Sanyare: The Winter Warrior (The Sanyare Chronicles Book 4) Page 2

  Rie examined her master’s face, looking for any hint of indecision. Fine lines of pain branched out from the corners of his eyes. His typical teasing twinkle was gone.

  “What’s happened?” Rie finally asked.

  “A barbegazi village has been attacked. Slaughtered might be the better word. And it has all the signs of Fenrir. They don’t know how or why he escaped, but they’re sure it’s him. So am I.”

  “Why?” Daenor asked, his tone skeptical.

  Garamaen met his gaze, solemn and unflinching. “Because the great wolves of the Winter Realm cannot be Seen. They are immune to our magic. And I no longer See the future.”

  “Why can’t the frost sidhe help? Shouldn’t this be their task?” Rie asked.

  “I was the one who chained the wolf. It’s my responsibility.” Garamaen began the short trek up the stairs to his rooms. “Be ready to leave in an hour. Both of you.”

  He paused one more time, hand on the stair railing. “And leave the mechanical weapons behind. They’ll mark us out as intruders.”

  ***

  “Well, I don’t know about you all, but I’m excited!” Niinka chirped, zipping from her seat on Rie’s shoulder to the pixie’s nest in the wrought-iron chandelier above the bed.

  “About the Winter Realm? The most inhospitable of the nine faerie realms?” Hiinto replied. Niinka’s little brother generally preferred warm beds and soft cushions over any kind of challenge or hardship.

  “Only inhospitable to pixies. The frost sidhe find it quite comfortable,” Tiik replied. “In fact, did you know that in the last six thousand years, the frost sidhe population has boomed? Prior to settling the Winter Realm, women with ice abilities had the lowest live birth rate. The year-round cold seems to have boosted their rate of conception and successful delivery.”

  “Only you would find that interesting,” Niinka said, voice muffled. Her head and arms were buried in the feathers and fluff of the nest.

  Daenor shook his head. “It’s just as inhospitable for fire sidhe. Who, in their right mind, would want to live in a place that snows year round?”

  “Actually, that brings up a good point.” Rie sat on the overstuffed chair in the corner and rubbed her hands across her face. How was she supposed to plan for a journey to the coldest region of all the realms? “I don’t think you guys can come. Your wings will freeze. It’ll be worse even than the Northern Province of the Upper Realm.”

  “You’re not including me in that statement, are you? ‘Cause I strongly protest if you are.” Daenor winked, the upward quirk of his lip a giveaway that he wasn’t being serious.

  “Nah, you’re stuck with me and the snow,” Rie replied. “Sanyaro’s orders.”

  Possn—the shyest of the pixies and typically the hardest to find—shivered so violently, she shook the bedside lamp she hid in. “Not fun.”

  “Pfft,” Niinka dismissed the argument with a buzz of her wings. “I’m not missing an adventure just because of a little cold.”

  “You don’t wear clothes, Niinka. You could literally freeze to death.”

  “I could make traveling garments for them,” Plink offered, stepping out of the closet where she spent much of her time. The imp stood about a foot high and looked like a cross between a giant rat and a tiny goat, which was made even more comical by the frilly apron covered in pins.

  Niinka flew out of the nest so fast, she trailed feathers behind her. Eyes bright and hopeful, she hovered in front of the imp. “Fur-lined and cozy?”

  “If you like. I’ve already prepared your winter cloak, Apprentice Sanyare.”

  “Thank you,” Rie replied with a smile. “But you should call me Rie.” Plink had attached herself to Rie in the Shadow Realm, declaring her intent to be Rie’s lady-in-waiting after Plink’s former master was murdered right in front of her. Now she made it a personal priority to predict Rie’s every need.

  Plink ignored the comment. “I hope you don’t mind, but I modified the long traveling cloak Lhéwen made for you. I didn’t change any of the outer wrapping, just added a removable inner fur for cold weather. You’ll still need to wear layers underneath, but the fur should be enough insulation to keep your body heat contained when it’s buttoned.”

  “I’m sure you’ve done a wonderful job, and I doubt Lhéwen will mind the modifications.”

  “Would you like to try it on?” Hope and eager anticipation shone bright in Plink’s eyes.

