Chapter 14
brielle waits until the very last second to turn the horses on to the hidden mountain path.
Travelling deeper into the foothills, she knows the diversion may cost her if they realise she has strayed from the known roads.
Or they may realise too late and not take the turning.
She murmurs the witch word to disguise the opening in the trees, creating an illusion of leaves, branches and driving rain.
She wishes Lowri were here with her, her sister, more accomplished in illusion spells than even the high witches of their old coven.
She would wince at the paltry attempt. Brielle glances behind them, a huff of laughter escaping her as she pictures her sister tutting.
They’ve missed the turning, Nova says, suddenly appearing beside her on the rain-slicked bench. Well done, Hunter.
‘Inesh and Dreska—’
Are not afraid of what lies behind them, or before them, Nova says. They are ready to fight if needed.
‘Good.’ Brielle nods, guiding the horses. She hears a noise at their backs and swears, cursing the skies. ‘Stay with them. I may have a need … It seems our pursuers are more canny than I thought.’
Nova hisses, hopping on to the roof of the coach. One made the turning. They’re gaining, Brielle. The other coach has corrected its course as well, just behind them …
Brielle curses again, knowing the pass is too far. Even if she sets the horses to canter, they won’t make it. ‘Remind our witches of the words I taught them. I left two blades under the seats. If we are attacked, they must defend themselves.’
Nova yowls and vanishes, leaving Brielle to navigate a path through the ditches and stones.
As she rounds a corner, the track opens out, long and exposed, the trees falling away on either side.
Something prickles in her veins, something akin to fear.
Not for herself, but for the young witches inside the coach.
She grits her teeth and clicks to the horses, speaking a command.
They break into a canter.
Brielle braces herself as they shoot forward, the coach wheels bumping off every stone in the track.
Heart racing, she glances over her shoulder as the other coach rounds the corner.
Then the other one just behind. Through the driving rain, she tries to discern a face, even a feature, but all she can see are two figures at the reins, guiding the coach closest to them and horses built for speed.
She swallows, turning back to the track and her blood stills.
‘They can’t possibly …’
The other coach is gaining on them, somehow overtaking the first despite missing the turning, flying over rough ground to the left, and the horses …
Brielle swears. Not horses at all, she realises.
The coach is pulled by grindlewolves. Two huge beasts, as tall as horses, with snapping jaws.
Their pale fur flashes in the waning light, rain sluicing down their sides.
The witches sit huddled on the bench, gripping the reins lashed to the monsters.
As Brielle watches, one turns its head, snapping its jaw at her, and she shudders.
A howl snags her attention and she whips to the right, finding two more grindlewolves breaking from the trees.
Her fingers tremble as she grips the reins tighter.
Grindlewolves are used on hunts. Not to capture …
but to kill. With one coach just behind them on the left, and one further back on this road, and now two grindlewolves on their right …
they are being herded, she realises. No doubt there are more grindlewolves, possibly a whole pack, keeping pace in the shadows.
One of the coach windows flies open and Inesh sticks out her head. ‘They’ll feast on our bones, Brielle! Grindlewolves took three from Ichbarrow last year! They hunt in packs. There’ll be—’
Another howl splits the sound of hammering rain and Brielle eyes two more huge hulking shapes, leaping beside the coach on her left. Surrounding them, just as she feared.
‘… more,’ Inesh says faintly. ‘I need a weapon, a bow and arrows, anything …’
‘Two blades, under your seat!’ Brielle calls back. ‘Can you throw?’
‘Grew up with an axe in my hand, Hunter!’
Brielle’s breath leaves her in a whoosh of relief.
At least one of them can fight. That’s something.
She growls at the horses, snapping the reins as she senses their fear.
They know they are hunted too. The other window opens, Dreska appearing, and Brielle falters as she sees what she plans.
‘No, Dreska! You could fall beneath the wheels!’
But Dreska only frowns, shimmying out of the window, clinging to the side of the coach before flinging her body on the bench beside Brielle. She breathes heavily then holds out her hands. ‘Give me the reins. I can guide the horses, but I can’t throw a blade.’
Brielle nods, calculating quickly, picturing the pass, still some distance away. They’ll be attacked long before that with a grindlewolf pack closing in.
‘All right,’ she says, thrusting them at Dreska. ‘Keep straight as an arrow, only veer when we’re reaching the turns in the track up ahead, and give yourself plenty of—’
‘Leave this to me,’ Dreska says firmly, clicking to the horses, issuing a firm command.
Brielle nods, steeling herself, and clambers to the top of the coach, crouching as she pulls the first blade from her sash. A grindlewolf leaps, claws extended, aiming for the coach.
Before Brielle can aim, a blade whips from the window beneath her, finding the creature’s throat. It falls, tumbling behind them, and several howls rise around them in the gathering dark.
