by Ronie Kendig
Now he was the one who would destroy all they fought to protect. All he had been raised to esteem.
An escape must exist. He must find it.
Without warning, Chima dropped altitude. Haegan fisted the fur at her neck, noticing the icy shards that cut into his hands. He winced but knew better than to release her, lest he fall to his death.
He squinted around. White sheets of frost and snow drenched his visual field. The sky blurred as snowflakes stuck to his eyelashes. His cheeks burned from the frigid temperature. Though he pried his hand free, his fingers forbade him from uncurling them. With a groan of pain, he focused on heating them.
Again, Chima descended. What had she seen? Were they at last coming up on Ybienn? The flight had consumed hours that felt more like years, for the fright and freeze that had eaten at his courage and strength.
Haegan stretched to the side, trying to see around Chima’s broad skull. For a time he saw nothing, then looming gray shapes resolved about them. He strained forward—
A massive rock flew by.
Haegan jerked back, his heart thundering.
He glanced behind them, only to find the face of a mountain glaring back. He whipped around, startled. Disoriented. Where had Chima taken them?
Thwap. Thwap-thwap. Thwap.
Strange, but to his ears each flap of her powerful wings seemed louder than normal. And . . . multiplied, as if a half-dozen raqine beat the passage between the cliffs. Haegan frowned, glancing to the side, where naught but white greeted him. Echo? It sounded like—
Chima rattled. Banked hard right.
Haegan grabbed tight, his heart in his throat as she dropped several dozen feet. Tucked her wings.
His heart rapid-fired. What was she doing?
They angled left. His hips slid in that direction. Was it terrible of him to be glad he wasn’t fighting to maintain his own seating when his sister had fallen? Vanished. His stomach revolted, churning at the thought. “Chima!” he shouted, angry. Vindictive.
She nosedived.
He tangled both hands in her fur, seizing any semblance of a grip. But she canted. His legs lifted up, his body inverted. A strangled cry scaled his throat. His back arced. Air whipped at him.
All at once, with a mighty snap of her wings, she stopped short.
Haegan sailed through the air. The weightlessness terrified him. Though he screamed, the roar of the wind suffocated sound. Terror snatched his ability to think. He fell through grayness and snow. Wind buffeted him. He tumbled over again, his blurring mind reaching for Kaelyria.
Thud!
Pain exploded through his temple. Breath yanked from his lungs. Fire scored his hands and elbow. Gray clapped to darkness and a halo of snow enveloped him.
Haegan blinked. Found himself staring up at the angry storm. Everything hurt.
Wait. Not true. Nothing. He felt absolutely nothing.
He pried himself off the ground, surprised that his hands dropped several inches before finding terra firma. Propped up, he grunted against the half-dozen aches that permeated his muscles. The excruciating pain of frozen fingers. The inability to shiver because he was too cold. Hunched beneath the pain, he glanced around. Saw nothing but grays and darker grays. Even his breath had gone so cold that it failed to plume before his face.
A warbling reached his ears. He jerked around, to the right.
Blazes! Chima towered over him, yet he felt not her warmth nor her presence. How long had he lain in the snow? The wind howled and chewed at his body like a frozen bone. Tensing as he pushed over onto all fours, he squeezed his eyes shut, consumed by the fire of frostbite and self-loathing. His people were fighting for their lives. His parents were dead. Kaelyria—
Haegan hung his head as he knelt on all fours. Sister . . .
Chima chortled again.
“Where have you deposited us?” he muttered, climbing to his feet. Aching, burning, fiery—how could it feel like fire when he was frozen through?—feet. He started toward her.
His foot hit something and he pitched forward. When he glanced down, his heart jerked. His sister lay in a heap. Blue. “Kae!” Heartsick, he brushed the snow from her face. Pulled her out of the drift. How? How had she gotten here?
A low, threatening rumble emanated from Chima.
Haegan glanced back at the raqine, confused by her growl. The storm had thickened, the drifts heavier still. She had gone from an ebony beast to gray in a few blinks.
