Hard Frost- Depths of Winter

by Thia Mackin

  Two.

  Sighting carefully from a kneeling position, I sent the remaining bullets in my second gun into the larger demon bearing down on me. The shock on his face as he toppled over eased the injury to my pride.

  One.

  Standing as I changed out the empty magazines, I holstered the guns. Sword in hand, I moved to the final attacker at the protective shield. He was so engaged he didn’t notice the absence of his comrades. The sounds around him never penetrated his skull. A fiery color emanated from his hands where he touched the wards. Trying to burn through? What the hell were these guys so determined to take that they threw a force this size against us and fought to the last man standing? That they may have killed my partner?

  As I strode forward and coated the tip of the rapier with water to his fire, I prepared myself. My sword caught his attention as it pushed through his shoulder. Probably far enough from his heart to not be life-threatening, it did cause the crimson energy to stall from that hand as he roared in pain. The knife that appeared in his other hand struck my shield, but he didn’t have the force to penetrate. Mine left the sheath and struck his wrist; his fingers released the weapon.

  “What are you after?” I asked, backing him fully into the shield.

  His teeth bared at me, he growled and stepped forward so that the sword blade penetrated out his back. Then his hands gripped mine and jerked downward. The grin never faltered, but blood reddened it. I yanked backward, trying to free my weapon before he could kill himself and avoid my questions. However, his eyes rolled up, and he collapsed.

  A glance around revealed that no other attackers threatened. Some of the remaining guards checked the wounded and dead; others collected weapons and arrows for reuse. “Kinan, you good?” Harica shouted from a few yards away.

  “I’m one hundred percent. Atkoy had to be taken to a healer.”

  A grimace crossed her face at the loss, but she nodded. “Let’s get everyone rounded up. We need to clear out of here ASAP.”

  The repairs finished hurriedly. The enemy dead were stripped of valuables and lined up in case anyone sought their bodies. Leader Abshoc distributed the spoils among both the injured and whole, reminding everyone that those in need of healing would have to pay for those services. Those who could not continue were Gated back to Mystor by Harica, who would meet up with us after she recruited replacements. She even agreed to take Atkoy’s cut to The Banded Traveler. The rest of us continued forward to the safety of the city, everyone twice as watchful.

  Chapter 6

  Two weeks passed without incident. Whenever thoughts of the attack rose, my Gift of Prophecy twinged, but no amount of meditation pulled whatever it wanted to show me to the surface. So as the rumors trickled through the ranks, I filed them away for consideration. Eventually, something might trigger the vision that lingered just out of reach.

  “The bandits sought a magical item.” Maybe. But what would be powerful enough to warrant that type of army? “The attackers had help from someone inside the caravan.” Just in case, I would stay vigilant. Betrayal was the gravest sin. “Someone traveling with us had made a terrible enemy who’d stop at nothing to track them down.” Doubtful. It would have been more assassination than full-scale assault.

  The caravan had finished regrouping before moving on to the Aclan Plane. One of our longer stops, we’d visit all three of the main cities for a couple weeks each. This time of year, most of the able-bodied Eiran demons worked in the mines and only returned home to resupply and rest. The precious metals native to this Plane retained energy and spells better than any other. None of the merchants wanted to miss out on the opportunity to trade for it. Unfortunately, each city required a Gating buffer of about fifteen miles, which would take us at least a day. We’d gotten a late start from the Kirian Plane, which set us back a half-day and required camping overnight before reaching the first city.

  Tonight, I wandered through the gatherings of people during my off-shift. All the lost guards had been replaced, plus they added an additional dozen. The ratio of guards to wagons had increased to 1:2, with an average of three merchant family members per wagon. My new partner spoke only slightly more than Romtal did, using mostly gestures and grunts to communicate. Best I could tell, Kitry Abinaleh had Teharan blood somewhere in her ancestry, but her hair color was just a shade off from Tuatha de red. Or her entire appearance might be illusion. Still, she wielded a scimitar like a deadly extension of her arm, and her energy level indicated an impressive Gift.

