Courage to Sacrifice
Page 43
“What the buffoon means to say,” Colborn growled, “is that it appears solid, but it’s bloody tricky.” He joined Noll on the ice, gingerly walking out a few paces. “Ice that appears solid and thick can give way at a moment’s notice.”
“Best way to do this is to cross on foot.” Noll was all business, the sardonic edge gone from his tone. “With the horses far enough behind to spread out the weight.”
“And a good ten or twenty feet between us,” Colborn added. “Maybe even using rope to secure us to each other in case the ice cracks.”
Aravon nodded. “Let’s do it.”
The eight of them dismounted and set about preparing for the crossing. Out came the ropes they’d used to string together the horses in the underground mines. Ten-foot lengths secured the Grim Reavers to the horses, with twenty-foot lengths between each horse.
All the while Aravon worked on securing his gear and lashing the rope to his horse, Snarl had remained seated behind his saddle, swathed in the heavy furs. He seemed disinclined to move and whined when Aravon reached up to lift him down. Once out from under the heavy bear pelts, he shivered and whined louder, tried to nuzzle into Aravon’s cloak.
Damn, Aravon thought as he held the Enfield close, stroking the soft orange fur. This cold must really be getting to him.
He had little understanding of how well an Enfield’s fur insulated it from the cold, but it was clear the icy chill of the Wastelands was taking a toll on Snarl as much as on any of them.
Cradling Snarl in his arms, he directed the Grim Reavers’ crossing. Noll went first, the lightest of them to test the ice. Halfway across, he turned back. “Careful here,” he gestured to a spot vaguely off to his right. “Ice thins out a bit here. Stay clear just in case.”
Aravon finally let out a breath as Noll hopped onto the opposite bank and dragged his horse up behind him. It felt as if an hour had passed in the two or three minutes it had taken the scout to cross the forty-odd yards to safety.
He sent Colborn next, along with the extra mount that carried all their supplies. Rangvaldr followed, with Captain Lingram on the Seiomenn’s heels.
Then came his turn to make the crossing.
Aravon set a whining, shivering Snarl down. “Fly, boy.” He spoke the command word to set the Enfield airborne. Snarl alone among them had no need to fear the ice.
To his relief, Snarl spread his eagle’s wings and took off. He flapped hard to gain altitude and glided the two score yards across to the opposite bank.
Drawing in a hesitant breath, Aravon stepped gingerly onto the ice. It held fast. No sudden crack as he placed first one foot, then the other. Still nothing as he pulled on the rope that secured him to his horse and the mount plodded along in his wake.
Step by nerve-wracking step, he crossed the river. One foot in front of the other, he told himself. Slow and steady. He kept his movements small, his spinal muscles tight to maintain balance. Though a layer of snow covered the ice and gave him decent traction, one slip could bring him down hard. Hard enough to crack the frozen layer atop the river and send him plummeting into the icy depths.
His gut tightened as he drew nearer the section where Noll had indicated the ice was thinnest. He could actually see the river rushing through a dangerously fragile-looking section—like the pane of Lord Aleron Virinus’ crystal glass windows. He gave it a wide berth, his eyes locked on the opposite shore. He glanced back only once—just long enough to catch sight of Zaharis crossing in his wake, and Skathi preparing to make the journey behind the Secret Keeper.
Solid ground drew slowly nearer. Twenty yards became fifteen, then ten. Twenty feet, ten feet, five. Relief flooded him as he reached up to take Colborn’s outstretched hand and clamber onto the bank.
A terrible crack echoed behind him, as loud as the concussive blast of Zaharis’ Earthshakers. Aravon spun toward the sound in time to see a monstrous figure of white burst through the section of thin ice. Water and glassy shards sprayed in every direction as the creature splashed onto the frozen surface of the ice.
Keeper’s teeth! Aravon’s breath froze in his lungs. An ice bear!
