Fire Wolf

  Myah held her breath, listening to each crunching step that came toward her. She closed her eyes and willed her hands to stop trembling, her heart to stop racing.

  Then, when she felt them close, her eyes flashed open and she spun clear of the tree and stabbed the man with the arrow, pushing the arrowhead deep in his chest. He screamed, clutching at her and the mortal wound. Hot, slick blood squished through her fingers. She ran before he could get a grip on her; her feet pounded the snow.

  “After her! Don’t let her escape!” Phillip ordered.

  Shouts followed her steps, then the strike of steel and a cry. Branches and brush snapped against her legs and arms, grabbing at her cloak, and an Osten soldier dogged her heels. She could sense him behind her; she could hear the breaking of branches echoing her thrashing sprint.

  Myah broke out into the field, charging through the frozen snow in a direct path to the east gate.

  “Stop her!” Phillip screeched. He was behind her too.

  His voice must have stirred the Nordlin Guard, because seconds later, they called out from the walls and the warning bell sounded—an alert from the city guard, to the people that they were in danger. The refugee camp stirred into screams and shouts; the gates began to close.

  A body slammed into her, dragging her to the ground. She screamed and elbowed the man. Her arm connected. A loud crack, followed by warm droplets, told her it was a nose. He released her, and she clawed her way to her feet and fell into another sprint.

  She had to make it to the city before the gates fully closed.

  A high-pitched whine filled the night. Myah looked to the sky. She could see nothing, only hear it, and then fire exploded in the west end of the city. Her steps faltered from the sudden boom and the shock sent her to the ground, sliding across the ice and snow.

  More whining filled the air, followed by a roar.

  The roar of an army advancing on a city.

  She got to her feet, stealing glances over her shoulder. The Osten army emerged from the tree line. Trebuchets, launching destruction on the city, were now visible in the light from the fires engulfing the west end, and closer still was the man chasing her across the plane. Blood ran down his face.

  Myah whipped her head around and pushed toward the gate. Her lungs burned, and a stabbing sensation pinned her side. She was not going to make it to the city.

  Her eyes moved to the castle. It still stood like a sentinel on the high ground at the heart of the city. It was a perfect target as it loomed above the homes and shops in the lower, outer rings, and within the fortress was her family, her friends, the people she loved.

  As the heavy gates inched closed, the sinking feeling she would never see them again struck her, like a blow to her spine, centered between her shoulder blades.

  Air expelled her lungs as she stumbled forward, rolling when she hit the ground.

  Fingers in her hair tugged her upward. She screamed as she was lifted to her feet. Her toes barely skimmed the earth. Through the blinding pain tearing at her scalp, her mind registered an Osten soldier with his sword raised. He swung it toward her neck.

  Myah screamed and closed her eyes.

  Skye, Cal, her mother, her uncle—the faces of those she loved—even stupid, annoying Alena’s face, flitted through her mind. Happy moments, painful moments, moments she regretted, days she wished she could relive. Memories of a short life that none would remember if all in the city fell tonight. It would be as if she never existed.

  The blade did not reach her.

  A snarl ripped through the cacophony, and the man holding her shouted in terror as teeth latched on to his arm, dragging him to the right. Her body dropped, her knees buckling at the sudden release.

  Her fingers curled into the snow as she opened her eyes, a sob wracking her middle.

  The wolf’s body blocked the gruesome sight as he tore into the soldier, the man’s screams proof of the animal’s vicious mauling. Then, the cries silenced.

  Golden eyes turned to Myah. Blood covered the gray fur of his snout, chest, and front legs. Myah jerked backward and threw her arms up to shield her neck and face as the wolf came at her, but instead of teeth, a cold, wet nose nudged her arms. The animal’s tongue slithered across the back of her hands. The copper-stench of blood overwhelmed her sense of smell. She moved her arms apart, peering at the beast through the gap. His nose edged them farther apart, and he rubbed into her until her body was next to his shoulders. His large head looked back at her, and he snorted.

