The Winter King (44 page)

Khamsin glanced back over her shoulder at the court ladies playing cards, waiting by the windows, doing anything they could to occupy their time while their men rode in the Great Hunt. It was a quarter ’til ten. If she retired to her room, claiming headache or weariness, it might be a good two to three hours before anyone came looking for her. Time enough for Krysti and her to be well away before their absence was discovered.

Kham slipped the note inside her pocket, summoned a wan look, and went to excuse herself from the court.

Assuming it might be a day or more before they caught up with the Hunt, Khamsin dressed warmly in knitted undergarments, the wool-lined leather trousers and jacket she’d had made for her jaunts with Krysti, and a warm, white, fur-lined, hooded cape that could serve as a bedroll and blanket. Remembering Wynter’s comment about how Winterfolk always prepared for the worst, she rolled a change of clothes and a pouch of dried fruit and meat she’d pilfered from the kitchen inside a woolen blanket and slung that across her back. Then she threw Krysti’s note in the hearth, watched as it turned to ash, and snuck downstairs to the secret exit she and Krysti had used the day they’d given her guards the slip.

The sun was shining bright in the sky. Khamsin turned her cape fur-side out, pulled the hood over her distinctive dark hair, and waited for the guards to pass before she hurried across the open expanse of snowy rock. Her heart remained in her throat, pounding like mad, until she’d descended the craggy cliff-side trail and reached the cover of the trees growing at its base.

Once safely hidden from view, she ran through the trees toward the old mill. There, two saddled mountain ponies were snuffling through the snow by the creek banks, searching for grass. A cloaked figure was sitting on a rock beside them, skipping stones to pass the time.

A twig snapped beneath Kham’s boot as she rushed towards him. The figure leapt off the boulder and whirled around.

Only then did Kham realize that perhaps she should have been more suspicious about the note. Because the identity of the person waiting for her stopped Khamsin dead in her tracks.

“What are you doing here?”

Reika Villani, clad in snug winter white leathers and boots, lowered the furred hood of her thick cape. She’d forgone her usual intricate piles of hair for a pair of braids that made her look more like one of the fresh young girls from Konundal than a veteran of the royal court.

“I’m the one who sent you the note, Your Grace.”

Kham glanced uneasily at the surrounding forest, suspecting a trap. Hoping to buy herself time, she said, “What note?”

“Don’t play games,” Reika snapped. “There isn’t time. I know you don’t trust me, and I accept the blame for that. But if we don’t get to the king soon, he won’t come back from the Hunt alive.”

“You’re right, I don’t trust you,” Kham agreed baldly. “Why should I?”

“Because my mother used to be a priestess of Wyrn. She was in line to be the next High Priestess when she met my father and fell in love. I know what oaths Galacia and her acolytes took. The minute the
garm
came down from the mountain, Wynter was marked for death.”

When Khamsin didn’t respond, Reika made an exasperated noise.

“Fine, don’t believe me. But I have loved Wynter Atrialan all my life, and I’m not going to sit here and let Wyrn’s minions put him in his grave.” She stalked over to the grazing horses and took the reins of the brown one.

“I brought you a horse.” She swung onto the brown’s saddle and indicated the other horse, a black-and-white highland pony even larger than Kori. “You can come with me or not, as you like. I only sent you that note because I thought your magic might come in handy convincing Lady Frey and her followers to back off.”

Khamsin hesitated. Every instinct urged her not to trust Reika.

Reika watched Khamsin’s indecision and sneered. “Suit yourself. I knew I should have gone myself instead of wasting precious time waiting for you.” Wheeling her mount around, Reika went galloping through the snowy forest towards the main valley road.

“Wyrn curse it,” Kham swore. If Wynter’s life was truly in danger, and she did nothing to warn him, she’d never forgive herself. “I just know I’m going to regret this,” she muttered. She grabbed the pony’s reins, led the mare over to a fallen tree, so she could reach the stirrups, and swung up into the saddle. A kick of her heels sent the pony leaping forward into a fast canter. “Reika! Reika, wait. I’m coming.”