  “Of course.”

  Popping back into the closet with a puff of displaced air, Plink returned within seconds translocating herself and the cloak directly onto the bed. Not for the first time, Rie admired the imp’s ability to go anywhere with a thought.

  Plink spread the amethyst fabric so that it lay flat, showcasing the design touches she’d added to the cloak. The entire inside had been lined with a dense layer of black fur, and the hood had been transformed with a bushy cowl. Within seconds, the pixies were rolling around in the soft material.

  “Plink, you’ve outdone yourself,” Daenor murmured, running a hand across the black interior. He seemed nearly as enamored with the fur as the pixies.

  “I chose shorn beaver fur for its extreme warmth and durability but relative light weight. The hood is done in fox fur, so that your breath won’t freeze on the strands. The buttons for the lining are small and hidden throughout the cloak, so if you want to wear the spider silk alone, you can easily remove the fur. But the silk is water repellant and wind resistant. It will help retain your heat even in the worst weather.”

  “How did you know I was going to need this?” Rie asked.

  “I didn’t,” Plink grinned. “I was just so cold myself in the Northern Province, taking care of those kids in that drafty old manse, I thought we should all have some warmer clothes. I made yours first, but I have a prototype for the pixies to try on. Theirs were trickier because of the wings. I also wasn’t sure they would wear clothes, given their need to hide.”

  “Ooh, let me see!” Niinka chimed, sitting up in the longer fur of the hood.

  Plink’s grin grew wider. “Of course!”

  She popped back into the closet and returned with the tiny garment in hand. Plink helped Niinka slide it on while the other pixies watched. Made of strips of the same black beaver fur as the lining of Rie’s cloak, the pixies’ new garment wrapped over their shoulders and draped between their wings. Ingenious threads could then be attached above and below the wing joint to hold the cloak together in a tight wrap.

  “Can you move your wings around?” Plink asked, circling around Niinka as she examined her work.

  Niinka slowly flapped her wings, picking up speed until she was hovering just a quarter-inch off the surface of the bed. “It’s heavy, and I’ll be slow, but I can fly!”

  “Good.” Plink ran a hand along Niinka’s shoulder, smoothing out the cloak. “Now, if your wings get too cold and you don’t need to fly, you can just tuck them down under these flaps here,” Plink explained, flipping down a shoulder piece that draped over the entire garment. “But if you need to fly, you just pull it up and wrap it around your neck like a scarf. It’ll also add a bit of extra wind protection around your face if you pull it over your head like a hood, so the only exposed skin will be around your eyes.”

  “My turn!” Hiinto shouted.

  “Can I get it in a different color?” Niinka asked.

  Rie couldn’t help chuckling.

  “What?” Niinka demanded, hands on hips. “If I’m going to wear clothes for the first time, I want them to be fashionable.”

  “Yes, but it’s not very practical. If you choose some bright yellow or orange, you might as well announce to the world where you are,” Rie replied. “At least the black will blend with the shadows at night.”

  “You’ll blend with the lining of Rie’s cloak too, since it’s the exact same fur from the same tanner.” Plink added. “But it doesn’t much matter. I only have the black beaver fur.”

  Niinka huffed and pouted but seemed to a
ccept the explanation.

  “Are you going to try yours on?” Plink asked Rie hopefully.

  “Of course. I was just waiting for the pixies to clear out of the fur.”

  Standing next to the bed, Rie lifted the cloak off the covers and swung it around her shoulders. The beaver pelt was perhaps the softest material she’d ever felt in a garment, and surprisingly lightweight. She drew the hood over her face and clasped the buttons down the front of the cloak.

  Peering into the full-length mirror attached to her closet door, Rie was amazed at the image. The amethyst spider silk gleamed in the light of the chandelier, a near-match to the color of her eyes, while the black fur of the lining blended with the messy bob of hair that framed her face. Though it no longer had the loose freedom of movement as Lhéwen originally intended, the weight of the fur inside didn’t damage the draping or pull against the outer shell. Meanwhile, the hood obscured most of her face without limiting her ability to breathe properly.

  “You look amazing . . . -ly warm,” Daenor teased from his perch on the bed. “Though I can hardly see you in there.”

