CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

DID YOU SEE THE SIZE OF THOSE HOWLER TRACKS?” Borya said as he and Connor took their turn hauling one of the sledges.

“I was trying not to think about it,” Connor replied. Though the creatures did not attack Grimur’s cabin during the night, their massive footprints—more bear than wolf—and the number of prints made it clear just how many of them had been close by, and how big those beasts were.

“Desya and I have fought off wolves plenty of times, out in the Western Plains,” Borya said. “Can’t say the same for bears.”

“We’re just lucky the magicked creatures can’t spawn,” Connor muttered. “At least this way, we’ve got a chance of killing them all off someday.” His calf hurt with every step, though he refused to mention it. Zaryae had done all she could, and Connor knew he was healing faster than normal. There was nothing to gain by complaining, but that did not ease the pain.

“I’ll be glad to be back in Donderath,” Borya replied. “After this, I don’t think I’ll complain that anything is cold again!”

“The last time I was here, the temperatures were dropping. So it actually gets worse than this—a lot worse,” Connor replied. Talking with Zaryae and the twins helped to pass the time as they trekked toward the mountains. Verran was reserved and snappish, still in a foul mood about Kane. Kane was consistently surly, which Connor guessed was his natural way of being. Maybe that suits Grimur fine, Connor thought. Makes for less conversation.

The Long Dark made it difficult to figure time, but from the position of the stars, Connor knew the day was far spent by the time they reached the foothills of the mountains. Kane led them with a tracker’s instincts across the rough terrain. When the pass became too rough for the sledges, they shouldered the gear they would need for the night.

“I hope we’re close,” Desya said. “I don’t fancy carrying this up the side of a mountain.”

Despite Connor’s fears that they might face a magically trapped obstacle course as they had in Valshoa, Grimur’s description of the ritual space was accurate. A circle of standing stones much like those near Lundmyhre had been erected in a valley surrounded by large, sharp peaks. Once, the pillars and lintels must have all been upright, but weather and the earthquakes common when Estendall erupted had shaken some of the huge stones from their places and they lay toppled and broken. Most had remained in place, and even imperfect, the circle was imposing, and Connor felt a primal level of awe.

“Grimur says they called the place ‘Erhenjal.’” Kane’s voice was unexpected, and Connor startled, shaken from his thoughts. “He says he matched some of the runes carved into the stones with that diary he gave McFadden, the one by the old mage.”

“Valtyr,” Connor supplied. “The mage’s name was Valtyr.”

“Yeah,” Kane said. “That one.”

“Who made the circle?” Connor asked, drawn to move closer but wary of setting off any lingering protections.

“Don’t know. Grimur says he doesn’t know, either,” Kane answered, looking up at the tops of the tall pillars. “But whoever they were, they knew how to build.”

Kane turned to face Connor. “You see ghosts, right? See any around here?”

Connor had been on guard for any ghostly intruders as they neared the Grief Mountains. From the time they had set out from Grimur’s cabin, Connor had sensed occasional flashes of presence, and guessed them to be hunters who had lost their way on the ice or fallen prey to wild animals. None of those spirits had made a move to communicate, and Connor was content to leave well enough alone.

From the time they entered the Grief Mountains, however, the sense of ghostly presence grew stronger. Connor had the clear impression that ghosts were watching their group as they entered the pass, willing them to leave. The ghosts did not attempt to stop their progress, but Connor found their baleful silence was unwelcoming. Whether or not they were malevolent still remained to be seen.

“You sense them.” Zaryae had walked up beside Connor, and she laid a hand on his arm. Kane walked around the standing stones, perhaps checking for danger, or maybe as much in awe of them as Connor.

“Yes.” It was a relief not to have to either hide or explain his abilities to Zaryae. Her acceptance of his gifts made Connor feel normal in a way no one had since before the Cataclysm.

“Friend or foe?”

Connor shook his head. “I don’t know yet. Right now, they’re trying to figure the same thing out about us.”

“If no one actually lived here, why are there ghosts?” Zaryae asked.

“Good question,” Connor replied. “If I could find out how they died, I might have a better idea of whether or not the standing stones are a danger.”

“Grimur didn’t think so,” Zaryae replied.

“Grimur is a talishte-mage. There are a lot of things that wouldn’t be a danger to him that could do us plenty of damage,” Connor replied. “And there are predators that wouldn’t even approach him that would pounce on us in a heartbeat.”