  A chirp over my head warned me to extend my arm. The copper drakyn that had carried my message to The Banded Traveler settled onto my forearm. Clasped in his talons was a note in Eliecha’s neat handwriting. She wrote that Atkoy had recovered enough to leave on his own two feet. His drakyn, Alabaster, had managed to find Venom and lead her to the stables, but the mare could not stay for the safety of others. He’d opted to go with her.

  My relieved exhale apparently signaled the creature that his duties were complete, and he launched into the air and disappeared. Passing one of the campfires, I crouched to slide the slip of paper into the coals. The crackle and heat of the flames left that lingering feeling of foresight that haunted me. Dammit. Usually, my Gift showed me everything that hit my radar. Why did it suddenly act evasive?

  Frustration quickened my steps back to the tent I shared with Abinaleh. Our watch started in about nine hours as the caravan prepared to finish the journey to the city. Best to sleep for the remainder of the evening, bathe in the morning, and spend any extra time training with Romtal. Perhaps a calm evening might trigger something.

  My partner snored softly as I entered, so I quietly changed into my night clothes. My gun and a knife slid beneath my pillow; unsheathed, the sword lay beside the cot where my hand would naturally fall. On an exhale, my eyes closed. Internally, I reached for the door holding my Gift of Prophecy. The handle didn’t move. My low growl alerted me that I needed to work on my control. Perhaps a run in my alternative form on my next off-day would ease some of the tension.

  Plan made, I rolled onto my side and relaxed into sleep.

  The caravan’d gotten an early start on the way to the final of the three Aclan cities to make sure we didn’t have to overnight. After almost five weeks on this Plane, I felt on edge and ready for one of the bigger cities. Romtal tossed his head as we traveled down the side of a dune, silently showing his own unease as we traveled near the rear. My hand on his neck assured him that I noticed. Watching the Adaghi Desert creep by as I searched for any indication of danger, I used my physical connection to the horse to reinforce the shield around him. Mine was next.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I mentally catalogued the threats native to this desert. The danger might be as minor as a kapuliv, or sand shark, but the oasis to our right could have lured any number of other creatures. While the kapuliv could injure one of the horses or someone walking, they did not typically attack a group the size of ours. However, the vibrations from the horses and wagons would be interesting to a dozen more dangerous creatures that inhabited this region. If whatever it was remained on the outskirts of the group, no need to hunt it. Eventually, boredom would pull it away.

  “Abinaleh, anything strike you as off?”

  She grunted, subtly lifting her chin and scanning down the horizon in front of us and up at the final wagon cresting the top of the dune a short way behind us. Her mount’s ears pricked forward, but Drout’s step never faltered. “Aye.”

  Turning in my saddle, I looked back for Leader Abshoc. He’d chosen rearguard when we broke camp this morning. As it approached noontime, he obviously had moved. Harica, though, half-slept in the saddle a few yards behind us. Pulling out of line, I signaled Abinaleh to do the same.

  “Something’s wrong,” I warned. “Where is Leader Abshoc?”

  Harica’s eyes opened and immediately searched around us. “Strange,” she murmured. She touched her mount’s back as her mouth opened and a high-pitched whistle echo
ed across the Plane. Heads turned toward us, but the guards ahead of us were already arming themselves. The ten drivers behind us, though, seemed disoriented. “Circle up,” she shouted, waving her sword.

  “We’ll help them,” I volunteered.

  Abinaleh nodded, urging her horse back up the dune toward the end of the line of wagons where the stragglers shouted uncertainly. Romtal lurched upward, too, quickly matching Drout’s pace.

  An arrow ricocheted off my partner’s shielded back. The momentum pushed her forward in the saddle and caused her mount to stumble briefly. The word that slipped from her mouth definitely held the intonation of a curse, but the language escaped me. I catalogued it as a question to ask later as I assessed the situation.

