“This way,” Eira finally managed.
They exited the building, Eira’s oversized feet surprisingly quiet on the ice-slick stone of the street. With a start, Judith realized why. Instead of walking or jogging, as Judith was doing, she slid over the stone as if she were wearing skates. Judith marveled at the oddity of bare feet in such a cold realm, but Eira was a true native, her people designed for this climate.
Staying close to the building, Judith used the shadows of dusk to mask her form as best she could. Her wings would draw too much attention if people saw them, and even under her cloak their form was unmistakable. Keeping an eye to the windows and doorways, she could only hope no one was watching.
Eira, on the other hand, wandered down the middle of the street with her shoulders slumped and head hanging low. She didn’t seem concerned about being seen, but she was also a barbegazi. Unless someone recognized her as an escaped prisoner—which seemed unlikely—they probably wouldn’t give her a second glance.
“Hurry, Eira,” Judith urged. A sense of dread had begun tickling the back of Judith’s neck, the hair raising as if it had an extra sense she didn’t own. She glanced up and down the street.
A shadow ran across their path but disappeared before Judith could tell what had made it. Eira didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze was trained on the ground, her voice cooing soft nothings to Bren. The child was surprisingly well-behaved.
Eira turned a corner, Judith close on her heels. They were brought up short at the sight of two soldiers standing in the middle of the road, their backs to Judith and Eira.
Judith tugged the smaller woman into an empty doorway, peeking out around the frame to see if the soldiers had spotted them. One shifted and glanced over his shoulder but didn’t seem concerned.
Meanwhile, Eira knocked on the door.
“What are you doing?” Judith hissed.
“This is my cousin’s office,” she replied with a shrug. “If he’s still here, he may be able to help.”
That would be convenient, if a bit improbable.
Judith snorted when the door opened to reveal a barbegazi man dressed in a heavy wool cloak that covered him from neck to ankles. Only his extra-large hairy feet peeked out from beneath the cloth. His head was uncovered, short white hair combed back in a slick coif, while his thick beard had been trimmed and shaped into a neat cushion around his face.
“Vegard, let us in,” Eira said, pushing past her brethren.
“Eira! I’m here to find a way to rescue you. But now you’re here. What happened? Who’s your companion? And is that a baby in your arms?”
The questions came fast, but he waved Judith inside and silently shut the door behind her.
As soon as Vegard turned back to the room, Eira rushed into his arms. “Oh, Vegard, it’s been awful.”
Her cousin rubbed a hand across her back. “Tell me,” he said.
“First, they took me for questioning when Apprentice Sanyare and the dark elf ran through my shop.”
Vegard glanced at Judith, wary concern lining his expression. “Hush now,” he warned.
“No, it’s okay. She was sent by Sanyaro and helped me escape the prison. They wouldn’t let me go, Vegard. They insisted I reveal how they escaped.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Just that they ran through the shop.”
“Good.”
“No, not good!” Eira practically shouted. “He shut down the city!”
“He shut down the frost sidhe movement. He didn’t stop anything else.”
What was that supposed to mean? Judith lifted an eyebrow in speculation but said nothing. It wasn’t her place to pry into the affairs of the barbegazi, she was only here to take Bren home and gather allies for Apprentice Sanyare. Whatever they were doing, for or against the frost sidhe, she didn’t have the desire to get involved.
Eira swallowed, hopeful eyes gazing up into Vegard’s face. “Are the goats okay? The frost sidhe didn’t hurt them, did they? Do they have access to the grazing fields?”
So Eira was a shepherdess of some kind. Judith hadn’t gathered that.
“The goats are fine. They tried to follow when you were taken, but Hilde turned them around. They’ve moved in with her herd for now.”
“Thank the gods,” Eira breathed. She stepped away from her cousin, gently bouncing Bren in her arms.
“So who is the child? And the winged mistress who hovers over my shoulder?” Vegard teased, a tentatively smile touching his lips as he glanced up at Judith.
She felt like a hulking beast, her head nearly brushing the ceiling even as she hunched. This room was larger than the Bjergtopp village house, but just barely.
