Sanyare: The Winter Warrior (The Sanyare Chronicles Book 4)

by Megan Haskell

  Rie was shocked when Aegasson beat her to an explanation. “Welcome to the tunnels of the barbegazi.”

  “I’d heard rumors, but never believed them,” an unfamiliar man’s awed voice replied.

  “You knew of this?” the woman asked. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I swore an oath.” There was no inflection in Aegasson’s voice, yet Rie knew if the barbegazi had given him access to the tunnel, there must have been more to it than that. Felman was too shrewd a politician to give this big a secret away for free.

  Rie kept crawling. They had more important things to worry about than the barbegazi secrets and Aegasson’s deal. If Maethor had managed to escape the city and outrun the avalanche, he would be headed in this direction. They just needed to find an exit from the tunnels that wasn’t completely obstructed by snow.

  “How many of your team made it?” Daenor asked, his voice controlled.

  Rie glanced over her shoulder to try to read his expression, but he shook his head. Was he uncertain of their companions? Angry at their inability to bring down Maethor? Hopeful that their small army would be big enough to do some damage? Just doing his job? She couldn’t tell.

  “Five made it to the tunnel, another three ran for one of the buildings. They may have survived. The rest . . . I’m not sure,” Aegasson admitted, his tone grim.

  “It’ll have to be enough,” Daenor replied.

  “Enough for what?” Aegasson asked.

  “We’re going to take back the mountain. All of it.”

  “The barbegazi will help,” Rie said. This was their home. Their environment. They would do what was necessary to reclaim their lands.

  The question was, would the frost sidhe be allowed to remain? The barbegazi were redisovering their strength. Since they were no longer content to be ruled, Rie had a feeling Aegasson’s actions would determine that outcome.

  Finding a rhythm in the crouched run, Rie’s breath grew steady, her pulse pounding beneath her skin with a silent drumbeat only she could hear. The sound was reassuring.

  Movement in the shadows up ahead brought her up short. Daenor, quick on his feet as always, stopped before knocking her over, but placed a hand on her shoulder to steady himself. The others crowded in behind him.

  “What is it?” Daenor whispered.

  Rie shook her head, lifting her fingers to her lips in the universal sign for quiet. A shuffling, followed by a grunt met her ears.

  “This way,” a voice said from the darkness. “Help us clear the snow, and you have an exit.”

  “Vegard?” Rie asked, surprised. They’d said he and a team would be ready to help if necessary, but Rie hadn’t expected him to anticipate their movements. Yet here he stood, in front of a square opening in the wall. The stone slab cover had been pulled into the tunnel from the surface, but only a trickle of snow had fallen into the space. The rest was so tightly packed Rie thought it would take a mechanical chisel to break it free.

  “Who else would it be?”

  “How did you know we would be here?”

  “Calculated guess. We watched the battle from a lookout point,” Vegard said. “Maethor crossed the wall like it wasn’t even there, then fled on foot. When the avalanche hit, he was already on the outskirts of the runout zone.”

  “So he got away,” Rie said. It was a statement that hit to the heart of the matter, and chilled Rie to the bone. As if she weren’t already cold enough.

  “We’re tracking him, now,” Vegard replied. “He won’t get too far too fast on foot. He doesn’t even have his skis. But we’d still better hurry. The only problem is the avalanche buried our best exit.”

  “Allow me,” Aegasson said.

  Vegard peered over Rie’s shoulder, past Daenor, to meet the gray-blue eyes of the frost sidhe commander.

  “Hello again, Aegasson.” The words were cordial, but cold. Rie could sense the underlying suspicion and distrust, but Vegard motioned Aegasson forward toward the wall, then gestured up at the hole in the ceiling. “I hope you’re strong enough to shift the snow up there.”

  With a tilt of his head and a negligent flick of his fingers, Aegasson cleared the snow from the exit.

  “I am strong enough for more than snow removal.”

  Vegard grunted. “You’ll need to be. Maethor is running, but his personality seems to be fracturing.”

  “He’s been insane ever since the battle. This is no surprise,” Aegasson replied.

