Chapter 14 - Road of Snow
Wrenora
We left the next morning. I’d expected the cold, the wind, the snow.
I hadn’t expected the loneliness. The constant breeze against the fur-lined hood of my cloak cut out the jingle of reins and the sound of the horses’ hooves as they crunched through the snow.
Conversation was impossible. It was like being in a room with a constant flow of water smoothing the beat of your heart into nothingness.
It was soothing at first, but the longer we rode, the harder it was to focus.
My thoughts were a jumbled, rambling mess, and the creeping feeling of eyes burrowing into me tickled at the edge of my consciousness.
There was so much white. The world was blinding, even with the sun hidden behind the clouds.
At some point, I’d started closing one eye at a time to give the other a rest from the glare—not that there was much to see.
The permafrost, as Magdala had warned, was mercilessly barren.
Anything that might have lived here had been scraped away years ago when Telrain had first plunged into winter, never warming back up.
The ground itself was a blanket of white that sprawled in all directions until it blended into the rolling hills to the west and nothingness to the east. Eventually, the skeletons of trees cropped up in clusters.
At first, there were so few, it seemed impossible the seeds had found their way to these spots—even in warm weather—but as evening approached, we finally entered an area where there were enough trees that we could find at least some protection from the frigid wind.
“We’ll rest here.” The prince’s words were the first anyone had uttered all day.
As he dismounted, the guards in front of me looked at each other with confusion.
Were we sleeping in the open? Without any explanation, Prince Callan walked into the center of the clearing before gazing down at his boots.
He was still for so long, I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but no one else moved, so I did the same, standing perfectly still until the prince slowly lifted his arms.
Nothing happened. After a few moments, I glanced around, wondering if I should be doing something, going somewhere, saying something.
Then all at once, the snow shifted. It was slow at first—like water building into the crest of a wave.
It coalesced around the prince in fluffy mounds until massive shards of ice shot from the ground and spiraled toward a central point over Callan’s head.
The same snowy flakes of magic he used to create his armor and sword swirled in the air around us, collecting on the surface of the facets until the dome was the size of a small cottage.
My mouth dropped open in my shock. I knew Prince Callan was powerful, but I hadn’t seen him use his magic other than to create his armor and sword.
This was incredible. The sheets of ice fused together on all sides, making an impenetrable structure so similar to the Ice Fortress that I sucked in a sharp breath.
He’d made his fortress.
I should have known, but I’d heard it had been created for him, not that he’d been capable of such feats. A crack sliced from the center of the ice, cutting through the pristine surface from the top to the bottom before it slid away and Callan stepped out, a glittering knight in iridescent armor.
“This should do.” His voice was warm with humor on the other side of his helm, likely from the five of us looking at him with our mouths agape in shock.
All I could do was blink. What I wouldn’t give to be able to create shelter wherever I went.
Now I understood why the prince isolated himself on the freezing permafrost. This was where his magic could shine...
or freeze was more like it. I followed the guards in, leaving the horses tied to one of the trees.
The inside was as miraculous as the outside.
The prince had created a table that could seat all six of us, a small sleeping area with six raised platforms for our bedrolls near a flickering wisplight.
My first instinct was to draw my cloak around myself, but as I stepped into the space and the opening behind me slid closed, I noticed how warm it was.
“Hopefully this will be warm enough for you.” Prince Callan might have been speaking to all of us, but his eyes remained on me.
I nodded, unsure how to respond, then rushed to one of the platforms positioned the farthest away from the others and dropped my pack on it to claim my space.
I was shocked that the prince sat with us at the table, his hands gloved but his mask pulled under his chin so he could eat.
We had a simple meal of cured meat, flatbread, and dried fruit with a spiced wine to drink.
Nothing was warm. There was no comfort food here, and the cold had soaked so deep into my bones, I wasn’t sure I would last another day.
“It’s so fucking...” The guard side-eyed me before he cleared his throat. “Sorry, it’s ridiculously cold this time of the year.”
