Chapter 6
The weather in Crystallese didn’t disappoint.
By midmorning, the wind was whipping against the sides of the wagons, threatening to topple us over. The snow felt like ice, and it was colder than the sea in the Frozen Waste.
Soldiers were no fun to travel with. They might be good in a fight, but in a snowstorm? Useless.
Worse than useless, because they still managed to find the energy to complain.
I was still tucked into my corner of the wagon, not enjoying the rocking with each gust the gods sent our way. I was trying to convince myself it was better than walking through it.
In the wagon, I could conserve my energy for when I really needed it. But as the temperature dropped even more, I knew I’d soon have to leave the corner I was currently inhabiting. Staying still was its own kind of risk.
“Why do people live in this?” one of the soldiers muttered, and it took me a moment to realize he was talking to me.
I couldn’t see much of him, heavily wrapped to protect against the weather, but the skin around his eyes had few to no lines, so I assumed he was young.
“It’s not always so bad,” I shouted over the wind.
He didn’t seem convinced as the wagon rocked again. I heard someone shout over the wind, and when our wagon lurched, I knew the horses were fighting hard.
It was time to move.
Sliding my pack and tightening the strap so it dug uncomfortably into my chest, I placed my hand on the wagon’s rim, grabbed my staff, and with one move, I vaulted over the side.
My boots hit the ground, sinking immediately into the fresh snow before meeting the firmer snow beneath.
A gust nearly knocked me off my feet. With my head down and shoulders hunched, I moved as fast as I could to reach the horses, using my staff for support. I pulled on the reins, slowing them down, ignoring Gralen's shouts behind me. I wasn’t sure who it was, but I just knew it would be him.
I rubbed the horse's nose, then turned him around and led the poor creature to the nearby shelter of the trees.
Not that the trees offered much shelter, since their black trunks were thin at the woodland's edge.
It was too dense for the horse to move through, but if we stayed close to the edge, some cover was available.
It wasn’t an actual path. A horse could easily lose its footing out here, so with the warm breath of my new friend on my shoulder, I guided the horse along the edge, keeping the wagon steady behind us.
I didn’t look back to check on the other wagon. I figured at least one of them would have some sense, even if they brought along three mercenaries.
There were fourteen soldiers, including the captain. That should have been enough. So why the extra blades? And why mercenaries? Darysian soldiers would probably have been cheaper. Were the other two getting ten gold pieces like Baxley?
Adding three mercenaries made no sense to me. It also made them stand out.
That nagged at me all during the wagon ride, and I was eager to ask, but not so eager I would actually do it. Maybe it was for the woman?
Larana was pretty. She was also sharp and dangerous.
I could tell that just by looking at her.
Her obvious flair for violence was evident from the weapons she carried.
She wasn’t just a simple bedwarmer. I’d seen groups that brought women for that purpose, and I was doubtful that she was one of them.
Not in this cold. No one was that desperate.
The horse gave a sharp whinny, and I froze instantly. The creak came a heartbeat later.
Deep. Splitting.
I looked up just as the tree started to fall. It moved slowly at first, groaning under the weight of the snow and the wind before crashing down hard enough to shake the ground beneath my boots.
I searched the rest of the tree line to see if there were any obvious signs that any of the others were about to topple. They looked sturdy enough.
My gaze went back to the trunk sprawled across our path. Long and solid and completely in the way.
I glanced at the horse. He gave me a flat look.
“Yeah, I know,” I muttered, pulling him forward. “I don’t like it any more than you do.”
We curved out wide, but the snow grew deeper, and the horse slowed down from the depth dragging at his legs. His pace faltered.
I looked back. The captain was already off the wagon and wading through the snow. He saw me looking and made his way to my side.
“What do you need?” he called over the wind. I appreciated that he wasn’t trying to tell me what to do but was waiting for my instruction.
“Get them off the wagon,” I yelled back. “We’re only making his job harder with the extra weight.”
The captain didn’t waste words. He simply nodded in acknowledgment, then turned back through the snow to shout out orders.
I kept moving, angling the horse wider around the fallen trunk. The wind cut across us, dragging at my cloak and stinging my face where the wrappings had slipped loose.
“Easy,” I murmured, my hand tightening on the reins. “Watch your footing.”
