Daenor entered first, his sword pointed low and to the rear. He crept forward on the balls of his feet, step by careful step.
Rie glanced back toward the valley one more time but saw no movement. They were alone, as far as she could tell.
A fissure let in light from above, revealing a dank cave filled with bones and smelling of rot and mildew. Water seeped through the rock from the snow-covered ground above, dripping in slow stalactites to the floor. A boulder the size of three mammoths rose up from the center of the floor, a ring of metal—still shining and smooth, despite its age—was bound around its circumference. Scratches marred the rock on either side, but the metal itself was unmarked.
Daenor crouched to the ground near the boulder, lifting a thin length of chain.
“This is what held a giant wolf for two thousand years? It weighs practically nothing.”
Rie shook her head with a shrug. “I don’t know, but apparently it worked.”
The stone floor around the boulder had been worn smooth, creating a low depression in a perfect circle around the rock. It looked like Fenrir had paced in a never-ending circle for two thousand years.
Caches of cracked and broken bones, the marrow sucked out, piled against the walls of the cavern. The wolf had been fed, at least.
Two thousand years. Rie couldn’t even imagine the suffering such a long imprisonment would have caused. The sheer boredom, endless days with nothing to do but think about how he got there and who put him there. It was no wonder he targeted the barbegazi as soon as he escaped. They would have been top of the list, right after Garamaen.
Rie bent down next to Daenor to examine the chain. It was lighter than the most delicate necklace, and still shone with the reflected light from above. Not a single spot of tarnish marred the perfection of the coiled ribbon. When she tugged on the length, there was no rebound in the links, yet it curled with the flexibility of fine string.
“It’s beautiful,” Rie murmured. She wondered at its creation, and why she had never seen anything like it before. You would think a metal this light and strong would be used in everything from armor to weapons, to industrial machinery.
“But how was it broken?” Daenor asked.
Rie stretched out the entire length. No chain seemed to be missing, no links broken or separated from the main cord. But the end looked melted, like wax from a candle. Running her hand from the tip toward the boulder, she found a similar melted area about an arm’s length from the end. She touched the two points together. They fit perfectly.
“It looks like there was a loop here, now broken.”
Daenor frowned. “You don’t think the welding point broke suddenly, after two thousand years, do you?”
“I don’t know, but this is how he got loose. The loop around his neck broke, and he escaped.”
“So this is Greg’s fault? All of it, even his escape?”
“It doesn’t make sense that it would have taken so long to suddenly come loose. There has to be more to it. Something else triggered the failure of the join.”
“Maybe it held for a while, and then Fenrir stopped testing it. Maybe during that time, the weld weakened, until he finally tested it again.”
“But look at the floor. He’s been pacing circles around this cavern. If he was moving around that much, he would have tested it by accident, even if not on purpose,” Rie argued. She couldn’t believe in the sudden failure of Greg’s work. If he had made a mistake in the crafting of the chain, it would have broken long ago.
“Garamaen should be here. He would know so much more, just looking at it, while we don’t even know what it’s made out of.”
“I’m not sure anyone does.”
“Somebody must have made it. It couldn’t have appeared out of thin air.”
Rie shrugged. She squeezed the chain in her hand. A little piece of the welding point broke off, piercing her hand through her gloves.
“Ouch, that’s sharp.”
Daenor lifted her hand, examining the metal shard before carefully removing it from her skin. Rie hissed. As soon as the metal was gone, she took of her glove to examine her hand. A single drop of blood oozed from the heel of her palm, hardly worth noting, but it stung worse than a papercut.
“Funny how the tiniest wounds hurt the worst,” Rie said.
“This piece of the chain is brittle. It doesn’t have the smooth flexibility of the rest. Almost as if it was heated to red hot, then flash frozen.”
Rie put her glove back on, clenching her hand and ignoring the small pain. “The wolves couldn’t do that, not on their own.”
“No.” Daenor’s statement was grim. “Fenrir had help.”