The two of them rode throughout the day and well into the night. They slept in an abandoned hunter’s cabin, before heading out again before sunrise the next morning. Reika stopped regularly to call upon her clan animals, the ermine, to help them guide her to the Hunt. They doubled back more than once, going up and down the mountain, then circling back around. If not for the sun in the sky and Khamsin’s connection to it, Kham would have been completely turned around. But as it was, she knew they were no more than a day’s ride west of Gildenheim.

“This is ridiculous,” Kham complained when they stopped yet again, this time to water the horses while Reika consulted her animal guides yet again. “At this rate, we’ll never reach Wynter in time to warn him.”

Reika cast her a sharp look. “The Hunters are following the
garm,
and
garm
don’t exactly run in straight lines for your convenience, Your Grace. If tracking the hunters is too much trouble for you, feel free to go back to Gildenheim.”

Kham clamped her mouth shut. After a few more moments, Reika rose from her crouch, dusted the snow off her knees, and remounted her horse.

“They’re heading this direction.” She pointed up the mountain. “It shouldn’t be too much farther now.”

“What happens when we find them?” Kham asked. “If Galacia and her priestesses mean to kill the king, surely our presence will force their hands.”

“Not if we get to Valik and the White Guard first.” Reika dropped back to ride alongside Kham’s left flank. “You know, Elka and I used to ride in hills just like these when we were girls. She always dreamed of being a princess. Not me. I always dreamed of being queen.”

Kham bit her lip. “Reika . . .”

“Wait.” Reika held up a hand. “What’s that, over there?” She pointed to a spot off to Khamsin’s right.

“What?” Kham peered up the mountain. “I don’t see anything.”

“You will once the
garm
catch the scent of your blood.”

Every nerve in Khamsin’s body jangled with alarm. She turned back around in time to see Reika throw back her cloak and raise the weapon concealed at her side.

“Time to die, Summer witch.” Reika’s beautiful face twisted into ugly lines of hatred. With a scream of rage, she raised her right arm. Sunlight glinted off the weapon clenched in her fist, a long-handled weapon that ended in five splayed, clawlike spikes.

Khamsin jerked around in the saddle and kicked her heels into her mount’s sides just as Reika brought her strange blade slashing down. Fiery pain ripped down Kham’s back, but it was her mount who caught the worst of the blow as the clawed weapon raked deep furrows across her hindquarters. The mare screamed in pain and reared up on her hind legs, nearly unseating Khamsin. Kham’s thighs clenched tight around the mare’s ribs, heels digging in as she clung to the animal’s back. She grabbed instinctively for the pommel of the saddle with both hands and lost her grip on the reins.

Reika swung her weapon again.

Kham shrieked as pain ripped across her shoulder, arm, and rib cage. The mare’s forelegs slammed back to earth, and the horse shot forward in a wild gallop.

Branches whipped across Kham’s face, the icy needles slicing at her skin, rough bark scraping hot, painful furrows across cheek and brow. She ducked and leaned low over the mare’s neck, burying her face in her mount’s mane to protect herself from the worst of the slashing branches. Her back, shoulder, and side burned like fire, and she could feel the blood flowing from the wounds. She didn’t dare release the saddle to reach for the reins whipping like ribbons in the wind as the mare ran.

Don’t let go, Kham. Whatever you do, don’t let go!

The mare bounded over rocks and streams, leapt fallen trees. Jolt after jolt shook Khamsin to her bones, but she clung to the saddle with desperate strength. Her fingers had curved into bloodless talons around the pommel. The muscles in her hands had turned to steel and locked in place.

Then, abruptly, the horse wasn’t beneath her anymore. One moment, the mare was galloping wildly through the forest, the next the horse dropped like a stone and propelled Khamsin over her head.

