EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (106 page)

A bang from outside captured Emma’s attention and she rushed toward the window. She peered through the smudged glass, trying to find the cause, but could not see anything more than a blur of shapes barreling through the dimness of the frozen forest below. Closing her eyes, she communicated with the polecat.
 

Whitefoot. Spy on Lord Lothar. See what’s the matter.

The polecat unraveled himself from Emma’s hair and scurried down her silver-blue dress to the floor. He hopped back and forth with excitement for a moment before dashing forward and squeezing through the space between the slate floor and door. Though Grimnear did not possess the complicated runes of Holyfell, Lothar kept Emma’s chambers locked with iron bolts from the outside, stating her confinement was for her own safety.

Emma sent one last thought to the polecat as he disappeared.
 

Be careful Whitefoot. Do not let the lord discover you.

I am too clever for his slow wits
, replied the polecat, and Emma’s face spread in a smile despite the fact she wore her wedding dress.

Emma returned to the window and waited, staring outward. She caught her reflection in the dark glass. Her eyes took on a melancholy even she did not recognize. Her hair had been piled high on top of her head. Ringlets escaped and sprayed over her neck and down her back. The dress clung to her as all the others she’d worn since arriving in these strange lands did, but this one shone with silver throughout, making it shimmer with every movement she made.

In these last days, she had wracked her mind for a solution to help those she loved, and still nothing came until today, when Lothar announced she would be prepared for their union. She did not know how to escape, so she had dressed, hoping at some point before her delivery to Lothar she would find a way to break free and make a run for it.

Within the long, sleepless nights she had made connection with the wolves swarming Castle Grimnear. They feared her at first, but Emma realized their trepidation sprung from their lack—lack of food, lack of security, lack of comfort.

Whitefoot entered her mind.
 

Intruders,
he said.
The lord calls one Erik. He’s furious he is here. He has called the wolves to corner and destroy him, but to save the woman who travels with them. He is confused about the woman—angry and eager at the same time.

Erik!
Emma spun from the window, covering her mouth with her hands to control a squeal.
Are you sure?
She held her breath, waiting for Whitefoot’s confirmation.

An image of Lothar speaking Erik’s name to his wolves bloomed in her head.

Emma’s heart thudded. Her breath quickened.
 

Come back to me Whitefoot,
she said.
 

Another image shot through her mind—the polecat scrambling along the corridor, slipper adorned feet giving chase, a waxy hand grabbing and squeezing. Then nothing. Her mind went blank.

Whitefoot!
Emma called to him, but the polecat did not reply.
 

Whitefoot!
she cried again.
 

Not a single image filled her mind. Her chest tightened, as her mind worked frantically.
 

Think, Emma, think.
She told herself.
I have to act now!

Emma closed her eyes, pressing them shut as she called to the pack of wolves outside Castle Grimnear.

Chapter XLVIII

T
HE
GUTTURAL
GROWL
OF
WOLVES
reverberated through the doorway of the dyrr. As Hallad exited the rift caused by the medallion, he tightened his cloak around him, against the icy air, and spotted the pack pinning its unseen prey against the base of a cliff. The creatures’ hackles spiked, engorging their size. He drew his swan sword to defend against them as Rota, carrying Swan, Olrun, Jorn, Ase, and Gisla appeared behind him. The rest of the Lion Clan had been left behind so their small party would risk less notice. Ase had insisted on traveling with them, arguing she was needed to ensure Swan’s care, and towed Gisla along, claiming the apprentice as a necessary companion. Hallad hadn’t agreed, citing they should remain safe in the Palace but conceded when Ravenna maintained that a priestess would be a necessary ally.

As the opening blinked out of existence, Hallad realized the dyrr delivering them to this spot had been a trap. When he had concentrated on his desired destination before departing Glitner, he had envisioned himself inside Grimnear, but he could not hold the thought, always blocked by darkness. The secondary endpoint outside the castle seemed suitable, until now.

Jorn, Olrun and Rota readied their blades. Rota balanced Swan on her shoulder as she took position with Olrun. Jorn waved the priestess and her attendant behind them, but the wolves remained trained on their target.

An explosion hit the pack. Ice, dirt and rock streamed through air, separating the wolves momentarily.
 

