If that was true, why had Pale not suggested it before? The wolf explained by sending a painfully clear image of this alternate route. It appeared that the Giants had an elaborate catacomb system to remove their waste beyond the Hearth. From the smells and sights Pale passed to him, Traven could understand why the wolf had not bothered to mention this other route. Glacial would never have agreed to soil herself in that way.
Before the Hero could explain their plan to the princess, the stone beneath his feet quaked. Traven had felt this before and knew the Voltaics were close at hand. Turning, he grabbed Glacial by the wrist and pulled her down the hallway.
“Hurry!” Despite his urging, Glacial did not move at more than a walk. “Princess, the Voltaics are —”
Traven did not need to finish his sentence, as one of the creatures shimmied through a fissure. The Hero could only hope that Pale understood his last sending, that the wolf and horse needed to take to the other tunnel.
“Run!” Traven shouted at Glacial, but it did no good. The Princess did not seem able to pump her legs any faster. Traven looked over his shoulder. The beast’s antennae were honing in on them. Throwing his arm around her waist, Traven picked the Princess up and sprinted down the passageway. Immediately, Glacial began screaming and beating upon his chest with her fists. For a woman so small, her blows were nothing to ignore. He wished for once that she would direct such rage at the enemy.
Cold air slapped Traven in the face as he rounded a corner. The Hero had never been so happy to feel fresh air. The exit had to be close. The sound of the creature’s legs scraping the stone echoed behind him. So far, he had been able to keep several paces in front of the beast. A diffuse light called him forward. The sun had risen and was but a few feet away. The Voltaic must have sensed the same thing, for it charged forward.
A tentacle latched on to Traven’s leg, pulling his foot out from under him. Crossing over the Hearth’s threshold, Traven flung Glacial out into the snow and drew his sword. Hacking, the Hero cleaved the tentacle and fended off several others.
From the corner of his eye, Traven saw Pale leap from the rocks. Reeking of excrement, the wolf slammed into the Voltaic. Lauger, equally nasty in odor and appearance, wailed on the antennae creature with both front hooves.
Under the tri-pronged attack, the creature backed away. Traven’s arms tired from the constant effort, but he continued with a fury. Whether it was their attack, or the cold stiff wind, the Voltaic retreated back into the shelter of the tunnel.
Satisfied the beast would harry them no longer, Traven turned to the Princess. The Hero offered his hand to help her from the snow, but she refused. Gaining her feet on her own, she slapped his face.
“You should die for that, human.”
Traven rubbed his cheek, shaking his head. Oh, there was so much he would like to say, but Traven checked his temper. The Princess was shaking, Traven realized, not so much from anger, but from the cold. Glacial was clothed only in thin silk, and her feet were bare. Traven rummaged through the packs on Lauger’s back. “Here, put these on.”
Traven handed a small pair of boots to Glacial, but she let them drop. A look of horror closed her face. Traven picked up the fur-lined boots. “Princess, we don’t have time for this. Now, put them on.”
“Cover my feet? Do you have no respect?”
“You are going to get frostbite, Princess. I know they are not satin or fine leather —”
Glacial sneered as she spoke, “The Bride’s feet are never covered. Never.”
Pale’s sending of annoyance only added to his own, but Traven was used to dealing with difficult royalty and kept his own tone even.
“Princess, you were to cross the Plains. You must have had —”
Glacial drew herself up to her full height. “I was to be carried in a litter. My feet were never to touch this... this...”
Traven watched as Glacial groped for the right word. When she could not think of it, the Hero answered for her. “Snow?”
A look of surprise passed over the Princess’ face as she viewed the Plains as if for the first time. “This is snow? I had not thought it so firm.”
“What?” Traven found himself asking before he could stop. Glacial’s look transformed from wonder to trepidation.
For a brief moment, it looked like she might cry. Turning on her heel, she hurried back towards the Hearth.
“We must go back inside and retrieve my litter.”
