SanyareThe Winter Warrior

by Megan Haskell

  Two of Aegasson’s mages jumped on the pile as well, helping to pin the general’s legs. Even with four people on top of him, Maethor wrestled to get away. He kicked and shoved, and the team struggled to keep him pinned.

  A blade appeared in Aegasson’s hand. “Enough. This ends now.”

  “No!” Rie shouted. If Maethor’s soul was let loose from his mortal body, there would be no containing him. If a reaper didn’t appear immediately—and somehow she thought the Moirai would be slow to dispatch help—he could cause all kinds of havoc.

  It was too late.

  Aegasson, his body still pressed over top of his commander, rolled to the side. In a single swift move, he sliced the dagger across Maethor’s neck. Blood, viscous and hot, sprayed across Rie and Aegasson, painting their faces and armor red. Rie pressed her hands over the wound, but the artery had been severed. There was no saving this man.

  Maethor’s eyes rolled back in his head. Turning her vision to the magical plane, Rie heard the ping-ping of the first two soulstrings severing. His heart and breath had stopped. Only one string remained. When the brain stopped functioning, the soul would be loose.

  She reached for the final string. She could grab it, send him to the Daemon Realm before he was let loose.

  Too late. The final string plucked and the soul of Maethor rose from his body, a grin as wicked as any of the souls in the wastelands stretching across his incorporeal form.

  Rie reached for the ectoplasm, stretching her mental fingers in an attempt to touch his soul. Soultouch, it was one of the skills buried in her ancestry, and yet it was one of the most difficult for her to access.

  Maethor dodged out of the way, cackling in maniacal hysteria. Rie gaped as he flashed toward the wicked soul, still fighting with Judith. The angel had whittled away much of the lost soul’s substance, but he still retained his skeletal grin and wicked purpose.

  With a gleeful twirl, Maethor twined his soul with the wicked once more. The energy of the unified soul expanded, forming a single body with two heads. Maethor retained the long hair and pointed chin of his remembered form, while the lost soul had degraded to a decaying skull with sagging skin that oozed where the remembered scars had split open.

  Together, they disengaged from the fight with Judith, sliding away from the reach of her sword.

  “Enough of this,” Maethor’s head said. “We needn’t fight you any longer.”

  The wicked picked up the thought. “Now that we’re free of that weak form, we have bigger game to catch.”

  Weak form? Rie thought. Maethor was one of the strongest of the frost sidhe. Who could they target that was bigger and stronger?

  She didn’t have a chance to ask. The combined essence sped away up the mountain, the trail of ectoplasm barely visible against the untouched white snow.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “QUICKLY! FOLLOW THEM!” Rie shouted.

  Judith immediately launched into the air, the downbeats of her wings blowing snow into Rie’s eyes.

  Rie lifted a hand to block as much of the debris as possible while she turned, looking for the hart who had carried her here. Luckily, the beast seemed to have sensed her need, for it was running toward her with the herd. Either the beasts had been trained particularly well, or they were more intelligent than Rie had at first assumed. Perhaps both. After all, if wolves in this realm had learned how to speak the common tongue, wasn’t it possible for other animals to at least understand the language?

  Regardless, Rie was glad for their assistance. If they’d been scared away, there was no chance they would be able to catch, or even follow, Maethor, The Wicked.

  “Follow whom?” Aegasson asked, incredulous. “Maethor is gone. My job is done.”

  The hart skidded to the side, giving Rie a chance to jump onto its back before it had even stopped moving. She gripped its side with her legs, keeping her seat as the animal shifted beneath her, ready to spring away.

  “Maethor’s soul has joined with the wicked. They’re heading to the wolf den. If they join with Fenrir, what do you think will happen to your realm?” Rie demanded. “Do you think they’ll be content to fade away onto the tundra? Do you value the barbegazi so little that you don’t fear their decimation? And what happens when the wolves decide to take on more challenging game, like the frost sidhe?”

  “The city is in ruins. I have to go help rescue the survivors.”

