Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Pyetar was waiting at the edge of the river, arms crossed like he was majorly inconvenienced. He turned when he saw her, heading toward the mouth of the lower valley.
“Can you hold a light shield without tiring yourself out?” he asked without turning.
She narrowed her eyes at his back, at the assumption she had a child’s control of her magic.
“Not a problem.” She pushed her magic out, keeping it thin and close so it wouldn’t cause too much strain.
He glanced back as if inspecting her shield. She raised a brow, daring him to critique her. Few had enough control over their magic to pull their shield so close to their skin, but Iryana had always excelled at it. Was she showing off? A little.
She smiled when he turned back around, having nothing to comment on. Perhaps it would do his arrogance some good.
A shimmer of light around Pyetar’s shoulder caught her attention, and Iryana realized he had formed his own shield. She hadn’t had time to look at it closely before. Not only was it as tight as Iryana’s and effortless-looking, it was surprisingly opaque.
“Why didn’t you forge all your magic?”
She didn’t know anyone who had wasted so much raw magic. Her Uncle Dinhal had forged some of his magic into a round shield as big as his torso, but it was still forged-magic, not raw. Did Pyetar have so much to spare that he could afford to leave some unforged?
Raw magic was hard to finesse and didn’t provide any benefits beyond a barrier. But once that milky-white magic was forged in a well and given a form, it not only gained color and strength from the well’s magic, but important qualities, too, depending on which god the well-magic originated from.
Pyetar shrugged, hesitating before he answered. “Made sense to keep enough for my shield. Helps me avoid the dakii sometimes.”
“What are your forgings then?” she asked, because he seemed irritated by her questions.
With a sigh, Pyetar held his hands out as he walked, and a double-edged sword formed in each.
They had so much metal magic worked into them that they were the color of a stormy sky.
Just as quickly, Pyetar took the magic back in, and the swords were gone.
She was surprised. They were not the most practical weapon against the beasts.
Then another weapon was forming in his hands, the purple-black magic swirling into shape.
It was like what they used to hunt boar: a relatively short spear, just a bit longer than Pyetar was tall, with a crossbar to keep the spear from getting stuck or one’s prey from running up the spear.
But instead of a single blade, this one had three wide, double-edged blades. Almost like a trident.
Now that was a weapon for hunting the dakii. A beast spear.
She felt better about traveling with him, armed with a metal-forged weapon like that. As long as he didn’t turn it on her.
She hadn’t seen him fight, but she assumed he could. Given that he spent so much time traveling alone among the dakii, she should have known he was capable. Still, she’d have to be wary. If he tried to stop her from reaching the brigade, she might not be able to stop him.
Raw magic shields didn’t hold up as well to forged magic as they did to other things. Earth was weak to air, air weak to metal, metal weak to fire, fire weak to water, and water weak to earth. And raw magic was weak to all of it.
If he came at her with his metal-forged sword, it could shatter her shield with enough effort.
They only made it a few more paces before he stopped.
“Look,” Pyetar cut into the silence. “The 18th Brigade is not the place for someone like you, and when you are dealt the consequences of such a choice, I will have to deal with the fallout with your family. You were raised a guardian, raised to be a protector. It is not a place for na?ve, gentle people. They will eat you alive.”
The worries that had been eating away at her were nothing compared to the indignation she felt at a stranger voicing them. Let alone a member of the brigade involved with trafficking the drug that had ruined her life.
“Don’t pretend you know me and don’t pretend you have my wellbeing in mind.
” She couldn’t stop the low, seething words from pouring out of her mouth.
He wasn’t special, probably wasn’t any worse than the rest of the soldiers, but he was who she’d pictured for years when she thought about how much she hated them.
“You take advantage of people, take their money and leave them to their moments of bliss and days of suffering.”
“Then by all means, don’t let me stop you.” He spun back downriver and set a grueling pace through the mud and slush that Iryana struggled to keep up with. She lengthened her stride, refusing to complain or lag behind.
Pyetar seemed more than happy to forgo conversation, focusing on the path and the woods around them instead. He was more confident walking through the beast-filled woods than Iryana was, but just as vigilant.
