by Shae Ford
“Do you feel the ghosts?” he wondered.
When her smile came, it was disturbingly frail. “You could say that, I suppose.”
Her eyes finally dragged to watch the wildmen from over his shoulder. The clink of their armor faded as they left the banks and stepped carefully onto the river’s icy back. But Kyleigh didn’t move.
Her teeth dragged across her bottom lip as she stared emptily at Hundred Bones. “The mountain’s voice is so much stronger here. I can hear it screaming at me. Do you ever feel like it’s … after you? Am I mad to think that?”
No, she wasn’t mad.
Kael had often felt the mountains’ spirit. It was always after him, always throwing tricks in his path and trying to claim his life. As a boy, it’d frightened him. But then Roland had showed him his woodsman’s tricks — how to read the weather’s moods and glean bounty from the wilds. Amos had taught him how to find healing roots beneath the mountain’s unforgiving flesh, how to press ointment from the prickly leaves. And as he’d grown, Kael had begun to realize something:
“The mountains really aren’t as unforgivable as we think. If they truly meant to keep us out, they could. But instead, there’s a path around every trap, a salve for every sting — a way across every river. Sure, the mountains will try to kill you … but they’ll also make you stronger.” An involuntary smile bent his lips. His heart lurched as his hand reached out to her, as if it hadn’t quite realized what he’d been about to do. “Come on.”
He tried not to burst into flame when her hand met his, when their fingers twined and their palms pressed together. The fires roared for a moment. They tried to scare him off. But he held on tightly.
They trekked through the stringy grass, with the clouds hovering like the roof of a cave and the cold wind lashing their scalps. Kael battled the flames all the while they walked. He grit his teeth against the voice that whispered he wasn’t strong enough, that he had no right to hold her. After a fierce, silent battle, the fires abated.
The flames that’d bitten his skin now sank beneath it. There wasn’t any pain here — only warmth. He slowed until he walked beside her instead of at her front, and their arms twined as closely as their hands.
All too soon, they arrived at the frozen banks of Hundred Bones.
The river lay still and silent among the reeds, frozen like a monstrous corpse from long ago. It was several ship-lengths wide: Kael could barely make out the edges of the opposite shore in the distance. The land beyond sloped upwards, where the clouds quickly swallowed it.
By the time Kyleigh and Kael arrived, the wildmen had already begun to cross. The warriors slid surely along the ice, testing the safest paths. The craftsmen followed in their wake. Their thin legs shook and they grumped to one another as they took careful steps.
One man lost his footing. His feet slipped out from under him and he took a fantastic spill, landing directly onto his rump.
A warrior slid over and offered a hand. “Careful — that patch is slippery.”
“Yeah, thanks for telling me after I’d already cracked my backend,” the craftsman said. “It’s like walking on hog’s fat out here.”
“Why don’t you just give yourself some pointed toes, then?”
“What — and tease this ice? Are you mad? We can’t go digging out our steps.”
“One crack won’t hurt anything,” the warrior insisted, grinning.
“One crack is all it takes,” the craftsman said with a glare. “Now help me over this next bit, here. Don’t —!”
The warrior shoved him hard in the back and the craftsman slid, waving his arms like a gull fighting its way from the sea a few feet before he hit a rougher path of ice and went spilling over onto his chin.
“Be careful with my craftsmen,” Gwen called, glaring at the warrior.
He stopped laughing immediately.
While the rest of the wildmen fanned out in clumps, Gwen walked alone behind them. She strode easily along the rough patches of ice and slid across the slippery bits. Her head turned each time there was a slip or a stumble, watching to make sure the craftsman who’d fallen wound up all right. Her axe was drawn and swung loosely at her side — which Kael didn’t think was a particularly good idea, considering how treacherous the ice was.
Silas, as always, padded along in her wake. Even from a distance, Kael could hear the scratching of his claws as he dug into the ice. His limbs trembled with every step. He struggled over a slippery bit with his foreclaws. He dug his nails in and the rough fur on the back of his neck bristled as he regained his footing.
