Sanyare: The Winter Warrior (The Sanyare Chronicles Book 4) Page 12

  “Ah, Judith. Finally, you’ve arrived. I worried you wouldn’t come after all.”

  Lord Garamaen Sanyaro opened the small door fully, allowing Judith entrance into the room. Unfortunately, she practically had to crawl on hands and knees to fit inside.

  “Yes, I know the accommodations are a bit tight for those our size,” Garamaen said, as if reading her mind. “It is the best available, for now.”

  A fire crackled in a small hearth, effectively heating the small front room. Another door led deeper into the mountain. The bleat of a goat could be heard on the other side.

  “Come on in and get warm,” Garamaen urged.

  Judith gratefully took a seat by the fire, but her gaze kept wandering over to the back door.

  “Did I hear a baby?” she asked. She couldn’t help herself. What could Lord Garamaen Sanyaro possibly be doing with a baby, here, of all places?

  “Sadly, yes. She is the lone survivor of this disaster. In fact, if I hadn’t found that goat wandering around the slope this morning, she wouldn’t have made it either.”

  “Is Rie tending her?” Judith tried to peer around the edge of the door, to no avail.

  “Rie is trying to find the perpetrator of this mass murder. Bren is in her crib, the goat is keeping her company. They seem to have become friends. Would you like to see her?”

  Judith nodded, a twist of emotion catching the words in her throat.

  Garamaen responded with a rueful smile, and shuffled his way behind the door. Though Judith hadn’t met him prior to the meeting with the Moirai that had instigated this mess, she felt like he failed to live up to his reputation. The man’s skin was thin, stretched tight across bone and ligaments, and he moved with slow deliberation. The corners of his eyes were pinched, as if a headache or other ailment pained him. Yet he was supposed to be one of the greatest of the fae, a powerful lord of the elves. His injury didn’t explain this level of decline.

  A soft mewling sound met quiet murmurs. Garamaen shuffled back toward the fire, a swaddled babe in his arms and two of Rie’s winged companions clinging to his sleeves. The baby was so tiny, she seemed to disappear in the big man’s hands. Yet when she peeked out from the soft white cloth of her wrap, Judith was instantly smitten. Pink cheeks and a tuft of white hair, soft lips that blew a raspberry into the air. She was pure sweetness and light.

  “She has a kind soul,” Judith said.

  “A lucky soul, at the least. Here, hold her.” Garamaen reached out, to pass the baby into Judith’s arms, but the angel balked.

  “I have never held a baby in my life,” she said.

  A birth amongst the near-immortal guardians was rare and precious, the child raised under careful watch of the parents and maternal nursemaids. Prospective parents had to wait until need arose before they could hope for a chance to procreate. Though the community at large would help raise and train the children once their wings were developed, only the closest family and friends were invited into the newborn’s home.

  “If I remember correctly, you wanted to work with the traumatized souls of children. Well, now’s your chance.” Garamaen’s lips lifted in an encouraging but gentle grin.

  With a nervous glance at Garamaen’s face to make sure he was serious—and that she was doing it right—Judith took the precious package from his arms. She cradled the child as if she were made of the most fragile glass. Barely bigger than her hands, the creature fit perfectly within the crook of her arm.

  “What did you say her name was?”

  “We’ve chosen Breneidis—Bren—for now. We don’t know what her mother called her.”

  Wide, glistening blue eyes stared up into Judith’s face. The child cooed and waved a chubby fist in Judith’s direction.

  “Fenrir and his pack destroyed this village,” Garamaen murmured, almost whispering, as if to keep baby Bren from hearing the words. “Rie and Daenor have gone to find justice.”

  Just then, a tiny winged creature screeched into the room. One of Rie’s companions, Judith assumed, though she tightened her hold on the babe, just in case.

  “Rie and Daenor have been captured by the wolves!”

  “What!?” Garamaen’s voice echoed around the small room, the stone walls doing nothing to dampen the sound.

  Judith’s shoulders tightened, and her heart pounded in her chest. Rie, capable and determined, had been captured by wolves? What lunacy was this?