The snow deepened another inch, then another, and it looked ready to swallow us whole. The horse’s legs strained, each step slower than the last as it fought through the deep snow.
Behind me, voices rose, and orders were barked. Boots hit the ground, and the wagon creaked as the weight was lifted.
The horse moved a little easier, but not by much.
“Come on,” I coaxed, stepping ahead and breaking the trail myself. “Follow me, boy.”
The first step sank to mid-calf. The second to my knee. This is exactly why I carried a quarterstaff, to help me through the snow.
“Shades,” I muttered, bracing myself as I hauled forward again.
I felt the rein tug as the horse hesitated, then moved on, snorting as it pushed through the drift I’d carved.
At least it was progress. It was slow, painfully slow, but progress nonetheless.
I glanced back just long enough to see the men spreading out, some already moving ahead to pack the snow down. Baxley was among them, silent as ever, moving efficiently and deliberately. Larana didn’t stay with the wagon either. She cut across the drift, choosing higher ground without hesitation.
Of course she did. It was all higher ground to her, given her height.
I faced forward again, adjusting our angle. The trunk pushed us farther out than I liked, into uneven ground where snow hid whatever was beneath.
“Careful,” I warned, more to myself than the horse. My boot hit something solid beneath the surface — a buried rock or frozen root — and I shifted quickly, redistributing my weight before it could take me down.
The horse faltered behind me, almost as if it knew I’d almost slipped and didn’t want to do the same.
“Steady,” I breathed, reaching back to press a hand against his neck. “Clever boy, if you fall, I fall. Let’s not do that.”
He huffed, warm breath curling past my cheek. We moved forward a few more steps. Then a few more. The wind roared louder, hitting the side of the wagon as it followed our arc. The wheels protested, one dipping sharply before a pair of soldiers grabbed it and pulled it back into line.
I slowed, raising a hand.
“Hold.”
Everything stopped. Not right away, but quickly enough.
I watched the ground ahead. The drift sloped slightly downward, subtle enough to miss if you weren’t paying attention.
I was always watching for it. Bad footing. If the wagon hit that angle, it would tip.
I turned my head. “Bring it tighter,” I yelled over the wind. “Too far out and you’ll lose the wheel.”
Baxley had moved up to my wagon and looked up at me, then at the line I’d chosen. He studied it for just a moment before shifting to correct it without hesitation.
I stepped forward again, clearing a path and adjusting as the terrain required. One foot in front of the other, until the tree was finally behind us. We weren’t clear yet but getting closer.
I exhaled slowly, not trusting the ground enough to relax.
“Keep moving,” I called. “We’re not stopping here, back to the tree line.”
Because in this cold, standing still wasn’t a rest. It was death, and we needed shelter.
I pushed forward, carving a narrow path through the drift, angling us back toward the dark line of trees ahead. They loomed through the snowfall, blurred at the edges, but solid enough to promise some break from the wind.
The horse followed, slower now, his breath coming heavier with each step.
Behind me, the wagon groaned.
“Don’t fight it,” I called over my shoulder. “Let it roll where it wants, just keep it straight.”
A shout answered me — the captain, maybe — but I didn’t turn to check.
Turning meant stopping. Stopping meant thinking, and thinking got you killed out here.
The wind shifted suddenly, cutting sharply across from the east. It hit the wagon broadside, and I heard the wheels protest.
“Hold it!” someone barked.
Too late. The back end lurched, dragging the weight sideways as the snow gave beneath it.
I spun, grabbing the reins hard enough to make the horse rear half a step.
“Easy!” I snapped, more to him than the men. “You don’t get to be spooked now, friend.”
Two soldiers were already bracing against the wagon, boots digging in as they tried to force it back into line. Baxley moved in without a word, shoulder to the frame, adding his weight where it mattered.
I saw another soldier moving. He didn’t push. He moved to the wheel and dropped low, gloved hands clearing packed snow from beneath it in quick, efficient movements.
“Lift on my mark,” he called, sharp and steady. “Not before.”
I watched the angle of the wagon, the way it leaned into the drift. Another inch, and it would tip, taking the horse with it.
“Now,” the soldier cried.
They heaved, and the wheel caught. For a heartbeat, everything held, then the wagon shifted back into place with a heavy jolt.
I didn’t wait.
“Move,” I ordered the horse, already turning back toward the trees. “While you’ve got it.”