It was dark, the moon partially obscured by clouds. Shouts and the frightened whinnies of their horses came from beyond the other tents.
“Light!” Rhoa said urgently. “We need light. These things hate light.”
Narine emerged from the tent, holding one hand before her and the other above as she called upon her magic. A globe of bright, white light flared above her, illuminating the camp. All four women stood stunned, staring at the scene before them.
Three wyverns stood beyond the tents, each dragon-like beast far larger than a horse. Their muscular bodies were covered in gray scales, a line of crests running from their head to a long, sinuous tail. Gruesome, black talons graced the end of their massive, webbed wings. The nearest one blasted a defiant shriek, its gaping mouth filled with jagged teeth. Lying on the ground in front of the beast were the two men who had been on watch, both covered in blood, one missing an arm.
The other four soldiers advanced in an arc, swords and shields ready. The men were partially armored, their upper bodies protected by helmets and bracers. One soldier swung a sword at the beast. It pulled back with amazing speed, the blade missing it by inches. Just as quickly, the monster lunged, its massive jaws clamping onto the man’s arm and jerking him off his feet. When the soldier fell to the ground, the wyvern stomped on him, its clawed feet digging through his tunic and deep into his flesh as he screamed.
Jace, Brogan, Rawk, and Algoron all burst from their tent and ran past. Rhoa, Adyn, and Blythe hurried to follow as Narine brought up the rear, holding the bright light above her head.
Blythe gripped a handful of arrows, then dropped her quiver and began loosing at the monster. The first arrow careened off its chest, the second doing the same. She altered her aim and waited. As it opened its mouth to scream, she loosed another. The wyvern’s head snapped back with a jerk as an arrow buried inside its mouth. Even so, the monster slammed its jaw shut, the spiked teeth breaking the arrow in half.
Rhoa gripped her fulgur blades and wondered what she should do.
Gripping Augur, the night was easy for Brogan to navigate, even far beyond Narine’s magical light. He and the remaining soldiers spread out and advanced slowly as the wyverns shied backward and squinted at the bright glow. He dared not look at the light himself, especially with the enhanced vision provided by Augur’s enchantment.
Suddenly, one of the wyverns lifted from the ground, its massive wings flapping as it turned and flew, remaining low. Realizing the wyvern was headed toward their horses, Brogan burst into a run, chasing after the beast.
Age and extra weight caught up to him, slowing him severely from the days of his youth. He could do nothing but watch the wyvern attack their mounts while he closed the distance.
The wyvern struck one of the chestnut pack horses, gripping the squealing animal in its talons and flapping its wings in an attempt to lift the horse off the ground. But the steed was still secured to the same log as the other horses, every one of which struggled to pull in the opposite direction.
Dropping the horse to the ground, the monster landed, its big, powerful jaws clamping onto the hindquarters of a white stallion. With a savage shake of its head, the wyvern tossed the horse aside in a spray of blood.
Brogan lifted his sword overhead as he closed the gap. The downward motion of his falchion was like an axe cleaving into a log, the blade hacking deep into the monster’s sinuous tail. The wyvern screamed and spun with startling speed, a long, clawed wing backhanding Brogan, sending him sprawling to the ground.
The monster charged toward him, its maw open wide, sharp teeth the size of knives. It jerked to a stop and squealed when an arrow buried into its mouth. Another followed, bouncing of the beast’s head, a third striking it in the eye.
A flash of gray flew past Brogan as Phantom leapt for the wyvern’s bloody tail, clamping its teeth onto it. The monster roared and spun, sending Phantom tumbling across the grass.
“No!” Blythe screamed.
Brogan rose to his feet and rushed to attack. Time seemed to slow, horror rising in his gut as the wyvern stomped toward Phantom. The dog struggled to get up. Brogan ran as fast as he could. Neither would happen in time. The monster clamped down on Phantom’s back. The wyvern lifted the dog off the ground and shook its head viciously, the animal releasing a heart-wrenching howl.
