SanyareThe Winter Warrior

by Megan Haskell

  Aegasson frowned. “I suppose. But after we make sure anyone who was buried is found and recovered. Frost sidhe can survive the cold, but we still need food and water.”

  Rie turned back to the body of Garamaen. “We should take him home.”

  “I will carry him,” Judith replied. “It is the least I can do for a man who gave himself to save others.”

  “Thank you.”

  You weren’t supposed to thank the fae, or a debt would be owed. In this case, however, it was deserved.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  THEY EXITED THE way they came, and the harts had remained just outside the cave. The leader of the herd approached Rie with deliberate steps, his head lowered. It almost seemed as if he knew what had transpired.

  Rie extended a hand, brushing her fingers over the soft velvet of his nose. He nuzzled her hand, then used his head to push her toward his back.

  “It seems they’re still willing to give us a ride,” Aegasson said. “How did you manage that?”

  Rie shrugged. “Does it matter? We need the help.” The hart nudged her again, and she pulled herself onto his back. She shivered, the cold wind needling its way through her leathers and underlayers as if they weren’t even there.

  “Here,” Judith said, carefully laying Garamaen on the ground and removing his coat. “He no longer needs this. You’ll freeze without it.”

  “I can’t take his coat,” Rie replied, her voice cracking. “It’s too much, too soon.”

  “You must,” Judith replied.

  “Take it,” Daenor urged. He had managed to retain the mountain man’s fur coat that Garamaen had lent him, while Rie had lost her cloak in the fight. “He would want you to have it.”

  Swallowing a lump of emotion that wanted to tear down the carefully reconstructed walls holding back her tears, Rie accepted the heavy fur and wrapped it around her shoulders. The garment smelled of him, the scent of the sea and the wind. The scent of home. Her throat constricted against the bittersweet pain.

  They would take the time to grieve and bury him. Then, she would find Fenrir and she would kill him.

  “Judith, I can take him, if you like,” Rie said, patting the space in front of her. The hart would have an easier time with the weight, or so Rie thought.

  “No, I will carry him with respect and honor,” the angel replied. “It is a dignity he deserves, not to be flung across the back of an animal.”

  Rie dipped her chin in agreement, unable to say anything further for fear of losing her careful hold on her emotions. Rie’s gaze followed the winged figure as she took to the sky. Judith carried Garamaen’s body across her arms, like a child being carried to bed.

  “Let’s go,” Aegasson urged from the front. He and Daenor had already mounted their own animals, and he was anxious to return to the city and his people.

  He might not be so anxious when he realized that the barbegazi would no longer be content to take orders from the frost sidhe. All the same, Rie let him lead the way down the mountain.

  The harts kept an easy pace bounding over the snow. Lulled by the rocking motion of their gait, Rie let her thoughts drift and fade. She didn’t want to think about anything, and so she didn’t.

  Until the wreck of a city came into view.

  A flurry of activity swarmed the buried city, barbegazi and frost sidhe both working to extract the unfortunate individuals buried beneath the snow.

  Rie swallowed down a mouthful of bile. She had done this, or at least she had put it into motion. An entire city, perhaps an entire civilization destroyed in one brutal attack. She’d needed to capture and destroy Maethor and the wicked soul residing within his body, but did the end justify the means? Looking at the consequences of her choices, she wasn’t sure. Could she be considered any better than Maethor? At least he hadn’t wantonly killed his citizens.

  A shout rose from a portion the of the wall that poked above the snow. A figure waved at the group as they slowed to a walk.

  Judith landed next to them to walk the last dozen lengths to the city.

  “At least they’re not shooting at me this time,” she murmured.

  “I think they have bigger problems right now,” Rie replied, her voice sounding bitter and heavy, even to her own ears.

  Judith glanced at Rie, her gaze speculative. “Before I came here, I saw you as reckless and naive, too focused on your own needs and goals to consider the wider implications of your actions. But I realized something since working with you. You might be reckless and naive, but your driving motivation is to help others, to give people a chance at liberty and respect.”

  The angel nodded toward the bustle ahead, keeping her voice low so the men wouldn’t hear. “You didn’t choose to bury this city, you gave the barbegazi a chance to stand up for themselves. There were consequences. There always are. And perhaps this was one of the gray decisions that will mark your soul as Garamaen’s marked his. But you’ve done good here.”

  “And sown strife,” Rie replied.

  “Perhaps. But perhaps not. Look at how the barbegazi are working with the frost sidhe.”

  Rie gazed out at the teams spread across the city. The barbegazi shuffled across the snow, their hands spread wide and their feet sliding without losing contact with the frozen surface. Every so often one would give a shout, and a frost sidhe or two would come running. The barbegazi would move on while the frost sidhe began manipulating the drifts to dig out the survivor. As they watched, three more victims were uncovered.

  In another location, the barbegazi were removing stone blocks from the wall of a building, freeing a group of frost sidhe from inside. They looked whole and hale, untouched by the destruction, except for their unconventional building exit.