Hallad glimpsed Erik’s face through the parted beasts and screamed out, “Erik!”

Erik jolted at the sound, seeking Hallad across the distance.
 

Hallad could not read his expression—certainly startled, but relieved? Glad? At Hallad’s call, a wolf swiveled its enormous head around, hackles raised, canines piercing through pulled up lips. The creature stared at him, eyes glinting against the darkening sky. Then the beast raised its head skyward and yowled, its call resounding through the deadened forest surrounding them.

Branches cracked in reply, a brittle break in the night. Canine bodies entered Hallad’s line of sight, masses of shadows low to the ground, tearing in from every direction. More wolves sped toward the group, pads pounding against ice.

Rota placed Swan on the ground, while Ase and Gisla hovered over her. The warriors formed a tight circle around Swan, Gisla and the priestess, as the onslaught washed over them.
 

Wolves sprang from the dark, leaping through the air, meeting their swords. Though the creatures fell, more replaced the initial wave, until each of the warriors fought off several of the beasts at a time. The wolves’ jaws lunged, grabbed, and ripped at their arms and legs as the warriors continued to fight.

“Stand back!” Ase’s voice commanded over the tumult.
 

Hallad chanced a glance backward, giving a wolf the opportunity to pummel through the air, smacking into Hallad’s chest and sending him onto his back.

A man appeared in the center of their circle, his skin white as wax, his hair the color of winter’s frost. Two wolves flanked him, growling at Ase. Rota and Olrun rounded in unison, but more creatures leaped from the dark, dragging them downward. Jorn, struggling with two of the beasts on each arm, rushed forward, but the weight of the wolves sent him to his knees.

From his appearance out of thin air, Hallad assumed the man was none other than Lothar. The lord gestured with a slight flick of his wrist and the two animals at his side lunged, taking Ase and Gisla with them to the ground.
 

Gisla screamed, but Ase hit the ground with a silent thud.

 
Lothar stepped over Swan, peering down at her, examining her.

As the lord reached his hand downward, the two wolves pinning the priestess and her attendant raised their heads. Their ears flicked. Their eyes shot upward, toward the tower. In another breath, the rest of the army of beasts repeated the action. A whimper broke through them as their hackles dropped, tails folding under them.

Lothar growled a deep, rasping noise. The pack stiffened, unable to look toward him and he snarled again, this time barring his teeth.

 
“Do not defy me!” he yelled. “You obey me, not her!”

But his creatures lowered their heads, turned tail and scampered back into the forest, leaving the lord alone. Hallad lifted himself from the ground, scrambling to attack Lothar, but the lord disappeared into the air faster than a blink.

Confused at the beasts’ odd behavior, both Hallad and Erik stared across the distance at one another for a moment. Finally, Erik rushed forward. Hallad spread his arms to embrace him, warmth spreading his chest, but Erik dashed by him, his aim—Swan.

As Erik neared, his sword angled straight outward. Rota spun around to protect Swan while Olrun swiveled to face the onslaught of Erik. The drengmaer’s longer sword would reach Erik before he was ever close enough to damage Swan, but Erik raged onward any way, speeding as he closed the distance.

“Stop!” Hallad screamed.

Erik ignored him, barreling toward the drengmaers and his target.

“Erik! Blood brother! Stop!”

“I am not your blood sworn!” Erik skidded to a stop, turning toward Hallad. “You have betrayed me!”

“Nei, Erik, listen.” Hallad’s heart hammered at the fury filling his friend’s face.

“Nei! You listen for once!
That
,” he pointed his sword toward Swan, “shadow-thing imprisoned your sister.”

“You’re wrong.” Hallad said, his tone level.

“I saw her! Swirled with blackness. Emma screaming!”

“Nei, Erik. Lothar imprisoned Emma and he holds Swan’s spirit as well. That must be what you saw.”
 

Erik’s face strained, eyes flashing, mind working.
 

“You know of Lothar?”

“Ja,” said Hallad. “Both Emma and Swan’s spirit are there.” Hallad gestured toward the towering rock of Castle Grimnear looming above them. “There is nei point of us fighting, whatever you believe of me. But if you join me, we have a better chance to free them.”