When Brogan’s sword fell, it struck the deep wound he had already rendered, severing the tail completely. A terrifying shriek came from the monster as it dropped the dog and turned toward Brogan, the beast’s wing striking him again, sending him spinning and slipping to the turf. The monster thrashed and lunged. Still on his back, unable to escape, Brogan thrust his sword up, locking his elbows. The monster’s chest struck the blade, the jarring impact forcing a cry of anguish from Brogan’s lungs, the shock consuming him as everything went black.
Rhoa and Adyn circled slowly, keeping their distance from one of the wyverns as two soldiers kept its attention. The men advanced warily. One swung a sword, but the monster dodged and followed with a swipe of its clawed wing, sending the man spinning to the ground. The other soldier took the opening and thrust, his sword tearing a gap in the wing. The monster wailed and charged, striking the man and knocking him down.
“Now,” Adyn said and rushed forward, holding her blade in both hands.
Rhoa followed, each woman attacking from opposite sides of the monster. Adyn reached the beast first and sliced down at the tail. Her sword bit into it, but the cut was shallow. The wyvern spun, the tail like a whip, flashing toward Rhoa. Instinctively, she flipped over it and landed on her feet. Adyn dodged a clawed wing, rolled past the monster, and came to her feet before it. She swung again, her sword dragging across the wyvern’s chest and leaving a shallow trail of blood. The beast turned, the long tail coming at Rhoa. Rather than jump over it, she leapt onto it, her boot launching her off a hard crest as she lifted her fulgur blades high. She landed on the monster’s back, thrusting both blades into it. Blue sparks sizzled as the blades sank to the hilts. With a horrifying wail, the wyvern arched backward and extended its wings. It twisted from side to side, tossing Rhoa around like a rag doll, but she kept a firm grip on her blades, fearing for her life.
Rawk and Algoron appeared at either side of the wyvern, both Makers holding massive, black hammers made of stone. Algoron swung, striking the end of the creature’s clawed wing. It screamed and turned toward him as he scurried away. From the opposite side, Rawk attacked with a blow that crushed part of the creature’s other wing. The wyvern spun as Rawk readied himself for another blow. The hammer smashed into the side of the wyvern’s head, the rock shattering. The monster wobbled and fell to the ground, knocking Rhoa off. She rolled away and scrambled up in the long, dead grass just as Adyn plunged her sword through the wyvern’s eye socket.
Three of them, Jace thought as he gripped a throwing knife in each hand. How can we fight three of these monsters?
The soldiers were trying, but when the third man fell, lost his helmet, and one of the monsters bit his face off, things appeared bleak.
Brogan chased another into the darkness, Blythe trailing him. Adyn and Rhoa ran in the other direction, attempting to get behind one. When Jace saw Narine standing alone, the bright globe of white light above her, he moved toward her with his blades ready.
If we are going to die today, it will be while I am at her side.
He stopped beside her, their gazes meeting for a moment before they looked back at the fight.
With three dead soldiers lying just strides away, Targan faced the nearest wyvern. The man was skilled, fast and fluid. He had carved dozens of shallow cuts into the monster’s neck, chest, and wing, but the beast seemed unaffected. It lunged, jaws snapping, but Targan dove and rolled, coming up a few strides away from Jace as he sliced at the monster’s wing. When the wyvern turned toward them, the monster squinted at the light, but it didn’t run away.
“Narine,” Jace said, “If you douse the light, how quickly can you recreate it?�
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“It only takes a couple seconds.”
“Do it when I say now.”
“What?”
He eyed the advancing monster, its eyes narrowed in the light. “Now!”
All went dark as he cocked his arms back and threw. The moment he released, he said, “Bring it back!”
A frightening scream echoed in the darkness. He felt the tingle of magic near him, the hair on his arms standing on end. The light returned.
The monster thrashed its head from side to side, Jace’s blades buried deep in one eye. The surviving soldier darted toward the monster’s blind side, ducking as he ran in and driving his sword into the armpit of the wing. The wyvern reared back with a cry, stumbling away with the longsword still buried deep. Flapping its wings, the monster tried to take flight, but could not. Stumbling again, it fell to its side, trashed for a moment, then stilled.