Traven had to block the Princess’ way back into the tunnel. “That Voltaic is just lying in wait, Glacial.”
“But, I cannot —”
“Even if we could find it, all the horses have been slaughtered. We would have no way of carrying it.”
Glacial frantically tried to push past Traven. “I must get back inside!”
“Whoa,” Traven said as if she were a spooked horse. He could see true panic in her eyes. “Our only safety is to strike for the Fold. There we might be able to find a litter and more horses.”
Backing away, Glacial scanned their surroundings with fear-filled eyes. “I must get inside”
“Glacial.” Traven’s voice trailed off. “Princess, have you ever been outside before?”
Tears sprang to her eyes. A war of emotions played upon her normally stoic face. “No,” she groaned.
Dear gods, would the problems never cease? And Grave had thought that the Hero naive and unworldly. A new-found compassion flowed through Traven. He now understood her haughty manner was just a protection against a world she barely knew.
“I know this is overwhelming, but you must face the situation, Princess. You must wear boots, and you must ride upon Lauger.”
Glacial’s anger flashed again. “That base creature? You expect me to be in... in contact with that beast?”
Traven took a deep breath. It did not matter the reasons for her manner. This petite Giant was taxing, and they had little time to spare in this frigid cold. Traven was about to force the issue when Pale sent the Hero a suggestion. The Princess could ride upon the White Wolf. That would allow both Traven and Glacial to ride, speeding their journey.
“Princess. I need you to listen carefully. Pale has offered to carry you to the Fold.” Traven held up a hand to cut Glacial off. “Before you retort, you had best mull your words. He is a White Wolf, now bonded to me. He was Grave’s constant companion and advisor. Your answer should reflect this knowledge.”
Glacial looked as if she was going to explode, but her upbringing forbade her from making such a social blunder. Traven had guessed right that the Giants held the Wolves in high esteem, and the Princess could not break such edict.
The Princess finally nodded.
“Sit down then. Allow me to cover your feet for the journey.”
Glacial nodded solemnly, but when Traven approached she slapped him again. “That is in advance for violating The Bride’s feet.”
With an undignified plop, the Princess sat down. With his cheek stinging again, Traven began his task reluctantly. Pale urged him on. The wolf wanted to get underway. That leg of caribou might still be waiting for them back at the Fold. The wolf wanted to claim it before anyone else. Traven sighed deeply.
This was going to be a long trip.
***
Jory bounded up the steps, furious. He’d been out all day, searching the town for the Crystalia, only to arrive at the garrison to find that his second in command had ordered Madame Hesper’s home raided.
Shoving his office door open, Jory entered. He should not have been surprised by what he saw. The lieutenant was casually talking to the Guild Master’s daughter, Viola, as if it were the junior officer’s own office.
Red-faced, the commander demanded an explanation. “I ordered no action to be taken against Hanger’s Mansion.”
The lieutenant shrugged. “While you were out, this young woman came forth with evidence to incriminate the Madame. I simply ordered the medium to come in for inquisition, but she refused. I followed your guidelines, sir.”
Jory tried to contain his anger but had very little success at it. “My guidelines are to inform the commander of all action taken by this garrison.”
The Guild Master’s daughter flinched at his harsh tone. Jory tried to take on a more gentle manner.
“Pardon me, child. It might be best if you returned to your home. I will come and speak to your father as soon as I am done here.”
“But I want to find my friend,” the blonde girl said.
“I see no reason why she should leave,” the lieutenant said, growing more bold.
There was a look in the officer’s eyes that Jory did not like. Instead of the usual fear tinged with ambition, the lieutenant’s face held raging ambition with only the slightest hint of fear.
Jory never should have left the garrison and its daily functions in this man’s hands. From the moment the man had been shipped to him from the Prince’s Color Guard, Jory had known the younger man coveted the command position. Now, it looked as if the lieutenant felt he might be within striking distance of it.