He’d arched his chin and gone to plod on as if he’d won a great victory when his back feet slipped out from under him. They splayed in opposite directions. The muscles in his shoulders coiled as he quickly righted himself. His glowing eyes flicked over his shoulder, as if to make sure no one had seen. When he saw Kyleigh and Kael grinning at him from the shore, he hissed.
Gwen turned at the sound of his spitting. Her eyes went to Kyleigh and Kael’s clasped hands — and narrowed. “Move, pest!” she barked.
Kael couldn’t be sure, but he thought the back of her neck might’ve been a good deal redder than usual. He supposed the wind must’ve burned her. Without any trees for shelter, it lashed them mercilessly. It howled across their ears until they had to shout to be heard.
Kyleigh and Kael had gone several yards from the shore when the ice suddenly groaned beneath them. He glanced down — and froze when he saw the many hairline cracks that fanned around her boots.
“Dragon bones,” she explained with a grimace. “We ought to spread out.”
She let go of his hand, and the air immediately felt chiller. “Why don’t you just fly across? We’ll meet you on the other side.”
“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? If I change now, I’ll fall straight through. It’ll be fine,” she insisted. She took another step, and the ice made only the faintest protest. “See? As long as we don’t add your weight to it, the river ought to hold nicely.”
He thought nicely was a bit of a stretch. But he knew there was no point in arguing with her. Instead, he kept several paces to her left — and glared anytime the ice so much as muttered.
Blue-green waters stretched before him in a field of their own, frozen in the traps of time. Kael couldn’t help but stare down at them as he passed. The river’s halted swirls were every bit as entrancing as the shapes of the clouds above the seas.
A magnificent scene played out beneath his feet: he saw knights warring with dragons, woodsmen climbing the tops of the mountains. Deer bounded over hills and birds spread their monstrous wings. He watched the frozen shapes beneath him for so many long moments that the next time he looked up, they’d made it to the middle.
Hundred Bones stretched out in every direction, barren as the wastes. Had it not been so cold, he might’ve thought they were standing in a desert. Kyleigh walked a few reaches beside him. She moved slowly, and the ice didn’t complain beneath her feet. The wildmen were stretched ahead of him in a line, barking insults at each other. Their harsh laughter warmed the air.
Ahead of them, the land sloped upwards. The cloud that sat atop their heads hid all but the faintest line of the shore. Its gray underbelly worried him. Right now the clouds were hoarding all their snow, but they could let loose at any moment.
He was watching the feathered edges of the clouds when he saw movement along the shoreline. He heard the stomping of feet and the rattling of armor — followed by a sight that chilled him swifter than the river’s breath:
A horde of Earl Titus’s soldiers.
Chapter 37
The Earl’s Game
The soldiers made no move to cross Hundred Bones. They stood in a line on the opposite bank and raised their swords high in warning. The thundering call they let out seemed practiced to Kael, and he was immediately wary.
But the warriors must not have noticed. They let out howls of their own and took off after the Earl’s soldiers, their boots
moving surely against the ice. They cut the distance between them quickly. The soldiers waited until the warriors were a ship-length from the banks before they turned and fled up the shores, heading north.
The hair on the back of Kael’s neck was standing tall. His eyes went from the warriors’ charge back to the middle of the ice, where the craftsmen were still trying helplessly to wobble their way across.
And he suddenly realized what Titus had planned. “Stop! Gwen — stop them!”
Ice sprayed from her heels as she ground to a halt. The light of battle left her eyes and the skin beneath her paint went white as she gaped at something over his shoulder. “Look out!”
Kael’s worst nightmare came hurtling from the shore behind him.
Twisted creatures with armor melded into their skin thundered across the ice. Dogs, badgers, weasels, cats with no tails and tall, pointed ears — all locked their crazed black eyes onto the craftsmen. Gwen’s cry only made them quicken their pace. They howled and screeched for blood. Wet trailed from their jagged teeth.