“Judith brought the child from Bjergtopp. They’ve been destroyed, Vegard. The baby is the only survivor!”
Vegard grimaced. “Not another one.”
Another one? Judith wondered. Other villages had been annihilated in the same way?
Vegard pulled back the swaddling cloth to look at Bren’s face. “Is she hurt? Like Solvi?”
“No. They didn’t touch her.”
“Sanyaro found her and revived her,” Judith offered. “He said she’d been left for dead in her mother’s arms.”
“Gods above,” Vegard swallowed hard, glancing once more at the child. “At least she’s young enough she shouldn’t remember.”
“I am Judith, by the way. Guardian level three, from the Daemon Realm.”
“I’d gathered you weren’t from here. When did you arrive?”
“Just yesterday,” Judith replied.
“You must have gotten in right before they shut the portal. How did you evade the guards?”
“I flew. They never saw me.”
“It certainly would be nice to have wings.”
“Not when they’re shooting arrows at you.”
“Vegard, we need to see grandfather. We need to take the baby to a nursing mother. She’s weakening,” Eira interrupted
“She is?” Judith asked, startled. She lunged forward, aching to take the child in her arms and see for herself, but Eira jerked away in surprise.
Bren didn’t even stir. She was quiet, too quiet. Judith closed her eyes in silent prayer. Let the child survive. Let this mission succeed, if only for one life.
Vegard glanced once more at Judith, before nodding his head with a decision. “We’ll use the tunnels. It will be tight for you, I’m afraid. Especially with those wings of yours, but it’s the fastest and safest way to reach the stronghold.”
Judith swallowed. Tunnels. That sounded far too much like the Hollows for her comfort, maybe even worse. At least she could walk through the passages of the Hollows. But Bren needed her, and she would do anything necessary to see her home safe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A SCUFFLE OUTSIDE the hot springs cavern had Rie sitting upright. She shook Daenor’s arm. They had fallen into a kind of a stupor over the last few days, only moving to drink water or pick at the sparse bones the wolves left for them. They’d exhausted all topics of conversation, and even the pixies had left. There wasn’t much for them to do here, except perhaps hunt. Despite their best and continuing efforts to find a way out of the manacles, the pixies had come up empty. Rie and Daenor were truly at the mercy of the wolves.
But now . . . something new was going on.
“I can’t hear what’s happening, can you?” Daenor asked.
“Not a word, but there’s definitely movement.”
Gikl zoomed into the space, his presence marked only by the buzzing of his wings. He landed on Daenor’s shoulder, quickly camouflaging his color to match the black of his thin undershirt.
“Garamaen is here,” he whispered urgently. “He’s demanding that the wolves release you.”
Another buzz and thump, this time on Rie’s shoulder. Niinka crawled up and through Rie’s hair hiding in the messy black strands. “He’s negotiating a trade,” she added. “The plan is that he’ll force the wolves to reveal you, th
en convince them to let you go.” The gleeful way she emphasized the word ‘convince’ led Rie to believe that blood and meat would be involved.
“And,” she paused, probably for emphasis as her bell-like voice grew even higher in pitch, “we get to help!” she exclaimed. Rie winced as the words pierced her eardrum, aggravating the already painful headache that never ceased behind her eyeballs.
“I expect you would,” Rie replied. Though smaller than her palm, the pixies were vicious little predators when they wanted to be.
“Yes, but you never ask,” Niinka complained. “Sometimes I wonder if you even appreciate our talents.”
Rie rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore the complaint. “But what about Bren?” If Garamaen was here at the cave, where was the baby? Surely he wouldn’t bring her into possible danger.
“Safe,” Niinka replied. “Judith is here. She took the baby to the city.”
Rie’s jaw dropped. Judith was here? The guardian? Why? What could possibly have drawn her to this frozen realm?
Before Rie could ask more detailed questions, a larger, deadlier predator than the pixies entered the room.
Fenrir paced forward, his lips pulled up in a snarl. Four other wolves matched him on either side. They came to stand in front of Rie and Daenor, crowding around in an impressive act of intimidation.