“But who in their right mind would free a giant, probably insane, wolf?”
Niinka buzzed in, apparently finished with her examination of the cavern. “Someone with the same enemies as the wolf, perhaps? There’s a back entrance to this cave, one that goes all the way out to the tundra.”
“That explains how the pack got in and out to tend their leader,” Rie said.
Daenor squeezed the chain again, his fist clenching so hard Rie was sure he would slice open his palm.
“So he had company. Maybe he wasn’t entirely insane then.” Daenor released the chain.
“Did you not see that village?” Rie asked, her eyebrows lifted in utter disbelief. Daenor was fooling himself if he didn’t think Fenrir was crazy. The wolves had broken into the barbegazi homes, defiled their safe spaces, regardless of guilt or innocence or age or weaponry (or lack thereof).
Daenor tilted his head to the side in admission. “So what’s next. Do we head back to Garamaen with our findings, or follow the other passages out, see where they lead?”
Rie considered. On the one hand, Garamaen’s input would be helpful, but it would waste a lot of time. Did they really need his input at this point? They hadn’t yet found the truth needed to provide the justice deserved.
Gikl landed on Daenor’s shoulder, his hand on the pearl button of his needle-sword.
“We go,” he said. “We find the wolves, we find the truth.”
It was as if he were reading her thoughts.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JUDITH CLASPED HER hands behind her back, patience wearing thin. Her task was clear. She needed to warn Apprentice Sanyare and craft a strategy for finding the dual-souled. They couldn’t wait for them to reveal themselves, or they risked losing the innocent. Time was of the essence.
Asher scowled as he drew the runes on the off-world portal with pointed deliberation. The designs weren’t complicated. The act of opening the portal wasn’t challenging. But maybe that was the problem.
“You shouldn’t be allowed off-world without an escort,” he grumbled. “No level three should. This is a disgrace.”
Judith frowned, her shoulders tensing. The other angel gave voice to her own reservations, but worse, reflected the sentiment of much of the choir. She knew her skills were limited, her knowledge of the other realms lacking. She was even less prepared than Rie had been when she’d first arrived in the Daemon Realm. But showing her insecurity would be a mistake.
“You may be right, but I have my orders,” Judith replied. In the end, it didn’t matter what she thought. It mattered what the Moirai thought. And they had assigned this task. She was duty bound to fulfill it to the best of her abilities.
“They should send someone more experienced. Someone who understands the humans.”
“Like you?” Judith demanded, her temper getting the best of her. “You lost your position in the choir. You will never be allowed to interact with the humans, ever again.”
Asher had shown his deep-seated resentment and prejudices against the human race in his lack of compassion. As a sorter, he had overstuffed the Hollows—the caverns of the wicked—until they were ready to burst, not even giving them the opportunity of redemption. It was yet another problem that now had to be fixed, but a solution was hard to be found.
Asher’s eyes narrowed into
slits, but he said no more as the portal opened onto the beach near Garamaen’s personal estate. Rie should be there, studying and researching the possible locations of the lost souls she’d released into the nine realms. Thousands of the wicked had streamed through the breach she had created between worlds. Hundreds still remained unaccounted for. She had won the Battle of the Arches but had let loose a force potentially far more insidious.
With a deep inhalation, Judith crossed the threshold. Her body felt like it was being simultaneously stretched and squeezed, turned inside out by the passage between dimensions. She stumbled forward. Her foot squelched in the hard-packed wet sand. Her knees landed in muck.
Fighting to keep the contents of her stomach where they belonged, Judith drew the salty human air deep into her lungs. She regretted it almost immediately. There were no oceans in the Daemon Realm, no native sea life to speak of. The scent of seaweed and driftwood mixed with the stench of decaying beach creatures was near overwhelming. She gagged. Held her breath. Finally panting a few quick exhalations, she was able to rise to her feet and look around more carefully.