  “Perhaps not, but if Judith is right—and I think she is—then his behavior will become even more volatile, and more dangerous,” Rie said.

  “He is the commander of the frozen army,” Aegasson replied. “He’s always been dangerous.”

  “But where he might have hesitated to kill his own soldiers, he won’t any longer. The wicked soul inside has grown too strong and doesn’t care about the men and women under his command,” Daenor replied. “Just look at how he used them in the city, pitted them against you in a petty civil war.”

  “All I’m saying is be careful,” Vegard added.

  “You’re not coming with us?” Rie asked, her brow furrowing. How were they supposed to track Maethor without the assistance of the barbegazi?

  “His tracks will be easy to see in the snow, and I can’t risk any more of my men and women. As it is, we will need to help rebuild the city and bring back the goats.”

  Always with the goats.

  “You will help rebuild?” Aegasson asked, shock written in his tone.

  “It’s our city too, our livelihood is in that market as much as yours. Of course we’ll help rebuild.”

  “But you destroyed it. You set off the avalanche.”

  “Yes, but the Crystal City can be rebuilt. And the barbegazi rock structures remain. Why do you think we constructed our buildings out of durable stone instead of the pretty but less functional ice?”

  Aegasson paused, confusion and uncertainty lacing his next words. “Because you don’t value art? Because you don’t have the ability to craft structures out of ice? I hardly thought about it before.”

  “You might want to change that,” Vegard replied. “In any case, we already have people in the city helping to dig out the survivors. I trust you’ll be able to get rid of Maethor once and for all.”

  “We won’t fail you this time,” Rie swore. Sanyaro’s mistakes would not be repeated. Nor would her own.

  “I’d appreciate it. And Aegasson?” Vegard asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Our deal still stands. Once Maethor is dealt with, you need to meet with my grandfather. He has some words for you.”

  Aegasson lifted his chin in imperious disdain. “I hold to my oaths.”

  A stamp and a snort outside the opening had them all turning back to the tunnel exit.

  “Your mounts have arrived. You need to get moving.”

  Pulling herself out of the tunnel with a push from behind from Daenor, Rie blinked against the sudden bright white light. Standing in front of her in a line were six of the giant harts that had pulled the sled on the mountain. The nearest shook his head at Rie, showcasing a rack of fifteen points and snorting a billow of steam into the frozen air.

  The beast stamped his hoof once more. A young boy stepped out from behind the hart.

  “He’s ready when you are,” the boy said, not meeting Rie’s gaze. “Hop on and he’ll track the general across the snow.”

  “How far has he gotten?” Daenor asked, next to pull himself out of the ground.

  The boy shrugged. “I don’t know, but Sunny will get you there.”

  Knowing how fast the harts could run, Rie didn’t doubt it, especially if Maethor remained on foot. Even with his magic solidifying the ice, he wouldn’t be able to run faster than the beasts who were born and bred for this land.

  “Thank you,” Rie said. Dropping her hands to her sides, Rie took a running start and leaped onto the hart’s back. Sunny didn’t flinch, didn’t even twitch. Not until she settled did he move a muscle. But as
soon as everyone was sitting and secure, the herd sprang forward as if launched from a cannon.

  Rie leaned forward, grinning into the fur of Sunny’s neck. She hadn’t been able to appreciate the ride the first time, sick and injured and exhausted as she’d been. But now, chasing after the enemy who stood alone, Rie let the exhilaration wash over her along with the biting wind.

  They raced up the slope of the mountain, following Maethor’s footsteps like beacons in the fresh snow. He hadn’t even bothered to attempt to conceal his passing. A rookie mistake. Or, more likely, the unknowing mistake of the wicked soul. Rie took it as a sign that the original soul’s influence was fading. That may or may not be a good thing.

  A shadow crossed the snow in front of her, the outline of wings. Rie glanced up. Judith flew overhead, her wings pushing her forward in pursuit of their common goal. The angel tipped her wings in greeting, but there was no point in speaking. Nothing would be heard over the pounding of hooves on ice and the bitter wind.