Time stretched as Khamsin soared through the air, spiraling as she went. She caught sight of the overcast sky shining silvery gray overhead and huge drifts of snow gathered at the base of the cliffs directly in front of her. The cliff’s ragged black rock rose sharply upwards, its rough surface coated with a thin layer of ice that made the stone gleam with an obsidian sheen.

The next instant, gravity reclaimed her. She landed with a bone-jolting slam atop an unyielding sheet of ice.

Time accelerated in a sudden rush as she spun, spread-eagled, across the surface of a frozen pond. Her feet smacked into the cascade of silvery white icicles that had formed over the waterfall that fed the pond. The ice shattered, and the impact reversed the rotation of her spin and sent her careening, feetfirst into a snowdrift. Great white plumes of snow shot skyward as she came to a jarring halt, then drifted lazily back to earth, dusting her hair and eyelashes with crystalline flakes.

She lay there, stunned and motionless. All the air had been forced from her lungs, and her body seemed to have forgotten how to get more.

Breathe, Khamsin. Breathe.

Her mouth opened. Her throat worked. Seconds later, a long, painful wheeze scraped down the sides of her windpipe.

Deflated lungs refilled. Her eyes rolled back. With that one breath of air, all her other senses leapt back to life with a vengeance. Pain exploded along the hip and shoulder that had taken the brunt of her landing.

She pulled her legs up under her body and pushed up to her hands and knees. Grunts of pain interspersed with bouts of coughing and wheezing as she clambered slowly to her feet.

She wiggled her fingers in her mittens, and flexed ankles, knees, and hips with tender care. Everything was still working. Her nerve endings, especially. Although her hips and shoulder throbbed with each beat of her heart and the furrows down her back and side were dripping copious amounts of blood, she hadn’t broken any bones. That was an unexpected bit of good luck.

Kham hadn’t counted on surviving the gallop without injury. She’d not been certain she’d survive at all, for that matter. Her horse had been too terrified by Reika’s attack.

Kham looked slowly around, trying to get her bearings. She was standing in the center of a frozen pond. A thin layer of snow lay over the slippery surface. And all around the pond, snow was piled high, as if someone had cleared it away.

She frowned and scanned the area again. On the north end of the pond, a black cliff face rose up high above, and a frozen white waterfall spilled down its sides. At the bottom of the fall, a portion of the frozen icicles from the fall had broken away, revealing what looked like the dark entrance to a cave. Her brows lifted as she recognized her surroundings. The skating pond. The one Wynter had immortalized in his Atrium. The one he’d taken her to the day of the Skala-Holt avalanche.

She knew exactly where she was, despite all the circuitous riding she now suspected of being Reika’s attempt to disorient her and make her lose all sense of direction. All she had to do was find her horse, and make her way back down the mountain. The folk in Riverfall would offer her aid.

She scanned the white snowdrifts, trying to find the mare. A splash of dark color at the corner of her eye sent Kham plunging to the left. She slogged her way through higher drifts that had gathered at the base of the trees, trailing drops of blood from her wounded shoulder, and found the mare lying on her side, her neck bent at an odd angle. The horse wasn’t breathing.

Kham sank to her knees, brushing snow from the mare’s motionless face. Her mittened hands curled into fists, and a familiar, volatile emotion bubbled up inside her.

“Damn you, Reika. You’ll pay for this!” The snow clinging to Kham’s wool mittens melted and quickly evaporated into a cloud of warm vapor. Overhead, silvery clouds condensed, growing thicker and darker as heat and moisture gathered. She’d worked hard to keep her emotions in check since the day she’d summoned that blizzard that nearly killed an entire village. But the next time she saw Reika Villani, that winter bitch would learn just how fearsome Storm of Summerlea could be.

And then Khamsin heard the growl.

C
HAPTER 21

Of Heroes and Harrowing

“The
garm
has doubled back again.” Wynter rose from the large, paw prints stamped into the snow along the cliff top and turned a grim eye on Valik and the other riders of the Great Hunt. “It’s following the cliffs, heading back down the mountain.”