“Can you make contact with the ghosts?”

Connor chewed on his lip as he thought. “I’m sure I can. But I don’t know how or if the ghosts figure into the safeguards Grimur set up for the… item. I’d rather keep my distance unless they approach us, at least until Grimur is here to ask. I’d hate to blunder into setting off his protections.”

“Have you had any visions?” Connor asked. The wind gusted through the pass. Zaryae shivered, and Connor moved closer to shield her, slipping his arm around her shoulder. She smiled appreciatively and leaned into him to escape the wind.

“I feel uneasy,” Zaryae said, “and I’m not sure why. It’s not the same as before Valshoa or Mirdalur. Then, I knew we were in for serious trouble. Here…” Her voice drifted off as she considered her words. “Here I have the feeling that the future is in flux, that things could go several different ways, some good and some bad.” She shrugged and gave a weak smile. “Sorry. It’s not a very precise gift sometimes.”

“Just listen carefully to those voices you hear, in case anything changes,” Connor said. “I hope Grimur’s right and it’s as simple as he made it sound. But I won’t really believe that until we’re safely back in Donderath.”

They walked back toward where the others were already setting up the tents Grimur had packed for them. Two canvas tents plus bedrolls would shelter them for the night. Verran was making a circle of small rocks for cooking and setting out some of the firewood. Borya rummaged through the packs for dried meat, cheese, and fruit and some hard bread, along with wineskins and water jugs. Borya arranged the sledges to block the entrance to the pass, making it easy for them to make a quick exit if need be, but presenting obstacles for any unexpected guests. Kane continued walking the perimeter, having put himself on first watch.

“We’ve still got a candlemark or so before Grimur and Nidhud join us,” Borya said, craning his neck to see the sky for the mountains around them. Out beyond the pass, they heard distant howling. The two talishte had gone to scout the area, making sure they would be safe for the rest of the night.

“Let’s hope they get here before those beasts do,” Verran muttered, shaken by the howls.

Connor glanced over his shoulder, assuring himself that Kane was still out of earshot. “What’s your grudge against Kane, other than that he was a guard at Velant?”

Verran glared at Connor as if he were daft. “Isn’t that enough? You’ve heard Mick and Piran talk about what it was like in there. We got beaten, starved, frozen, worked like dogs, and worse. Kane wasn’t the worst of the guards, I’ll give him that. But he didn’t do anything to stop bad stuff from happening, either.”

With that, Verran walked away toward the mouth of the pass. “Stay where you can see us,” Borya yelled after him.

“What do you make of him?” Desya asked with a jerk of his head toward where Kane was on the far side of the standing stones.

“If he didn’t have a bond to Grimur, I’d be more inclined to worry,” Connor replied. “But you saw what happened when he wanted to hit me. Grimur wouldn’t allow it.”

“Fine for you. What about the rest of us?” Borya asked.

“Penhallow wants us back safely. His intent carries through the bond. Kane can’t harm us, or permit us to come to harm if he can avoid it without Penhallow and Grimur intervening,” Connor said. “If he tries to betray us, Penhallow will know. And even though Kane is all the way up here, it wouldn’t be good for him.”

The howlers’ cries echoed in the mountain pass, making it difficult to know where they were. Close, Connor thought. Too close. Much as he hated the thought of crossing the ice again and risking another encounter with the tunnelers, he had already decided that they could not return to Bay-town fast enough for him.

In the mountain pass, the perpetual twilight gave way to dark shadows. Connor and his friends lit the lanterns Grimur and Nidhud had packed for them and waited.

“Let’s begin.” Grimur’s voice startled them. He and Nidhud stepped out of the darkness and into the glow of the lanterns. “This shouldn’t take long.” It seemed strange that no cloud of mist came when Grimur spoke. No body heat, so no reason to see his breath in the cold. And if the talishte did not need to speak, he did not have to breathe.

Kane joined the group, while Borya took his place on watch. Verran, Desya, and Zaryae hung back, curious onlookers without a role in the ritual. Nidhud, Grimur, Connor, and Kane walked into the center of the stone circle, and Grimur took a boline knife from his belt. Nidhud held a small wooden bowl. Once they were assembled inside the ring of standing stones, Grimur lifted his knife and began to walk widdershins in a circle between where the others stood and the stones themselves. As he walked, he murmured words Connor did not catch. Grimur was raising strong magic, setting a warding to contain the power he called—and perhaps, to avoid having the power be noticed by someone else.