Chima must have carried Kae—by some miracle not injuring her with those sharp claws—but the how was unimportant. He must find shelter from the blizzard or they would both die. And Kaelyria would go faster because she was asleep, her body cooler. Strange—so strange for her to be cold. For the warmth of her touch that had given him comfort for so many years to have vanished. “We need shelter!”
He stared stupidly at Chima, who stood with her head tilted as if listening. But not to him. He knew not why he had shouted. She could not speak back, even though she could sense his thoughts or feelings . . . or however the madness worked between a raqine and its bonded.
A keening noise went up from Chima. Through squinted eyes, he watched her rear on her hind quarters, shake her head back and forth, then snap out her wings. The force thrust him against the cleft.
She shot into the elements.
Haegan lunged forward. “No!” He twisted around, staring into the gray barrenness. “Chima!” She couldn’t leave them. Not here
Sense me, he begged her silently. Sense my terror. Come back!
Only the howling wind answered.
Defeat pushed him around to stare again at his sister’s still form. Hands on his head, he searched their surroundings, desperate. Though he could see little, it was enough to know they were stranded. A wall to his back. A sheer drop—how far he could not tell because the elements defied him—before him. His eye caught on a cluster of ragged shapes off to the right. Trees. It would be their only hope. He must make for it, though the mountain soared into the nothingness. Which meant the hike would be brutal. But perhaps . . . perhaps he could find a spot to bury them in forest litter. Leaves and brambles—anything! They must find warmth. He could push heat into hands, but without food or shelter, how long could he keep up the strength required? And heating this area . . . he looked up at the dangerous slope of the mountain where drifts had begun to crest over the rocky outcroppings above. Melting the wrong patch of snow here could start an avalanche.
Too risky. The trees, then.
With a plan in mind, he bent toward Kaelyria.
Snow flew at his face. Not from the sky, but from the ground.
Haegan drew back, surprised. Had he dropped something, disturbing the snow? Annoyance tugged at him as he reached once more toward his sister.
Poof! Thunk!
Wobbling from the impact, an arrow stuck up from the hard-packed earth, mere inches from Kae’s shoulder and his hands. Haegan jerked around, scanning the monochromatic scene. He searched the trees, knowing the copse to be the best place to hide and shoot the unsuspecting. He saw no one. But someone had fired that arrow.
But why attack? Why venture into this storm? Was the arrow a warning? Or had they missed? The next one—
Haegan pushed to his feet, shoulders squared as the wind buffeted him. “I mean no harm,” he shouted into the swirling air.
When no answer came, he slowly bent toward Kaelyria.
Tsing!
Thud!
A trail of fire licked his shoulder. “Augh!” Haegan clamped a hand over the spot and felt its warmth.
No. Not the warmth of his blood.
Warmth of the embers. The Flames. He clenched his fingers, which were rapidly and painfully thawing under the heat of his power, willing himself to control his anger. Anger had been his weakness. It seemed to amplify his inability to harness the Flames.
He spun and went to a knee beside his sister.
“Touch her not!”
At the command, Haegan yanked toward the voice. W
hat he saw pushed him backward. A half-dozen men. Blurry but towering. Fierce. Shoulders broad. Leathers and furs wrapped their arms and faces. Barely visible, their eyes shone with the same determination glinting in his mind.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Haegan motioned to his sister. “We need shelter.”
“Have ye any idea where ye be, thin-blood?” came another voice. To the left. Close.
Haegan stood, frozen through. Aching. Angry. “Though I may not be trained or a wildling, is it not obvious we’re in the Ice Mountains?”
“A tongue on this one,” another man chuckled.
“And a wicked choice in women. She looks scant ready for the weather.”
“Aye. And him—he not be cloaked for Legier.”
Legier. He’d heard that before, during the ear-numbing hours spent with his tutor, the aged accelerant, Sir Gwogh. But what had the Histories said of Legier?
“Ye’ve entered Eilidan lands, boy. To what end?”
Eilidan? Haegan searched the men surrounding him, unsure which had made the demand. “Sh—shelter. That is all. My raqine landed here of its own mistaken will.”
