The Winter King
Page 139
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“A giant ice wolf, they called it,” Kham muttered as she scrambled up the tree. “Ice wolf, my ass. Show me one wolf—just one!—that can climb a tree!”
The branches grew thinner but more plentiful the higher she went. Hopefully, the thicket would slow down the garm—or, if she was lucky, stop it altogether. Khamsin cast a glance over her shoulder and promptly swore the air blue.
“You have got to be joking.”
Not only did the garm run swift as a wolf, breathe freezing mist like a frost dragon, and climb trees as effortlessly as a squirrel . . . but when the spruce branches threatened to keep the garm from its prey, the beast just chewed through them like they were breadsticks.
She scrambled higher, climbing faster, praying as she went.
The crevasse lay in Hodri’s path, a long, deep chasm gouged out of the underlying mountain. The crevasse was easily twenty-five feet wide—too far for a horse and rider to jump without considerable risk—but the garm’s tracks raced directly to its edge.
The gap might be a risky jump for horse and rider, but apparently not for the garm. As he reined Hodri in at the chasm’s edge, Wyn could see the disturbed snow on the opposite side where the garm had landed after leaping the distance. The tracks continued on from there, still heading directly for the valley, where a thunderstorm was brewing.
He started to turn Hodri left, intending to ride along the chasm’s edge until he found a safer place to cross, but a breeze blowing up from the valley brought him up short.
His head reared back, nostrils flaring at the distinctive scent of magic on the wind. Weather magic.
Storm magic.
Khamsin.
Fear struck hard. Wynter’s hands clenched around Hodri’s reins, knuckles turning white.
She was down there, in the valley. Wyrn only knew what madness had driven his reckless, imprudent wife to ignore his warnings and ride out into the forest during a Great Hunt, but she had. He knew the taste of her magic better than he knew his own.
Kham was down there. And the garm was heading straight for her.
For all he knew, it might already be upon her.
He wheeled his mount around and rode back a short distance. There wasn’t time to find a safer place to jump. The slightest delay could mean the difference between reaching Khamsin before the garm did, or finding her remains scattered across a blood-soaked field.
The latter possibility was unthinkable.
“Come on, boy,” he urged. “We can do this. We must. She needs us.” He touched his heels to Hodri’s side, and the stallion launched instantly into a fast gallop. Great hooves flashed, kicking up clods of packed snow as they raced towards the edge of the cliff.
Wyn heard the approach of Valik and the others as they crested the rise behind him, but he didn’t pull up, and Hodri didn’t slow.
The gaping chasm loomed before them.
“That’s the way, boy,” Wynter murmured. He bent low over Hodri’s neck and gave the stallion his head.
“Wyn!” Valik gave a shout. “Stop! It’s too far!”
Wynter’s only response was to urge Hodri to run faster. The drop-off loomed large before them, the twenty-five-foot gap looking more like fifty, but Hodri never faltered. At the very edge of the abyss, when one more step would have sent them plunging to their deaths, the stallion planted his rear hooves, gave an explosive release of power from his massive hindquarters, and leapt off the edge of the cliff.
“Wyn!” Valik cried.
Wyn hardly heard him. Horse and rider soared through the air like one of the mythic Valkyr, the fierce warrior-spirits who rode the winds on ghostly steeds, gathering souls for Eiran, the goddess of death. They came back to earth with a jolt, landing hard on the far side of the crevasse, a scant six inches from the edge.
Roars of victory erupted from the Wintermen gathered on the far side of the chasm.
“You frost brain!” Valik shouted. “You nearly got yourself kill—”
A loud, booming crack split the air. Valik’s scold broke off, and the Wintermen fell abruptly silent.
“Wyn!” Valik cried. His voice had gone from angry to alarmed. “Get out of there!”
“Hodri!” Wynter leaned hard over the saddle, digging his heels into Hodri’s side and giving the stallion plenty of rein. “Run, boy! Run!”
The ground beneath Hodri’s hooves began to shift as the underlying shelf of ice crumbled and fell away.
The stallion scrambled for purchase, barely managing to find solid ground before an enormous lip of ice tumbled down the mountainside.
On the opposite side of the crevasse, Valik and the others brought their mounts up short. What had been a risky twenty-five-foot jump was now an impassable forty-foot-wide chasm.
“We’ll have to ride ’round, Wyn. Stay there. We’ll cross at the first passable spot.”
“I can’t. Khamsin’s in trouble. Catch up as soon as you can.”
“Wyn! Wyn, damn you! Stop!”
But Wyn and Hodri were already galloping away, down towards the valley, towards Khamsin, following the large, platter-sized tracks of the garm.
Kham clung to a thin branch near the top of the spruce and screamed down at the still-climbing garm. She didn’t dare go higher. The branch she was standing on was already bowed beneath her weight—and had started to make alarming snapping sounds.
The storm her unruly weathergift had summoned wasn’t helping any. Powerful gusts of wind sent the treetops swaying in all directions, and Khamsin, clinging to the uppermost branches of the spruce, was whipping back and forth through the sky like a ball on a spring. Branches from her own and surrounding trees slapped at her as the spruce swayed, raising welts and scratches on her exposed skin and threatening to knock her from her perch. To make matters worse, freezing rain was rapidly coating the tree branches in layers of slippery ice.