“She shall leave because I ordered it.” Jory walked over and began to guide Viola out of the room, but the lieutenant pulled his sword. The sound of metal sliding out of the leather alerted Jory.
The commander’s dagger was unsheathed before the younger man’s long sword was fully out of its scabbard. Spinning on his heel, Jory knocked the officer’s hand away from the hilt and pressed his sharp edge to the lieutenant’s neck. Blood trickled down the man’s plump throat.
“You are relieved of duty,” Jory growled at the would-be usurper.
What Jory did not expect was the hiss that rose behind him. Too late, the commander turned his head to find Viola with her hand raised above his back. Only it was not a hand; it was a claw. Turning to face his new attacker, Jory took the blow across his cheek and neck. Blood sprayed across the walls. Ignoring the pain, Jory slashed at his attacker but found only empty air. The girl had scrambled up the wall and was hanging from ceiling. What manner of depraved creature was this?
Jory meant to give a shout, but the beast that dwelled within Viola’s skin charged at him, forcing her talons through his belly. With a muffled groan, the commander slumped to the ground.
Blood pooled around him, soaking through his clothes. Looking up, Jory found the lieutenant’s face had turned three shades of green, and the man appeared ready to vomit. Jory tried to reach out a hand, but the creature grabbed the lieutenant and dragged him out of Jory’s sight.
Did the lieutenant not realize what manner of evil he’d aligned himself with?
As Jory’s life’s blood flowed from him, the commander realized it was him who had been duped. He’d been so concerned about the chain of command and maintaining the status quo that he’d forgotten that true security necessitates that one takes risks. Jory had let the Hero, the only one amongst them who still remembered what real courage was, to be rousted from town.
Now, Last Hitch would pay a steep price for its own short-sightedness.
With the demon ruling the roost, fires would blaze and blood would flow. Jory lay there dying, knowing that he had only himself to blame.
*****
The path is chosen
Blood calls
A love is tested
*****
CHAPTER 19
Holt gently laid his mother down onto a bed of straw. Not quite the four-poster featherbed she was used to, but under the circumstances, it was the best he could do. Sele had been right. The garrison had sent dozens of soldiers back to house. Right now, the guards were combing each floor trying to find them.
With no magic of his own to speak of, Holt had to use other tricks to out-maneuver the guards. Perhaps his skills were not as flashy as the rest of his family’s, but they got the job done.
He and his mother were in luck that the old Governor Maelek had been as paranoid as he was cruel. Hanger’s Mansion had so many hidden passages and secret rooms that they might be able to hide for weeks beneath the basement. Unfortunately, his mother did not have many hours, let alone weeks, left.
Crooning to the bat, Holt brought Fright over to his mother. With each shallow breath, the old woman was drawing closer to the Black. The steely resolve he’d shown Sele was weakening. What if his mother refused the Rite? Could he truly let his mother die? Holt shook off his confusion and looked to Fright one more time. “Do you submit to the Rite freely? Will you give your life’s blood, with no remorse?”
Since Holt was not blessed with animal-speak, Fright simply flapped his wings and bobbed his small, triangular-shaped head. At least that had gone according to ritual. Leaning over, Holt roused his mother.
“Fright is ready, Ma. I just need you to start the incantation.”
“What?” his mother asked, looking confused and dazed. It seemed she’d already lost her sight and stared into the Black. “Holt? Are you there?”
Her weak hands clutched Holt’s. This was far more painful than he had ever imagined. How Holt wished his sister were there. Sele would not waver in the face of grief.
“Mother, Fright is ready. I cannot start the Rite. You need to provide the invocation.”
To his relief, his mother licked her lips. “Say them with me, son. I may forget a word or two...”
Holt squeezed her hand as tears sprung to his eyes. If even a single syllable was out of place, the last of her magic would be extinguished, with no way to reignite the flame of life within her. Damn the soldiers who had rousted Sele from Last Hitch. His sister could provide the spark of magick that was needed to begin the Rite without risking their mother’s last pinch of strength.