The massive beast turned beady black eyes on Skathi and Zaharis. It reared to twice the height of a man and opened its mouth, revealing a powerful jaw filled with scores of razor-sharp teeth. With a deafening roar that thundered across the empty landscape, the ice bear charged the two Grim Reavers.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The ice bear was the largest creature Aravon had seen. The bear they’d encountered after fleeing Kaldrborg paled in comparison to this beast. On all four legs, it stood taller at the shoulder than one of the Kostarasar war horses, with shaggy, white fur-covered legs as thick as Aravon’s chest. Its head rivaled the size of Colborn’s round shield, its mouth filled with gleaming rows of razor-sharp teeth as long as a grown man’s hand.
But what terrified Aravon most was the ice bear’s speed. The creature had emerged from the ice not ten yards from Zaharis; it crossed the distance in four lumbering steps and leapt at the Secret Keeper. Zaharis had no time to turn his horse aside. It was all he could do to leap clear before the massive ice bear barreled into the mount. Enormous jaws clamped around the horse’s neck and an explosion of blood misted in the air, stained the ice a gory crimson. The horse managed a single chilling scream before the bear’s teeth bit clean through its spine and heavy neck muscles.
Even as the ice bear ripped the horse’s head off, it swiped out with a massive paw. The blow crashed into Zaharis’ chest and side before the Secret Keeper could move, sending him flying through the air to crash onto the ice twenty feet away.
The force of Zaharis’ hurtling body tugged on the rope that tethered him to Skathi, tugging her forward. Pulled suddenly off-balance, she staggered, her boots slipping on the ice, and fell hard, striking her head with a loud crack. Just three short paces from the ice bear.
Aravon tore his spear free of its place beside his saddle, but before he could race across the ice toward the enormous beast, the bear turned its attention toward Skathi. Beady black eyes fixed on the dazed archer and a thick white muzzle stained with blood opened. The horse’s head fell from between its teeth as it loosed a deafening roar that set the ice beneath Aravon’s feet trembling. With terrifying speed, the ice bear barreled toward the dazed archer and raised its paw to swipe down at her. A crushing blow that would shatter her skull and pulverize every bone in her body.
A bellowing roar answered the bear’s fury. Aravon had just taken his third pounding step across the ice when Belthar’s enormous bulk slammed into the massive creature mid-strike. The force of the big man’s charge knocked the ice bear back a single half-step. Furious, it reared on its hind legs once more, rising to tower over Belthar, twice his height. Massive, claw-studded paws swiped at Belthar’s head and chest.
But the big Grim Reaver didn’t back down. With a wordless shout, he ducked beneath the swiping claws and threw himself shoulder-first into the beast’s belly. The driving charge sent the beast staggering back again. A full step this time, widening the distance between the bear and the dazed Skathi.
Before Belthar could retreat, the bear locked its enormous arms around his back and crushed the big man to its chest. A loud gasp and cry burst from Belthar’s lips. Bone cracked audibly as the bear’s embrace snapped ribs.
Then Aravon was within striking distance. “Hyah!” he shouted. Drove his spear at the back of the bear’s enormous head. Odarian steel punched through fur and flesh but skittered off bone harmlessly. Before Aravon could pull back, an arrow hissed past his head and slammed into the bear’s furry back. This, too, struck bone, bouncing off its spine but burying deep into flesh. Two more missiles followed in the next heartbeat, punched through fur, found muscle and drew blood. Little more than irritating, but they served the same purpose as Aravon’s shout: they pulled the bear’s attention away from Skathi.
The ice bear turned, still reared up and standing on its massive hind paws, its beady eyes locked o
nto Aravon. It bared bloodstained fangs and loosed a deafening roar into Aravon’s face. Dropping Belthar, the ice bear dropped to all fours—his forepaws a hair’s breadth from crushing Belthar’s head—and barreled toward Aravon.
Raw, primal fear sank fangs deep in Aravon’s mind. For a heartbeat, terror at the sight of that massive predator rushing toward him froze him in place, the ear-splitting power echoing in that roar locking his muscles.
But the moment passed as quickly as it had come. Aravon had to face the bear, had to run toward the beast rather than flee despite every instinct that screamed within him. He couldn’t outrun the bear—worse, if he tried to run, his friends died.
The ice bear bore down on him at the speed of a hurricane, all fur and teeth and fury. One snap of those jaws, one blow of those massive paws, and Aravon would be as dead as Zaharis’ horse.