‘Good aim!’ Brielle calls, fire pumping through her veins.
But before Inesh can move to the other side of the coach another grindlewolf leaps.
A blade is buried in its eye within a heartbeat, claws scratching down the side of the coach, Brielle’s fingers still extended in the throw as she watches it tumble away down the track.
There’s an angry shout from one of the hunters in the coach behind them and Brielle laughs breathlessly as it swerves, avoiding the slain grindlewolf, heading off the track in a shower of loose stones and rain.
It nearly topples over as the grindlewolves pulling the coach are dragged back on course, the hunters cursing as the creatures howl and strain on their reins.
But they won’t move, won’t do as those hunters command.
That only leaves … the coach on their left.
One down, one to go.
‘Brielle, watch out!’
She flattens herself against the roof of the coach just as a blade soars over her head, a witch curse shrieking past her, hitting a grindlewolf keeping pace with them in its chest. The creature yelps, slamming to the ground, convulsing in the rain and mud.
Brielle whips round, seeing the hunter that aimed for her, their coach now level with hers.
Brielle hisses, loosening another blade from her sash, pinching it between her fingertips.
She can’t see the rest of the grindlewolf pack.
They’ve either spooked and left for easier prey or else … they have another plan.
She aims a blade at the hunter holding the reins, piercing the fists that hold the leather. The witch cries out, dropping the leather reins, losing control for a moment and the other hunter scrambles for them, cursing Brielle.
That’s when she catches the flash of grindlewolf fur and teeth.
Leaping up from ahead, straight for the horses.
Dreska cries out, throwing a hand towards them, a witch word sharp on her lips. Brielle watches on in disbelief as the spell holds true, hitting the grindlewolf square in the gut.
It levitates, up into the air, claws extended, teeth gnashing … and lands on the ground as they thunder past.
But there’s no time for Brielle to marvel at the young witch as Dreska takes a sharp turn off the long straight track and the pass finally comes into view. Bordered on each side by huge mountains, a river streams through it and the bridge … is gone.
‘Skies,’ Brielle whispers, narrowing her gaze. The river has swelled its banks, the melt running off the mountaintops as spring warms the frozen caps. It’s impossible now for the horses to cross … without a little help.
She swivels. The hunters and their coach are just behind them, grindlewolves almost snapping at their wheels. If she has enough magic, if she says the right spell …
It’s a risk, a huge one.
If they can cross the river, then they can shake off these hunters. But if Brielle miscalculates, if the horses bolt …
Then they’re dead.
‘Inesh, Nova!’
Inesh sticks her head out of the window. ‘Yes?’
‘I need you both on the bench beside Dreska. Hurry. We don’t have long.’
Dreska gasps, glancing over her shoulder at Brielle, eyes wild as Inesh climbs through the window, swings round the side of the coach and sinks down beside her. Nova shelters between them, hiding from the now torrential rain. ‘You’re going to try to cross? We’ll never make it!’
‘Not without some encouragement,’ Brielle agrees softly.
She shoves back a hank of hair plastered to her face by the rain and reaches inside her jacket for a tiny, stoppered bottle.
The last of the wyvern blood she drained and kept from the creatures that killed her mother.
‘Don’t fail me now,’ she says, then with a final glance at the swollen river she downs it.
The blood hits her heart like a fist, magic blazing through every inch of her.
She feels more alive than ever before, like a roaring inferno, an exploding star.
She stays crouched, whispering witch words to the horses, lending them more strength, speed, giving them the magic pumping through her.
And, as the spells weave over them, taking hold, they crash forward, racing for the bank and the river beyond.
There’s a cry behind her, the howl of the whole grindlewolf pack, but she doesn’t turn. Doesn’t blink. Not as she plants her palms on the roof of the coach and roars a single word.
Volatus.
The wheels judder, the horses gallop for the river and, as they reach the bank …
They fly.
Soaring up and over, they leap in an arc, vaulting the river, the rushing roar of it drowning out all else. Brielle grits her teeth, the spell alive, cast free as her heart flies to her throat, as the water rises to meet them.
And the horses touch down on the opposite bank, the wheels of the coach smacking into the ground a moment later.
Brielle is pitched from the coach, falling into the mud of the bank and she rolls quickly, coming up with a blade in her fist. The horses calm, slowing, then finally stop, Dreska and Inesh still clinging on with blood-drained faces.
Across the river, the hunters screech to a halt.
The grindlewolves paw at the bank, the coach at a standstill.
Brielle smiles, staring at them as they glare back furiously. And she catches a flash of ice-blue, piercing eyes.
Do you recognise them? Nova says, slinking round the coach to sit beside her, licking her paws.
Brielle replaces the blade in her sash, straightening to stand. ‘They are no friends of ours – that’s all I know. We must continue on our way, as swiftly as we can to Ennor. Whoever sent them does not want me to return.’