  Judith remained silent after that, letting Rie ruminate on her words. Or maybe having nothing else to say.

  When they finally reached the exposed section of wall, the group dismounted and clambered over the ice-encrusted iron.

  The guard clasped Aegasson’s hand. “Welcome back, sir.”

  “Where are we with the recovery?” Aegasson asked.

  “Progress has been slow, but steady. The barbegazi volunteered to help.”

  “Volunteered?”

  “Yes, sir. A man named Vegard approached with the offer. He is directing the search.”

  Aegasson lifted an eyebrow and pursed his lips in a dissatisfied frown.

  Rie smiled. Vegard was playing this game close to his chest, and playing it well. Did the frost sidhe even know that it was the barbegazi who had caused the avalanche in the first place? She couldn’t be sure. Regardless, Vegard was fixing the problem he had created, and earning a healthy dose of respect and appreciation in the process.

  “Where is he?” she asked. “We need to speak with him before we leave.”

  The soldier’s eyes narrowed as his gaze scrutinized her face. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. Daenor stiffened but it was Aegasson who stepped in the way to forestall any violence.

  “She is not our enemy,” Aegasson said.

  “She led the Shadow Realm against us.”

  “No, Othin led the invasion into her realm, and Maethor led us to follow him. She is not our enemy. But I have taken care of one of the men who was.”

  Rie lifted her hands in a sign of peace, hoping to emphasize the message.

  The soldier’s gaze turned to Aegasson, confusion written across his expression.

  “Take us to Vegard and we can sort this all out,” Aegasson continued. “She and the dark elf won’t be staying much longer in our realm.”

  He said it with authority, perhaps anticipating his own rise to power. Rie wondered if he would be able to realize that goal, but decided it wasn’t her place to interfere, one way or another. She would leave and let this realm settle its own affairs.

  With one more skeptical glance, the soldier turned and walked down the hill toward the center of the city.

  Vegard had set up a headquarters of sorts near the remains of t
he central spire. To get there, the group had to trudge through heavy snow without snowshoes or skis. Luckily, Aegasson was more obliging than Maethor had been. With palms pointed at the snowpack around them, he froze the top layer with a rough crust of ice that managed to provide enough stability and grip that they neither slipped nor broke through the surface. If Rie didn’t look at her feet, she would almost say they were walking on a gravel path.

  At last they reached a crowd of workers, Vegard at their center. He was directing the barbegazi rescuers to fan out in strategic search patterns, while the frost sidhe followed behind. To Rie’s surprise, even the frost sidhe were willing to listen to the diminutive man.

  “You said I would need to speak to Felman,” Aegasson said, interrupting Vegard’s latest set of instructions, “yet here I find you instead, ordering my men and women as if they were your own. Is this the true reason you helped us escape the city? So you could fill the power void in the absence of a frost sidhe leader?”

  “You object to the search and rescue of the buried citizens of this city?” Vegard asked, his eyebrows lifting so high they almost hid beneath his white hat.

  “I object to the usurpation of authority. You can’t even speak for your own people, and yet you stand here commanding mine.”

  “My grandfather has fallen ill,” Vegard replied, tension tightening the skin around his eyes and lips. “My father is with him. I am next in line to lead. Someone had to take control in the chaos.”

  The reflection off a frost sidhe helmet caught her attention. The light refracted, piercing her eye in a painful explosion. She was thrown into a vision.

  Aegasson and Vegard argue as the setting changes around them. The snow covered city. A mountain cave. A long hall draped in blankets and padded with cushions. Frost sidhe and barbegazi wait to be heard.

  Rie gasped. Her eyes focused on Vegard, then Aegasson, who still argued. Their future could be communal and supportive, each guiding their people toward a collaboration of sorts, a joint leadership of the realm. But first they had to learn to see the common ground.

  “Who am I to judge the fitness for barbegazi rule?” Aegasson sneered. “But no barbegazi will lead the frozen army.”

  “Of course not,” Rie interrupted, drawing the angry gazes of both men. She chose her next words carefully. To be Sanyare was to know the truth. But knowing the truth was only half the battle. “We all must work together. Lives depend on it. Not just in this moment, but for the future as well.”

  An almost-audible ringing poured through Rie’s heart and soul as she finally understood. It wasn’t just frost sidhe and barbegazi lives at stake. Her responsibility was to all the nine realms, and all the peoples of the nine realms. The process of peace started here, today.

  “The two of you will lead your people. This is fact. How you lead your people is decided with each choice and every action from this point forward. The old leadership is gone. Their beliefs and biases can be buried with them, but only if you choose to do things differently, now.”

  Aegasson’s jaw clenched and unclenched while he stared at Rie. “Maethor would never combine forces with the barbegazi.”

  “Maethor preferred to stick his head in the snow and pretend that the rest of the races didn’t exist,” Vegard said. “At least, until he needed us for something.”