The Wintermen’s expressions could have been carved from ice. They all knew what Wyn meant. If the
garm
was heading back down the mountain, it was heading back towards the valley—and the villages. Towards families. Women and children.

Wynter swung into Hodri’s saddle. “Let’s ride.”

He kicked his heels, and Hodri leapt forward. Chunks of ice and packed snow flew up in the wake of Hodri’s great hooves as the swift, sure-footed mountain horse raced across the treacherous cliff tops. Valik and the other riders followed close behind.

Wyn kept an eye on the
garm
tracks. The distance between paw prints meant the monster was moving swiftly. The beast knew they were on its trail.

Khamsin’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach, and sheer terror turned her blood to ice as she stared at the hideous creature coming towards her.

The description of the
garm
didn’t even begin to do justice to the monster’s huge, hulking evil. Though big as a horse, the creature’s dense white fur blended so perfectly with the snow-covered ground it would have been virtually impossible to detect—except for the eyes.

Bloodred and glowing with a malevolent inner light, those eyes looked like beacons to the gates of Hel.

She’d expected the
garm
to look like an impossibly large, very scary wolf. The paws, the rangy, furred body and shaggy tail did, but that’s where the resemblance ended. The same long, thick fur that covered its body also covered its neck and bulbous, earless head in a dense ruff, while a shorter nap grew around the creature’s eyes, mouth, and nostril slits. Long, thin, spiky hairs like a cat’s whiskers sprouted in abundance from both sides of its short, flattened muzzle and more sparsely on the sides and back of its head. But unlike a cat’s whiskers, the
garm
’s long, stiff hairs shivered and undulated with a life of their own. When a small bird took flight from a nearby tree, several of the hairs whipped around to follow its path.

The
garm
had no ears, but it was clear those hairs sensed the vibrations of movement and sound. And with them, the creature literally had eyes in the back of its head.

It also, she realized as the mouth slit opened and the lips pulled back, had longer, sharper teeth and more of them than any creature she’d ever known. Row upon row of curved, razor-sharp fangs unfolded from the monster’s upper and lower jaws as its mouth gaped wider. A single bite would slice through flesh and even bone like a knife through warm butter. And with the way the tips of the fangs curved inward, when the
garm
sank its teeth into something, that something wasn’t ever getting away.

Kham slowly backed away.

No man can face a
garm
alone and live.
Lady Melle’s dire words echoed in her mind.
The only chance is to hunt in numbers. Large numbers. That’s why we call it the Great Hunt. And even then, men will die.

And here death was, staring Kham in the face. Drawn by the scent of the blood dripping from the wound Reika had carved down Kham’s back.

Blue-white slime dripped from the
garm
’s fangs. One of the droplets landed on the leaf of a holly bush, and the spiky evergreen leaf froze with a crack, white frost spreading instantly across its dark, glossy surface.

The
garm
planted its front paws, swelled its chest and, with an earsplitting shriek, spewed out a billowing cloud of blue-white vapor.

The shriek ripped through Kham’s skull. She screamed in pain and dropped to her knees, her muscles seizing. Before she could take another breath, the vapor cloud reached her. Frost crackled across her skin as the mist enveloped her and trapped her body in bands of unyielding ice. Ears ringing, she was dimly aware of the beat of her heart, feeling more than hearing the slow, thudding percussion reverberating in the frozen drum of her chest.

Move, Khamsin! MOVE!
Her mind shrieked the command, but her body remained locked in place by the freezing, paralytic effects of the
garm
’s hunting scream and vaporous breath.

Fur rippled along the beast’s haunches as the muscles in its hind legs bunched up, gathering power, and six lethal inches of curved, razor-sharp claws dug into the ice as the
garm
prepared to pounce.

If the
garm
touched her, she was dead.

She cast a frantic gaze skyward. Overhead, clouds boiled and wind whipped through the trees in fitful bursts, mirroring the chaotic whirl of terror and desperation rushing through her adrenaline-charged veins. The sun was there, behind those dark clouds. She reached for it, calling on the power and heat harnessed in its bright rays to counter the
garm
’s cold magic.