The wards rose with a slight shimmer against the shadows. When Grimur finished, he walked back to where the others waited. Nidhud held out the wooden bowl. Kane was the first to push back his sleeve, baring his scarred left forearm. Grimur lifted the knife to each of the four quarters and murmured under his breath. Then he made a thin cut into Kane’s arm, just enough to raise a line of blood and drip freely into the bowl.

Connor felt his heart thud as he extended his own arm and pulled back his sleeve. Grimur drew the sharp edge of the knife along the skin, and blood beaded up from the cut. Grimur added several drops of Connor’s blood to the bowl, then thrust out his own bony arm and did the same. He flicked the knife blade over the mingled blood, adding his own to the mix, chanting.

Grimur held the bowl up to the night sky, turning to each of the quarters, then he lowered the bowl and walked to the center of the stone circle. Grimur dipped the knife into the blood and traced the blade in a circle on the thin dirt. He repeated the action three times, and then tilted the bowl, letting the crimson fluid drip into the center of the small circle.

“Once, I bid you open. Twice, I bid you open. Thrice, and it shall be done.”

Connor blinked, and the ground in the center of the small circle had vanished. In its place was a shallow hole in the rocky ground. Grimur gave the blood bowl to Nidhud and reached into the hole, retrieving a cloth-wrapped bundle tied with strips of leather. He raised it carefully and passed it to Nidhud.

“You understand the power of the blade you hold,” Grimur said gravely.

Nidhud nodded. “I will protect it with my existence, and see that it reaches Lanyon Penhallow safely,” he promised.

“Now can we get out of here?” Kane asked, fidgeting. “I’ve got a feeling that something’s about to go wrong.”

Grimur nodded and began to walk the circle deasil, releasing the energy of the warding he had set. The iridescent shimmer blinked out, and they stood in the shadows once more.

Connor, the Wraith Lord said, I can see beyond the mountain pass. There’s a dangerous storm coming. You’ve got to get out of there.

Before Connor could speak, Zaryae rushed up to the edge of the circle. “We’re in danger,” she warned. “There’s a storm coming, a bad one. If it gets between us and Bay-town, we’re not likely to make it back alive.”

“I’ve just heard the same from the Wraith Lord,” Connor said. “We’re in trouble.”

“True night is no time for mortals to be out on the ice,” Grimur argued. “We could lose you to the howlers or capreols—or to the tunnelers—as easily as to a storm.”

“We have three mages,” Nidhud said, looking to Grimur and to Connor as the Wraith Lord’s proxy. “And we’re all fighters. Beasts can be defeated, but storms are more powerful than most magic. I agree with the Wraith Lord. We have no choice but to head back now.”

“Can I say that trying to outrun a storm is a really bad idea?” Kane objected. “It’s suicide.”

“Your shelter was not designed to withstand a full storm,” Grimur replied. “And if a storm brings feet of fresh snow with it, you’ll find it much harder to hike back.”

“We spent the day walking,” Kane argued. “Now you want us to turn around and hike another day?”

“You don’t have provisions to be stranded here,” Grimur countered. “The nearest of my caches is still a two-candlemark walk from here, in good weather. And while you would have difficulty navigating in a storm, the magicked beasts have no such problem. You would be easy prey.”

Kane looked from Grimur to Nidhud, then to Connor and Zaryae. He threw his arms up and rolled his eyes. “All right. Since you’re not going to listen, let’s strike camp and get going. Bay-town isn’t getting any closer.”

Zaryae went to talk to the twins while Connor walked back to where Verran was standing. “I heard,” Verran said before Connor could tell him about the change in plans. “And for once, I actually agree with Kane. I think it’s suicide.” He frowned. “The only problem is, staying here is even worse.”

They packed up the tents and provisions quickly, although Connor could not help a wistful sigh as they loaded the equipment back on the sledges. He could have used a night’s sleep, especially when he already ached from the day’s trek. He saw the same weariness in the others’ faces, along with a reflection of the fear that he felt in the pit of his stomach.

