Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“No,” she gasped.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion.
It was like a horrible dream. A nightmare.
The guards on the wall jumped down the stairs to slip through the gate. Another guard was already running for the gate, sliding through the muck, ready to seal it shut once reinforcements made it out. Her uncle would race for the gate as well, if he could get his armor on quickly enough.
Those not trained for combat would be preparing in other ways. Her sister would be readying to take on the injured; the kids would be gathering fresh towels and water. The air-forged messengers would be warning the settlement that the Dovaki post was engaging with the dakii.
Two calls sounded again.
Most of the villagers raced to pack necessities in case the post had to be abandoned.
The wall had stood for twelve years, but if the call to abandon it was made, they wouldn’t have much time before the dakii ripped it apart.
The villagers that could fight, and all the guardians, would do what they could to slow the dakii, to give the rest of the villagers a chance to escape.
And to give those connected to this valley, the towns at the base of the peaks, time to get out.
Iryana blinked, immediately shuffling the remaining guardians and volunteers still fit to fight in her mind like pieces on a map.
The last time they’d made two calls, there were far more warriors to jump in to help—and they’d still lost three guardians and a few volunteers.
In comparison now, their numbers were laughable.
Her family and the other guards wouldn’t be able to fight them off. They would die trying. The wall would fall. The Dovaki post would be overrun. The valley would be lost.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Iryana dropped her basket and was running before it even hit the ground.
She didn’t race for the gate like the others; she couldn’t let them see what she was going to try to do. She ran straight for the stream that flowed toward the wall.
“What are you doing?” she heard Pyetar calling after her.
Iryana ignored him.
With one leap, she mostly cleared the quick-moving stream. Her left foot landed ankle-deep, freezing water splashing up onto her pants and skirt, but she didn’t slow.
She raced up the path toward her cottage, legs and arms pounding. The door slammed against the wall as she threw it open, grabbed her bow and quiver from beside the door, and was off once again.
As she neared the top of the ridge, the incline grew steeper.
The wall protecting the post had ended lower down, tucking into the steep valley side where passage was impossible.
As she neared the edge of their valley, the forest below now in view, Iryana found the narrow ledge that hung over the steep drop.
There was a way down from there, though it was treacherous.
It was the only other way into the lower valley. The only way to reach it without going through the gate. The only way to get behind the dakii that threatened the post.
Her bow and quiver banged against her back as she tore down the cliff side, slipping and sliding, rocks and clumps of jagged ice tearing into her palms. It was like everything was moving at double speed.
She jumped down the last drop, her knees barely absorbing the crash.
Dirt was still tumbling from the ledge from which she’d leaped as Iryana darted into the trees where the snow was still halfway to her knees.
None of the other Kleesolds or villagers knew this path besides her.
Iryana knew the forest like it was her own garden. Every fallen branch, every hill, every stream. It was easy to make her way quickly toward the watchtower, one hand on her bow, the other itching to grab for an arrow.
This part of the forest wasn’t too dense, besides the occasional pine, so the snow wasn’t as deep. The sun had more chance to melt it. Most of the trees were slender, white-gray birches and aspens, not yet wearing spring buds. Still, her eyes strained to see far enough for comfort.
She’d considered all the things her clan had tried in the past, all the things she’d heard them even consider.
There was only one course of action left that might make a big enough difference.
One tactic that might give the post a chance, but it was forbidden for a non-metal-forged, let alone someone unforged, to attempt.
But she knew there was no one on watch that could manage it or would even attempt it.
It might be a death wish, but she had to try.
She had to lead the dakii on a chase.
Her heart was pounding so hard she worried she wouldn’t hear them, but just as she saw the first sign of movement through the trees, snow crunched behind her.
She nocked and drew an arrow as she spun; the movement practiced over hundreds and hundreds of hours.
Just past the tip of her arrowhead, stood the enforcer. Pyetar.
Her brain raced to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. He’d followed her? Had he traversed the cliff side too? Was she truly so rushed that she hadn’t seen rocks raining down from his climb? Clearly she was.