Please! Please! Help me!

The sun answered with a burst of warmth in her chest that flowed through her veins to the rest of her body. Her fingers flexed.

The
garm
sprang.

Kham folded her legs and dropped to the ground just as the monster plowed through the spot where she’d been standing. The bitter wind that whipped past in the
garm
’s wake stung the exposed areas of her skin. Kham hissed at the pain and clambered to her feet. Her muscles were still half-frozen and sluggish to respond, but at least she could move.

Snarling, teeth gnashing with furious clicks, the
garm
spun around for a second attack. Long, curving six-inch claws extended from the
garm
’s massive paws and dug deep for traction.

Kham looked around frantically. Behind her lay the cliffs and the frozen lake. She couldn’t run that way. Out in the open, she was dead. The creature was too fast, too powerful. She needed cover. Something to hide behind. Something to slow the
garm
down.

Flaming red eyes pinned her with lethal intent. The beast threw back its head, jaws agape. Kham covered her ears against the
garm
’s paralyzing shriek and ran for the trees.

The cold of its ice breath chilled her spine through the thick fur of her coat. She didn’t dare slow enough to look back. She could feel the
garm
behind her. A freezing void closing in on her, draining the warmth from everything around it.

Just ahead, a pile of snow-covered boulders lay tumbled in her path. Six feet behind it, the branches of a large spruce stretched out.

Her legs pumped as she raced for the tumble of rocks. For months, she’d chased after Krysti, trying to emulate the effortless way he scrambled up and down sheer cliff faces and treacherous mountain terrain.

Of course, bounding up cliffs and over obstacles with Krysti had been just a lark. A fun way to pass the time.

Now, her life depended on it.

She scanned the boulders as she ran towards them, calculating the distances, the inclines, noting all footholds and determining the path most suited to her own reach and abilities.

There was no time for fear or doubt and no room for error. She could only decide her path, commit to it, and pray she completed a successful run on the first try.

Khamsin put on a burst of speed and leaped towards the first rock. Her foot came down, angled perfectly against the incline. Her right sole made contact. She bent her knee to absorb her momentum and immediately pushed off, springing up and left towards the next rock in the pile. Leaping from foot to foot, rock to rock, she bounded up the pile of boulders and launched herself into the air. Her arms stretched out, gloved hands spread wide.

She caught the spruce branch with her fingertips and kicked up and out to swing her torso over the top of the branch. She pumped her legs again, planted her feet on either side of her hands, and leapt up to grab a higher branch overhead. She scrambled up the branches of the spruce, then paused to see what the
garm
would do next.

Below her, the
garm
leapt for the tree trunk, flexing long, curving claws. Kham’s eyes went wide. “Halla help me! The cursed thing can climb, too?”

Sure enough, the
garm
was scaling straight up the spruce’s broad trunk, its six-inch claws digging into wood as easily as they sliced through ice and frozen ground. The beast had almost reached Khamsin before she collected herself enough to jump for the next highest branch.

“A giant ice wolf, they called it,” Kham muttered as she scrambled up the tree. “Ice wolf, my ass. Show me one wolf—just one!—that can climb a tree!”

The branches grew thinner but more plentiful the higher she went. Hopefully, the thicket would slow down the
garm
—or, if she was lucky, stop it altogether. Khamsin cast a glance over her shoulder and promptly swore the air blue.

“You have
got
to be joking.”

Not only did the
garm
run swift as a wolf, breathe freezing mist like a frost dragon, and climb trees as effortlessly as a squirrel . . . but when the spruce branches threatened to keep the garm from its prey, the beast just chewed through them like they were breadsticks.

She scrambled higher, climbing faster, praying as she went.

The crevasse lay in Hodri’s path, a long, deep chasm gouged out of the underlying mountain. The crevasse was easily twenty-five feet wide—too far for a horse and rider to jump without considerable risk—but the
garm
’s tracks raced directly to its edge.