“If we shift the provisions around, perhaps one or two people could rest on the sledges for a bit, while the others pull,” Zaryae suggested. “We might not drop in our tracks as quickly.”

“Grimur and I can help,” Nidhud offered. “That will relieve you of some of the burden.”

Reluctantly, they left the relative shelter of the mountain pass and headed back across the ice. Grimur and Nidhud took the first turn pulling the sledges, and where it would take two of the others to pull each of the sledges with the extra weight of a person on it, the two talishte barely seemed slowed by the load. The twilight glow cast the snow in an eerie blue, making everything around them seem unreal. Connor and Zaryae, by virtue of their injuries, were the first to rest on the sledges. Although Connor doubted that he would be able to sleep as the sledges ground across the ice, he found himself waking from deep slumber two candlemarks later.

“Verran and Desya are going to rest next,” Borya said as he exchanged places with Nidhud to help pull the sledge. Kane shouldered into the other harness, while Nidhud went to scout the path ahead.

Although it had been less than a day since they had passed this way, their tracks were already obliterated by the constant wind. No new snow had fallen yet, and what remained from previous storms had become crystalized with ice. The wind picked up the frozen snow and swept it across the ice, stinging and sharp when it hit skin. The temperature had grown much colder. Connor and the others were glad for their heavy boots and coats, hats, scarves, and mittens.

Nidhud returned half a candlemark later. “We’re being shadowed by a pack of howlers,” he reported. “Probably the ones that caught your scent on the way in.”

“I thought you said the howlers weren’t likely to bother us if talishte were with us?” Verran questioned.

Nidhud raised an eyebrow. “And they haven’t—at least, not yet. They’re merely following us, for now. Most of the time, howlers won’t attack talishte. But if they’re hungry and game is scarce, or they believe their pack is up to the challenge, then they may test their strength.”

Though his muscles still ached and he would gladly have slept much longer, the few candlemarks of sleep helped more than Connor expected. Don’t tarry, the Wraith Lord warned him. The weather is moving in quickly, faster than I originally expected. You may not make it back to Grimur’s cabin before it strikes, but the less time you spend in the storm, the better your chances.

We can’t move any faster, Connor grumbled. Nidhud and Grimur could, but the rest of us could never keep up, even if we abandoned the sledges. We’ll have to do the best we can.

By Connor’s calculations, they should have about five more candlemarks to go before they would reach Grimur’s cabin. The faster they could cover ground, the better their odds against any predator stalking them.

Snow began to fall, and the wind grew stronger. The group kept on trudging as Kane and Borya took their turn to rest. On the horizon, Connor could make out slouching silhouettes that moved in parallel to them. Howlers, waiting for a chance to strike.

“We’re almost to where the deep snows give the tunnelers room to maneuver,” Grimur warned. “Once we get there, we’ll need to spread out more so we put less pressure on the top snow. That way, there’s less chance of someone breaking through into the tunnelers’ holes.”

Connor glanced back to the horizon. The howlers were gone. A warning prickled at the back of his neck.

“Danger!” Zaryae cried. Dark shapes seemed to appear out of the snow itself as the howlers ran toward them from all directions, a dozen strong.

“Kane! Borya! We’re under attack!” Zaryae shouted as she drew her short sword, a hunting knife clutched in her left hand. Connor and the others readied their swords, while Nidhud and Grimur chose a direction to face off with the charging beasts.

Help me! Connor summoned the Wraith Lord. Whether I fight with my sword or with your magic, I’m starting out tired and injured. I can’t protect them on my own.

Nidhud swept his right arm in a powerful arc, and two of the howlers went reeling, slammed by an invisible force. Grimur pushed forward with both palms out, sending two more of the beasts tumbling head over tail. Verran had a sling and a pouch of rocks, and a wicked knife hung at his belt. He sent his missiles singing through the cold air with deadly aim. One of his rocks struck a howler between the eyes, and the beast dropped to the ground, unconscious if not dead. Kane’s sword held off a thickly built gray-and-brown howler that sprang with a deep, guttural growl.

Borya and Desya echoed the howls of the predators as they slashed at the beasts with their blades, managing to stay out of range of the huge, powerful paws and wickedly sharp claws. Zaryae positioned herself to watch Connor’s back. A dark-gray male came slinking toward Connor, sizing up its prey. One ear was notched from old fights, lips parted over large, sharp teeth.