But he had no intention of facing the beast in a direct charge. He just needed to get the beast far enough away from Belthar and Skathi.
Closer and closer, his heart beating so fast he felt it would rip free of his chest. Razor-sharp teeth, blood, and beady black eyes filled his vision. At the last second, he threw himself to the side and out of the path of the bear. He tucked into a roll and came to his feet. Slipped on the ice, fell hard, and struggled to rise once more. The ice bear skidded and slid ten feet past him before it managed to slow. The harsh skkkriitch of its claws digging into the ice jarred Aravon to the bone, but he had no time to think, to react as the bear wheeled and charged again.
Again, Aravon threw himself out of the bear’s path, but this time the bear anticipated his attack. Pain shot through Aravon’s knee—a claw clipping his leg—and he careened out of the controlled roll, landing hard. Hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. His face and head cracked off solid ice. The world spun in his vision, stars flashing before his eyes. Pain twinged in his knee, his calf, his thigh. Warm wetness trickling down his leg. His lungs refusing to draw breath.
He blinked hard, clearing his vision, in time to see the bear looming over him. Tall, a giant twenty feet tall, its vast bulk blocking out the light of the sun. Massive paws swiping down with crushing force toward his head.
Aravon threw himself to the side. The bear’s claws slammed into the ice barely a hand’s breadth from his shoulder. Aravon kept rolling, rolling, trying desperately to put distance between him and the enormous bear. Rose to one knee and spinning toward the massive creature, only to find his hands empty. His spear lay ten feet away—behind the bear that growled and snarled for his blood.
Horror twisted in Aravon’s gut. With frantic movements, he tore at the sword on his belt, struggling to draw it. In vain, he knew. The bear would hit him before he unsheathed it. Even had he managed to pull it free, the longsword would do little against the enormous beast.
The bear filled his vision. Aravon’s eyes locked with the bear’s—with those beady, dark eyes that stared at him with the cold calculation of a predator preparing to feast on its prey.
His time had come, Aravon knew. His friends and comrades were too far away. None of them could reach him before—
The bear’s claw descended toward his head.
A bright orange blur shot past Aravon’s eyes, swooped through the air in front of the bear’s enormous muzzle. Raking claws slashed out and blood sprang from six long furrows carved across the beast’s snout and eyes. Crimson blossomed dark against its white fur and trickled off its black nose. The bear’s attack flew high above Aravon’s head as the beast clawed at the little figure hurtling past. Struck empty air, Snarl’s wings carrying him out of reach. Another angry roar and the bear spun, tried again, swiping in vain at the Enfield.
Relief flooded Aravon—he still lived and Snarl swooped out of the bear’s reach, soaring high into the air on outstretched wings. Without hesitation, he rose to his feet and threw himself toward his spear. Took one step and sagged on his wounded knee. Agony shot through the leg and the joint gave way. He fell hard, rolled, and rose once more. Staggered on, stumbling and limping as fast as his injury permitted.
Just ten feet! His eyes locked on the spear. So close, yet it seemed an endless distance away.
Another angry roar and the hiss of an arrow skittering off the ice. Aravon risked a glance back, saw another missile thump harmlessly into the bear’s chest. Backed by the power of Noll’s horsebow, the arrows bounced off the bear’s thick hide and barrel ribs beneath. It did little more than irritate the already infuriated beast.
But again, that moment’s distraction bought Aravon time to act. He dove for his spear, snatched it up, and spun, lashing out in the same movement. The desperate slashing strike carved a deep gouge in the bear’s padded paw. Blood welled from the soft, dark pad and dripped onto the ice. Roaring its rage, the huge beast lunged toward Aravon.
Aravon threw himself to one side. His knee gave out halfway through the movement. His leg wobbled, stiffened, then failed. Aravon’s desperate dodge ended in a fall right in the bear’s path. The charging beast’s forepaw slammed into his breastplate. Air exploded from Aravon’s lungs and he found himself hurtling through the air. Flying a half-dozen yards before crashing onto the ice. Pain flared up and down Aravon’s spine and legs. He slid across the ice and ground to a halt not two paces from the still-dazed Skathi.