  Rie snorted. “An excuse. There are many who can help dig out the survivors, and the barbegazi are already assisting. We can’t leave Maethor free. The wicked soul must be stopped before he claims another powerful body.”

  “We must go!” Judith shouted from the heights. “He’s getting away. If he makes it to the cliffs and canyons, we could lose him in the caves.”

  Rie turned the hart toward their destination. “Do what you must,” she finally told Aegasson, “but if you want to lead this realm, you will need to look beyond your own short-term interests.”

  Pressing her heels into the giant deer’s sides, Rie launched forward, chasing the soul who would tear down this world if he got the chance. Daenor followed on his own animal, keeping pace to her right. With a glance over her shoulder, Rie was glad to see Aegasson jump onto the back of yet another deer, though the rest of his mages strapped skis to their feet and headed down the mountain.

  She must have struck a chord with him. Perhaps the call to lead had done it. She would need to remember his desire for power and influence.

  At least one frost sidhe would join the battle. They would still be outnumbered, but they might—just might—have a chance of saving Garamaen.

  The harts raced behind the incorporeal form of the wicked soul, keeping pace but not quite able to catch up.

  “Where is he going?” Daenor shouted over the wind of their passing.

  “Toward the cliffs,” Judith replied. Her view would be much clearer from her height than the rest who rode on hart-back. “There must be a cave.”

  “He’s going after Fenrir. He must be.” The wolf’s magic was anathema to the fae, but the dead might be different. Even the wolves had souls. And if they weren’t hardened against possession . . . .

  “That will make this easier,” Aegasson said. “Our enemies will be in one place.”

  Rie couldn’t agree. Even if they were lucky enough that Maethor couldn’t possess Fenrir, Rie and her team would be outnumbered and underprepared. They’d chosen to deal with Maethor first precisely to prevent this scenario.

  “Priority one will be to send Maethor to the Daemon Realm,” Rie began.

  “No, I will strike him down to the nothing. There is no room for the truly irredeemable in the Hollows,” Judith replied. “His existence will end here.”

  “I approve,” Aegasson replied, a vengeful smirk crossing his features.

  “I will cut him down,” Judith added.

  Rie was taken aback. She glanced up at the woman who flew overhead with a determined set to her chin. Rie never would have thought the angel would intentionally condemn a soul to the nothing. She was too compassionate, too forgiving, too focused on rehabilitation. What had changed?

  Judith met Rie’s gaze. “He is corrupt, and his rot will corrupt others. He must be stopped at all costs.”

  “Then the second priority will be to get Garamaen away from Fenrir. If we have to fight the wolves, we use physical strikes and obstacles. Don’t even bother trying to affect the wolves with magic.”

  “And why did you need me again?” Aegasson asked.

  “You’re good with a blade, you can build ice walls and obstacles, and hopefully you’re motivated to protect your home realm. Plus, there are only three of us.”

  A buzzing met Rie’s ear. The pixies had finally caught up. Rie blew out a relieved breath that they were okay.

  “Make that six,” Rie modified, “but we still need your help. There are dozens of wolves in those caves, and a wicked soul anxious to take a new form.”

  The pixies landed on the hart’s
shoulder, crawling into the creature’s thick wool and huddling together for warmth. They, at least, still had their cloaks on. The heat of battle was still on her, but when it faded, Rie knew the cold would be devastating. Until then, she pushed a little more heat to her core and hoped they made it to the cave in time.

  “I hope you’re not too full,” Rie said, her voice pitched for the pixies’ ears. “We’ve got more work ahead of us,” Rie replied.

  “I’ve got room,” Hiinto slurred, his voice blood-drunk and sleepy. “There’s always room for fresh meat.”

  Rie hoped he was right. They needed all the help they could get.

  They approached the cliff face to find an asymmetrical hole that looked as if it had been chiseled out of the wall by a giant. Straight square edges lined the outer edge, narrowing into a deeper black cavern.

  “He went in there,” Judith said.

  “It must be the back entrance into Fenrir’s cave,” Rie said, turning back to look out at the valley landscape. It looked like the scene she and Daenor had walked out into, led by Maethor, when they’d been traded for Garamaen. Only the hart’s tracks marred the otherwise fresh snow.