Jace surveyed his surroundings. Five of the soldiers were dead, but no wyvern remained standing. Rawk, Algoron, Rhoa, and Adyn stood near one beast, staring at it in exhaustion.
Blythe emerged from the darkness at a run. “Help. It’s Brogan!”
10
Pyre and Ice
Narrow beams of sunlight streamed through gaps in the trees along the forest’s edge. With each step, dead leaves and twigs cracked beneath Rawk’s feet. He bent and picked up a fallen branch, thick and three feet in length, adding it to the bundle in his arms. A chill struck him, like a shadow passing through his body. It was the third time he had experienced the sensation since stepping into the woods. Stopping, he stood still and gazed toward the heart of the forest. It was darker in there, the sunlight struggling to penetrate the canopy. Nothing moved, until he saw Algoron approaching from the side.
“Do you sense something…odd?” Algoron asked.
“It feels as if I am being watched.” Rawk stared warily into the shadows. He normally was drawn to darkness, but not this time. “Worse, whatever it is wants us to leave.”
Algoron nodded, staring guardedly toward the darkness of the forest. “So you sense it, as well.”
“I have all I can carry,” Rawk said. “Let’s return to camp.”
Grunting in agreement, Algoron led Rawk toward the light beyond the trees. The two Makers stepped out of the woods and into the sunlit field at the same time as Jace, the thief exiting the forest a hundred paces to Rawk’s right. Leaving the trees gave Rawk a sense of relief, lasting only until he saw what lay ahead.
The remains of the five dead warriors lay upon a bare area of black stone, the men arranged in a tight row. Beside them lay Phantom, body broken, the dog’s gray coat stained dark crimson. Logs from fallen trees Rawk, Algoron, Jace, and Targan had already collected lay beneath the corpses. Hadnoddon had used his battle axe to cut the trees into manageable pieces, each four strides long. The way the bodies were strewn across them appeared uncomfortable.
Those men are with their god, Rawk thought. They feel nothing now.
He was unsure which was worse – dealing with the remains of the dead soldiers or whatever waited in the disturbing forest.
Jace reached the funeral pyre first and began laying branches and twigs around the dead soldiers. Rawk and Algoron did the same, filling in the gaps. Targan, Rhoa, and Adyn each approached with their own bundle, adding to the pyre. Rawk stepped back and turned from the grim scene, choosing to focus on something else.
Blythe emerged from one of the tents and wrapped her cloak around her to fend off the wind. The tall, red-haired woman climbed the hillside, her mouth drawn in a thin line, eyes narrowed in the sunlight. Narine approached from the other tent, meeting Blythe a few strides from Rawk.
“How is he?” Narine asked.
“Awake and grumbling for food,” Blythe said. Her appearance was ragged, eyes red, dark circles beneath them, cheeks blotchy from an evening filled with tears. “I told him to rest, but he insists once he eats, he will be ready to ride.”
“It is good that he is awake.” Narine glanced down and tugged at her ear. “I was able to fully heal his broken bones and internal injuries. Despite how bad it looked when we pulled him from beneath the dead wyvern, there should be no risk in allowing him to ride.”
Blythe didn’t appear pleased, her lips pressed firmly together while staring at Narine.
From another tent, Salvon emerged, followed by Xionne and Hadnoddon.
The seer shouted, “We must leave soon. We have spent too much time here already.”
Before anyone could reply, Salvon put his hand on her shoulder. He leaned close and whispered something into her ear. Xionne took a deep breath, nodded, and walked up the hill.
The seer stopped before Targan and said, “When you have finished honoring your fallen brethren, we must depart.”
Rawk frowned. What did Salvon say to her? Why would she listen to him? His musing was disturbed by another distraction. Like an itch that would not go away, he again felt a presence in the forest behind him, lingering, waiting.
Targan, the lone surviving member of the Gleam Guard, stared down at his fallen comrades. “The funeral pyre is ready.” His tone lacked emotion, his expression stoic. He turned toward Narine, who stood nearby with her cloak wrapped tightly, her golden hair billowing in the breeze. “Will you ignite the fire, wizardess?”
In a gentle tone, she asked, “Would you like to say a prayer to Pallan for these men?”