They continued on in silence, weaving through the birch trees. That night’s frost was melting off the naked branches with pattering drips. Iryana was always more diligent in the birch forests, the white and black trunks providing better camouflage for the dakii than cedars and pines.
Soon they left behind the parts of the forest Iryana knew, and she had to focus even harder. They slowed down. Pyetar was being more careful, or his leg was still bothering him.
When the forest grew ominously quiet, she drew to a stop only a step behind him, both recognizing the danger. She saw him looking around as she did the same. Iryana couldn’t be sure, but she suspected there were dakii ahead of them, her senses picking up on something she couldn’t quite place.
Pyetar turned to her, catching her eyes as the shield around him grew thicker, more visible now. She did the same, and he nodded. Something flashed in his pale blue eyes.
Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought of fighting alongside him, trusting him to guard her back.
He reached out slowly, clasping her lower arm, and gently pulling her toward a large, dense shrub. She wanted to yank away. If they were hiding, she wanted to find her own spot, but she let him lead her. They would fare better together if it came to a fight.
They crouched down behind the mass of green leaves. She was practically tucked into his side, but he didn’t touch her other than that hand on her arm. Iryana forced herself to ignore the threat of his being so close that she could feel the heat emanating off him. They waited, neither moving.
A single dakya finally appeared.
It prowled casually through the forest, but on a path that wouldn’t take it right to them. She’d have a perfect shot.
Iryana reached for her bow, but Pyetar’s hand on her arm stopped her. He shook his head as she glared at him. It was an easy kill. One less dakya in these woods.
She startled when he brought his face right next to hers, but he steadied her with a firm hand on her shoulder. He was uncomfortably close, nearly wrapped around her now.
“It’s a scout,” he whispered, so low she barely heard him. His mouth was almost touching her ear.
“No, not a scout. It’s a hunter.”
Pyetar pulled back far enough that she could see his frown. “What makes you think that?”
“Look at the horns. Scouts are junior members of the pack. Those that hunt alone are not.”
He turned, looking at the dakya that was mostly past them now. It had two sets of black, twisting horns.
“How do you know that?” His tone was disbelieving, like she couldn’t possibly know something about them he didn’t.
“I watch them a lot,” she whispered. “The patterns become obvious after a while.”
He watched her silently, brows furrowed over his blue-gray eyes. She didn’t like the way he watched her.
“Regardless,” his voice rumbled low. “Less chance of drawing attention if we don’t engage them.”
Iryana sighed.
Soon enough, they were walking again. They hiked through the mud and slush all day, moving glacially slow.
They didn’t encounter more dakii—although Pyetar led them around a few suspected sightings.
By the time dark was falling, they hadn’t made nearly enough ground.
Iryana tried not to let her frustration show.
“We should set up camp here,” Pyetar said, looking around at a relatively sheltered clearing.
It was deceptively peaceful looking. Only a few inches of heavy snow, a few dusted rocks, and a dense border of Istrin pines.
She hadn’t slept outside the post, not since they were fleeing through the hill lands.
She remembered being tucked into hastily constructed tents every night, curled up with her sisters while her mother whispered stories to try and get them to sleep.
Hadima and baby Misha always fell asleep first, leaving Iryana to stare at the shadows of the trees dancing across the tent for hours.
Wondering if there were dakii out there.
“Is that safe?” she asked.
Even if it was, she didn’t like the idea of letting her guard down enough around Pyetar to sleep.
“Don’t worry. We won’t be sleeping.”
Iryana stiffened. “If we aren’t sleeping, why make camp?”
Pyetar narrowed his eyes. “We need to eat and rest for a few hours. Then we’ll walk the rest of the night.”
“Oh, yeah, fine.” She shrugged.
She wouldn’t admit it, but Iryana was happy for a break.
Aching muscles from the day she ran the dakii away from the post still bothered her, although her ankle was thankfully fine.
Her bruises had all bloomed a dark purple, just now gaining a hint of brown in some places as they healed.
In another week she would be back to normal.
Tensing, Iryana remembered that she had no idea what the week would bring. If she’d even survive it.