  Could the wolves have remained in the same cavern as before? Had they been so certain of their victory, they hadn’t even bothered to change locations?

  “Garamaen is in there.” Rie was certain. And with that certainty came another realization. Her eyes grew wide. “Maethor’s not after the wolves. He’s after Garamaen.”

  If he could possess one of the most powerful lords of the elves, he would be near invincible. And if Garamaen was as weak as Angeni claimed, he would be hard pressed to resist. However, Fenrir’s bite would have eliminated Garamaen’s powers . . . did Maethor hope to cure the bite? Did he even know how?

  Daenor cursed, the sound a growl of comprehension. But it was all speculation. And it didn’t matter. They were going to stop him.

  “Quickly.” Rie urged the hart forward, but the animal refused to move into the black of the cave. She dismounted, collecting the pixies from their makeshift nest and placing them on her shoulder.

  “Daenor, you have the best night vision. You lead. Hopefully some of the phosphorescent creatures live in these walls, but you can guide the way with your sword if necessary. Judith will go second with her sword, and I’ll be third. Aegasson, protect our backs. Fill the tunnel with ice if you have to, but don’t let anyone or anything sneak up on us. And don’t get bitten.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Aegasson said, snapping an ironic salute in Rie’s direction.

  Daenor turned on him in a flash, his sword in hand and alight with flame. He pointed the tip of the blade at Aegasson’s throat.

  “I don’t like your attitude.” Daenor’s voice was pitched dangerously low. Rie had only heard it sound like that once before. “One of the strongest, most honorable men I know is in there right now. We are outnumbered and outmatched. Listen, and follow orders, or so help me I’ll make sure you don’t come out of there alive.”

  Aegasson’s eyes narrowed. The flame went out with a hiss, frost smothering the fire. “Do not threaten me, half-breed. You may be a prince, but I will lead this realm on my own merits.”

  “Then you’d do well to remember who helped you get there. She may be human, but one day she’ll be more powerful than any of us.”

  Rie appreciated the vote of confidence, but now was not the time. “Fall in line or get out. We don’t have time to waste.”

  Daenor hesitated another heartbeat, then took his place at the entrance to the cave. Judith—who hadn’t said a word during the entire incident—stepped up behind him. Rie wondered briefly what the angel thought of the fae and their squabbles. Were the immortal guardians immune to these kinds of power-struggles? Somehow, Rie doubted it.

  At Rie’s nod, Daenor stepped into the dark.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  AS BEFORE, THE cave was dark and dank, the smell of minerals and sulphur heavy on the air. They must be closer to the hot springs than Rie had realized. Either that, or the smell had somehow grown stronger.

  Daenor proceeded with caution, keeping his blade low and lit only enough to see where to place each footstep. They couldn’t let the wolves sneak up on them, but they also couldn’t let the light damage their vision in the dark. They crept forward, each step a soft susurration. Rie grimaced at the sound, loud in the odd silence of the cave.

  Until a howl split the air, shattering the calm.

  Rie hurried forward, running into the soft fluff of Judith’s feathers. The angel spun, but her furious visage quickly smoothed as she examined Rie’s expression. Whatever she saw, she must have realized the urgency that drove Rie forward.

  “Calm yourself,” Judith urged, her voice washing over Rie with soothing cadence. “Rushing headlong into battle is a guaranteed way to lose.”

  “That can’t be good,” Rie replied. “We have to help. We have to stop him!”

  What she couldn’t say, was that if Garamaen was already close to giving up, giving in, he wouldn’t put up a fight against the possession. He might not be able to. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing her mentor just months after having found him.

  “Look to the future, what do you see?” Judith asked.

  “Nothing. The wolves interfere with my Sight. You know this.”

  “Then if you don’t know the future, don’t expect the worst. We’ll make it.”

  Rie shook her head

  “We’re wasting time,” Daenor said from the front. “It can’t be much farther.”

  Judith tipped her head down the tunnel. “I will take the lead, then. My sword is the only offense against the dead.”