The time of the crossing seemed somewhat fortuitous. With the sun in its final descent and a stiff cold breeze coming inland off the water, there were only a few individuals walking or jogging on the sand. No one appeared to have noticed the sudden arrival of a tall woman in a long coat.
Judith had been advised by Ssierra that the humans would find her wings alarming, and she should hide her feathers and armor, before handing over the heavy garment. Judith felt ridiculous wearing the thing, but if it kept her from drawing attention to herself, she supposed it was necessary. Except, when a jogger glanced her direction, she questioned whether the coat was better or worse than the wings.
Keeping her breaths shallow and her steps purposeful, Judith trekked toward the estate that housed Sanyaro and his entourage. Despite the smell, she did enjoy the movement of air across her cheeks and the view of the beach. And the waves. The rhythmic sound was almost a balm to Judith’s nerves, a surprising joy. They had plenty of sand in the Daemon Realm, but very little water. What water they did have, was mostly reserved for the care and restoration of the deserving souls in paradise. The guardian aeries were stark and dry in comparison.
Climbing the stairs to Garamaen’s estate—at least she hoped they were the right stairs and she wouldn’t surprise some unsuspecting human at home—Judith glanced back toward the portal. When inactive, the construct looked like nothing more than a stone cliff worn away by water and time. The arch was empty, the view through the gate the expected beach and dark blue water. It was peaceful. It might even be nice to have this view to gaze upon each day.
At last she reached the top of the cliff to find broad glass windows and a dark interior. She knocked on the wood and glass door, fearing that no one was home. Was this even the right house? She’d been given careful instructions, but could Ssierra have been mistaken on Lord Garamaen’s current whereabouts?
Finally, the door creaked open a few finger-lengths, but no one appeared inside. Confused and concerned, Judith pushed the door a little wider.
“Hello?” she called.
“Yes?” a small female voice said. It sounded low to the ground. “Can I help you?” Judith’s eyes searched the floor.
“I am Judith, guardian third class from the Daemon Realm. I’m here to see Apprentice Sanyare.”
“Judith! Yes, yes. Come in, please.”
The door swung open all the way and Judith could finally see the creature that claimed the words. A tiny thing, she had hooves, horns, and large ears. Her pink nose twitched in what Judith took to be consternation.
“Please, step inside. We don’t want the neighbors to see anything amiss. Fae presence here is kept under strict secrecy.”
Judith stepped forward at the creature’s nervous wave, moving inside the building entry.
“Normally, I wouldn’t even open the door,” the woman continued, “but Telthedis is out running an errand in town, and I could tell you weren’t human. The coat was a bit of a giveaway, I’m afraid to say, though I can’t think of a better way to hide wings. Hilgor, we have a guest. Could you please prepare a snack tray?”
The imp hopped down a few steps on legs that hardly looked able to balance in an upright position, yet the creature managed it with aplomb. She waved a gracious paw toward a seating area. Unsure what else to do, Judith chose a backless square cushion that wouldn’t hinder her wings.
“I apologize if this is rude, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage. May I ask who you are?” Judith inquired.
“Dear me, yes, of course. I am Plink, lady’s maid to Apprentice Sanyare and housekeeper of Sanyaro’s estate.”
“Y’are not the housekeeper. That job is taken,” a male voice called from another room. A few clinks and clanks could be heard, but the owner wasn’t visible.
“You can’t be a proper housekeeper if you hide in the cupboards and refuse to be seen. Cook and caretaker, yes. Housekeeper, no.”
Clearly this was an old argument, one that Judith didn’t particularly care to listen to.
“Where is Apprentice Sanyare? I really must speak with her right away.”
“Apologies. Apologies. The mistress isn’t here. She and Lord Garamaen have gone to the Winter Realm.”
“What? What for?” Judith demanded, almost rising off her seat.
“I’m afraid I don’t know all the details, but I believe there is some issue that Lord Garamaen must attend in the village of Bjergtopp, something to do with wolves. Rie and Daenor went to assist.”