Harbinger screamed as Kyleigh ripped him from his sheath. Kael drew an arrow from his quiver. “Remember your armor, craftsmen!” He said as he locked onto the eyes of the first beast. “Put on your armor!”
A small horde broke from the pack, drawn to Harbinger’s song. Kyleigh swung her blade in dizzying arcs, cleaving the first monster’s head from its furry neck. They circled her carefully after that — darting in and leaping back. They screamed each time the white blade bit them.
Gwen crashed into the front of the line. She leapt and brought her axe down with a cry, splitting a badger’s head like a log. Her shield dented a weasel’s iron skull. A thrust of her heel shattered a dog’s ribs. She slung the skewered body of a cat into the monsters in front of her, rolling them in every direction.
Creatures fell beneath Kael’s arrows. He kept the first line from reaching the craftsmen, but by the time the second wave broke through, his quiver was empty. There was nothing for it.
Black scales popped up along his skin as he ran. The first monster swiped at the line of craftsmen with its massive claws, knocking a clump of them across the ice. Their armor held well: though the monsters bit and slashed, they couldn’t break the craftsmen’s skin.
One of the weasels tried unsuccessfully to crack a craftsman open with its teeth. When that didn’t work, it scooped the poor man up and began slamming his body into the ground. The craftsman’s armor didn’t yield …
But the ice did.
Kael was several yards away when he saw the angry, white-blue web forming beneath the weasel’s feet. He knew that if the river cracked, it would drag them both to an icy grave. The craftsmen could no longer hide beneath their shells. It was time to fight.
Kael’s warrior edge held him in a sprint while the craftsman worked on his swords. The armor and the swords were made of the same material: it wasn’t difficult to imagine that the scales sharpened to points at the tips of his hands, or that edges grew along his arms.
“Remember your blades, craftsmen!” Kael hollered as he ran. “Remember how they felt — sharp enough to cleave the pines, light enough to wield.”
His eyes clamped down upon the weasel. He was nearly there. The words grew louder as they left his lips, charged by the fury of his sprint: “Use them now, craftsmen! Swing your blades against the Man of Wolves — split his army as you split the trees! Fight, craftsmen! Fight!”
Kael roared and thrust his arm into the weasel’s middle. He felt warmth, wet, then cold once more as his hand burst out the other side. The craftsmen caught in the weasel’s grasp charged his hand through its throat, and its wriggling body collapsed. Then with a howl the warriors might’ve been proud of, the craftsmen fought back.
Beasts fell beneath their hands — hewed and split, curled away. The craftsmen’s eyes burned with the fires of their work. Their lips moved with silent words. The beasts couldn’t stop them; they couldn’t break them. The craftsmen ripped through Titus’s army as if it was no more fierce a thing than nettles.
Kael slung his arms in arcs around him. Hot droplets spewed onto his face and the front of his jerkin, where the wind struck them cool. A dog lunged for him, its jaws gaping, and Kael held out his hand.
His arm went down its throat and out the back of its neck.
He’d turned to destroy a circle of badgers when a massive claw struck him in the small of his back. Clouds whipped overhead as he slid across the ice. His elbow ground against the river’s flesh until he struck a rough patch, and the sudden jolt flipped him onto his stomach. He was about to jump to his feet when he caught sight of the creature that’d flung him.
It towered over every other beast: a monster with blood-red fur sprouting through the gaps between its tortured human flesh. An iron helmet capped its head — a head that was far too small for the hulking shoulders that crowded it on either side.
Between its fur, its size and the large dent in the front of its helmet, there was no mistaking who this monster was: the red devil.
The devil looked as wicked as it had in Griffith’s nightmares. A pair of tiny black eyes lurked behind the slit in its helmet. A wolf-like mouth almost overtook the monster’s face — though the massive, hooked claws curled at its side looked as if they belonged to a bear. Its red tail was short, but thick and bristled.
Roland used to tell him stories of animals that looked like this. They had a wolf’s speed, a bear’s appetite, and a badger’s temper. They preferred to live alone, and Kael had hoped to never cross paths with one.
But he supposed that hope now lay dashed alongside countless others.