The branches grew thinner but more plentiful the higher she went. Hopefully, the thicket would slow down the garm—or, if she was lucky, stop it altogether. Khamsin cast a glance over her shoulder and promptly swore the air blue.
“You have got to be joking.”
Not only did the garm run swift as a wolf, breathe freezing mist like a frost dragon, and climb trees as effortlessly as a squirrel . . . but when the spruce branches threatened to keep the garm from its prey, the beast just chewed through them like they were breadsticks.
She scrambled higher, climbing faster, praying as she went.
The crevasse lay in Hodri’s path, a long, deep chasm gouged out of the underlying mountain. The crevasse was easily twenty-five feet wide—too far for a horse and rider to jump without considerable risk—but the garm’s tracks raced directly to its edge.
The gap might be a risky jump for horse and rider, but apparently not for the garm. As he reined Hodri in at the chasm’s edge, Wyn could see the disturbed snow on the opposite side where the garm had landed after leaping the distance. The tracks continued on from there, still heading directly for the valley, where a thunderstorm was brewing.
He started to turn Hodri left, intending to ride along the chasm’s edge until he found a safer place to cross, but a breeze blowing up from the valley brought him up short.
His head reared back, nostrils flaring at the distinctive scent of magic on the wind. Weather magic.
Storm magic.
Khamsin.
Fear struck hard. Wynter’s hands clenched around Hodri’s reins, knuckles turning white.
She was down there, in the valley. Wyrn only knew what madness had driven his reckless, imprudent wife to ignore his warnings and ride out into the forest during a Great Hunt, but she had. He knew the taste of her magic better than he knew his own.
Kham was down there. And the garm was heading straight for her.
For all he knew, it might already be upon her.
He wheeled his mount around and rode back a short distance. There wasn’t time to find a safer place to jump. The slightest delay could mean the difference between reaching Khamsin before the garm did, or finding her remains scattered across a blood-soaked field.
The latter possibility was unthinkable.
“Come on, boy,” he urged. “We can do this. We must. She needs us.” He touched his heels to Hodri’s side, and the stallion launched instantly into a fast gallop. Great hooves flashed, kicking up clods of packed snow as they raced towards the edge of the cliff.
Wyn heard the approach of Valik and the others as they crested the rise behind him, but he didn’t pull up, and Hodri didn’t slow.
The gaping chasm loomed before them.
“That’s the way, boy,” Wynter murmured. He bent low over Hodri’s neck and gave the stallion his head.
“Wyn!” Valik gave a shout. “Stop! It’s too far!”
Wynter’s only response was to urge Hodri to run faster. The drop-off loomed large before them, the twenty-five-foot gap looking more like fifty, but Hodri never faltered. At the very edge of the abyss, when one more step would have sent them plunging to their deaths, the stallion planted his rear hooves, gave an explosive release of power from his massive hindquarters, and leapt off the edge of the cliff.
“Wyn!” Valik cried.
Wyn hardly heard him. Horse and rider soared through the air like one of the mythic Valkyr, the fierce warrior-spirits who rode the winds on ghostly steeds, gathering souls for Eiran, the goddess of death. They came back to earth with a jolt, landing hard on the far side of the crevasse, a scant six inches from the edge.
Roars of victory erupted from the Wintermen gathered on the far side of the chasm.
“You frost brain!” Valik shouted. “You nearly got yourself kill—”
A loud, booming crack split the air. Valik’s scold broke off, and the Wintermen fell abruptly silent.
“Wyn!” Valik cried. His voice had gone from angry to alarmed. “Get out of there!”
“Hodri!” Wynter leaned hard over the saddle, digging his heels into Hodri’s side and giving the stallion plenty of rein. “Run, boy! Run!”
The ground beneath Hodri’s hooves began to shift as the underlying shelf of ice crumbled and fell away.
The stallion scrambled for purchase, barely managing to find solid ground before an enormous lip of ice tumbled down the mountainside.
On the opposite side of the crevasse, Valik and the others brought their mounts up short. What had been a risky twenty-five-foot jump was now an impassable forty-foot-wide chasm.
“We’ll have to ride ’round, Wyn. Stay there. We’ll cross at the first passable spot.”
“I can’t. Khamsin’s in trouble. Catch up as soon as you can.”
“Wyn! Wyn, damn you! Stop!”
But Wyn and Hodri were already galloping away, down towards the valley, towards Khamsin, following the large, platter-sized tracks of the garm.
Kham clung to a thin branch near the top of the spruce and screamed down at the still-climbing garm. She didn’t dare go higher. The branch she was standing on was already bowed beneath her weight—and had started to make alarming snapping sounds.
The storm her unruly weathergift had summoned wasn’t helping any. Powerful gusts of wind sent the treetops swaying in all directions, and Khamsin, clinging to the uppermost branches of the spruce, was whipping back and forth through the sky like a ball on a spring. Branches from her own and surrounding trees slapped at her as the spruce swayed, raising welts and scratches on her exposed skin and threatening to knock her from her perch. To make matters worse, freezing rain was rapidly coating the tree branches in layers of slippery ice.
