Winter's Sword

by Alexandra Little

  “Leave,” I said aloud, then reached for the Lady. “Leave now.”

  The ground beneath us trembled, and I was pulled from Dhreo’s sight.

  “Hold steady,” Dalandaras told me, and I was back with him, on the ridge of the slope. “Hold steady,” he said again, and suddenly my legs couldn’t keep me up.

  “I cannot,” I said as the ground trembled again. Rock and snow tumbled down the mountains behind us in small puffs, landing at our feet. “It’s the Lady taking hold now.” And the Lady was out for their blood.

  Firien was on Dhreo and was halfway up the slope, but Nogoriel and her elves were readying for a fight. Even in thick furs against the winter air they could still draw their bows.

  “He won’t make it,” Aerik said, and drew his sword.

  “Annel,” I said, and the fouling was off down the slope. There would be no more negotiating with the Dagnar Queen, if I were to kill her elves. But the Lady was not in a merciful mood.

  Beneath my feet and the ice and tundra, the mountain cracked. Beneath the length of the ridge line, I separated the mountain from itself, but held it steady until I needed the avalanche. I called to the old magic and my colossi. There were four of them, ready where I needed them. I conjured them up, swirls of ice and old magic wards. It had been too long since I had seen the writing and the runes. I had avoided the mountain ruins that held that writing. I had not wanted to dig deeper into their secrets. But the Lady knew them anyway, and the colossi grew tall and strong, twice as tall as the tallest of the elves, and wide with strength. Their wards would break when the avalanche finally came, and they would be consumed in them, but no matter. Their spirits would be reformed when they regained strength. As long as Firien escaped.

  As the elves readied their bows and aimed at us, the Lady shook the ground beneath them. They tumbled, their arrows whistling wide over our heads.

  “Turn away Dalandaras,” I murmured.

  “I will watch,” he replied quietly.

  How could he even think to love me after I slaughter his own people?

  The Lady was impatient, and the mountainside was ready to slide.

  Even Aerik could feel it, his legs unsteady and his hands clenching. “Let me go to him, my lady.”

  “Patience,” I replied. “The foulings will fetch him.”

  But what the Lady put in motion, even she could not halt. The snow pack fractured, slabs of snow and ice tumbling down the side. Some elves dodged it; some were hit by the frozen powder. Boulders that were exposed groaned under their own weight and the pull of gravity. One tumbled, then another. Smaller rocks were knocked loose, tumbling down slowly.

  “He won’t make it,” Aerik said.

  Nor were my foulings. They were fast but Dhreo was slowed down with his load. Their claws were slipping on the rock. The old magic was failing them, not knowing where the next footfall would be, whether the land would be there or tumble away beneath them.

  “He’s right,” Dalandaras said. Aerik started to move, but Dalandaras grabbed him. “You will be lost, too, if you go.”

  “Eva, please!” Aerik begged.

  The mountain was going, and it would take Firien and my foulings with it. And Nogoriel and her elves. Damn the Lady, and all she was doing. Damn me for allowing it.

  The elves cried out, their shouts echoing against the mountains, matched only by the groaning of the rocks around them.

  I willed for Firien to hold on, for Dhreo and Annel to hurry, but the heartbeats of the other elves called out to me. Nogoriel, Kiril, even Malarin—how could I watch them die for the Lady?

  Then I felt another familiar heartbeat within the scattering of the elves. Someone who had not been a part of Firien’s soldiers. It was Rusindal.

  I could not let him be taken by the avalanche. Any of the others, the nameless and faceless, I could let die from spite. But Rusindal was young, and innocent for one that carried a sword. He had been one of the few other elves who had lived at Singael’s prison, and one of the few who knew me, and knew what I looked like. If they had come upon Tal Aesiri, and I had been there, he would be able to identify me. There was no other reason that he could be here. The Lady might have been out for blood, but I wasn’t.

  I took a steadying breath and charged down the slope.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Eva, wait!” Dalandaras called behind me, but it was too late. Dhreo faltered. Firien barely clung on. Young Rusindal was trying to crawl upwards, but could only move sideways against the cascade of rock.

  I could reach Rusindal before Firien; with a flick of my thoughts I sent the colossi towards Firien and my foulings. They could reach them faster than I can.