  My stomach dropped as I looked at the basin down below us. The majority of the caravan—about a hundred yards in front of us—had been surrounded. Luckily, these wagons had lagged behind without the rearguard to hurry them. Perhaps we could protect them.

  “We are too far from the main party to join them together,” she shouted. “We’ll have to hold the line!”

  She veered toward the farthest wagon, motioning the merchant to join the others. Meanwhile, I ordered the man driving the one closest to me to turn his wagon broadside and drop the railings. “Then crawl underneath!” The explosion of sand and rock about ten yards behind me widened his eyes and hurried his movements; it kept my adrenaline pumping too.

  As two more wagons butted against his, others began to roll toward us. “Everyone under this one. Reinforce each other’s wards, but leave the back open for now.”

  A mother ushered her two children—both under the age of ten—beneath the wagon and lay on top of them. As another explosion occurred nearby, memory of my own mom protecting me strengthened my will. Nothing would happen to these people.

  Watching the main battle shifting away from us about a hundred and fifty yards away, I grimaced as my hands tightened and loosened around my weapon. The security force was outnumbered 7-to-1 this time. Whatever these people wanted, they would get unless reinforcements arrived. If I attacked and drew their attention toward us, I might endanger the twenty-five men, women, and children huddled together behind me. If they weren’t here, I could easily pick off a half-dozen or more of the attackers from this position.

  “Not good, Kinan,” Abinaleh assessed, also staring ahead. “We should get these few to safety. If we prevail, they can come reclaim their goods.”

  I nodded, watching Harica blaze her way through a line of opponents. No sign of Leader Abshoc in the fray, though, and others fell every minute. “You take them through to the magistrate of Elysii. See if they can send reinforcements. I’ll play rearguard until you return. Then we’ll join the party below.”

  My partner turned her mount on his heel to move behind the protection of the wagons as she pulled energy to her. Terse orders motivated her charges to grab only the most important items they could carry and hustle through. “Your goods or your life! Choose quickly!”

  Tipping my chin toward Abinaleh, I watched the woman with two kids scramble through first. Then movement in my peripheral vision warned that the attackers had detected my partner’s Gate energy. A group of them had broken off and rode our way.

  “Faster!” I called, loosing my first and second arrow so quickly I didn’t have time to detect the leader’s warding elements. Two more launched, penetrating the attacker’s shield finally. He toppled off the back of his horse, which stopped in its tracks. Then Abinaleh’s Gate dissipated, assuring me they’d made it to safety.

  The first arrow clipped my shield, but the next few went wide. A little energy sealed the cracks as I warded my arrows with water and fired back. Another attacker fell, but they were closing on my position quickly. Soon, the four would be upon me.

  Behind me, a Gate coalesced. Deep, even breaths held my center as I waited to see if Abinaleh was returning with help. Too quickly. An armed figure stepped through, shooting at me with a crossbow before completely clearing the exit. Pulling the Glock from my holster, I fired twice, clustering around his heart. He fell backwards into the Gate, which closed instantly.

  A quick turn put the approaching demons completely in sight but still out of range for the pistol. Back to old faithful.

  One fell quickly. His partner shielded so well that my fourth shot knocked him from his saddle, and his compatriots were damned close. Five arrows left in my quiver; my spare was full but far out of reach in the wagon with my main supplies. Enough bullets to take out an army filled my saddlebag; however, I needed to survive these two for a chance to reload the guns. Also, I much preferred the range of the bow.

  The closest one had no “feel” of energy to his shield, and the wards on his arrows stung when they connected with mine. An interesting, inconvenient Gift. Pulling back, I warded with fire and released. Then a second time with earth. A third used water. And he finally fell. Two arrows left, and the last attacker was within the fifty-five-yard range. “Hello there,” I growled under my breath, smoothing over the cracks in my shield from their blows as I dropped the bow over the saddle horn. A little extra energy siphoned to cover Romtal left me slightly more confident. Aiming with the Glock, I fired three times.

  The demon roared, sending two more arrows my way. Both missed by inches. Hard to fire at a gallop, aye? You should have practiced more. Two more shots sent him careening over the hindquarters of his mount, and the horse kept going.

