here for a purpose. Let this be my purpose. They will not pass up the chance to put me to death.”
    “No, I will not ask this of you.”
    “You do not ask. I offer it to you freely. I do not intend to die in your barren land, Finnoul.”
    Finnoul remained reluctant. “Even so, there is great risk.”
    “There always is, when something matters.” Raef kept his eyes on Finnoul, not looking to Annun, who watched with curiosity. “Remember what we spoke of.”
    “I do not know what happens to a man of Midgard if he dies in Alfheim. I do not know if the doors of Valhalla will open for him,” Finnoul warned.
    “I am prepared to take that chance. Regardless, those who dwell in Valhalla will soon pour forth into the world again.” It was perhaps unwise to speak so plainly in front of Annun, but Raef was determined not to let Finnoul find a means to keep him from following through. Annun looked away.
    Finnoul’s eyes remained unwilling, but she kept this to herself. “Very well. Tomorrow we will see that you fall into the hands of the Guardians.”

EIGHT
    R aef slept well. If he dreamed, he remembered none of it, but he woke to Finnoul shaking his shoulder. The mountain hall was dim yet with the grey light of dawn, the stone floor cold on his bare feet.
    “Is it time?” Raef stifled a yawn and went to look out the narrow window of his chamber.
    Finnoul joined him and Raef saw that her long pale hair was pulled back, twisted at the crown of her head, and streaked now with rich orange hues. The change had sharpened her cheekbones and brought even greater strength to her face. The scent of the fresh dye tingled in Raef’s nostrils. “Almost. There is something I would show you first.”
    The mountains slept yet, great, grey, hulking shapes blanketed with deep purple shadows and tinged here and there with the first rays of pink light. Even Finnoul’s orange beast seemed to dwell yet in the realm of sleep, his eyes were half-closed and his wings thrummed the air with languorous ease as they lifted off from the mountain hall. The sky began to glow with golden light in the east and it was there that Finnoul pointed the kin.
    Beneath them, land that was becoming familiar to Raef rushed by, but they soon reached the edge of the confines he had come to know. The great forest spread on and on into the distance, seemingly without end, and the sun was above the horizon before the landscape changed. The trees gave way to thick, wet marshland and then at last a great lake opened up, reaching so far to the east and north that the shores were faint lines obscured further by heavy mist.
    A single peak rose out of the lake not far from the western shore, rearing up above the calm waters, and it was this that the orange dragon-kin circled around.
    “What is this place?” Raef asked. The mountain was smooth and dark in color and the summit was truncated. Instead of a high point, a deep bowl was cut into the black rock.
    “It is what I have promised you. Long ago this mountain served as a path