  But the Lady was not having my meddling.

  My feet were swept out from under me; I fell onto a bed of rocks and slush, and was taken down the slope. My arms flailed, my fingers searching for a grip. I found none except chunks that broke apart in my gloves. Through my clothes the rocks scraped my back and legs. My coat rode up, and my tunic tore.

  With luck I landed on a boulder that had been exposed by the avalanche, and clung hard to it. The mountain roared as it shattered itself away from the ridge, louder than a thousand thunderstorms. I could hear no one’s cries over the rumbling, if any had cried out. I managed to stand, my calves crying out as cuts tore wider. I didn’t dare look at the damage. I couldn’t afford it now. Where was Rusindal? I had lost sight of him.

  The avalanche was a slow, steady, merciless mound of dirty slush. It towered above me, and should have swept me from my perch, but it split around me before it had a chance. My rage was growing to match the Lady’s. She would spare me, but not my friends. “Bitch,” I said, my words stolen by the roar.

  You accepted me, my own voice, deeper in tone and ageless in its sound, answered back.

  “I am no murderer,” I replied, and shoved my way into the mountainside. It should have swept me down. The sharp edges tore at my shoulder and caught my hair. But the mountain moved aside for me. Just as I had accepted the Lady, she had accepted me. She could use me, and I could use her. But I needed more hands than I had.

  “Zarah,” I called. “Guardian.”

  Zarah pulled herself out of me, conjuring up her flesh and bone into the decaying figure that she was. My guardian, well…I had not called my guardian since the fight with Adhannor. She was not ghost, nor flesh, nor a creature of Adhannor or Adhanel. She was mine, that I had created when I needed assistance in battle. I needed her help now. She needed no conjuring, like Zarah—she was simply there, translucent and pale, her face emotionless and her long hair twisting in some unseen wind.

  “Lady,” Zarah said, her lips twisting.

  “Find the elves,” I ordered. “Save them.”

  “From your own doing?” she asked sarcastically. “As you wish.” She launched herself up onto the top of the avalanche, and disappeared from view. My guardian was close behind, her limbs seeming to pass through the rocks and snow even as she climbed them. I found strength to move, and followed my guardian up the debris.

  I felt my foulings cry out in pain, my colossi struggling to stop the surge from running over Dhreo and Firien. Dalandaras was a press on my mind, but I couldn’t feel Aerik anywhere. He was too human, and there were too many heart beats. Heart beats of elves that moved farther and farther down the slope, beating out erratically in panic as the slide came towards them. Most were ahead of the flow, sliding or throwing themselves down the mountain. But Rusindal…

  “The elves are going,” I told the Lady. “Stop this mess.”

  It’s too late to change your mind, the Lady replied.

  Damn her, and damn me. I drew Dauntless, and planted it into the top of the slide. On my knees, still slipping downward with the slush, I drew up all of the old magic I could conjure. I felt the colossi and Zarah and even my guardian. I grabbed onto the magic in all of them, and pushed it all at the flow. Their magic flowed through me and into the mountainside, grabbing the boulders and rocks and melding t
hem together, back into the mountainside. The slush melted beneath me. Dauntless’ hilt grew warm underneath my gloves.

  Dhreo cried out to me, and I felt Firien’s sharp pain.

  I pressed hard on Dauntless, channeling all of the old magic into it as I could. But the Lady wasn’t done yet. With one final push, the front of avalanche swept Nogoriel’s elves to the valley floor and then piled up, forming a giant wall. The slide halted, and my old magic fused the rocks and froze the slush. The roar of thunder turned into a tumble of pebbles, and then there was merciful silence.

  I waited, but nothing else slid. I pulled Dauntless from the rubble. The blade glowed, the slush melting from it as quickly as it had frozen on, but the metal held.

  The colossi were gone from my mind, the connection between them and my old magic severed. The same was with Zarah and my guardian. Though I had called them only moments ago, I could no longer feel their presence.

  “Come to me,” I murmured, hoping that someone, something would hear me. It was no longer the roar of the avalanche but the pounding of my heartbeat that filled my ears.

  But something came; a fouling, climbing cautiously over the broken rocks and frozen slush. She saw me, and whined.