He got to his feet and prepared himself to charge. Even when it draped back on its hind legs and stood to its full, towering height, Kael wasn’t afraid. This beast would fall like all the others.
The monster’s lips pulled back across its teeth. Its pink tongue lolled clumsily between them, forming two gurgling words: “Hello, Twiglet.”
Kael froze. The devil’s twisted mouth curled into a snarling grin. A patch of blood red fur sprouted from its lower lip. The beady black eyes that stared him down were even properly dim. Still, he could hardly believe it.
“Marc?”
Before the monster could reply, Gwen slammed into its middle. She chased its rolling body with her axe raised beside her, shouting: “The red devil is mine!”
It roared and swung a massive claw, forcing her back. She howled and beat her axe against her chest. The monster bristled for the charge. Then all at once, the collar around its neck glowed hot.
The red devil, Marc, whipped away from Gwen and galloped out of her reach. He charged for the shrouded banks, as if he’d been summoned by whistle. Titus’s monsters followed. They shoved past the craftsmen and lumbered away. No sooner had they slunk into the cover of the clouds than the warriors returned.
They sprinted from the northern reaches of the shore, their fur-clad bodies stained with the marks of their victory. Behind them, the bodies of the Earl’s soldiers lay crumpled and scattered.
The warriors stood along the banks and howled.
The craftsmen howled back.
Gwen raised her axe high: “We’ve beaten him again! We’ve clobbered the Man of Wolves!”
The wildmen pounded their chests in triumph, but Kael wasn’t so sure.
Kyleigh slid in beside him. The ice creaked under the burden of their weights, but she didn’t seem to notice: her eyes were on the clouded shores. “This isn’t over,” she murmured.
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Kael heard something strange — a creaking sound, followed by a whoosh of wind. It was faint, like the noises he used to hear when Anchorgloam passed other ships. Kael looked at the clouded roof instinctively.
A dark spot had appeared among the gray. He thought it might’ve been a bird at first, but then it grew larger. Was it a shadow? A storm? Then the dark spot broke from the clouds and the blunt teeth of a monstrous boulder came streaking towards him.
Kyleigh slammed into his side, and the unexpected force launched him several yards away. He landed hard on his shoulder and rolled onto his feet, but not before he heard the ground-shattering noise of breaking ice — and a splash.
“Kyleigh!”
Breath hissed from Kael’s lungs when saw she’d managed to escape the boulder’s fall. A large hole had been knocked out of the ice behind her. She’d been drenched by the splash, but was otherwise unharmed.
“That was close,” she said, grimacing as she leapt away from the hole. “Are you all —?”
A black bolt fell from the sky and knocked her to the ground. Glossy wings beat against her head and a pair of large black eyes gaped at her through a falcon’s twisted face. She drove her elbow into the top of its feathery head, and the pointed end of her gauntlet silenced its screeching forever.
Kael had made to run towards her when she thrust a finger behind him. “Don’t worry about me — the craftsmen!” she cried.
Boulders fell from the sky in steady arcs. They crashed into Hundred Bones, shattering its icy shell and sending waves of water splashing high into the air. The craftsmen tried desperately to escape. A chasm of churning water cut them off from the shores behind them. They had no choice but to move forward.
Gwen ran among them, slinging the craftsmen one at a time across the ice and towards the warriors — who had charged out immediately at the sound of their panicked cries.
“No! Half of you go back!” Kael shouted at the warriors as he ran. “Find the catapults and destroy them! The other half form a line — slide the craftsmen down. Move!”
The warriors scrambled to do as they were told. Half peeled away and sprinted into the clouds while the other half formed a chain to the shore. They slid the craftsmen from warrior to warrior, passing them quickly across the ice.
Boulders thudded mercilessly all around them. The river awakened with a roar — it began to gnaw hungrily on the cracks in its frozen shell, chewing them off in chunks. The warriors slung the craftsmen out of the boulders’ paths. They carried their thin bodies across their shoulders and tossed them over swirling, blue-green rifts.