  They strode forward once more, less concerned now about the sound of their approach. The closer they got, the more clearly they could hear the sounds of struggle. Rie didn’t know how the wolves were fighting the wicked, but the snarls echoed down the chamber.

  The group came to a halt at the entrance to the underground lake. It was a different tunnel than the one they had used when imprisoned there themselves. This tunnel was hidden by a column of mineral deposits that reached from floor to ceiling, narrowing in the center but wide at the base.

  Rie dropped to a crouch to hide behind the obstruction, Daenor and Judith following suit. Aegasson stayed hidden in the shadows of the tunnel. The lake spread out before them, spreading from wall to wall, the blue-green phosphorescent light dancing in shivering patterns on the stone. Across the sparkling water, Garamaen was bound in the same manner as Rie and Daenor had been.

  However, it wasn’t Garamaen’s figure that drew her attention. It was the three women standing before him, and the circle of wolves who surrounded them all.

  “Can you see that?” she asked Daenor, the words whispering from her lips.

  “The wolves circling around Garamaen? I see it.”

  “No,” Rie paused. “The souls.”

  The soul of Angeni stood before a slumped Garamaen, twin daggers in her hands. To either side, her daughters Una & Nashota brandished their own vaporous weapons. All three women wore expressions of feral concentration as they fended off Maethor the Wicked as well as the wolves.

  Seeing the spiritual on top of the physical worlds was like watching one of those three dimensional movies the humans were fond of. The disassociation made Rie’s head hurt, and yet she couldn’t look away. Rie watched entranced as a wolf’s forward momentum was arrested in mid-air and his physical body was thrown back toward the far side of the cavern as if by magic. Which, she supposed, in a way it was.

  “What’s going on?” Daenor asked, shock and confusion coloring his words.

  “It’s like what your father can do,” Rie whispered. “He controls the body through the action and elasticity of the soul. Angeni and her daughters are doing the same, keeping the wolves away from Garamaen.”

  The wolves lunged forward, one or two at a time, staying out of each other’s way but targeting Garamaen’s prone form. Every time they got too close, Nash
ota’s bo staff, or Angeni’s blade, would find its way into and through the monster’s physical form. The weapons didn’t pierce the physical skin, but shoved the soul away, pulling the body with it. As souls, it seemed the women were stronger than they appeared.

  Garamaen, meanwhile, lay senseless on the floor. His clothing was torn and bloody. Deep lacerations and puncture wounds seeped rivulets of red. His face was crossed by four angry slashes, the flesh swollen with infection.

  Angeni had not been kidding when she said Garamaen was barely holding on, but she hadn’t expressed enough urgency. Unless the wolves had done this in the last day, she should have demanded their immediate departure for his rescue.

  But Angeni and the daughters were losing ground to the wolves. Their forms began to flicker and fade. Garamaen’s head lolled back.

  “Judith—” Rie began.

  “I see it,” she snapped.

  “We need to get across.”

  Judith glanced at the ceiling, and the stalactites that blocked the way. “I don’t have enough room to fly.”

  Maethor had pushed forward, the tendrils of his substance snaking around the sisters toward Garamaen.

  “He’s losing the connection!” Una shouted. Rie could see through her form, yet the wide eyes and fearful expression were unmistakable. “If he loses consciousness again, we can’t protect him.”

  “And so you won’t!” Maethor cackled, not realizing the fellow soul wasn’t talking to him. “Your master is weak, while mine has set me free!”

  Is that what Rie had done? Was that the true meaning of her actions at the Arches? Had she been so blind not to realize that the souls would find a way to march across the realms? After all, the only realm that would be protected would be the Shadow Realm, with its control over the souls of the dead. And King Aradae had been the one to convince her of the need.

  She’d been a fool. Once more, her inexperience and lack of foresight had condemned her.

  “Move aside,” Aegasson commanded. He pushed forward to the edge of the lake, dipping his fingers in the gently steaming water. Ice spread from the tips of his fingers, turning the surface of the lake to solid ground. As soon as the freeze passed the halfway mark, Aegasson turned to Rie. “Go,” he said.