  “Annel,” I nuzzled her, and felt my heartbeat calm. The Lady’s rage lessened too, but only a little. “Where is your brother? Dhreo!”

  “Firien!” Aerik called, his voice distant but carrying. “Eva!”

  “Eva!” Dalandaras shouted.

  “Here!” I replied, and a muddied Dalandaras appeared from the rubble and swept me up in his arms.

  “I’m okay,” I murmured, but I wasn’t. The old magic had faded entirely from me, and I couldn’t find anyone. “Have you seen Firien or Rusindal? He was here.”

  “Most were swept to the valley,” he replied.

  “They weren’t,” last I could tell. I reached deep, trying to find the swell of old magic. The Lady had to be laughing at me now. “I’m fine, go find them.”

  Dalandaras nodded and left me, half-climbing, half-slipping his way across the slope.

  “Come on,” I murmured as the sun slipped entirely behind the mountains. The mountainside lit up for me in sharp relief; I was grateful that much still worked. I clung to Annel. “I must borrow a little from you.”

  She whined again but licked my face, her breath smelly but mercifully hot against the chill. Her old magic was just enough to feel out for heartbeats that weren’t my own. There was a beating heart—no, two beating hearts, not far from Dalandaras. “Twenty feet down,” I told him, and pointed. He nodded, taking his makeshift poles and pushing and pulling himself through the snow and rocks.

  I heard a another whine, back towards the tree line. The settling avalanche practically shifted out of my way as I half-ran, half-crawled towards the sound. At the front of the dead woods, the tree trunks had been bent and cracked by the onslaught. Underneath one that had fallen clean over, was Firien and Dhreo.

  “Aerik!” I shouted as I made my way to them. Dhreo spotted me and whined again. The trunk hadn’t fallen on them, but had shielded them from the worst of it.

  “My boy,” I crooned as I reached Dhreo. A great cut had been opened on his forehead, matting his fur. His camouflage shifted erratically between the white of the snow and the black of his natural state. “Rest,” I ordered, and he settled down into darkness.

  “I hope you’re not talking to me,” Firien murmured.

  The elf was curled on his side, his back pressed against Dhreo. His left arm was bent at an angle it shouldn’t have been, halfway down his forearm. “I will leave that to Aerik,” I replied lightly. I knelt down in front of him, trying to suppress the churning in my stomach at the sight of his arm. Aerik reached us, sparing a pet for Dhreo before falling to his knees behind the elf.

  Firien’s eyes were closed, with cold sweat on his brow. Wordlessly, I glanced at Aerik and gestured at the arm. He nodded, and grabbed Firien’s shoulders gently. “We’ll get you out of here,” he murmured. “We’ll get the colossi; they’ll be strong enough to carry you back to Tal Anor.”

  “I’m fine,” Firien replied, though he winced with every breath. “I just need a moment.”

  The old magic told me the break was serious; the bone had punctured the skin, though I couldn’t see it with my own eyes as his coat had not been torn through. The only blessing was that it felt clean and unsplintered. I had not yanked bones back into place myself, though I had seen it done. While Aerik murmured sweet nothings to the elf I found a sizable branch and stripped off the bark until it was smooth and as straight as I could make it. I claimed the lacings from my tunic and set them aside. When Aerik signaled that he was ready, I gripped his arm, yanked hard, and used the old magic as a guide to set the bone. It was over in moments, but it was enough for Firien to cry out, then his eyes fluttered, and he slumped against Aerik.

  “Firien,” he said urgently.

  I bound his arm as quickly as possible. “It’s punctured the skin, but we’ll look at it at Tal Anor.”

  “Eva!” Dalandaras shouted. “I need help!”

  “Stay with them,” I told Aerik. With a last pat for Dhreo, I called for Annel and hurried to Dalandaras. He had Rusindal’s head as much as he could above the press of the snow; the rest of him was buried under the snow.

  “There,” Dalandaras said, and pointed. A few feet away, a silver-sheened hand stuck up above the snow. I started digging, Annel joining in. Soon, I unearthed the arm, and then the face. Nogoriel. She was breathing, but barely. Her left face had been smashed and bloodied, but she was breathing.