Then a thought occurred to her. It would be so easy to loose her arrow, get revenge for what he’d done to her family. Let his death be caught up in whatever happened here. Her hand twitched.
His expression stilled, as if calculating whether she’d do it. Whether he thought she hated him enough.
“I’m here to help,” he said in his softest, lowest voice, holding up his hands. The same way Tonhald had when Pyetar roughed him up that night.
“Liar,” she hissed.
Then the sound of battle erupted further into the trees; she recognized one of her uncle’s voices shouting out orders. Growls, thuds, and screams merged too much for Iryana to tell what was happening.
There wasn’t time for this. Iryana loosened her hold on the bowstring, lowering her aim.
“You need to leave,” she ordered.
“Absolutely not.” He folded his arms, a clear sign he had no interest in listening to her.
“Now, before it’s too late,” she pleaded. She was starting to panic now. The battle was growing louder. His presence could ruin any chance of her plan working.
“Aren’t we going to join the fight?” he asked.
Iryana sucked in a breath. If her family died today because of this man, she would return from the afterlife to rip him apart.
“Can you shield your scent?” she asked in a rush. It didn’t take too much raw magic, and some forged had enough left. Hopefully, he was one of them.
He frowned. “Yes.”
“Good. Do it and sneak along the cliff until you reach the watchtower. Help the guardians if any dakii linger. And do not mention seeing me.”
It felt like a stupid thing to worry about, what with the fate of the post at risk, but it was the only thing she could assure herself to keep panic from crumpling her.
“Do you want to die? One girl can’t fight off a single beast, let alone a whole pack. You need my help.”
He was arrogant and presumptuous and she hated it.
“I’m not going to fight them.” She looked nervously over her shoulder again.
“This still sounds like a death wish.”
Iryana clenched her jaw, taking a step closer to him, her body now inches from his. “If you don’t listen to me, we’re both going to die. The rest of them are going to die. This post will be lost. May not matter much to you, but think of all the money you soldiers will lose.”
If eyes could catch fire, his would be burning.
“Fine,” he hissed, backing away.
She watched as he pushed his shield outside his body effortlessly, the translucent force mostly visible at the edges where the light didn’t hit right. Most of the forged didn’t have enough magic left for so thick a shield after putting all they could into their forgings, but his was solid.
Stop, she ordered herself. It was not the time to be impressed by such a thing, and he didn’t deserve it, anyway.
Satisfied he would listen, Iryana turned back toward the dakii. With a shaky breath, Iryana solidified her own shield. She crept forward slowly, thankful the dakii were focused on the tower.
No matter how many times she saw them, they still took her breath away. They were somewhat visually similar to wolves, but much larger. More… other.
The dakii had large black claws and thick, twisted horns that were dark as the deepest shadows.
They had lupine ears and snouts, but their jaws were too big and the skin didn’t cover their teeth, the fur disappearing into black flesh and then sharp ebony fangs.
Their fur was a light blue-gray, and they had manes like horses with light blue hair that floated even without a breeze.
No one knew where the dakii had come from, or what they were. But they weren’t natural; that much was obvious.
Two giant dakii hung back, watching the fighting. They were among the larger ones she’d seen, maybe even among the original dakii that had come. Two sets of curved black horns jutted from the head of the smaller one, but the other had three. That would be the alpha.
A shudder ran through her.
Iryana watched carefully as she slipped closer, locating and counting the other dakii.
The largest dakii, normally the older males, would hang back to go for the kill.
The more aggressive ones hunting and cornering their prey tended to be smaller, faster.
She didn’t recognize this pack; they had to be new to the area—hopefully just passing through.
She could just make out the watchtower and the archers firing arrows from air-forged bows inside. On the ground at the base of the cliff, two fighters engaged two lean, double-horned dakii. They were losing ground.
Not letting herself second guess her plan, Iryana nocked an arrow and drew back in one smooth movement, adjusting her aim as her thumb grazed her cheek. Once the string reached the front of her ear, she released.