The now-familiar tingle of magic surged through Connor as the Wraith Lord possessed him. Something alerted the howler to the change, because its eyes narrowed and it slowed its advance. Connor did not wait for it to spring. The Wraith Lord’s spirit swept away his exhaustion and dampened the pain, making him faster and stronger. With a roar of his own, Connor rushed toward the howler, moving with the deadly confidence of a warrior who had seen a thousand years of battle.

A second howler headed for Connor, only to stop in its tracks as a ball of packed, hard snow smashed across its forehead. Zaryae grinned in triumph, and the howler reoriented itself warily, giving Grimur the chance to send the monster reeling with a blast of magic. Zaryae made another ice ball, and this time, her target was the howler attacking Borya. Her aim held true, smacking the creature on the side of the head over one ear. Its hesitation was enough to give Borya the opening he needed to dive forward and sink his blade into the beast’s side.

Connor knew that while Zaryae could defend herself at close quarters with a knife, swordplay was not her strength. Her well-aimed ice balls were not as lethal as Verran’s sling and rocks, but as she danced back and forth, emerging to throw and then dodging behind the fighters again, she kept the creatures distracted, and harried them enough to give Connor and the others an advantage.

“Are you crazy?” Kane shouted at Zaryae. The howler took a swipe with its huge paw and missed Kane by inches, a strike that would have torn out his midsection, but Kane twisted at the last minute and brought his sword down hard, severing the howler’s head.

The Wraith Lord’s full focus was on the howler that stalked Connor. Whatever the howler made of the change that had come over Connor, the creature was not willing to give up without a fight. Behind him, Connor heard the shouts of Borya, Desya, and Kane as they fought the howlers, and the hum and thwack of rocks hitting their targets with deadly accuracy as Verran wielded his sling and Zaryae lobbed ice balls. Nidhud and Grimur were keeping half the pack occupied, forcing them back with magic that threw the creatures across the ice time and again. Undaunted, the monsters always returned.

It was a test of wills, Connor thought, to see which one of them could get close enough to strike. He had to get in close to land a blow with his sword, but that put him in reach of the howler’s massive paw and its curved, strong claws. He moved in swiftly, getting in a strike that bloodied the howler’s front shoulder but did not sever the limb. The howler roared in anger and pain and sprang, and Connor felt the swish of a paw barely miss him, while the claws opened a gash on the sleeve of his coat.

Not for the first time, Connor rued the fact that although he was faster and stronger than without the Wraith Lord’s help, possession did not grant him full talishte abilities. Against mortal opponents, the edge he gained was enough. But the howlers were creatures of the wild-magic storms, unnatural beasts endowed with more than their share of lethal abilities.

Connor saw an opportunity and took it, diving toward the howler to slide his sword between its ribs. The beast wheeled, striking a glancing blow that caught Connor on the shoulder and sent him sprawling. The howler gave a mighty shake and Connor’s sword went flying, only to skitter away on the icy crust of snow. The beast’s claws had raked his left shoulder, opening up his coat and skin. Blood ran down his arm, and the injury combined with the force of his landing slowed Connor’s reactions. He saw the howler crouch, then leap, claws outstretched, fangs bared.

A rush of power filled him, and before he could fully register his reaction, Connor’s right hand came up and fire erupted from his palm. The blast struck the howler square in the chest, engulfing it in flames and sending it flying through the air, hard enough to crash through the skin of ice on top of the snow when it landed. The beast screamed, its thick fur on fire, writhing as it tried to free itself. The air was full of the stench of burned hair and flesh.

“What in Raka are you?” Kane swore, registering what had happened despite his own desperate fight.

“Angry.” Connor rose to his feet, still full of the Wraith Lord’s power. He strode toward the howlers Kane and Verran fought. One of the beasts was dead, its skull cracked open by Verran’s rocks, lying in a pool of blood in the snow. Another was dazed, shaking its head after a glancing hit. Kane danced in and out of range of a third howler, and both he and the creature looked the worse for the wear. Kane’s shoulder was bloodied, and he had a gash on one thigh. The howler had a deep, bloody slit in its side, so that the flesh hung away revealing its ribs. Another strike had cost it an ear and part of the skin on its face. Still the howler was not going to give up easily.