  Dalandaras freed Rusindal to his waist. The elf moaned, but his eyes stayed closed.

  “Firien!” I shouted. “Can you walk?”

  “Aye,” Aerik shouted back.

  “And Dhreo?”

  “He’s coming ‘round.”

  The night was turning cold quickly. My clothes stuck to me, and Dalandaras was shivering even with the exertion. “We need to get them up the slope,” I said. “Or back down the valley to their elves.”

  “I don’t think we can do that,” Dalandaras replied, and nodded behind me.

  I turned. I knew the Lady had built a wall, but the wall that cut the mountainside from the valley was…monstrous. It towered into the night sky, another long, narrow mountain of its own. Its sides were smooth but for the occasional jut of rock and tree, looking so much like spikes forbidden an attempt. Even with the spikes, they were too far apart to be climbed. It was, at least in the winter cold, impenetrable.

  “Back up the mountain, then,” I said to Dalandaras. “Can you carry Rusindal?”

  “I think so, if he’s not too injured.

  I freed Nogoriel and wrapped her up in her cloak while Dalandaras checked Rusindal for injuries. I tried hefting the elf commander, but my legs trembled and I nearly collapsed. The old magic wasn’t giving me any help here, either. I summoned Annel over; she took a corner of the cloak in her teeth, and I took another. Slowly, we dragged her up the slope. My lungs burned by the time we reached the ridge line. Annel was panting too. The horses hadn’t fled their enclave, but only because a boulder had become dislodged and blocked them in. I left Nogoriel at the top, wrapping her as securely as I could in her own cloak, before Annel and I slid our way back to Dalandaras.

  Firien and Dhreo had gotten to their feet, with Aerik sandwiched between them as they slowly climbed.

  Rusindal had awoken, at least mostly. He sat up but swayed, Dalandaras keeping him upright. I unarmed him, taking sword and knife and quiver, and Dalandaras hefted him over his shoulder. Annel retreated to push Dhreo, and I followed Dalandaras and his package. Dalandaras’ breathing grew harsh long before we reached the ridge summit. When we finally reached the top he all but collapsed. Nogoriel didn’t stir as we moved her and Rusindal into the dip in the ridge, against the mountain. It was the little shelter we could give them.

  “See if Nogoriel has her pack,” Dalandaras said. “Rusindal’s lost his. There
may be supplies inside.”

  I set Rusindal’s weapons aside and patted down Nogoriel. She was armed as well, but no pack. There were some pockets in her coat and tunic, but nothing that could prove useful.

  “I’ll get a fire going,” I said, touching Dalandaras’ shoulder as I passed. I gathered as many dry sticks and kindling as I could find, but the avalanche had either swept much of it away or had frozen it.

  Aerik, Firien, and my foulings made their way to Dalandaras just as I came back with enough kindling to start a fire. Firien was pale and Dhreo subdued, but they were both walking.

  I knelt between Rusindal and Nogoriel and dug a fire pit with my hands, framing it with rocks. Firien knelt next to Nogoriel, squeezing her hand gently. She didn’t stir.

  “She hasn’t woken?” he asked.

  “No,” I replied quietly. It was one thing to bear the guilt of dragging friends and family into this, and another to have hurt those who had no true part in the fight. I turned my focus back to the sticks. “Thaeglir,” I murmured. Nothing happened.

  “Thaeglir,” I tried again, more firmly. There was a spark, but it didn’t take.

  “Thaeglir,” Dalandaras said, and the white fire of the elves erupted from the branches and twigs.

  I avoided his gaze, but he caught my hand and squeezed.

  Rusindal started shivering, and didn’t stop. His eyes were open but glassy and unfocused; he stared up at the night sky.

  Dalandaras had taught me—showed me, really—that elves could control their own body heat. Rusindal’s concussion seemed to have knocked that ability askew. That, or he had simply not inherited that ability. I took off my own cloak and covered the elf. Dalandaras took off his cloak and covered me.

  “I don’t need it,” I said.

  “You cannot pull me close then push me away,” he replied quietly, tying it about my neck. “I will be fine in the cold.”

  Aerik still stood. “You may as well sit,” I replied. “We are going nowhere tonight.”

  My keeper sank down next to Firien. “Can you heal your arm?” he asked.