River heard a creaking noise behind her. She spun just in time to see the heavy iron door at the entryway slam shut. She broke into a run, but could already hear the latches being secured from the outside. By the time she got there, the door was locked tight.
River closed her eyes, leaning forward with her head against the cold metal. The spy, she thought. He had followed her here, and seeing the opportunity, had locked her inside. But why? Was the machine trying to kill her?
River stood back, surveying the door’s construction, trying to determine if there was some way to break out. It only took a moment to realize it was hopeless. The door’s hinges were welded on the other side, and completely inaccessible. Even if they hadn’t been, she doubted she could break them without a torch, or at least a hammer and chisel. The only way through that door now was to break it down. Or blow it up. Not that she could do either. The only gear she had was a lantern, a flint, a bullwhip, and a spring-powered revolver. What she needed was a bomb...
Chapter 12
Thane stopped halfway across the wooden footbridge to adjust the lute and travel pack hanging from his shoulder. He scanned the dark woods around him, wondering not for the first time if he was doing the right thing. The stars above shone bright and clear, the dusting of snow on the branches of the evergreens glistening in the cool silver light. The sound of rushing water came up from beneath him, where the river cascaded over a frozen waterfall to vanish into darkness downstream.
The air was icy cold. It smelled like pine and water and the oiled leather strap across his chest. His breath came out in steamy gusts, and his ears and face tingled with icy numbness. The bard shifted, feeling the uncomfortable weight of the short sword at his side. Thane was not a swordsman. He had little experience with the weapon, and much preferred to use his sling or daggers when deadly force became necessary. Out here however, miles away from the nearest civilization, he was glad for its company. If nothing else, the weapon’s presence might dissuade any thieves or bandits from taking a chance on the lonely wanderer.
Satisfied with the adjustments he had made, Thane proceeded across the bridge. The ice-crusted snow made crunching sounds under his boots as he walked. His gaze shifted from the shadowy woods ahead to the silhouetted line of mountains to the south. Somewhere out there was Shayla. The question was, would he recognize her when he found her? Kale’s last words -Not Kale, he thought, Dane. King Dane. How strange that sounded in his head.
Dane’s last words regarding Shayla had not been kind. The changes he had described in her left a twisting feeling in Thane’s gut, and every time he thought about it, he heard his own voice swearing an oath to protect her. He had failed her, he thought miserably. He had dedicated his life to protecting her, and the one time she needed him to be there, he hadn’t been. Could she ever forgive him? The bard’s thoughts were not hopeful as he followed the path into the woods. He began to hum in quiet, almost-whispered words that came unbidden into his mind:
My queen, my queen, what have they done to you?
Driven you out, broken your heart,
Divided your soul in two
The river is cold, the path is dark
But nothing will stand in my way
By light of torch or blade of sword
I’ll meet you ere break of day
My queen, my queen, what have they done to you?
Thane worked on this tune for a while, refining the melody and adding additional lines, until he was quite satisfied. Once he had this feat accomplished, he immediately forgot the song and began working on another. In this manner, the bard passed his time. It was easier than thinking about his failure, or about the cold, or the dangers lurking in the woods all around him.
Two hours after crossing the bridge, Thane finally came across the trampled path of the elk herd cutting through the woods. There was no mistaking the trail: it was a strip some fifty feet wide through an area otherwise untouched since the snow had fallen. Thane left the path with an exultation in his heart and hurried through the ankle-deep snow to the edge of the herd’s trail. He knelt to examine the prints and determine which way they had been traveling. West, he realized. And judging from the droppings in the area, it hadn’t been more than a few hours since they’d passed through.
The tracks led him across another mile of deep woods before the trail began to climb. Thane had been moving with considerable speed -occasionally even at a run- but fatigue began to wear on him as he made his ascent up the mountain. Soon, the bard’s chest rose and fell with deep pants, and the icy air burned his lungs and made his eyes water. He climbed a few hundred yards, and found himself already breathless and sweating.
It seemed bizarre, the fact that he could sweat at a time like this. The moisture on his skin almost instantly seemed to freeze. His shirt and breeches had become damp, and the instant he stopped moving, he could feel the cold setting in, the icy creep working through the cracks and crevices in his clothing to send shivers across his skin.
He turned, surveying the landscape around him. Thane could smell chimney fires now, and across the tops of thousands of trees, he saw twinkling lights of small villages and occasional plumes of smoke rising into the sky. Apparently, the Legion’s scouting parties hadn’t traveled this far. If they had, those villages would have been nothing but ashes and charred lumber.
Thane was cold and exhausted, and the night was growing colder with every passing minute. Beneath his gloves, his fingers had begun to ache, and the moisture from the snow had somehow found its way into his boots.
If I don’t find them soon, he thought, I’ll have to make camp.
Unfortunately, the bard hadn’t come prepared for that. Thane had left Dragonwall in a hurry, his only real thought that of catching up to Shayla. Now, he was beginning to realize how hard that might be. His pack contained only a few meager supplies. The cloak and light jacket he wore had been enough to keep him warm so far, but if he stopped moving, it would be difficult to maintain his body temperature. He could possibly make a fire, if he could convince the damp wood to burn and was willing to risk drawing unwanted attention. Without it, he could just as easily freeze to death.