“Move!” Connor yelled. The streak of fire he sent barely missed Kane, and struck the injured howler with its full force, enveloping its body in flames. The creature screamed, but the fire was hot enough to peel the skin from the bones, and within seconds, the howler collapsed dead in a charred heap.

Glancing around, Connor could see that half the pack was down, dead, or wounded too badly to get up again. That left six howlers still fighting. Nidhud had stopped trying to throw the howlers, and instead used his magic to grasp the huge animals in an invisible grip, then twist or bend them to snap the spine. Grimur’s magic crafted an invisible claw of his own that could tear out the beast’s throat or crush its skull. That left four.

Borya and Desya, to their credit, had taken down two of the creatures with just their sword skill and quick reflexes. The snow around them was trampled and bloody as they fought two of the remaining monsters. Borya looked as if he were actually enjoying the match, while Desya was favoring his left leg, and Connor could see that Desya’s pants were dark with blood.

Connor could feel the effects of channeling the Wraith Lord. He was waning and he knew it. Though he had sustained the magic much longer aboard the ship, he was not fully recovered enough to withstand another outpouring of equal energy. I might have one more blast in me before I land on my face in the snow, Connor warned. Let’s make it count.

Before he could determine a target, a new shadow rose out of the semidarkness behind them. This figure was much larger than the howlers, a massive form that stood as tall as a draft horse but even more thickly set, and from its head sprang a rack of antlers easily as wide across as a man’s height. The four remaining howlers abandoned their fight and ran for the shadows.

The new creature moved as fast as a horse at full gallop, straight at Zaryae. Before Connor could get a clear view of what was happening, Kane ran into the path of the monster, shoving Zaryae out of the way. The beast ducked its head and rammed into Kane with the full force of its flat, broad antlers, edged as sharp as any sword. The antlers caught Kane in the belly and cut him in two, scooping his upper body into the air and tossing it aside as the lower half sank into the bloody ground.

“Kane! Zaryae!” Connor took a step, but Zaryae was between him and what he guessed must be a capreol, so sending a fiery blast was out of the question until he could get a clear shot.

Grimur was the first to move, and he jumped into the air, waving his hands frantically over his head. “Hey! Hey! Over here!” he shouted. The capreol snorted and pawed its front hooves. Grimur took off with a blur of talishte speed, charging the capreol with an answering bellow. The huge, horned creature snorted and stamped its forelegs, answering the challenge. At the last moment, Grimur veered off at an angle with the capreol in pursuit.

“Has he gone mad?” Verran said with disbelief.

“Everyone! Follow but stay back!” Nidhud shouted. Connor mustered his remaining strength and headed after Grimur at a distance.

Connor’s boot crunched down through an inch of snow and he froze. Grimur said we were close to the end of the rock shelf. That means the deep snow, and tunnelers. And Grimur’s heading right out into it with the capreol behind him.

“Stop there!” Grimur shouted as Nidhud ventured closer. The capreol galloped across the hardened snow at its full speed. Grimur’s movements looked more like skating, and Connor realized that the talishte was using his speed to reduce the weight he placed on the snow, in case the tunnelers had hollowed it out beneath him.

“Connor! Fire—now!” Trusting that Grimur could get out of the way, the Wraith Lord’s power rose once more within Connor and he thrust out his arm, releasing a torrent of fire that hit the capreol broadside in its huge torso. Grimur’s silhouette was barely visible through the flames, but suddenly the crust of snow crumbled beneath where he and the monster had been standing. The break sounded like thunder, and a huge sinkhole spread across the ice, sending a cloud of snow and ice crystals into the air. The capreol bellowed, and dropped into the sinkhole, its hooves scrabbling to find solid ground. Grimur vanished.

“Grimur!” Connor shouted. He took a step toward the sinkhole.

“Don’t move!” Nidhud shouted. “The whole crust could go. Back up—slowly.”

Before Connor could argue, he saw something rising amid the snowcloud. Grimur’s head and shoulders came into view, and then the rest of the talishte, hovering in the air. Grimur set himself down on the ice a safe distance from the sinkhole, unharmed.

From deep in the tunnelers’ ice shaft came a horrible, screeching sound. It was quickly drowned out by the vicious growls of dozens of tunnelers, attacking their helpless prey. The sound made the blood drain from Connor’s face as he pictured the carnage in the close confines of the ice tunnels. The rest of the group was waiting restlessly for them to return. Unsure of how much the others could see, Connor gave a terse recap.