“A raqine?” Laughter echoed across the cleft, and finally, Haegan found the eyes of the man who spoke.
He wore a brown-and-white spotted fur around his neck and mouth—which would explain why Haegan didn’t know who had spoken at first. “Have ye too much ice in that brain?” His taunting laugh closed the distance that separated them. “Raqine are creatures of myth.”
“Perhaps he is touched—bringing a lover to the clefts?” This voice belonged to another and his timbre seemed to bounce off the rock face.
“She is no lover—”
“Kidnapped then.” A smaller man stepped forward, angling toward Kaelyria.
“Leave her!” Heat roiled around Haegan’s fists, creating a hiss as snow melted away beneath him.
Wariness crowded out the mockery of the burly men around him. Haegan turned, slowly eyeing each so his threat was made known. So that they understood he would defend Kae to his own death.
“Who is the beauty, then?”
“Stole her from Ybienn, I bet.”
“Nay,” another countered. “Too pretty for Ybienn. She be Iteverian. Or a Southlander.”
“Nothing good comes from the South.” That voice came from behind.
Alarm ran through Haegan. He spun. Felt the eruption of heat in his hands.
“Still him!”
A black blur registered seconds before pain shot through his temple.
3
Mount Legier, Northlands
Warmth cocooned him. Drew him deeper into its embrace. He settled in, burrowed into the softness that whispered surrender. But something tugged at his awareness. A soft keening that demanded his attention. Demanded he surface from the darkness.
No. He wouldn’t heed the demand. He pushed it away. Shouldered into the soft warmth.
But it hurt. His feet hurt. A moan sifted through his sleep, lifted him from the dregs of heavy slumber.
“He wakes,” a deep voice rumbled.
Pain. Shards of pain stabbed his feet. Prickled his fingers.
No. Sleep. He wanted sleep. Rest. To forget.
So soft. So warm. So . . . quiet. Gone was the storm. Gone was the—
Storm.
“I thought ye said he was awake.” The voice was authoritative.
“Aye. That be what Hoeff said. He comes. Then goes.” The deep, rumbling voice sounded like the mountain itself. It dug into Haegan’s mind and drew him farther out of the darkness.
“Find me when he’s coherent.”
Haegan forced his eyelids apart. There was a blur of movement to the side. It stopped. The shape grew in front of him. A man. Burly. Lightly bearded, his face slowly came into focus. Dark hair. Dark eyes. “I would have answers, thin-blood.”
The room swam. Haegan moaned and toppled back into the darkness.
• • •
Thunder and pain snapped Haegan awake. Sitting up with a start, he froze in the darkness. Somber light from a dozen paces away provided the only illumination. He shifted. The dais on which he lay was strewn with pelts. Gorgeous, thick, and soft, they provided more warmth than he would’ve thought possible. Almost too much. When he nudged them aside, he noticed his hands. White and brown bandages wrapped his fingers and palms, tied off around his wrists. Had he hurt them?
And his clothes—leather trousers. A jerkin with long sleeves and a brown fur-trimmed collar. Fur boots as well. None were his. Who had dressed him? The thought sent a shiver through his body. Had they seen the mark on his back?
He looked around—rock everywhere. Except across the doorway. That held a gate of heavy wood and iron. He was a prisoner.
Kaelyria!
Haegan jerked around. “Kae?” His vision straining in the dim light, Haegan stood. His head throbbed—a painful reminder of the encounter on the cliff. He stumbled to the wall, bracing himself with bandaged hands.
Strange. No pain. His thoughts tumbled one upon the other. The gate. His hands. His sister.
His head was too heavy for this. He stared beyond his bandaged hands to the darkened passage outside his cell. A dull glow lurked beyond his prison, barely illuminating walls, ceilings, and floors hewn from cold rock.
A quick survey of the room revealed no windows. Just more of the same stone. Even the bed was but a carved platform. He must be underground.
As he took in his new situation, he sensed movement to his right. A shadow lurked. Eyes stared back at him. A mirror?