  Bren burst into tears, her entire face scrunching up as she wailed her distress. Judith forced her muscles to relax and bounced the baby gently, trying to soothe the poor creature, but to no avail. Her plaintive cries sounded like a siren announcing an emergency of greatest proportion.

  The pixies who had been monitoring the baby, now gathered around the messenger, who landed shivering on a cushion near the fire. The tiny creature huddled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her chest and turning her back to the fire while slowly opening and closing her wings. She looked near frozen, despite the coat that covered her from head to toe.

  “We f-found a back tunnel in the m-mountain,” the pixie chattered. “R-Rie and D-Daenor followed Fenrir out onto the tundra. It was a trap.”

  “Of course it was a trap. Fools.” Garamaen rubbed a hand across his face. “No wonder I can’t See her anymore.”

  “She couldn’t See the trap until it was too late.”

  “I warned her that would happen. Fenrir is null. And I suppose she was bitten.”

  “Both of them were.”

  “Gods damn it all.”

  Judith lifted an eyebrow at the cursing but refrained from saying anything. She couldn’t blame him, though she wouldn’t dare risk the gods censure herself. Sometimes you got what you asked for.

  “So we go get them,” Judith said. It didn’t seem like such a big deal to her. “They are just large dogs, yes?” She didn’t have much experience with physical animals—none, in fact—but she’d seen a few of the human memories of their pets, and dogs featured heavily in those visions.

  But Garamaen shook his head. “These are sentient fae. They grow to the size of horses, sometimes larger, and can think and speak with the fluency of any intelligent creature. This was a planned ambush, I’m sure of it.”

  “It was,” the pixie chimed, her shoulders less hunched as the heat did its job. “They misled us with footprints, then charged out when we were too far to retreat back into the mountain.”

  The baby finally hiccupped and quieted, her eyes closing in sleep as if the fit had entirely worn her out.

  “We cannot leave them there,” Judith said, thinking that though Rie might not be her favorite person in the world, she was still an ally.

  “Of course not. But we won’t be able to defeat the wolves in their own territory, either. They are too strong, too fast. And we have the baby to consider.”

  “I will return her to her people and gather your allies.” It only seemed logical. Judith was faster than Sanyaro, especially since she wouldn’t be slowed by the snow.

  “They might not come.”

  “Then I will find someone who will.”

  Sanyaro closed his eyes, his lips pressed together. “It will be dangerous, but you’ll have to enter through the gates of the city. Don’t try to fly over the walls or you will be shot down. Both you and Bren will be lost.”

  “Shot down?” Judith asked, taken aback. She offered no violence to the residents of the city.

  Garamaen nodded, opening his eyes once more. “The Battle of the Arches is still fresh in the frost sidhe memory. An angel flying overhead will be seen as an attack, and they won’t hesitate to protect Crystal City.”

  “A single angel?”

  “One or a hundred, it won’t matter. Protect Bren. And hurry. I can’t See the wolves, but I can’t leave Rie with them for long. They have every reason to project their anger at me onto my apprentice and heir.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WARMTH. IT HAD only been a few hours out on the mountain, but she hadn’t realize
d how cold she’d gotten until the heat inside the cave blasted her in the face. Heat, with no light. How was that even possible? Yet the farther they walked into the mountain, the warmer and darker it became.

  Rie clutched at Daenor’s shoulder, trusting the superior night vision of his dark elf heritage. She, on the other hand, could hardly see the hand in front of her. Without Daenor’s sword or their fire magic, there was no way to light their path.

  “Keep going,” Fenrir said.

  The wolves pushed them through a series of tunnels all seeming to travel down into the depths of the mountain. Rie’s arm throbbed in painful complaint with every step. Every breath put pressure on the joint, every twist of her neck forced a whimper from her lips.

  “We have to rest. I need to set her shoulder,” Daenor said into the darkness.

  “You can rest when we get there.”

  “Get where?” Rie asked, wincing as even the movement of her jaw seemed to make her entire upper body ache.

  Fenrir chuffed another rough laugh. “Your prison. Do not worry, you will be chained to a rock, but we will feed you.”