Not much of a choice, he thought. Death by bandits and ghouls or death by freezing... I think I’ll keep walking.
And so he did. Thane adjusted his pack and lute for the hundredth time, took a slow deep breath, and resumed his climb. By the time he crested the hill, the sweat was freezing on his brow and he had lost all sensation in his ears. Even more worrisome: he had started to shiver, and couldn’t seem to stop. It was time to make a fire, but Thane wasn’t even sure he could hold the flint without dropping it. A cold wind blew over the hillside, chilling him to the bone and biting into his face like dagger points.
He stood there a few seconds, gazing down at the valley spread out below. More forest, he thought grimly. And not a sign of life.
He hurried down the slope, scanning the woods for a suitable shelter. Not far ahead, he caught sight of an outcropping that looked promising. Thane hurried in that direction, stumbling over the rough terrain, gloved hands tucked into his armpits for extra warmth. He had hoped to find a small cave or at least enough shelter to block out the wind, but when he arrived, the bard only found a large stone jutting out of the mountain’s side. With a grim look on his face, he turned away and proceeded deeper into the woods.
Thane tried to work his way back to the elk trail, but found this side of the mountain steeper and more exposed to the elements. The snow was deeper here, and drifts had blown around the trees and across the paths, making it difficult to walk, much less find and follow a trail.
Thane was halfway down the mountain when a mournful howl split the night. The sound sent a chill running down his spine. Thane knew the sound of a wolf’s howl all too well, and judging by the depth and tone of that voice, it was a large creature. He froze, turning in a slow circle, scanning the darkened woods for a sign of the beast.
The sound seemed to have originated som
ewhere northwest of his position, but it was impossible to be sure with the way the wind carried the noise. It could be anywhere. His best bet, Thane decided, was to get deeper into the woods.
The bard charged into the forest, no longer concerned about the numbness or the shivering. His heart hammered in his chest and every noise he made seemed to echo through the woods around him. Every footfall, every crunch of snow was a crash, every snapping twig was like a gunshot. He tripped over a root hidden in the snow, and went sprawling. Icy snow went up his sleeves and down the front of his coat. He ignored it, pushing to his feet, shifting the weight of his gear as he broke into a sprint.
The bard raced another hundred yards through the woods and then doubled over to catch his breath. His lungs ached, and his eyes wept with cold. The skin on his face and ears burned. His limbs felt heavy. It took every ounce of strength just to lift his feet. He leaned against a fir tree, his dark silhouette merging with the trunk. In the woods behind him, the beast howled again. This time it was closer. It was just up the slope, he realized. Right where he had just been.
The wolf had his scent, Thane realized. It was closing in. This realization was enough to urge him forward. As he ran, Thane could hear movements in the darkness behind him. How many were there? One, he might escape, might even fight, but if there was an entire pack...
Thane came up short as the land fell away before him. He stood at the embankment of a wide creek. The waters were dark, lined with ice, and it was impossible to tell how deep they were. He scanned the terrain up and downstream. To his right, the bard saw a downed tree that might support his weight. To his left-
The sound of a snarl interrupted his thoughts. Thane turned to see a massive black form materializing out of the darkness. It stood five feet high at the shoulder, lips curling back in a vicious snarl to reveal long white canines. The beast’s eyes were blue and seemed to radiate a light of their own.
“Easy,” the bard said in a soothing voice. He moved slowly, sliding the pack and the lute from his shoulder. He dropped them in the snow and reached for the sword at his side. The wolf let out a rumbling growl.
“Let’s make a deal. I’ll leave you alone, and you just-”
The wolf charged. Thane barely had time to draw the sword before the beast was on him. The creature’s paws hit him on the chest, the powerful jaws snapping at his throat. Thane fell backwards, slashing as he fell. The blade struck something firm, but it was too dark and too fast to see what it was. The hard earth caught him, an explosion of snow rising up and he went tumbling down the bank.
The wolf leapt after him, charging and snapping. Thane caught himself, twisting as he pushed to his feet. He still had the sword in hand, and he brought the tip up as the wolf rushed him. The animal leapt, and Thane felt the tip piercing flesh as he stumbled back. The creature tackled him with its full weight, and the two went flying.
For a split second, time seemed to freeze. Thane saw the stars gleaming behind the dark shadow of the wolf. He saw the tips of the trees piercing the sky, the glint of icicles hanging from limbs. The banks along the stream were pure gleaming white. And then he hit the water.
The shock was instant and overwhelming. His abdomen lurched, and his heart stopped mid-beat. The icy water closed in, sucking him down, turning him over. It washed through his clothes, his gloves, his boots, freezing in an instant. All around him, all he could see was darkness.
At some point, the bard must have found his footing, because the next thing he knew, he was standing on the bank. His body shook. His nerves screamed. His throat made wild gasping noises that didn’t seem human -couldn’t possibly be the sound of his own voice- but it was.