“What do we do about Kane?” Borya asked, nodding toward where the fighter’s remains lay.

“I will see to him.” Grimur’s expression was somber. He collected Kane’s savaged body and carried the pieces a short distance, paying no attention to the blood that dripped in a steady rivulet down his arms. When he had reached a suitable place, he set down Kane’s body and then used his magic to scrape out a deep trench for a grave. He made another gesture, and the icy snow fell back into place, covering the body, and then added a thrust of power to harden the ice in place. For a moment, Grimur stood over the grave, head bowed.

“If the land between here and Grimur’s cabin is lousy with tunnelers, and the crust is broken, how do we get back without ending up like that monster with the antlers?” Verran hissed, keeping his voice low.

“We move carefully, spread out to minimize the weight on the ice’s surface,” Nidhud replied. “And hope that luck is with us.”

Connor had already come to the conclusion that neither day nor night were safe anywhere on Edgeland’s far ice, even with the help of two powerful talishte, but he kept his opinion to himself. Grimur wiped his hands in the snow to remove the worst of the blood and then headed back to join them.

“Stay about six feet apart,” Grimur warned them. “We want to avoid putting too much weight on the ice, but if we get a true blizzard, we don’t want to be separated. Nidhud will go first, and use his magic to sense the tunnelers beneath the surface. Connor should go second, so that any information the Wraith Lord shares with him can affect our path. I’ll bring up the rear, in case we’re attacked again.”

The wind was blowing harder now, and snow fell at a steady pace. “Let’s get moving,” Grimur said brusquely. “We’ve still got candlemarks to go, and the storm is closing in quickly.”

The next two candlemarks seemed like an eternity as they traced a meandering line across the ice to avoid the tunneler’s traps. “I can’t see the whole ice field at one time,” Nidhud muttered to Connor at the forefront of the party. “Just a few feet in front of us. So while I’d love to go faster, we can’t without ending up like the capreol.”

Borya and Desya hauled the sledges. Verran kept his slingshot handy, though his supply of stones was running low. Zaryae had made half a dozen ice balls, which she kept at the ready by turning up the edge of her long coat like a sling. The Grief Mountains behind them were completely hidden in the snow squalls of the storm.

Crusted snow slowed their steps, and the indirect course sapped their energy. Despite his heavy coat, Connor was cold to the bone. Every muscle ached, and he was utterly weary. Only the knowledge that death would come quickly should he stop to rest kept him on his feet. Ice clung to the scarf covering his face as his breath condensed and froze, and his hands and feet were numb. Zaryae had begun to stumble, and she accepted Connor’s arm without protest. Nidhud and Grimur had shouldered the sledges, since it was all the others could do to keep on moving. After another candlemark, they reached firm ground once more.

“Unload the sledges,” Grimur said. “We can safely leave the supplies here,” Grimur said. “I can come back for them tomorrow. We’re not far now from my cabin. Get on the sledges and Nidhud and I can drag you the rest of the way.”

Connor, Zaryae, and Verran collapsed onto one of the sledges while Borya and Desya swallowed their pride and accepted seats on the other. Connor was sure the two talishte were also exhausted, but he had seen enough talishte strength firsthand to accept that Grimur and Nidhud were still in less danger from the elements than the mortals in the group.

“Come on,” he said, jostling Zaryae. “Stay awake. We’re almost back to the cabin.”

“So tired,” she said, her voice quiet and slurred.

“If it weren’t so damn cold, I’d threaten to sing,” Verran said. “But Connor’s right—none of us dares fall asleep.”

Connor and Verran huddled close to Zaryae, trying to shield her from the wind and share what little body heat they had. Zaryae’s head lolled on Connor’s shoulder, and he kept up a murmured running conversation, urging her to remain conscious. The sledge sank through the inches of new powder and ground over the icy, granulated snow beneath. Wind howled across the wide-open, frigid landscape and large flakes fell like a white curtain from the clouds overhead. Dimly, Connor was aware that Penhallow and the Wraith Lord gave him a mental nudge whenever the cold and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him.

“We’re here.” Grimur shook Verran awake.

“We need to get Zaryae inside and warm,” Connor said. “I haven’t been able to rouse her for a little while now.”

