Chapter 14 #2
He jerked to a stop, staring. I hurried after him as much as the snow would allow, feeling as best I could for the telltale creak of ice beneath my boots. But all I could discern was the gritty squeak of packed snow.
When I caught up with Droko, I followed his gaze and saw nothing but snow swirling on the far bank of the river. “What is it? What did you see?”
But Droko wasn’t simply staring, I realized.
He was rigid. And though the wind picked up even more, howling through the trees like a wounded animal, as the snow pelted his face, he didn’t so much as blink.
I saw his pupils, in the bright light, were pinpricks.
And then the gold flecks in his irises began to move.
The tiny motes swirled like the blowing snow.
I’d witnessed this just once before, in a room of amber, deep in the caverns, when the shaman proved beyond a doubt he was more than just the enemy chieftain’s son.
That time, I was not nearly as close.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I knew I should cast down my gaze in respect. But I couldn’t tear it away from those haunting, swirling eyes. Instead, I dropped to one knee…and found that it wasn’t solid ground we were standing on, but ice.
Under the heavy blanket of snow, I heard nothing. But through my kneecap, I felt it creak.
“Shaman, turn back,” I said. “It’s not safe.”
Droko ignores me plenty, but that’s not what was happening here. More like he hadn’t heard me at all.
He opened his mouth to speak, and a curl of frost drifted from his lips, swirling between his tusks—just like the motes in his eyes—when it should have been carried off by the gale.
And his voice raised gooseflesh on my arms that even the biting wind couldn’t match.
“A hidden threat creeps among us. Should we fail to take heed, what festers beneath the surface will spell our doom.”
A true vision.
I was not the only one to bear witness, either. Everyone on the bank remained utterly silent—cowed, no doubt, by the presence of real magic. Now they would see how ridiculous their fears about Eli truly were—
“He means the witch!” one of the men cried. And the points of a dozen spears whirled around to aim for Eli’s heart.
“Stand down,” I bellowed. “That’s an order!”
My voice boomed, powerful and strong, undampened by the storm. These were all seasoned men. They were better trained than anyone in the clan, as adept as even the chieftain’s personal guard. And at the sound of my command, they all lowered their spears.
Though it would only take one man to second-guess me.
The ice beneath my feet flexed. It groaned loud enough for the sound to break through the heavy burden of snow. Eli had looked so small among the men. Unarmed and vulnerable. But I possessed only one eye—and I had to train it on the shaman.
Droko stood like a statue, eyes swirling, as the ice threatened to buckle beneath his feet.
I could tackle him and drag him back to safety, but we were both big.
If his weight made the ice creak, adding mine to it would only make things worse.
“Droko,” I snapped, hoping to break the trance by using his name—
And then, across the river, the snowy trees parted, and a magnificent buck stepped into the clearing.
It was easily six hands high, with broad, velvety antlers that spread wide like the branches of a great tree.
Its pelt was thick and covered in snow, blending with woods around it, but its dark eyes were like two coals in the overbright storm.
The men, who’d begun muttering among themselves, either to screw up the courage to disobey me, or to mutter counter-curses to Eli’s supposed witchcraft, all fell silent.
And the ice groaned again.
A spear buzzed past me, close enough to ruffle the fur on my cloak. But it wasn’t aimed at me.
It buried itself in the snow on the other bank, not even halfway to the stag.
“It’s too far,” someone whispered—probably the man who’d missed.
“Then get closer.”
“You can hear the ice. It won’t hold us.”
“No, but it might hold the human.”
Who obviously carried no weapon. But despite that fact, one of the guards sent Eli staggering toward the bank with a well-placed thump of his spear butt.
I gestured for them to back up. “No one does anything until the shaman is on solid ground,” I snarled—and thankfully, when I turned back to Droko, his eyes looked normal again, mostly, and his rigid posture had broken.
He blinked up at the falling snow. “What’s going on?”
“Shaman,” I said desperately, “get off the ice.”
Droko turned to retreat, but then his gaze landed on the stag.
He was the closest one to it. Still far—but maybe close enough.
He hefted his spear—but as he did, the ice crust on the river let out a resounding crack.
Nimble despite his size, he hopped back and onto a jagged outcrop of stone…
just as Eli scrabbled and slid further toward the river.
I knew my duty was to the shaman—
But Droko stood on solid ground.
“Eli!” I snapped, and thrust out my spear.
He made a swipe at the haft, but came up with only a handful of feathers.
The ice all around us snapped and popped as the crust covering the river, now breeched, failed everywhere at once.
And one of the men, whether by accident or design, clipped Eli hard with the butt of his spear, sending him stumbling even farther out onto the cracking ice.
“Why are you jabbing at him?” the shaman demanded of the men. “If anything happens to their human, the Lost Clan can retaliate.”
A great gust of wind sent the snow cover scattering like dust, revealing a webwork of huge cracks.
And though Eli’s arms still windmilled as he tried to recover from being knocked onto the ice, he staggered, righted himself, then gave a leap that carried him to a flat chunk of ice so big, it acted as a raft.
“Don’t let him get away,” Droko commanded.
And so…I jumped.
The ice raft dipped under my weight, but grudgingly, as if it was too big for even me to make much of a difference. But great chunks broke away from the perimeter, freeing it from the bank. It shuddered and began to drift. As it did, a dozen ragged shapes emerged from the snowy woods.
The Lost Clan.
They hooted and hollered like they were hunting down their next pint, not wild game.
When they spotted the shaman and his honor guard, they only got more raucous.
Bad enough they were nowhere near the territory they’d been assigned.
They made so much noise, the only animals they’d be able to sneak up on would be long-dead carcasses left for the crows.
Except…the stag, I realized, remained where it stood. Its eyes were fixed on the growing crowd of orcs.
My fellow guards were out of spear range.
But as my ice raft sluggishly drifted toward the center of the river, I realized that I might be close enough.
“Be still,” I told Eli, and hefted my spear.
The stock was worn smooth from years of combat drills, and the wood had contoured itself to my grip.
If I fell short, it would pierce the river’s ice and be lost to the current.
So, I would not miss.
I fixed the target in my single eye, accounted for the movement of our ice raft, and drew a breath. Before I could throw, however, I realized the stag was trembling, ever so slightly.
And I saw a crust of drying froth at the corner of its mouth.
Was the spittle foamy? Did any of you see?
Quinn’s words rushed back to me, as well as the urgency of his warning of Wrack—a warning that no one had taken seriously.
Immediately, I stood down, and turned to alert the shaman.
But Droko was busy sorting out the intrusion from the Lost Clan.
I called to him, and my voice was swallowed by a howling gust of wind.
Snowfall kicked into the air from everywhere, pummeling us from all sides: the air, the trees, even the ground beneath my feet. The world went white. Meanwhile, downstream, a logjam gave way with a great crash, and the ice raft lurched forward and carried me away…with Eli.