  In less than a half bell, they could see Maethor’s outline on the horizon. The harts were gaining on him. But where was he going? He’d chosen to flee uphill instead of down, which meant he was running against gravity. Why? Could he be hoping to make it to Fenrir’s lair? Were the wolves his only remaining allies?

  Gods above, she hoped so.

  After all that had happened, after all that he’d put her through, she was ready to end this. To end him.

  The wicked would go to the nothing, and the innocent would be set free.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CLOSE ENOUGH NOW to see the breath puffing into the air in front of Maethor’s face, Rie urged her hart onward ever faster. The animal’s muscles moved with sinuous grace beneath her, his breath pouring from his mouth in steady grunts.

  “Let’s get him,” she said. “Almost there.” The words were lost in the wind, but the hart still seemed to understand them. She could feel him push harder, springing forward with the last of his energy reserves.

  Maethor in turn redoubled his efforts. With every step, snow billowed from his feet like the wake behind a fast moving boat, creating stiff moguls in the landscape. If Rie had been running, it would have certainly tripped her up, but the hart jumped the obstacles like they didn’t even exist. His stride never faltered or changed. Rie spared a quick glance over her shoulder to see how the rest of the herd was doing, but every single animal moved smoothly over and around the snow pack, keeping pace with their leader.

  Rie grinned. Maethor was running out of tricks.

  On that thought, Judith swooped in for the strike. Head down and wings arched high overhead, she slammed into Maethor with a powerful kick that was quickly becoming her signature move. With a powerful thrust of her wings she was back up into the air.

  Knocked to his side with the power of the strike, Maethor was slow to get up. He hadn’t remembered to look up. Before he could rise, Rie jumped from the back of her hart and tackled the frost sidhe into the snow.

  Her vision shifted to the magical plane. The dual-souls were deeply entwined, their essences touching and intermingling. It almost looked as if the souls had chosen to merge, blending their energy together.

  With a grip on the back of Maethor’s neck, Rie mentally yanked the two souls apart, watching them writhe and spin. Maethor’s body contorted and he let out a blood-curdling scream of pain and torment. Rie didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Too much was at stake.

  Daenor and Aegasson jumped from their own mounts, landing on Maethor to hold his body still as Rie worked. Unraveling the soulstrings stole a surprising amount of her own energy, so she was grateful for the help.

  The color of their energy was a clear indicator of which soul was which. The original soul still retained its blue color, though it had faded some from the influence of the dim gray essence of the lost soul. Interestingly, both souls fought the separation, the blue clinging to the gray like a child to its mother’s leg. Meanwhile, the wicked soul writhed against Rie’s hold, slippery and near impossible to grasp.

  But Rie was nothing if not determined. The escape of the wicked souls had been her idea, their possession of the enemy guided by her hands. This was her mess to clean up and she would not fail.

  Mentally grasping the lost with one hand, Rie pulled the wicked from its stolen body while pressing the original soul deep into its core. The souls clung together like sticky taffy. Unable to gather the leverage she needed, she imagined wrapping the lost around her wrist and began to wind and pull, stretching and softening it for the final separation. With a great heave, Rie snapped the wicked soul’s connections to the body.

  With a pop of displaced air, the writhing gray formless mass of the lost soul hovered in front of Rie, expanding and contracting as if with breath. An area near the top began to take shape, the face a well-remembered visage that had haunted her since her first foray into the Daemon Realm. Lank hair hung around empty eye-sockets and high arched cheekbones, but the entire left side of the remembered face was crisscrossed with deep scars. Shoulders and arms appeared next, the body taking shape as the soul regained some semblance of personality.

  “You,” Rie whispered.

  A slow grin spread across the wicked’s incorporeal face.

  Maethor bucked against Aegasson and Daenor’s hold. Daenor grunted as a fist connected with his stomach, but together he and the frost sidhe kept the general from reaching his weapons. They pressed him to the ground even as he gnashed his teeth and twisted back and forth against their weight.