The form shifted. Haegan yelped. His heart jumped when the form took solid shape—a man! A very large man. Arms as thick as singewood, the stern man gave him a slow nod. And then he growled.
Haegan drew back, his jaw slack.
The mountain of a man inclined his head. With an awkward turn, he angled one shoulder down, gripped the iron gate, and though it seemed he did little more than twitch, the gate groaned open. The huge man ducked through and moved into the passage.
“Wait,” Haegan called, reaching toward the emptiness as the gate slammed shut, imprisoning him again. “Why do you hold me here? Am I prisoner for intruding on Eilidan territory?”
The lumbering man stopped. He turned and came back; quiet reserve and strength shone in his eyes. Not normal eyes. Rather than round pupils, he had vertical slits. Sadness tugged at the man. How Haegan could detect that, he wasn’t sure. But he did. The man growled again.
No, not a growl. He was talking! But the resonance was too deep, the echo filling the rocky room. Haegan could only gape.
“Ye will grow used to it,” said another voice from behind the larger man. “Come.” The second man, hands on a leather belt where a dagger lay strapped, stepped back and waited as the giant reopened the gate.
“He rest, Byrin,” the mountain rumbled.
Disapproval rippled through Byrin’s face. Of normal size, he seemed a warrior, a man of action.
“Ye are heard, Hoeff,” Byrin said. His brown eyes met Haegan’s gaze, and Haegan had the sudden feeling that those eyes had seen plenty. Those hands had done much. He was not to be trifled with. Byrin snapped his hand at Haegan. “Come.”
Haegan swallowed, skating a glance between the two men. “Where?”
“To stand before the Legiera and answer the cacique.”
Stilled at the word, an old word, one no longer used in the Nine but rife with tales from the Histories of those who’d taken to the Outlands, Haegan scrambled to make sense of it. Cacique was the title used among the Kerguli for their chieftain. How then was it that the title had come to the Ice Mountains?
Haegan took a tentative step forward, unsure what he was to answer for. He peered up at—what was his name?—Hoeff as he slid by. The burly man towered over him. His shoulders seemed to span the entire wall. Haegan shifted back, the urge great to shrink. He nearly laughed. There was no urge. Beneath this man, he did shrink. Everything seemed small.
A hand tightened
around his right forearm.
Haegan flinched and snapped around.
“Ye have already defied Eilidan laws by trespassing on Legier. An act the cacique not be taking lightly.” Warning sparked in Byrin’s eyes. Though his tone held neither malice nor anger, he clearly was used to obedience. “Move.”
Haegan lifted his jaw and surrendered his instinct to argue. To fight. To demand respect.
“Respect is earned, my prince. And often at a high price among those outside these shielded walls,” Sir Gwogh had said repeatedly.
They stepped through the passage where darkness gaped. Haegan hesitated, but even as he did, Byrin reached into a small crevice in the wall and drew out what looked like a simple stone. He lifted it to the lone source of light embedded in the rock, and tapped it. A soft snick, then the small stone glowed.
“Mahjuk,” Haegan whispered.
The soldier snorted. “Ignorant thin-blood.” He hauled him down the passage and around a corner, light haloing them within walls.
“Where is Kaelyria? Why are you holding me here?” Haegan felt a tightness in his chest, not to mention the aching in his feet and legs. Though he moved, each step took a concerted effort. As if he himself had stone for legs now that he was belowground.
Without response, the soldier remained a half step ahead and continued. Wiry hair a shade or two darker than Haegan’s rimmed a bearded face. A scar like a deep crevasse severed the beard along his jaw. Taller by an inch or two, Byrin had neither the brawn nor the breadth of the mountain of a man they’d just left.
Tired. Already Haegan’s body rebelled against the exertion. What was wrong with him? His feet shuffled. Tangled.
Byrin tugged him onward, making Haegan stumble.
“I beg your mercy,” Haegan murmured. “I’m unusually tired.”
“Ye slept for three days. How much do ye need, thin-blood?”
Three days? The words pierced the haze that had enveloped him since waking and finding himself in this surreal, subterranean world. “Is rudeness a mark of the Eilidan as well?”