  “Thanks. That’s probably a good thing.” Rie’s lips twisted into a scowl. “The frost sidhe won’t be too thrilled to find us wandering their realm.”

  Daenor tipped his head in acknowledgment. “If we’re hidden well enough, they won’t know we’re there.”

  “Here’s hoping.” Rie looked in the mirror once more, carefully examining Plink’s handiwork. Daenor was right, only her eyes and a bit of her nose were visible when she pulled up the hood. She smiled, grateful for the imp’s ingenuity.

  “You certainly learned a few things from your former master,” Rie said lightly to Plink, knowing the memory was still difficult to bear.

  Plink’s face fell in a sad frown. “Yes. Garran always gave me opportunities and scraps to practice with, though I never had the chance to create a full garment for a client.”

  “Well, you’re about to get a lot of work,” Rie nodded toward the pixies who were arguing over who got to wear the cloak next.

  “It won’t take me long to sew them. I already cut most of the pieces out.”

  “Good!” Niinka chimed. “Then I don’t have to share mine!”

  “Better hurry,” Rie mock whispered with a wink.

  “Yes, less than a bell to prepare,” Plink replied, serious and determined. “I’ll have you ready to go.”

  “What about me?” Daenor asked. “Do I get a matching coat?”

  Plink’s face scrunched into an embarrassed frown. “I didn’t acquire enough fur. I hadn’t really considered that you would need one, since you hadn’t been through the Northern Province with us. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Plink. I can make do.”

  “I bet Greg has extras,” Rie replied. Her mentor seemed to live by the mantra ‘always be prepared’. And for a man with highly developed foresight, preparation was subconscious. Rie tried to channel some of that aptitude. “What else do we need? We’ll have to pack carefully for a hike through the cold.”

  “Lots of blades, extra clothes, gloves and hats, extra rations,” Daenor said, counting the items off on his fingers.

  “But no guns. I wonder at the prohibition,” Rie said. She’d been practicing with a small .45 caliber pistol. She’d grown fond of the weapon, though the enchanted khukuri knives would remain her first choice.

  “Of all the races, the frost sidhe are the most insular and isolated,” Tiik said.

  Rie mentally groaned. The pixie’s voice had dropped into the smooth monotone he used when lecturing on a new topic. This could take awhile.

  “Perhaps because of the harsh realm in which they live,” Tiik continued, “the masters of the cold keep to their own. As such, they haven’t kept up with the rapid growth and development in the human race. They feel mechanical weapons are vulgar creations, inferior to the blade and bow, and have banned them from the realm.”

  “So they hated humans before the Battle of the Arches,” Rie interrupted, trying to cut off the speech before it got going too far. “Good to know we’re headed into friendly territory.”

  “Don’t forget, you just sent them scurrying home with their tails between their legs, afraid for their mortal souls,” Daenor replied. “If they spot us, we’re dead.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE SENSATION OF being simultaneously stretched and squeezed never failed to twist Rie’s stomach into a knot, though she hid it well. After decades traveling the portals of the Upper Realm, her composure was solid. But she needed half a heartbeat to truly throw off the disorientation, especially when the weather changed from breezy summer beach to blizzard in an instant.

  Rie tugged the cloak tighter around her shoulders, making sure there were no gaps where the frigid air could needle its way inside. She had taken Plink’s advice and worn multiple layers underneath, including the amlug hide armor and a long-sleeved human-made thermal shirt, but she knew even a tiny gap would lose too much body heat too fast to keep up.

  Daenor stepped up beside her. “People really choose to live here?” he asked, wrapping his arms tight against his chest, gloved hands tucked under his armpits.

  “Yep.” Garamaen leaned in to wrap his arms over their shoulders and insert his head between. “Welcome to the home of the frost sidhe and the barbegazi, the most inhospitable realm in all of the nine.”

  He pushed his way between them and strode forward into the snow.

  “Let’s go, before we freeze in place,” Deanor urged. He reached out for Rie’s hand, then realized it was buried beneath her cloak. “Agh,” he grunted.

  “Sorry, I’m not doing anything to compromise the heat retention of this fur. Just stay close.”

  Daenor chuckled. “Fair enough. I just wish I had a big fur blanket to huddle under with you, too.”