Rie swallowed. What had Garamaen done?
“You will follow,” Fenrir growled, the words barely intelligible over the rough tumble of his voice.
Rie touched her neck, and the manacle that held her attached to the wall. “How?” she asked.
Fenrir’s growl deepened. He lunged forward. Rie flinched, but the wolf wasn’t aiming for her body. In one powerful motion, he took the heavy chain between his teeth and yanked, tearing the attachment out of the wall. He threw the chain to the floor with a toss of his head. Then he did the same for Daenor.
“Move.”
The single word sent chills of dread down Rie’s spine. Whatever Garamaen had planned, Fenrir had a countermeasure in mind. Even without foresight, Rie could see the calculation and aggression in his eyes, the glee at finally having his true prey close at hand.
Lil shuffled sideways, close to Rie’s side. “Take your coat,” she said, keeping her voice low. “You will need it.”
Surprised at the gesture of kindness, Rie nevertheless did as suggested and wrapped her cloak over her shoulders, Daenor following suit. They were going outside.
Once more, Rie found herself following Daenor through the tunnels of the mountain, her hand placed on his shoulder as she trusted his better night vision. The trip out seemed longer than the trip in.
Eventually, they emerged into the entrance cavern. Rie raised her good arm, blinking against the bright light as she attempted to shade her eyes. The sun’s rays pierced her brain like shards of glass, and her eyes watered.
Daenor was even worse, unable to keep his eyes open in the glare. How long had they actually been in the cave? Unable to tell the difference between night and day, it could have been weeks.
The wolves herded them outside, their feet crunching through ice encrusted snow. The cold seeped through Rie’s leather boots, her toes going numb within moments. She wrapped the cloak more tightly around her body, glad that Lil had provided them a warning.
“What have you done to them?” Garamaen’s voice boomed out over the open space of the mountain. He stood on a rise, perhaps twenty-five lengths from the entrance to the cave. For some reason, Rie didn’t feel like she recognized this landscape. The shape of the rocks seemed different, the peak in an odd alignment from what she recalled on their approach.
Snow covered hills surrounded the area. If there had been any vegetation, it was now completely covered by a blanket of white. Not even a twig poked above the ground. Only a few sheer rock faces remained exposed.
“Nothing you didn’t do to me,” Fenrir replied. “I gave the same courtesy, and the same regard. They are alive.”
As if that was sufficient.
“Rie, are you well?” Garamaen asked.
“Enough,” Rie replied. Her magic was gone. Her arm was in a sling. She imagined her face was covered in dirt and grime, her hair greasy and in disarray. She was half starved and dehydrated. She probably smelled pretty ripe, as well.
But . . . it actually could have been worse.
“And Daenor?”
“I was bitten, sir,” Daenor replied. “We both were.” Succinct and to the point. That was Daenor.
The message clearly was received when Garamaen nodded his head and turned an intent stare on the wolves who held them.
“Your fight is with me.”
Fenrir lowered his head between his shoulders, leaning into the potential confrontation. “Yes. Their fight is with the frost sidhe.”
Rie’s eyes grew wide. This was the trap.
Snow exploded into the air. Dozens of frost sidhe charged from their hiding places beneath what had appeared to be hills and frozen landscape. A communal war cry burst from their lips, the sound echoing off the mountain.
Rie ran forward, her thoughts fixated on Garamaen, her mentor and last living relative. Her motion was brought up short by the chain around her neck. A wolf yanked her off her feet and onto her back with a gasp of air. For one brief moment, Rie couldn’t breathe, her lungs refusing to function. When finally they inflated once more, she coughed and rolled to her side, groaning as her injured arm slid free of the sling.
Daenor was on his stomach, a wolf standing on his back. He pushed against the ground with futile efforts, his strength no match for the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of pounds encapsulated in the wolf. Anger burned in his eyes, but the true flame was nowhere to be seen.
Rie’s gaze turned back to Garamaen. A thick casing of ice covered the rock he stood on, creeping up toward his legs. But Garamaen still had his magic, still had his heat. A blaze like a blacksmith’s furnace burst from his hands, melting the efforts of the frost sidhe.