  The chortles of the entire pack echoed around the cavern. Rie swallowed down a heavy lump. Their magic wasn’t working. They were injured. The pixies were gone, might have been eaten for all Rie knew. The wolves had surely covered their tracks and taken care to leave no trace of their whereabouts. Garamaen wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for them.

  This was a disaster. An ill-conceived, ill-fated idea. They had underestimated Fenrir and his pack.

  She dropped her forehead to rest between Daenor’s shoulder blades. His hand reached up to clasp her fingers. He was there with her. At least they had that much.

  A muted green glow lightened the tunnel up ahead. Rie could finally see the ground on which they walked. Then the walls came into focus. One final narrow passage and they entered the largest interior cavern Rie had yet seen.

  Steam rose from an underground lake bright with some kind of bioluminescent algae. The room was so hot, Rie wanted to remove her cloak. Maybe even her thermal shirt. But the smell of sulphur and minerals seared her nose. She let go of Daenor’s shoulder to cover her nose with her elbow.

  The wolves—at least twelve of them now—pushed past their prisoners and ranged out around the lake. Though they no longer snarled and growled, their expressions remained intensely focused on their captives.

  “Welcome to the rest of your lives.” The smirk was evident in Fenrir’s tone, even though Rie couldn’t see his face.

  The cavern was large, but Rie didn’t see how they were going to be chained to anything. Wolves didn’t have opposable thumbs. But the pack herded them to the far wall. The wolves pressed in close, a solid wall of fur and flesh that made Rie’s own hackles rise. She tried to ignore the aggressive dominance of the predators at her back, focusing instead on the trap that waited for them.

  A series of large metal rings had been set into the stone. They looked old, like they’d been there for decades already, waiting to be used. On the ground, heavy chains wound in a spiral, the ends capped with single round manacles that would lock when pressed together.

  “Chain yourself to the wall,” Fenrir commanded Daenor.

  “Why would I do that?” Daenor ground out. His gaze had turned feral, the fire leaking into his irises. His magic might be weak, but it still burned within his soul. Rie thought that must be a good sign. The poison in the wolves’ saliva hadn’t eaten away everything, yet.

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll tear her arm the rest of the way off and let her bleed out in front of you.”

  Rie felt hot breath on the back of her neck. She tried to dodge out of the way, but she was too slow. Two other wolves pressed in from either side, caging her between thickly furred shoulders. A giant maw filled with sharp canine teeth pressed down on her injured shoulder, eliciting an uncontrollable whimper.

  “Her shoulder needs to be set,” Daenor argued. “I have to get it back in its socket before any more damage is done.”

  “After you are both chained, you can help.”

  Daenor’s shoulders slumped as he acquiesced to Fenrir’s command. He picked up the circle. Studied the loop. It was too big to clasp his wrist.

  “Around your neck,” Fenrir huffed. “A collar for the livestock you’ve become.”

  Maybe that explained the original purpose of the chains.

  Without further complaint but with anger burning in his eyes, Daenor clasped the collar around his throat, pressing the ends together. Rie couldn’t tell if the lock had been set.

  “Tighter,” Fenrir commanded.

  Daenor grimaced but pushed the metal another notch.

  “Again.”

  “Any tighter and the metal will cut into my skin.”

  Fenrir shook his head from side to side, shaking out the fur around his neck and emphasizing the ring of skin where the fur had been worn away. “Do you think this was comfortable? For two thousand years I wore that collar. Now you will wear the same until your dying day.”

  “Do you really want to continue this feud?” Rie asked. “Force others to suffer the same injustice that you served?”

  Fenrir ignored her words. “Tighter.”

  Daenor clenched his jaw but forced the collar another click.

  “Now, you.” Brute pushed Rie down the line.

  Once again, she stumbled, tripping over a stone on the floor. Her legs were getting weaker, whether blood loss or magical influence, she couldn’t say. But she remained on the floor where she lay.