  After a deep breath, I rummaged through the saddlebags for my extra clips and studied the battle below as it shifted a little farther from me. My fingers kept reloading, but they shook. We were losing. A few small skirmishes dotted the periphery, but their men already searched the injured and dead in the center. Scanning, I looked for any way to help outside of altruistic suicide. C’mon, Abinaleh. Where’s those reinforcements?

  A Gate opened behind me, and I aimed for the center with my second gun unholstered. This time, my partner rode through. Alone.

  “Where are they?” I growled.

  Her stony expression warned me before she shook her head. “‘Our problem,’ they say. They protect the merchants, but they send no one to help us.” Her eyes darted as she studied the scene below.

  My fingers scrubbed the sand from my eyes. “What do you think?”

  Her horse took a single step sideways, and she didn’t correct him. “Nothing good. We can maybe make a difference where those two groups are battling near the edge, or we’ll draw additional fire to them—and ourselves—when we Gate in.”

  The guards were currently holding their own, but she raised a valid point. Our joining might bring some of the vultures picking the dead. “There!” I pointed to the opposite side of the field where one wagon burned and a number of hostages were seated. “If you Gate in to the north and I come from the south, do you think we can send the prisoners through to Mystor? We play rearguard, usher them through, and reassess.”

  She observed the field, her mouth moving as she counted. “They have us outnumbered greatly, but only three guard the merchants. Assuming the prisoners recognize us as allies and move quickly, we can probably free them and send them through to safety. If you build their Gate, I’ll reinforce our shields. When the last goes through, I’ll fall back with you. And we pray for the fallen we could not save.”

  Pain radiated in my chest, anxiety over leaving anyone behind. However, without reinforcements, joining the fight would be suicide. Our deaths in that scenario helped no one. Also, those who orchestrated this would go free. “Afterwards, I find Leader Abshoc and determine whether he sold us out. If he did, he dies.”

  The corner of her mouth quirked. “I will assist you in doing so. Betraying your own is the ultimate sin.”

  In silence, we checked our weapons and strengthened our shields. I inhaled then examined my center. Abinaleh offered me her quiver, hefting her sword in her right hand. As I accepted them, my chin tilted down in a nod.

  “You go fifty yards north. I’ll go south, clo
ser to the hostages. On three?”

  She bared her teeth, gripping her sword tightly. “One,” she growled. “Two. Three.”

  Directing the energy, I urged Romtal into the Gate, and he continued out the other side. An arrow hit me center mass, pushing me back a step, but fell to the ground at the horse’s feet. I dropped the Gate and fired my Glock twice into the demon’s chest. He fell. Checking Abinaleh, I saw her firing at the other guard, uninjured.

  A whistle alerted Romtal to stand alert before I slid down his back, ranging through the elements as I sent arrow after arrow at my remaining adversary. He returned fire with a crossbow, keeping his distance, and I healed the fissures his shots created even as my feet hit the sand. Then Abinaleh sent a wave of energy over us, enhancing our shields.

  Feeling the reinforcement and counting on her to hold it, I opened the Gate to Mystor and knelt beside the first prisoner. “The Gate takes you to the Mystor capitol building. Other survivors are there. Go!”

  The man shook his head in denial as his hands came free, and he pulled a knife from his boot as he moved to the opposite end to start releasing his friends. We worked quickly. Each person we released retreated through the Gate; every minute it was active drained my energy further. But I continued to smooth the cracks created by the shooter. As long as he maintained distance and my shields held, freeing the captives took priority. His death would undoubtedly turn others’ attention my way.

  As I knelt down beside a Tuatha de male, he urged me to free his wife first. “Cut Eliza loose, and we’ll carry our daughter through.”

  My teeth ground together as I ignored him. The little girl watched me with wide brown eyes, probably only ten or eleven years old. Her hair was a brown that likely used to be blonde as a young girl. “I’ll free her next, and you can carry your daughter through.”