  Rie couldn’t watch what was happening. The wicked soul snapped out toward her heart with a spike of misty plasma. She braced. Mentally reinforcing her magical armor, she imagined a suit of steel encasing her body and each of her allies in the valley. The soul would not have the opportunity to claim her for his own. Nor would she let him claim any of her allies. Even the reluctant ones.

  The tendril hit her like a sledgehammer to the chest. Rie stumbled back, keeping her feet, but barely. Another spike punched her shoulder, and another aimed at taking out her knees.

  Rie had brought this creature out from the Daemon Realm. He had been her connection, the leader she’d dealt with, the soul who had done her bidding. He’d taken Maethor’s body, converted or convinced the frost sidhe to join with him. And now he was free once more, without the restrictions or restraints of the battle, and without King Aradae to herd his will.

  Rie had been maneuvered like a pawn on a chessboard. Now, to send him back to the Daemon Realm where he belonged, she needed to touch his essence. And he knew it. He gave no quarter. Each strike pounded into her shields, slamming her body and recoiling. The soul was fast. Faster than she was. Faster even than the pixies. She couldn’t get a hold.

  Unable to fight back physically, her khukuri blades useless against the already dead, Rie was quickly losing ground.

  ***

  Judith dove. She landed in front of Rie with one hand and one knee on the ground for stability. Her wings stretched out behind her, shielding the human from the efforts of the dead.

  She’d seen this creature before. Had known his evil would not be contained once free of the Hollows. Even now, separated from his stolen body and vulnerable, he was not weak. Incorporeal tentacles struck her wings and shoulders, their piercing barbs a shocking pain. Judith welcomed the sting. This evil creature could now be destroyed.

  Judith drew her sword. The steel sang. Imbued with the venom of Cerberus, the hellhound who protected the gates of the Hollows, it was the only weapon that could harm the incorporeal. Designed to control the less cooperative souls, the blade would send them back to the nothing, the final death.

  For once, Judith wouldn’t regret the loss of opportunity. This soul deserved to be extinguished from existence.

  A spear of solid ectoplasm shot toward her, faster even than the whip Eliphaz had used in training. Judith slid to the side, dropping her right shoulder while bringing her sword up to parry. The tentacle sliced off and fizzled away, the nothing
taking its energy home.

  A second spear punched out toward her. Then a third. Judith ducked and turned, keeping her body as motionless as possible while still avoiding the blows. Each strike resulted in a further loss of the soul’s essence. Fury turned the soul into a whirling dervish of barbs aimed at Judith’s head and chest. She ducked and dodged, but a few hit home. Stinging pain radiated from each strike that met unarmored skin.

  Judith spun through a complicated set of maneuvers, her wings spread wide to push the soul back while maintaining her protection of the mortals at her back. Her sword pointed at the core of the creature before her, slicing up and across, then back again.

  A shout at her back, Judith felt more than heard Rie scramble toward Maethor’s body. Determined to end the twisted, irredeemable creature before her, Judith ignored the flurry of activity behind her.

  ***

  Maethor writhed on the ground, spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth. His body convulsed, flailing against the loss of the wicked soul who had controlled him for so long. He howled. Frost spread out from his skin.

  Daenor cursed, letting go of Maethor. As quick as that, the dark elf’s fingers had turned blue. Rie rushed to his side. Wrapping his hands in her own, she warmed them gently but quickly, returning blood flow to his extremities. The last thing he needed was to lose all his fingers to frost bite.

  To keep Maethor contained, Aegasson lay his entire body on top of his former commander, clinching him around the neck and one leg. Like a wild animal desperate to be free, the general thrashed against the hold. Maethor growled and gnashed his teeth. Aegasson grunted and clinched tighter. Maethor’s arm came loose. He elbowed Aegasson across the face, smashing his nose and drawing blood.

  Confident that Daenor wouldn’t suffer any long-term damage from the flash freeze, Rie jumped toward the fight. Knowing she too was susceptible to the ice magic, she pushed heat into her hands as she pinned the loose arm. Bigger and stronger than her human form, the frost sidhe was nearly able to shake her loose. She pinned his wrist with her knee.