  Daenor gazed at her with worry written across his expression, but he didn’t say another word. Both of them knew the wolves wouldn’t allow any deviation from their plan. The chain was inevitable unless she chose death. But they still had hope. Death was not guaranteed.

  Swallowing down an angry yet sad lump in her throat, Rie clasped the collar around her neck, clicking the metal tight to her skin. Fenrir approached, his expression smug. Rie fought her desire to lean away as the wolf put his face next to hers. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of fear.

  Hot breath spread its foul cloud across her cheek. Rie closed her eyes, swallowing down the bile that coated the back of her throat. A shifting of the chain.

  Fenrir gripped the iron between his fangs and deliberately stepped on her chest, pressing her injured shoulder into the ground. Rie screamed, hot tears pouring from her eyes. Fenrir’s paw held her in place as she twisted, trying in vain to relieve the pain in her shoulder.

  Daenor lunged forward, but the wolves stepped between him and their leader. “I’ll kill you for this,” he swore.

  A tug on the collar around her neck tore a second ragged scream from Rie’s throat.

  Fenrir dropped the chain and released Rie from his hold. “You may try, but you will not succeed.”

  Rie curled into a fetal position, clutching her arm to her chest.

  Fenrir moved to Daenor’s chain. Daenor tried to back away, but the wolves growled and surrounded him.

  “Kneel,” Fenrir ordered.

  One of the wolves shoved Daenor from behind, knocking him to the floor. Fenrir grabbed the chain and yanked on it, testing the strength at the wall, and the binding at Daenor’s neck, same as he’d done to Rie. However, unlike Rie, Daenor didn’t make a sound.

  Fenrir opened his mouth, dropping the chain with a clatter. He grinned, satisfied. “Now, we wait.”

  Still gasping for air and trying to control the pain radiating throughout her neck and shoulder, Rie watched the great wolf exit the cavern.

  Despite his fierce bravado, the elder wolf couldn’t hide his age. His steps were heavy compared to his younger packmates, his gray fur dull and shabby. Yet the faster, more agile wolves saw him out of the warm cavern without protest. The few who stayed—including the small female, Lil—quickly curled up with their noses next to their tails, apparently ready for a nap.

  “I have to fix your arm,” Daenor murmured.

  He moved closer to
Rie’s side, the chain attached to the wall dragging behind him. The clank and groan of metal against stone emphasized their predicament. Rie squeezed her eyes shut, taking a breath to settle her emotions and prepare for another agonizing trial.

  Though her breath still shuddered in her lungs, Rie agreed. “I’m ready.”

  “Lie on your back.” His words were stark and practical, but his expression tightened in empathy.

  Rie nodded and rolled over. Every movement was agony. She gritted her teeth against the pain, unwilling to burden Daenor with guilt for hurting her.

  Daenor sat beside her, his hands gentle on the wound. “I’m going to bind this up first.” He tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his undershirt.

  Rie had almost forgotten about the laceration in her bicep. How could she have forgotten that? But the pain in her shoulder overwhelmed every other sensation.

  Now she looked down at her arm, thoroughly examining the wound for the first time. Well, thoroughly might be too strong of a word. The dim luminescence of whatever algae lived in the lake was hardly enough to perform surgery. But it was enough to see the injuries.

  A long slash cut across her bicep, still oozing a faint trickle of blood. The material of her shirt was torn and stiff, sticking to her skin and crusting the edges of the deep laceration. The wound throbbed with each beat of her heart. It needed to be washed clean and bound.

  But that wasn’t nearly as worrisome as her shoulder. The angle of the bone was all wrong.

  She swallowed. “Do it.”

  “We need clean water. Can anyone bring some clean water?” Daenor asked the sleeping wolves.

  Lil cracked an eyelid. “Use the lake.”

  “I don’t know if it’s clean. There could be bacteria, or the algae might bring on infection.”

  The wolf cocked her head to the side, quizzically. “It’s underground. It’s clean.”

  “If only I could start a fire, I’d boil the water to be sure,” Daenor murmured.

  “Just bind it for now. I can’t think around the shoulder pain,” Rie replied. Her head was growing foggier and more confused by the moment.