The gap might be a risky jump for horse and rider, but apparently not for the
garm.
As he reined Hodri in at the chasm’s edge, Wyn could see the disturbed snow on the opposite side where the
garm
had landed after leaping the distance. The tracks continued on from there, still heading directly for the valley, where a thunderstorm was brewing.

He started to turn Hodri left, intending to ride along the chasm’s edge until he found a safer place to cross, but a breeze blowing up from the valley brought him up short.

His head reared back, nostrils flaring at the distinctive scent of magic on the wind. Weather magic.

Storm magic.

Khamsin.

Fear struck hard. Wynter’s hands clenched around Hodri’s reins, knuckles turning white.

She was down there, in the valley. Wyrn only knew what madness had driven his reckless, imprudent wife to ignore his warnings and ride out into the forest during a Great Hunt, but she had. He knew the taste of her magic better than he knew his own.

Kham was down there. And the
garm
was heading straight for her.

For all he knew, it might already be upon her.

He wheeled his mount around and rode back a short distance. There wasn’t time to find a safer place to jump. The slightest delay could mean the difference between reaching Khamsin before the
garm
did, or finding her remains scattered across a blood-soaked field.

The latter possibility was unthinkable.

“Come on, boy,” he urged. “We can do this. We must. She needs us.” He touched his heels to Hodri’s side, and the stallion launched instantly into a fast gallop. Great hooves flashed, kicking up clods of packed snow as they raced towards the edge of the cliff.

Wyn heard the approach of Valik and the others as they crested the rise behind him, but he didn’t pull up, and Hodri didn’t slow.

The gaping chasm loomed before them.

“That’s the way, boy,” Wynter murmured. He bent low over Hodri’s neck and gave the stallion his head.

“Wyn!” Valik gave a shout. “Stop! It’s too far!”

Wynter’s only response was to urge Hodri to run faster. The drop-off loomed large before them, the twenty-five-foot gap looking more like fifty, but Hodri never faltered. At the very edge of the abyss, when one more step would have sent them plunging to their deaths, the stallion planted his rear hooves, gave an explosive release of power from his massive hindquarters, and leapt off the edge of the cliff.

“Wyn!” Valik cried.

Wyn hardly heard him. Horse and rider soared through the air like one of the mythic Valkyr, the fierce warrior-spirits who rode the winds on ghostly steeds, gathering souls for Eiran, the goddess of death. They came back to earth with a jolt, landing hard on the far side of the crevasse, a scant six inches from the edge.

Roars of victory erupted from the Wintermen gathered on the far side of the chasm.

“You frost brain!” Valik shouted. “You nearly got yourself kill—”

A loud, booming crack split the air. Valik’s scold broke off, and the Wintermen fell abruptly silent.

“Wyn!” Valik cried. His voice had gone from angry to alarmed. “Get out of there!”

“Hodri!” Wynter leaned hard over the saddle, digging his heels into Hodri’s side and giving the stallion plenty of rein. “Run, boy! Run!”

The ground beneath Hodri’s hooves began to shift as the underlying shelf of ice crumbled and fell away.

The stallion scrambled for purchase, barely managing to find solid ground before an enormous lip of ice tumbled down the mountainside.

On the opposite side of the crevasse, Valik and the others brought their mounts up short. What had been a risky twenty-five-foot jump was now an impassable forty-foot-wide chasm.

“We’ll have to ride ’round, Wyn. Stay there. We’ll cross at the first passable spot.”

“I can’t. Khamsin’s in trouble. Catch up as soon as you can.”

“Wyn! Wyn, damn you! Stop!”

But Wyn and Hodri were already galloping away, down towards the valley, towards Khamsin, following the large, platter-sized tracks of the
garm.

Kham clung to a thin branch near the top of the spruce and screamed down at the still-climbing
garm.
She didn’t dare go higher. The branch she was standing on was already bowed beneath her weight—and had started to make alarming snapping sounds.