The world went in and out of focus. He sensed the icy coldness of the clothing against his skin and didn’t quite seem to understand it. He began to undress, dropping his wet clothes into the snow, somehow convinced that this was the perfectly rational thing to do. Moments later, he stood naked along the bank. He drew his gaze up, squinting against his foggy vision. He saw a branch nearby, and headed in that direction.
Wood, he thought in some deep dark corner of his mind, equals fire...Fire equals warmth...
Chapter 13
Thane woke to the sound of voices. He felt warm and comfortable, and this felt strange. He had to wonder, was this the afterlife? Had he died and gone to the next world? The last thing he could remember was cold. Icy, freezing water. Flashing teeth and burning blue eyes...
He moved, and felt a dull ache move through his entire body. “Nope,” he whispered into the darkness. “Still alive.”
He became conscious of the fire nearby, of the warmth radiating out towards him and the crackling sounds of burning wood. He glanced over in that direction and saw only a dim halo of orange light. He blinked, and the image remained clouded. He closed his eyes, waited a moment, and then slowly opened them again.
I’m blind, Thane realized with a detached sense of irony. Part of him wanted to laugh, but another part deep down felt the sweeping grip of terror that always comes with such a realization. How had this happened? He wondered what else had happened to him, what other injuries he’d sustained.
He sat upright, letting the blankets slide off as he drew his bleary gaze around the room. It was dark, the only light that of the fire. This much he could tell even as a blind man. He reached out with one hand, trying to find the wall, and felt his skin graze against soft fabric. It’s a tent!
But he noticed something else; a bandage on his hand. He held it up close, blinking, trying to see the extent of the damage.
“You lost three fingers,” said a woman’s voice. “You’re lucky it wasn’t all of them.” He swung his head around to face the sound. That corner was all darkness. Nothing but black.
“Shayla?”
“What were you doing out there?” she said. “My men found you wandering naked in a blizzard. You were nearly dead.”
He lowered his gaze, staring at his lap. No, staring at nothing. Just more black. “I was looking for you,” he said. His voice was rough, cracking. “Dane told me what happened. I failed you...”
She took his hands and placed a cup between them. “Drink.”
Thane put the rim to his lips and drank. Cold, clear, icy water. The same thing that had almost killed him. How could it feel so good on his parched lips? After he finished, she took it from him and settled on the edge of the bed, taking his hands in hers.
“Thane, what were you thinking?”
“My queen,” he said in a mumble. “My queen, I’ve failed you. I swore an oath to you. My loyalty, my honor. Can you ever forgive me?”
A whimper escaped her lips. He felt warm tears on his hands and realized she had begun to weep. “My queen,” he said again.
She pulled him close, silencing him with a kiss. Their cheeks touched, tears pressed together. Thane felt his own anguish welling up inside of him, the shame of his failure, his own personal defeat. The loss not only of Shayla, but of himself. His body broken, destroyed. It had all happened so fast. Everything had been taken away from him. Everything, and now he must live not only with the shame of his failure, but the bitterness of his loss.
He leaned into her, sobs racking his body. Together, in the darkness of the tent, they wept.
Hours later, the couple emerged, hand in hand. It was early afternoon, and in the brightness of day, the bard could make out the dim shapes of tents and shadowy figures moving about. “This is my camp,” Shayla said in a quiet voice. These are my men.”
“Your men?”
“They have sworn allegiance to me.”
Thane did not speak. He was still trying to absorb everything. The details of what had happened to Shayla still eluded him. He had felt her soft body next to his own under the blankets, touched the smooth velvet on her long pointed ears. She was Tal’mar now, he thought, or something like it. She had changed, and not just physically. He could feel the difference in her, in the way she spoke and the things she said and thought.
; Shayla had always been a proud woman, but she’d never spoken with the sort of confidence she had now. She had never been fearless and powerful like this. He couldn’t help wondering how much of this inner change reflected the outer changes, or if there was more to the story he had yet to hear.
“Sit here,” Shayla said, guiding him to a bench at a long wooden table. “I’ll get you some food.”
Thane ignored the shadows moving around him and listened to the sound of Shayla’s boots on the frozen ground. He could tell that they were soft and light, probably a single wrapping of leather soles. He became aware of the scents around him, of the odor of men and women’s bodies, the smell of food on their breath, the rustle of their clothing as they moved by. The herd of elk, the sound of them grazing in the woods nearby...
Shayla returned a minute later. She set a bowl of stew before him, and pressed a wooden spoon into his hand. “Eat,” she said. “You need your strength.”
Thane turned his head, his gaze tilting upward as he concentrated on the sounds around him. “These people,” he said. “They’re refugees from Dragonwall?”
“They were. Now they are freemen and women. Soon, they will be an army.”
“And you plan to fight the Legion with them?”
“I don’t care about the Legion.”
“Then why? What is all this for?”
She leaned closer. “Because men cannot be trusted to rule over us. Every leader can be corrupted, every heart turned wicked. I have found a better way.”
Thane frowned. “And what is that?”
She pulled away, leaning against the table. “It’s better for you not to know. Better if you just go back to Dragonwall and live there. You’re a wise man. They could use a man like you.”
“I don’t want to go back. I don’t care about Dragonwall.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
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