The veins in Erik’s temples receded, his anger fizzling. Reason won over, but Hallad pressed on.

“With or without you, Erik, I must proceed.”

The two locked eyes, examining one another for long moments until a faint intake of breath fluttered behind Hallad. Hallad surged. The place inside him belonging to his sister stirred then faded. Expiring. Spinning on his heel he sprinted to Rota, taking Swan from her—his sister’s body limp, cold and pale.

“She dies,” said Hallad, his voice small in his throat.

“She cannot,” said Ase.

“I can feel her leaving me.” Hallad’s face flushed with heat, his teeth grinding into one another. A piercing pain flared in his chest. “Nei,” he whispered. “I have not even gotten to know you, sister. You cannot leave me.”

The spot belonging to Swan trembled within him—weakening, waning, dwindling.

“You must bond,” stated Ase. “Now. The bond must happen now, before she heaves her last breath.”

“How?” Hallad looked up through bleary eyes.
 

Rolf, a woman, and a dwarf approached from out of the cavern at the cliff’s edge.

“Nine.” Ase glanced around her, counting. “We need nine to complete the circle. I do not have the powers needed for the bond, but we must try.”

The woman alongside Rolf stepped forward, her tone light and rich at the same time.
 

“I do. I am Seretta, a songvari touched with all the elements of the Mother.”

Ase’s eyes widened at the woman’s statement.
 

“What about these lands? Are they too broken for a connection?” the priestess asked.

“For me alone,” said the woman. “But we have two.” She gestured for Rolf to come to her side. “This man has the touch, and I believe he is strong enough to be a songvari. Our joined song may be able reach the Mother, even here, where she lies dormant.”

Ase nodded while recalculating Rolf. Then she gathered them in a circle as she addressed the drengmaers.
 

“You know the words, taught to us by Serpent Mother for the bonding between sal drengmaers. For those of you who do not know them,” Ase gestured toward Rolf, the dwarf, Jorn and Erik, “you must concentrate on connecting these two souls. Join hands and let’s begin.”

Erik stood apart, refusing to come to the circle.
 

Ase gestured him forward.
 

“We need nine,” she said.

“Nei,” replied Erik.

“Come brother,” pleaded Rolf, but again, the elder brother shook his head, defying their plea.

Hallad turned his eyes, heavy with wetness, on his friend.
 

“Erik. Please,” he begged.
 

Erik stared at Hallad. His gaze flicked to Swan, draped over Hallad’s arms, limbs slack, skin so white she seemed tinted blue. Erik lowered his eyes to study the ground.

“Her time runs short, Erik.”

Erik twitched, digging the ground with the toe of his boot, lost in thought.

“I owe you my life, Erik. I have not forgotten the bond that we have and I will always honor it whether you want me to or not.”

Erik’s eyelids flicked, considering.

The dwarf interrupted. “I have traveled with you, Erik, because I believe in your quest, but more so, because I believe in you.” The little man’s eyes lit with compassion. “Over the many days of our travel I have come to know the man behind the stoic face. He’s a man who risks his own life to save a fallen dwarf. He’s a man who holds his brother’s love above the call of the Shadow. He’s a man who would not turn his back on his friend’s plea.” The dwarf held his fist over his chest. “He’s a man whose heart is larger than his pride.”

Erik bowed his head at the dwarf’s words, nodding, acknowledging the little man with a slight grimace. Reluctantly, Erik stalked into the circle, joining hands with the others.

Hallad heaved air into his lungs, and whispered, “Thank you, Erik. I will never forget this.”
 

But Erik still refused to meet his gaze.

The bonding song filled the air around them. White light coursed through Seretta’s—then Rolf’s—hands, seeking an outlet through the others, lighting the participants with a glow. Rota’s and Olrun’s voices joined, rough against the smooth tenor and falsetto of the songvaris. Rolf uncannily picked up the words as he watched Seretta’s lips, singing as if he already knew the song. Ase and Gisla sang as well, the foreign words flowing out of their mouths, while the dwarf squeezed his eyes shut in concentration. Jorn stared, his mouth hung wide as the beam of light spread, turning into a half circle above the ground, enveloping the circle.