The lieutenant shook his head. “These men are dead, and there was nothing I could do to save them. Besides, I am no priest. Pallan will welcome them or he won’t, regardless of anything I might say.”
The princess turned toward Blythe. “What about you? Do you wish to say anything for Phantom?”
The tall archer turned toward her beloved dog, a tear tracking down her cheek. She shook her head and turned away. “Just do it. I will go see to Brogan.”
Blythe rushed off, her hands covering her face. Sensing her loss, Rawk was filled with sadness. The woman had only two companions in her life. One was now dead, and the other almost died. He suddenly realized the cost of caring. His gaze landed on Rhoa, her jaw set in determination as if the funeral itself were another battle to face. Rawk admired her bravery and unselfish nature, but the battle the prior evening had terrified him. Not for his own sake, but for his concern for Rhoa.
I could not bear losing her, he thought.
Narine drew close to the dead men and extended her hands, weaving them around each other slowly until flames burst forth and engulfed one end of the pyre. The magic lasted for a few breaths before she released it, her shoulders slumping in apparent exhaustion. By then, the fire had taken hold, the pyre blooming to life. With the wind at their backs, they all gazed into the fire, remembering the fallen.
While staring into the flickering flames, the battle from the prior evening replayed in Rawk’s head – monsters attacking, men dying, Rhoa leaping into the fray. He had no choice but to try and save her, fashioning a hammer from stone, Algoron doing the same.
He turned from the fire, his eyes seeking the nearest two wyverns, the corpses lying just strides apart. Even in death, the giant, scaled bodies were creepy. A chill ran down his spine.
The seer spoke, breaking the silence, her tone subdued as she addressed Targan. “When will you be ready to depart?”
The soldier replied without turning from the fire. “I would ask for another five minutes before we break camp.”
“Very well.” She nodded and turned to walk back to her tent.
“Wait,” Rawk blurted, unable to restrain himself. When Xionne turned toward him, he swallowed. “The trail leads into the forest. Is that where we must go?”
“Yes, young Maker. Paehl Lanor lies deep within the Frost Forest.”
“How long will it take to get there?”
“Even on horseback, the going is slow, the journey lasting five full days.”
The seer turned away, but Hadnoddon’s gaze lingered on Rawk. The black-haired dwarf gave a nod and turned to follow the s
eer.
Rawk eyed the forest, trepidation building inside. Five days. He couldn’t explain why, but he dreaded the journey and wished they were headed anywhere else. The dread remained firmly entrenched as he and his silent companions listened to the crackling flames consume the fallen soldiers, their bodies blackening, withering, and turning to ash.
Brogan was sore and tired, but refused to let it show. His horse trailed the one Xionne shared with Hadnoddon. Insisting she watch him, Blythe rode just behind Brogan, while their remaining companions followed. At the rear was Targan, the last surviving member of their escort.
The events of the prior evening remained a blur. Wyverns in the darkness, men dying, swords slashing, the desperate thrust of his falchion as one of the beasts fell on him.
He had woken in a tent the next morning, body aching, head pounding, stomach growling. The wizardess had healed him, Blythe claiming he would have surely died otherwise. After she described the extent of his injuries – over a dozen broken bones, internal bleeding, a collapsed lung, and swelling on his brain – he realized she was not exaggerating.
It was nearing mid-afternoon, and they were deep in the Frost Forest. The wind had died down to nothing, as if the trees refused to allow such disturbances. Even so, it was cold, each exhale a swirl of steam. Despite the sun’s position overhead, their surroundings felt as gloomy as dusk. Unlike the gorgeous wooded mountains of Northern Pallanar, the forest floor was barren of undergrowth, instead covered with fallen leaves, pine needles, twigs, and branches. The lonely dirt trail they followed stood out as they continued uphill, past broken boulders, and deeper into the forest.
Five hours after departing camp, their surroundings began to change. It was subtle at first – a bit of ice here, a layer of frost there, the crunch beneath the horses’ hooves growing increasingly more crisp. They then came to a stream and stopped, Xionne and Hadnoddon dismounting.
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