One of the other guards shifted in his seat, turning to look at the prince who sat at the opposite end of the table from me. They all seemed nervous around him, and it made me purse my lips to hide my smile. Served him right, as grumpy as he always was.
“My favorite time of the year,” Prince Callan said, drawing everyone’s attention. The hint of a smirk touched his lips, an ornery glint taking residence in his eyes as he let them drag around the table to each of us.
“For a frost elf, maybe,” the guard next to me said.
They all shared a chuckle under their breath, the smirk on Callan’s lips curving into a small grin.
The guards went back to their casual conversation, but Prince Callan’s gaze met mine from across the table.
Unspoken questions passed between us before he returned his attention to the food in front of him.
There was something curious in his eyes.
Concern? Frustration? Perhaps he didn’t like sharing space with a human.
Shortly after the evening meal, we tucked in for the night.
At first, I was too cold to fall asleep, then once I’d warmed up a little, my mind wouldn’t shut off.
I stared up at the domed ceiling for hours, wondering what the night sky might look like.
Rustling on the other side of our shelter caught my attention a little before dawn.
I watched the prince sit up, running his fingers through his hair before he stood.
He’d removed most of his clothing and was in nothing but his pants and thin shirt as he paced to the table, hands on his hips, head down in thought.
Was he struggling to sleep like I was? Or was he usually awake this early?
When he turned, his eyes found me. They were eerie in the dark—two empty holes in the shadows of his face.
Could he see my eyes were firmly planted on him as well?
If he could, he didn’t show it, instead pacing back to his platform before turning and walking the other way again.
He did this for a long time as our shelter slowly grew brighter with the morning light.
Eventually, he pulled on a tunic, remaining barefoot as he continued his pacing until the guards stirred.
After a cold breakfast, we were riding again, my teeth chattering.
The wind had picked up, and I tucked my hands into my cloak, putting the woolen fabric between my skin and the reins.
It was another brutal day of riding until the prince stopped us for the night at a lonely village consisting of an inn, a tavern, and a few small houses.
That night, I slept in a room with the prince and one other guard. There was no conversation other than a curt “good night” after each of us chose one of the small cots lining the walls. At least I had a fluffy pillow and a heavy, quilted comforter for warmth.
The room was just large enough for us to move around, and the single window was framed by heavy wooden shutters that had been nailed closed, letting very little light in.
Once again, Prince Callan woke early and paced in the tiny space, his eyes falling on me with each pass, running his fingers through his hair as he worked through whatever thoughts troubled him.
I had hoped I’d be warmer in an inn with a proper bed and covers, but I was wrong.
I was just as cold, the bones aching in my feet and hands, and I wasn’t ready to plunge back into the frigid weather when the guard finally stirred, but I didn’t have a choice.
Just as we had with the ice shelter, we ate a quick breakfast then started out again.
The third day, Prince Callan didn’t lead. Instead, he took the position at the rear, his eyes burning into the back of my head. I desperately wanted to ask how close we were to Dyga, because I wasn’t sure I could survive a fourth day.
The trees had thickened, the snow slowly receding until it clung only to the shadowy parts on what was looking more like an actual road. When I pulled up closer to one of the guards, he increased his pace, pulling away from me. I glanced back at Prince Callan, finding him glaring at me.
“How much longer?” I asked.
He snapped his reins and pulled his massive horse up beside mine, his eyes scanning the landscape.
“A couple more hours at this pace.”
I sighed at the sound of his voice. The fact that someone was talking to me at all was wonderful. The guards only talked with each other and ignored me entirely, though that was to be expected. I was a thrall. Or I had been, and I still wore the shackles to prove it.
“You’ll enjoy the warmer temperatures,” he said. The friendly tone of his voice seemed out of place for him, but I was grateful for it.
I nodded, not sure what else to say—what I should say.
Without another word, he fell back again, keeping me sandwiched between himself and his four guards.
After another hour, the guard at the front slowed his horse to a meandering walk as we made our way through a section of the road where the trees tightened along the edges.