  “I don’t—”

  The whine of a trebuchet cut her off. She searched the sky as she stood.

  The wolf pushed her legs, throwing her off-balance, and her gaze shifted to him as the whizzing noise grew louder, closer. The force of the explosion when it struck the city wall knocked her into Lyulf. She lay against his back, disoriented, her ears ringing. Her fingers curled into his fur, and then he ran, taking her with him.

  Myah buried her face in his hair, turning her head enough to see a hole where the east gate had been seconds before. Tears stung her eyes; a sob choked her throat.

  They had breached the city.

  The city would fall.

  Unable to bear the sight of Nordlin City in flames, she buried her face in the wolf’s back, letting him take her away from the horror-filled screams that would follow her into her nightmares forever.

  When the wolf stopped, Myah rolled off his back and onto her knees. Her body curled forward. Her sobs had not diminished, but they felt loud without the deafening roar of battle on her heels, without the explosions of the city at her face. Now, the sounds were far off. She could hear the booms, she could hear the battle, but the noise did not drown her senses.

  “Myah.”

  A warm hand touched her shoulder, and she jerked away, falling to her side. She screamed as someone reached for her again, and she flinched to avoid the touch.

  “Shhh, shhh.” Garrett waved his hands. “It’s not safe here.”

  A shout rang, and Garrett grabbed her shoulders, dragging her into the bushes. The wolf hid as two soldiers whacked at branches with their swords. They held torches that burned orange and smoked a thick black plume.

  “Are you sure she went this way?” one of them asked.

  “Mmm, with a wolf,” the other responded.

  “What is so important about one slip of a girl?”

  “Lord Phillip probably wants her as a plaything.”

  The second man laughed.

  “Poor girl,” the first man added.

  Myah curled her body into Garrett, tightening every muscle to keep from making a sound. The desire to sob choked her. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close until the light of the torches vanished.

  “You’re safe,” he whispered. His hand stroked her back.

  “But you’re with them,” she choked. “You’re just going to take me to the Ashens.”

  “No, I’m not,” he said, pulling away. He ducked his head until Myah could see his face. He offered her his hand. She took it, and he helped her from the thick bramble, guiding her to her feet. “I’m going to take you someplace you’ll be safe. From the Ostens, from the queen.”

  “There is no place left like that,” she sobbed. “Not now. Not within Nordlin …” Gone. Everyone she knew, everyone she loved … by the end of the night would be dead. Another sob made it past the lump in her throat holding it back, and she hung her head.

  “No,” Garrett insisted, gripping her shoulders. “There is, and if you’ll trust me, I’ll get you there.”

  ~*~

  When Myah opened her eyes, an ice-blue sky hung above her. Treetops stabbed skyward as if trying to pierce the frozen air. She blinked. Warmth surrounded her, the type of heat that left the body feeling cozy and content and uneager to roll out of bed. However, she was not in her bed, and her body ached and her head throbbed in unnatural ways.

  Myah sat up. A large cloak rolled off her, piling in her lap. When a gust of wind rushed through the tall
spires circling her, she pulled the cloak back up and hugged it around her shoulders. She was in a clearing, surrounded by tall pines and edged with logs, with the only easy access being a gap between two of the fallen mammoths.

  She eyed the gap and rose to her feet. Her body ached; her head throbbed. She probed her scalp with her fingers and found a gritty film crusting her head at the hairline. When she withdrew her hand, dried blood flaked from her fingertips. That soldier had nearly ripped her hair out.

  Myah searched the area for Garrett, but she was alone in the circle of fallen trees.

  Where could he have gone?

  Myah stepped toward the access point between the fallen trunks. As she reached the gap, the wolf jumped into the space and she screamed, startled, and fell on her rear. Her hand touched her chest as she calmed her breathing.

  “You scared me half to death.” Her body relaxed and she stood. She brushed the snow from her clothes.

  The wolf sat in the gap and huffed. When she looked at him again, his eyes watched her. She shifted to the left and so did his gaze; when she shifted her weight to the right, he turned his head to keep eye contact.