“I will begin.” Holt cleared his throat and recited the incantation. “Blood of blood. Love of Love. Pain of Pain. I call to thee.” Holt paused while his mother feebly mumbled the passage after him. He had best hurry before she was too weak to speak at all. “My womb is dry. My heart is weak. My skin is pale. I call to thee.” This time his mother’s words slurred at the end. Dear gods, had he waited too long? The last portion of the incantation came out in a rush. “Bless this knife. Bless this room. Bless this passage of Life. Ekoli, Goddess of the Light, I call to thee.”
Madame Hesper’s lips moved, but barely any air came out. Would it be enough?
Holt smiled as a warm breeze stirred in the windowless room. After all these years, and everything that he had been through, witnessing raw, undiluted magick still amazed him. The room glowed with a warm, orange light and smelled of honeysuckle and lemon. Fright stretched his wings and let the charged air pass over his gnarly bones.
A woman, a goddess, really, dressed only in moonlight, floated through the solid wall and into the barren, dirt-floored room. Ekoli’s smile wavered as she studied the old woman on the bed. The goddess’ voice rang with sympathy and surprise.
“How can this be? She is thrice graced.”
Holt could only nodded in response. His voice was temporarily strangled by the spirit’s beauty. “The Snowy Maiden claimed her birthright.”
“Oh.” It was not really a word. It was more like the sound of the ocean on a calm night.
“This Vampyr has fed of her blood and is offering his own in return.”
“It will not suffice.”
Holt’s mind raced. What was she talking about? He tried to frame the question so as not to insult the spirit. “Great Ekoli, I do not understand.”
“Once the maw is opened, it will need far more than Fright’s blood to close it,” the goddess said as her eyes rested upon Madame Hesper.
“Then it is hopeless?”
“Nay.” A mixture of sadness and resignation crossed the goddess’ face. “I knew one day this moment would come. I just had not known it would be so soon...”
“Ekoli, I don’t —”
“Your mother’s reserve is vast. The magick she harbored was of such magnitude that it will take an equal offering to save her life.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? It will take Fright, yours
elf —”
“Me?” Holt’s breath felt tight in his chest. “How... ? What?”
“Let us not be shy, Holt Delant Hesper. I know that you be part Vampyr.”
***
Traven pulled up on Lauger’s reins as Pale slowed before him. The snow swirled so violently that if the wolf strayed even a foot, they were lost. Pale sent an image of the Fold. Its entrance should be at this very spot.
“Are you sure?” Traven asked.
Pale did not bother to send his annoyance. The look on the canine’s face was quite clear. He was certain. He was Wolf.
Traven sent his apologies and stood up in his stirrups. He squinted against the fierce wind. Folds were just as hard to find in real life as they were in legend.
Still, he’d assumed that Pale had an open invitation and that this trek would be far easier than the last. Traven could see the Princess’ hands shake in her thick fur gloves. Glacial was perfection given form, but the Princess would not last much longer against the harsh elements. She was meant to be gazed upon — worshipped from afar, not dragged through the Dead of Winter.
“Assist me, Hero.” The Princess held out a royal hand.
Traven dismounted and crossed to her side. At least she was calling him by a title, rather than by the disdainful name that normally rolled off her tongue, “human.”
“Princess, those boots won’t hold up to much —”
“Silence.”
Shrugging, Traven helped the Giant down from Pale’s back. He had gotten used to Glacial’s imperial attitude. For a moment, back at the cave’s mouth, when her loss was fresh and her icy exterior cracked, Traven had actually felt sorry for her. But now, after hours of being lectured to on the advantages of cloistering, Traven had had quite enough of her.
Just as the Hero was ready to urge the Princess back up onto Pale, Glacial reached out her hand as if to push open a door. Before them, light shown through an archway. The warm smell of cinnamon wafted out over the biting snow. Traven would know that aroma anywhere. His mouth watered at the thought of cider. Pale’s mind was already far ahead of them, drooling for his carrion.
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