Goose bumps bloomed across my arms as we moved forward, the hair rising on the back of my neck as if more than the prince’s eyes slid over the back of my head.
All at once, a wave of black-clad elves flooded from the trees, swords drawn.
A crossbow bolt struck my horse’s flank, sending it onto its hind legs and throwing me from the saddle.
I hit the ground hard, my breath pressed from my lungs in a mad rush.
There was so much noise, and my senses were inundated by the clanging of swords and surprised shouts.
I gasped, frantic, my mind refusing to acknowledge my breathlessness was temporary.
It had been better than half a year since I’d been on the battlefield, but the instincts were still there. Once I managed to drag myself to my feet, I reached for a sword that wasn’t on my hip.
“Fuck.” I was a slave. I didn’t have any weapons.
I ducked under a blade aimed directly at my neck and slid forward, yanking the dagger from the sheath on the elf’s side.
I didn’t look back; I plunged into the fight in front of me.
One of Prince Callan’s guards had been stabbed in the gut and was trying to keep from losing his head.
I thrust the dagger into the side of the assailant’s neck as I ripped the sword from his grip.
The wide eyes of the guard were almost humorous as I continued forward, slashing across another elf’s back with my new sword, the blade barely cutting through her leather.
She swung to defend, and I wasn’t ready for the weight of her axe that knocked the blade from my hand.
She sliced at my middle, but I managed to evade, causing her to over-correct, giving me enough time to slip past and yank my sword from the ground.
I spun through another elf’s attack as I continued toward the front of the fighting.
Another crossbow bolt flew past me. This one lodged itself firmly in the eye of one of Callan’s guards.
He sank to the ground, dead instantly. I looked to the trees, and without thought, I raced in the direction of the bolts, weaving side to side as another whizzed past my ear.
Once I was amongst the trees, I used the trunks for additional cover.
Another bolt splintered the wood beside my head.
I could see the dark, hooded figure between the trunks and sprinted with the last of my endurance.
I had seconds—less than. I wished I hadn’t left the dagger behind, because I could have thrown it and killed her already.
My heart slammed into my ribs as she loaded another bolt and aimed.
Pain lanced up through my shoulder and down my arm, a cry ripping from my lips, as the bolt met its mark.
Thank the gods she’d hit my bicep and nothing vital, allowing me to use my momentum to embed my borrowed blade in her chest before she could draw her own sword to defend.
“Human,” she croaked out, eyes wide as she realized who and what I was. “Why would you fight against the cause?” Her green, wood-elf eyes were glassy with pain as she clung to the blade protruding from her chest. Before she could say more, she took a final gurgling breath and fell to the side.
It wasn’t until she was dead that I felt the pain in earnest. I clutched my upper arm with my opposite hand as I leaned hard against a tree.
“Fucking Nine Hells,” I breathed out, squeezing my eyes closed. I doubted any of Prince Callan’s guards were healer mages, meaning I’d likely be riding the rest of the way with a bolt sticking out of my arm.
“Wrenora!” It was Callan, yelling through the trees.
Had he thought I was trying to escape? I turned back toward the road, his icy armor a beacon against the dark tree trunks.
“I'm here,” I said, my voice withering at the end. I tried to take a step toward him but sank to one knee.
Strange. The pain was bad, but I’d hardly lost any blood. I shouldn’t have been dizzy. I tried to stand up straight, but the trees spun around me.
“I’m...here...” I fell to my side, shocked he was so desperate to get to me, running at full speed through the trees. The helm covering his face melted away, revealing brows curved in concern.
He slid to his knees beside me, steadying me by the shoulders.
He was touching me. He was touching me. Albeit with armor and gloved hands.
It was like the moment I’d passed out from hypothermia.
He pulled me into his arms and against his breastplate, the strange material warming instantly against my cheek.
“Hold on, Wrenora.” His voice sounded muffled, like it passed through layers of fabric.
I tried to look at his face, but all I could see was the pearlescent glow of his armor before my world went dark.