  “I was just going to look for Garrett,” she said, and then headed for one of the logs. The wolf moved to block her path, and she stutter-stepped to a stop. What was wrong with this animal? She turned in the other direction, and he countered her movement. “Really? You’re not going to let me go?” She crossed her arms and glared at the beast.

  The wolf huffed and lay down in the snow. His gaze never wavered.

  “Fine,” she said. She bent her knees as if she were going to sit again, only to spin at the last minute and rush to the other side of the clearing. The wolf moved faster. He launched around her, cutting off her path. Her feet slid on the wet snow, and she fell on her backside again. The wolf growled but did not show his fangs. She crawled backward, digging her hands and heels into the cold to get away from the giant creature. A wave of fear set her nerves tingling. He stopped growling when she reached the place that she had awakened near the fallen tree.

  “You’re not going to let me leave?” Myah demanded.

  “He’s just trying to protect you.”

  She turned her head. Garrett stood in the gap. In one hand, he held a sword. Crimson edged the silver blade. In his other hand, he held a bow and her quiver of arrows.

  “How do you know that?” she asked as he rounded the fire.

  He dropped the bow and arrows beside her, and then knelt down, wiping the blood from the blade in the snow. “I asked him to,” he said.

  “To keep me hostage?” she asked.

  A soft chuckle shook his frame. “No, to protect you.” He flipped the blade over, cleaning the second side. “But sometimes protecting someone means protecting her from herself. It isn’t safe for you to wander.”

  “I know you said he wasn’t yours, but he acts like he is,” she said.

  Garrett stood and slid the weapon into the sheath on his back as he faced her. “Lyulf is my oldest friend,” he said. “And you can count on him too.” He jerked his chin, gesturing toward the weapon beside her. “Your bow cracked clean through when you fell last night. I grabbed you another one. Check it; make sure it will work for you.”

  Myah reached for the new weapon and her quiver. She counted the arrows—only six. She had lost some. She then stood, holding the bow out in front of her. “It’s too long,” she stated as she stretched out her arm and pulled back on the string. “Where did you get it?”

  “I took it off an Osten archer. He had at least eight inches height on you,” Garrett said matter-of-factly. “But you need a weapon. There are Osten patrols tracking us.”

  Myah lowered her arms. The weapon felt awkward. “I’ll make it work. Even with the length, I’ll be better with a bow than a knife.” She set the shaft down next to the quiver and pulled off Garrett’s cloak, holding it out to him. His arms were bare except for the leather gauntlets covering his forearms. His sleeveless leather vest accentuated the corded muscles of his biceps. His left arm reminded her of a painted sunset, so varied were the scars, and the specks of blood that stained his gauntlets and vest.

  His fingers folded around the green fabric. “Myah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “How are you?”

  Memories of the city on fire flashed in her mind, bringing with them grief. “I just watched the Osten army burn my home. How do you think I am?”

  “Devastated.” He wrapped the cloak around his shoulders.

  “I take it Nordlin City isn’t the first you’ve seen burned.”

  He shook his head. “No, it isn’t. I was there when Oasisian fell, when the army decimated the city. It was …” He swallowed, looking away. “Horrific.”

  “Thousands died in the attack on the City of Kings. Your army is probably doing the same to Nordlin City right now,” she whispered. The tears she had been fighting trickled down her cheeks, cresting at her jawline to mix with the snow at her feet. She sniffled and fisted away the tears. She hated to cry.

  “People still fled.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “And the wards are still up, so your uncle is probably still alive—at least for now.”

  “Can you take me back to the city, to my uncle?” she asked.

  “There is no way to get through the Osten lines, not without help. I’ve checked. I’m sorry, Myah, but I think the best option is to keep going. My friends will help us, but not if we don’t get to them alive.”

  She shrugged away from his touch. “I should have been able to warn them.” Her throat closed as she tried to hold back her tears. “And Owl? How could he? He was—”

  “Who is Owl?” Garrett interrupted.