Judith’s breath rushed out, relief warring with defeat. She needed to tell Rie of the dual-souled problem, but if she wasn’t here . . . .
“Do you know when they’ll return? Perhaps I could come back.”
“Unfortunately, no. It seemed a complicated situation that might take some time to resolve.”
Judith really, truly, didn’t want to chase after Rie. She wanted to return to her training, wanted to learn to soothe the traumas of the dead. But the Moirai had given her the role of liaison with Apprentice Sanyare, and tasked them both with identifying and recapturing the lost souls. She now had information for the human that must be shared. She couldn’t shirk her responsibilities and disobey her leaders, not without risking their wrath and her position in the choir.
She let her wings droop against her back. “How do I get there?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE PIXIES LED the way into the system of caves and tunnels that made up Fenrir’s lair. Rie hoped they knew what they were doing.
“Are you sure this is the right direction?” she asked. The pixies had seemed so certain, and yet they’d been walking for what seemed like hours already, through twisting tunnels that must have been carved by water, desperate to find a way to the surface. Just like Rie. If they’d taken a wrong turn, they might be lost forever. She couldn’t stand the thought of being stuck inside this mountain, dying of starvation in the dark.
What was it with tunnels, this trip? Rie had never before spent more than a few bells inside a tunnel of any kind, and yet in the last two days it felt like she’d barely seen the sky.
“Of course, I’m sure.” Niinka rolled her eyes. “I have an infallible sense of direction. It’s not my fault you’re too slow to keep up.”
“Shh.” Daenor stopped mid-stride, one finger pressed to his lips, the other hand holding his sword out in front of him. They’d been using the flame imbued metal as a torch to light their way. He’d dimmed the blaze to conserve energy, so just a trickle of fire licked up the length of steel, but it was enough to see the way forward.
He closed his eyes and cocked his head to the side, listening. Rie reached out with her other senses, looking for the energy signatures of any nearby creatures.
A scampering and shushing sound could just barely be heard over the slow drip of water from the walls and ceiling. Rie had long since gotten used to the mineral scent of lime that coated her nose
and throat, but the steady sound might yet drive her insane.
Focus, she admonished herself. Ah, there they were, two softly glowing white auras, one chasing the other through a crack in the rock.
“It’s just another weasel.” Niinka licked her lips. “Might be time for another hunt.”
“This deep in the mountain?” Rie asked. She didn’t think the weasels would venture so deep beneath the ground, away from the bits of grass, lichen, and tender bark that she’d seen them eating. Maybe they were some kind of tunneling creature, like a mountain mole, or something.
She was getting distracted again. Her thoughts only wandered like this when she was so tired she could hardly stand up straight.
“Tundra weasels. They sound plump and juicy.” Hiinto snapped his teeth together in anticipation as he launched himself from Rie’s hood. The two pixies zoomed out of the cavern without looking back.
Gikl stayed behind, hovering near the next turn in the bend of the tunnel.
“There’s only a little further to travel,” he said. “The weasels probably came in to escape the predators and find safety.”
He grinned, putting his serrated teeth on display. The weasels had chosen the wrong place to hide today.
“Leave one or two for us,” Daenor said. “We should probably get a few hours sleep here, before venturing out into the open. We don’t know what we’ll find on the tundra.”
“Agreed,” Rie replied. “Gikl, is there a good defensible and unoccupied side cavern we could rest in for the night?”
The pixie warrior shook his head. “Another half-mile and you’ll see the night sky.”
“We should go back to the big cavern. There was a ledge about half-way up the side that looked promising,” Daenor suggested.
“You’ve been scouting for campsites?” Rie asked. She felt so out of her depth in this outdoor adventure. Despite her exhaustion, she hadn’t even thought about where to sleep. She’d almost assumed they would somehow magically find and kill Fenrir and get back to Garamaen before night fell. Obviously, impossible.
Sanyare: The Winter Warrior (The Sanyare Chronicles Book 4) Page 9