Archers—staying well back and out of the melee—took aim. Arrows loosed and immediately burst into flame, the ash blowing on the wind. Another volley, destroyed just as quickly.
Wolves and frost sidhe alike sprinted toward him, scrambling up the hill. At least half of the warriors dropped to the ground, asleep or dead before they ever had a chance of reaching their target, but there were too many wolves untouched by magic. They surrounded him, the frost sidhe blasting him with cold and ice while the wolves attacked with teeth and claw.
Desperate to go to Garamaen’s aid, Rie held the frozen metal chain between bare hands. With a rapid jerk, she lunged up into a standing position, hoping to catch the wolf holding the other end by surprise. The chain slipped from his grasp, but only gave a few feet of slack before the wolf yanked her back once more. Rie glared over her shoulder, but a wolf with a single black leg—Black Sock—would give no quarter.
Meanwhile, the pixies had decided now was the time to act. Niinka launched herself into the air, speeding toward Black Sock and crawling into his fur. The wolf yipped and dropped the chain, bending his body to chew at his skin. Gray and black clumps of hair flew as the pixie went to work. Rie didn’t stop to watch. She ran.
But the snow was deep, and her energy was weak. She didn’t make it more than another few steps before the chain pulled tight again. She fell on her butt in the snow, the collar around her neck yanking her off her feet.
A new wolf held her chain, one she hadn’t had the displeasure of yet meeting. He growled. But Rie was done playing around. Instead of running toward Garamaen again, and pulling against the force of the wolf, she charged the creature. Who cared about his fangs? She’d already been bitten.
The wolf’s eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed. He dropped the chain, ready to take a bite out of her hide. Rie grabbed the end he’d released, and doing her best impression of a gymnast’s vault, she launched herself over the back of the wolf, wrapping the chain around his neck and pulling tight.
The wolf bucked an
d rolled, throwing Rie off his back. Forcing herself up, Rie grabbed up the chain and ran once more to Garamaen’s side.
A weight like a cannonball blasted into her back, knocking her to the ground. With her face pressed into the cold snow, she could hardly breathe. The weight never lifted, never shifted. A single paw pressed into her spine between her shoulder blades. Wriggling enough to clear the space around her mouth, Rie turned her head as far as it would go to the side. She stared up into Fenrir’s yellowed teeth, the scent of meat and halitosis heavy on the air.
But Gikl and Niinka weren’t yet done. They zipped and dodged from one wolf to the next, keeping away from teeth even as they sent the beasts dancing and rolling through the snow.
A third pixie—moving so fast Rie couldn’t tell who it was—joined the fray. Targeting the wolf on Daenor’s back, the new arrival burrowed into the animal’s fur, making the wolf wriggle and jump until he released the dark elf fire master. Daenor didn’t hesitate. He pushed himself up to standing and sprinted toward Rie and Fenrir, as if he would take on the great wolf in a bare-knuckle brawl. If he’d had his magic and it was a one-on-one fight, Rie wouldn’t have bet against him. But here, in deep snow, with the magic eaten away and his energy drained, he was as vulnerable as any human.
No more than three steps and he was tackled once more, Brute taking him down with fangs on the back of his neck.
“No!” Rie shouted, just as Fenrir snapped a command at Brute. The wolf rolled his eyes up at his leader, as if asking a question, but Fenrir ignored the plea.
Another high-pitched shriek, but this time from the throat of a pixie. Black sock had managed to clamp down on Niinka’s leg. He pulled her from his fur with a violent shake of his head, threw her to the side. She landed in a snowdrift. She didn’t move.
“Niinka!” Rie screamed, one hand reaching out to her friend. But Fenrir wouldn’t let her move. He pushed down on her back even harder, leaning in to growl into her ear.
Garamaen, hearing Rie’s cry, looked up from his battle with the frost sidhe on the hill. He must have lost his concentration. In that one split second, the wolves and the wielders of ice and snow overwhelmed the fire master, piling on top of him and quenching his flame.
Sanyare: The Winter Warrior (The Sanyare Chronicles Book 4) Page 16