  “Allister Penhause,” Myah said. “The man on the bridge. He organized all of our raids in Ost. The one at Oasisian, when you …” She paused, collecting her thoughts, her emotions. “I didn’t know he was …”

  “Working for the queen?” he finished for her.

  She nodded.

  Garrett let out a sigh and sat down on the tree trunk. “Queen Elysia has been amassing supplies in the Borderland Mountains for months. Even the Elite Guard’s latest campaign of burning every town, village, and field in Namir, I now think was part of a plan to force your uncle to open the wards for the refugees.”

  “And you expect me to believe you didn’t know all that?”

  “Elysia is always working on something. Sometimes I can figure out what she is planning; sometimes I cannot. I don’t read minds. With the wards up, there was no way she could have gotten an army through, and besides, that pass is a nightmare even in the summer. Only a sadist would bring troops into Nordlin that way. But she caved too easily when I suggested we come—”

  “They came because of you!” she shouted.

  “No!” He threw up his hands. “Calm down. I suggested a diplomatic mission; that is it. I was trying to get into Nordlin so that I could …”

  “So you could what?” Myah sniffed again and wiped away the salty trail on her face. They left her cheeks feeling even colder in the frigid air.

  He watched her. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We should get moving. I took care of the last patrol, but when they don’t check back, we’ll have more on our trail.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you were trying to get into Nordlin.” She crossed her arms.

  Garrett sighed and ran a hand through his long black hair. “Look at the weaver stone I gave you.”

  Myah rolled her eyes but tugged the necklace from around her throat. The pink stone glowed at its heart but otherwise was the same round shape as any other weaver stone. She ran her fingers down the smooth planes of the rock. “What am I looking for exactly?”

  “Keep looking,” he said evenly.

  Myah turned the stone over and her fingers felt it—an imperfection cut into the surface. She brought it up to eye level and squinted, making out something engraved—S. E.

  “S. E?” she asked. Garrett lifted his eyebrows.


  Then, it clicked.

  “Shay? This was Shay’s?”

  Shay Esparrow. Her cousin’s gift of magic had come much earlier than most. She had been able to conjure when she was only eight years old, a full five years before most weavers, and a full ten years before Myah even showed a hint of the gift.

  Garrett confirmed her question with a quick nod.

  “How did you get this? And why in the name of the lords did you give it to me?” she demanded.

  “Shay gave it to me,” Garrett countered, “and I gave it to you because I thought you might be Shay.”

  Myah gave him a withered expression. “My cousin is dead.”

  “So everyone believes.”

  So everyone believes? His words fumbled through her mind. “But not you?”

  Garrett shook his head. “No.”

  “Do you have some evidence to support your conclusion, then?”

  He smirked. He was actually smirking at her. “Yes.”

  “Garrett,” she shouted. “Just tell me. Why do you think she’s alive?”

  Lyulf let out a whine and grumbled, drawing Garrett’s attention.

  “Fine,” Garrett growled at the animal. “I’ll tell her.” When he refocused on her, a shiver ran through her body. His amber eyes flashed like fire. Like Lyulf’s eyes. “Lyulf and I got Shay out of Oasisian. He was protecting you, so I thought … I thought you might be her.” Garrett glared at the wolf. “He isn’t always forthcoming about why he does things, though. Much to my frustration,” he gritted out.

  Lyulf huffed.

  Myah looked between the two. “You can talk to him? And you understand each other?”

  Garrett shrugged. “Benefits of being a magical creature, I guess.”

  “Magical?”

  “He’s a fire wolf. Or were his eyes not a giveaway?”

  Myah laughed. She had tied her fate to an insane person. “Fire wolves are a myth,” she said slowly. “Children’s stories. Just part of the fairy tales to explain why weavers cannot control the elements.”

  “And yet, he exists.” Garrett gestured to Lyulf. “Now, if you are done challenging everything about my life and existence, can we go? We are ahead of the patrols now, and I would like to keep it that way.”