Grimur and Nidhud lit the lanterns. Connor carried Zaryae to the cabin and laid her down on the bed. Though Grimur himself had no need of blankets, the cabin was obviously outfitted for the comfort and safety of occasional mortal guests. “Come on, Zaryae,” Connor coaxed, though his hands were shaking so much it was difficult to unfasten her heavy coat and pull off her boots. Connor’s hands and feet felt numb and leaden, and his face tingled painfully as circulation returned.

“Wake up,” he urged. “Please. Wake up.” Zaryae’s skin was pale and cold to the touch. She murmured groggily, but Connor was unsure whether that meant she had heard him. He stripped off her sodden gloves and scarf, and wiped away the snow from her fur hat. Then he and Borya bundled her in blankets while Desya got a fire going.

“Once that fire gets going, we can move her closer,” Verran said. “But don’t try to warm her too quickly. That doesn’t go well.” He made a face. “Believe me, I know more about frostbite and ice sickness than I ever wanted to learn.”

“You don’t look so good, either,” Borya commented archly, taking in Connor’s condition. “I don’t pretend to know how you channel that ghost lord, but you look ready to drop.”

“I’ll be all right,” Connor protested, too worried about Zaryae to focus on his own discomfort.

“All of us are ready to drop,” Verran argued. “We’ll take turns sitting up with her. Once the rest of us warm up, we can bundle together under the blankets and use our body heat to break the chill, but we have to have heat ourselves before we can share it.”

Grimur went back outside and returned with a cauldron of something that had frozen solid in the snow. “Venison stew. I figured you’d want something warm, but it will take a bit to thaw. In the meantime, there’re dried meats and provisions on the table.”

Verran filled a kettle with snow and placed it on the hearth to boil, and a second pot of snow farther back from the flames to melt for drinking water. Then he joined the others, who were dividing up the dried meat, cheese, and herring, plus thick slices of bread. “For someone who doesn’t eat, you put on a good dinner,” Verran remarked.

“I find it useful to be prepared,” Grimur remarked. “Now that your needs are met, Nidhud and I must hunt. Today has been… taxing… and tomorrow comes soon.” With that, he and Nidhud headed out of the cabin and back into the snow.

“Let’s just hope there’s some game dumb enough to be out in a storm,” Verran remarked. “I don’t fancy being a snack.”

Connor felt light-headed with exhaustion and hunger, glad to take his portion of the food and sit down on the floor beside Zaryae’s bed. “Once the stew warms up, we should try to get some of the broth into her,” he said. “She’s chilled through.”

“After all that, I sure hope the fancy knife turns out to be worth it,” Verran said.

“If it’s as powerful as Penhallow believes, it could remove Thrane as a threat—and Reese and his followers, too,” Connor replied. He turned his attention inward to the Wraith Lord. Testing the Spike is obviously out of the question, but is there a way to make sure its magic still works, and didn’t get corrupted by the Cataclysm? Connor had firsthand experience with artifacts that had become dangerously changed when the Cataclysm changed the magic. He had no desire to add to those nightmares.

There’s no good way to ‘test’ the Spike, the Wraith Lord answered. For obvious reasons. First, it would be a wanton disregard for life, in addition to the fact that it would surely tip our hand to Thrane. And as you know, magical objects don’t have unlimited uses. It would be a pity to test it and use it up before the real battle.

What if it doesn’t work?

Penhallow and Dolan and I have come up with secondary plans. But all of them are more difficult, more dangerous, and certain to cost more lives, Vandholt replied. Let’s hope that the Spike retains its power, for at least one more use.

Borya lifted an eyebrow. “Penhallow must trust you quite a bit. Did it ever occur to you that Thrane isn’t the only one the knife could be turned against?”

The thought had crossed Connor’s mind, and he had understood why Grimur handed off the knife to Nidhud. By now you should know, it is not a lack of trust, Bevin, the Wraith Lord’s voice supplied in his mind. Nidhud is better able to guard the knife on the trip home. But he could not have obtained it without you. You’ve done well.

I’m too tired to care about Thrane or Reese or the wars back in Donderath, Connor replied silently. Right now, I just want Zaryae to wake up, and I want to fall asleep. After everything that’s happened, surely that’s not too much to ask? He did not expect an answer, and despite his best efforts, resigned himself to sleep.