  “Even you admitted he wasn’t fit to lead,” Rie added. “Garamaen gave some good advice, some of which I’ll give to you now. ‘Forge the role you want to take.’ Don’t let outdated perspectives drive your future.”

  Aegasson blew out a breath, then held out a hand as a peace offering. Vegard looked skeptical, but he grasped the offered palm.

  “Tell me what’s been covered, and where I’m needed most,” Aegasson said. “Once the people are safe, I will lead the mages to dig out the city.”

  Rie’s lips pulled up in a clouded smile. This just might work out after all.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  THE BRONZE FACE seemed to mock her, even as it mirrored her own features. Greg must have finished it just days before they’d left for the Winter Realm. Now it sat on a table, waiting for its creator to decide its final placement.

  Rie didn’t know what to do with it. She didn’t know what to do with any of the art—finished and unfinished—that had been left behind in his combination studio and bedroom. Instead, she sat as lost as the sculpture of her own face, staring blankly straight ahead.

  She was supposed to be cleaning out his things. She couldn’t bear to touch anything.

  She was supposed to be making arrangements for his memorial, a diplomatic affair that would bring the highest ranking lords and ladies from across the nine realms together to pay their respects. She didn’t even have a location selected. There were too many variables, too much noise to sort through. Her overtaxed brain couldn’t handle it.

  Niinka’s wings gently opened and closed, brushing against Rie’s neck. The leader of the pixies had hardly strayed from that position since arriving home. Her tiny hand stroked Rie’s earlobe, both offering and taking comfort. She’d changed since the events in the Winter Realm, her boisterous nature muted and hollow. Rie hoped that with time she would recover, but the truth was they had all changed. Nothing would be the same.

  Steps approached from behind, a creak in the hardwood floor as Daenor sat, a leg on either side of Rie’s body. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, rested his chin on Rie’s other shoulder.

  “It’s a perfect likeness,” he murmured into her ear. “We should put it in the sacred circle with the others. I’m sure that’s what he intended.”

  “Maybe,” Rie replied. She couldn’t commit to anything.

  “I have an idea,” Daenor continued, pulling his chin off her shoulder and urging her to turn around.

  Rie complied, swiveling in place so she stayed wrapped in the warmth of his care. “What’s that?”

  “The market of the Winter Realm is still being rebuilt, but the frost sidhe need supplies. The Shadow Realm has long wanted a neutral market for the nine. We need a place to say goodbye to Sanyaro, and it wouldn’t hurt to honor the fallen at the Battle of the Arches.”

  Rie lifted an eyebrow, waiting for the punch line.

  “Let’s build a pocket of fae in the canyon lands. Neutral territory where all races can trade. We can dedicate it to the memory of Garamaen and consecrate it with the scattering of his ashes.”

  “In the Human Realm? We can’t risk it being noticed.”

  “We bring in a squad of blood sidhe to glamour the area. In return, they gain non-lethal hunting rights throughout the realm.”

  Rie shook her head. “Too much conflict. How would we police it?”

  “Luckily, you have a former guard commander at your disposal.”

  Rie considered. Garamaen had said to make the role of Sanyare her own. What if that meant tearing down the walls between realms? Expanding interaction instead of separating opposing forces?

  “Plus, trade includes more than just goods and services, it’s also information,” Daenor’s voice hardened. “It would be easier to monitor news of giant wolves and possible lost souls from our own base of operations, rather than trying to chase it all down from realm to realm. There are still some debts that need to be paid.”

  Though he didn’t show it as overtly as she did, Daenor was equally determined to rectify the mistakes of the past. And he had a good point.

  Othin would oppose a market outright—he already had—but his power had been weakened. With new leadership and damaged armies, the Winter and Summer Realms no longer supported the high king. Garamaen’s sister Éostre led the Autumn Realm, and she would probably support the idea. The Spring Realm was a question, the masters of air an elusive set, but the Dwarven Realm would surely be interested in a new audience for their metals and gems.

  “It will change everything,” Rie murmured, still rolling the idea around in her mind.

  “Change is a necessary part of growth.”

  The En
d

  Now that you’ve read Sanyare: The Winter Warrior, are you curious about Lord Garamaen Sanyaro? Would you like to know more of his history, and how he learned to heal Fenrir’s bite?

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  Injured and alone, believing his death is near, Garamaen faces exile in a foreign land. But when a young shaman finds him, things don't go to plan. When the undead rise to destroy his saviors, can Garamaen find the will to live . . . and free them from terror?

  Shaman is one of The Early Adventures of Garamaen Sanyaro, a collection of short stories I’ll be working on over the next year or two. Each story gives the reader a little more insight into Garamaen’s character, and how he came to be known as Sanyaro, the Truthseeker and Mediator of the Nine Faerie Realms.

  Shaman is exclusively available to The Sanyare Chronicles newsletter subscribers. Subscribe now to join the team and instantly download your FREE copy!

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  Acknowledgments