The bear reared up, sniffed at the air, turned to find its prey. Dark eyes locked on Aravon once more and the beast charged. Behind him, the figures of Colborn and Rangvaldr drew nearer—the two had drawn swords and shields to join the fight—but too slow. Aravon struggled to rise, but the pain in his back, knee, and head slowed his movements.
Ten steps before the bear reached him, Snarl swooped low again, raking his claws across the bear’s face. The ice bear roared and swiped at the Enfield, barely missed. Snarl winged away and circled back for another attack.
Shaking its shaggy head, the bear scrubbed a furry paw over its eyes, wiping away the blood trickling from its nose and forehead. Roaring its rage, it spun toward the retreating figure of Snarl, whipped toward Aravon, then spun back in search of Snarl.
Then the beast staggered forward as something slammed into its back. Belthar’s left arm locked around its neck, his legs wrapping around its barrel ribs. Roaring his rage, the huge Grim Reaver raised his huge axe and brought it down hard on the back of the bear’s head. Steel met bone and bounced off its skull, but blood welled from the wound. Again and again, Belthar slammed the axe down with all the strength of his massive arms.
The ice bear reared up, roaring its rage, and swiped at the figure clinging to its back. Dragged razor sharp claws across Belthar’s arm, slicing through leather armor and carving the flesh to ribbons. Belthar let out a scream of pain but held on tight, hacking, hacking, hacking. His axe rose and fell with impossible speed, and the blows grew meatier as he chopped his way through flesh and bone. His massive muscles corded with the effort of clinging to the bear’s back.
Snarl swooped past again, talons raking. Too close to the bear’s swiping paws.
“No!” The cry burst from Aravon’s throat. Horror writhed within his gut as Snarl spun through the air and slammed onto the ice. One wing snapped beneath the impact. Blood gushed from a long gouge along his soft underbelly. Crimson stained his orange fur and seeped onto the white snow. With a little whining bark, the Enfield tried to rise, failed, and fell back.
Rage blossomed within Aravon, drowned out his pain. He surged to his feet, snatched up his spear, and raced toward the bear, injuries forgotten. Ducking a wildly striking claw, he thrust out with every shred of strength. The tip of the spear darted toward the bear’s open maw and punched through the roof of the beast’s mouth. With a furious growl, he buried the spear to the crossbar until he felt the steel slice through the soft flesh of the bear’s brain.
The bear’s slashing claws struck reflexively once more, faltered. The cold light in its black eyes wavered. With a quiet, moaning groan, it toppled backward and crashed onto the ice. Right atop Belthar.
Colborn and Rangvaldr arrived in that instant and joined the effort. Aravon, staggered and half-stunned by the ferocity and speed of the attack and the pain of his wounds, barely had the presence of mind to pull his spear free of the bear’s brain before the three Grim Reavers rolled it to the side.
The sight of Belthar snapped him back to reality. The big man’s arm was a gory mess of shredded flesh, the bone of his forearm laid bare and the muscle falling away. Crimson gushed from the wound—only by a miracle the artery hadn’t been severed, but one wrong move and he’d bleed out. But that wasn’t the worst of it. His feet lay twisted at a terrible angle, the bones snapped or simply crushed flat by the bear’s bulk. The way his breath came in labored, gurgling rasps, at least one rib had been driven into his lungs.
Skathi dropped to one knee at the big man’s side. “You Keeper-damned idiot!” She grasped at his shoulder, but her hand slipped free, blood staining her palms and fingers. “What in the fiery hell was that? Throwing yourself into battle like that when you had a bloody crossbow!”
“No…time to…load.” Belthar gasped, gave a weak cough. Pain shone bright in his eyes as he struggled in vain to move. “Call it…a tactical decision.” Every breath cost him an immense effort. “If anyone… can take down…Farbjodr…it’ll be you.”
Whatever Skathi had been about to say died on her lips unspoken. She seemed at a loss for words, too busy trying to keep him from bleeding out to think of her usual clever, cutting retort.
“Besides...” Belthar groaned and lay back on the ice. “I couldn’t…just do nothing. Not while…you were…in danger.”