  Garamaen had lent Daenor a full-length bear-hide duster with a deep hood. He claimed it dated back to the early nineteenth century, when he’d lived in the pioneer west as an eccentric mountain man. With tanned leather on the outside and thick brown, un-dyed fur on the inside, Rie could believe him. Like Rie’s own cloak, the duster almost completely hid Daenor from view. A good thing, since his darker skin and black leather armor would have certainly identified him as a member of the Shadow Guard.

  “He certainly looks the part of a mountain man, doesn’t he?” Niinka chirped. “Too bad that backside is covered.”

  “Mmm,” Rie replied noncommittally. Her lips twitched in a suppressed smile, but she didn’t want to encourage the pixie’s speculation about Daenor, or his backside. Only she was allowed to do that.

  Niinka huddled next to Rie’s neck, within the hood of the cloak, her wings tucked tight behind her and beneath her own tiny winter coat. Plink had done well, completing winter garments for each of the pixies. But knowing how cold it would be, they had chosen to hide within the hoods of their greater fae companions until they absolutely needed to fly. Or something shiny grabbed their attention.

  Niinka and Hiinto stayed with Rie, Gikl—who had already bonded with Daenor and rarely stayed with Rie anymore anyway—and Possn traveled with Daenor, and Tiik caught a ride with Garamaen.

  Rie hoped Greg didn’t regret allowing the pixie professor into his hood. Now that he had an outlet for his intellectual curiosity, she imagined he would incessantly discuss history and Rie’s training.

  In any case, all five pixies had chosen to make the journey, despite the cold. Only Plink stayed home to help Hilgor maintain the house and continue her work with the human refugees who had survived the Battle of the Arches. She said she’d had enough of frozen wastelands for the foreseeable future.

  Like most elvish colonies, the Winter Realm portal was kept on the outskirts of the city, with an easy means of guarding the entrance into the realm. In this case, the stone archway had been imbedded inside what appeared to be a glacier. When the veil was closed, the arch looked like it led into a solid wall of ice at least ten stories tall.

 
Rie and Daenor followed Greg down an icy blue tunnel, just a sliver of sky above their heads to light the way. Cold radiated down toward them from all sides, but at least there was no wind to beat at them or snow to needle at their faces. Wide enough to allow ten men abreast, the tunnel didn’t quite feel claustrophobic, but Rie still hoped they found the end quickly.

  A pair of elves dressed in similar cold weather attire to Rie’s group pushed past with a cart full of what looked like bags of grain. She couldn’t tell what realm they were from, but given the way they shuddered and clutched their cloaks around their bodies, she figured they must not be frost sidhe.

  Another group passed, carrying bundles of furs strapped to their backs.

  “Ah, good,” Greg said, turning to gesture them forward more quickly. “The market is open. Easier for us to get into and out of the city unnoticed.”

  Rie grimaced at the reminder that they entered inhospitable territory and gave another tug on her cloak.

  The tunnel exit was guarded on either side by carved ice sculptures of frost sidhe warriors in full regalia at least fifty feet tall, and their matching, living counterparts. Silver plate over white fur, and tall pointed helms reminded Rie of the damage the frost sidhe could do. Ice was their specialty, and they could bring it to bear as quickly as Daenor could throw fire.

  Rie dropped her chin to allow the cloak’s hood to better cover her face, while Daenor gave his a tug to pull the fur forward, as if preparing for the wind that howled across the glacier opening. Greg didn’t seem to worry about being noticed, though he didn’t reveal his identity to the guards, either. He simply walked past, as if he had all the time and not a care in the world. Nor did he seem to react to the blast of icy wind that assaulted them as soon as they stepped out of the buffer of the glacier.

  Rie, on the other hand, had to brace herself against the storm. But the guards didn’t stop them. They kept their eyes forward, standing at attention against the ice wall. Not a muscle twitched. Two more guards were positioned outside the glacier, standing at attention as if they didn’t feel the blizzard blasting them from three sides. They faced the city, its defensive ice wall just a few hundred yards from the portal tunnel. However, the gap between natural glacier and sculpted fortification was filled to bursting with market stalls and tents, merchants hawking their wares.