Frost & Bothered (22 page)

M
y eyes popped open and I listened, hearing nothing. I was hugging a pillow and my head hurt. “Frigging gods.”

Yet the dreams when Sal visited weren’t ever chaotic or weird. Maybe it was just a dream, one my brain vomited out to soothe my guilt. I released the pillow and rolled onto my back.
Logan
.

No response. Blowing out a huff of air, I sat up to rub sleep from my eyes, the dream already fading. The hanging to my room rustled and moved. Kethyrdryll looked in, his face pale. “Selwin is gone.”

W
e stood in the pavilion’s doorway, watching the snow fly sideways as the wind whistled and moaned. The thorn barrier was barely visible, but we could see enough to know it wasn’t open.

“If you have to open it, I don’t see how the horse could get out,” Connor said. “There’s no blood. Nothing came in to attack her.”

“Yet she’s gone,” the elf said, letting his side of the hanging fall. He touched Leandra’s broad head and the hound whimpered. Patting her, he added, “We won’t be able to travel as quickly now.”

I left the doorway, Connor following. “Won’t be going anywhere until this blizzard stops. We can’t see the moon.”

“She wasn’t injured badly enough to die.” Kethyrdryll crossed to the table and sat.

“There’d be a body.” I dropped into my usual chair at his left, and massaged my temples. My headache was slowly improving.

“No, she would fade to nothing.”

“Oh.” A new bit of info I didn’t care to learn. “Do hounds do that too?”

“Yes.”

“How long do they live?”

“A very long time,” he replied. “One of the oldest in our pack counts more than five centuries, now.”

“Wow, Leglin’s not even, oh, crap.” My hand flew up to cover my mouth. I moved it enough to talk. “I wasn’t calling him. It only works if I’m actually calling him, right?”

“They should only appear when intentionally called, yet you’ve gone missing. He may have heard you.”

“Double crap.” I scanned the room. “He’s not here. Damn it, what if he did and he’s stuck on the other side of the mountains?”

“You’ve called him once. Call him again. And a third time. If he responded, you don’t want him crossing the river, and it’ll bring him past if your second call doesn’t.”

I looked at the elf. “Do you know that for sure?”

“No more than I’m certain he heard you at all.”

Argh. I hesitated, worried my hound was stuck somewhere, that I might dump him in the river, or bring him when he was safe at home because he hadn’t heard me.

“Three is a magical number,” Connor said. “Go ahead.”

“Leglin.” We all looked around. No hound. “Okay, one more time. Leglin.”

Nothing happened. I sighed and reached for the waiting teapot. “He can’t hear me. Good.”

“Good? Wouldn’t having another hound be better for us?” Connor sat down.

“He’s safe at home, and he takes care of the other dogs. I like knowing he’s safe.”

“There is a bonus.”

“What?”

Kethyrdryll smiled. “You’re bound to him and he to you. As long as the jewel on his collar reflects that bond, others will know you’re alive.”

“They’ll keep looking,” Connor realized. “Yeah, that’s a bonus.”

“Can you bind a hound to more than one person?”

The elf shook his head. “No, but some do listen and respond to others they are fond of.”

That was a new thing I didn’t mind learning. “We should eat. Be ready to go in case the snow quits soon.”

The snow didn’t stop until much later, while we slept after a day spent fighting cabin fever, because we were all anxious to get away from the place of our losses.

“W
hat the hell is that?” I watched the creature strip another limb from a tree and stuff the greenery into its car-sized mouth. Crunch, crunch. Splinters and slobber sprayed. “It has perfectly awful table manners.”

“A yeti.”

“Oh. Now I know why they call it the Abominable Snowman.” The yeti blinked its huge yellow eyes and smacked its rubbery lips, reaching for another limb. It resembled a gorilla in the face, with similarly long arms, as well. “Don’t suppose it only eats trees?”

“Has fangs,” Connor pointed. “It’ll eat meat if it can catch some.”

We all looked at the mile-wide, flat expanse before us, and then to either side. I sighed. “Guessing more yetis either way. Fun, fun, fun.”

“Glamour.”

“Huh?”

Kethyrdryll smiled. “I can create a glamour to hide us, though it won’t hide our scents.”

“It’s a mile.” Connor began undressing. “I can run that far, carrying you both, faster than Cordi can cross it on her own.”

The elf nodded. ”Physical contact will make holding the glamour in place less difficult.”

Look at us, coming up with a simple sneaky plan. I kept my mouth shut, determined not to jinx it. Connor stripped, and I rolled his clothing together to make it easier to carry.

He shifted and laid down. I climbed on, holding his bundle of clothes in one arm, and burying my free hand in his mane.

“Wait until I say,” Kethyrdryll cautioned him while sliding into place behind me. He didn’t speak a spell, or even wiggle his fingers, but stayed still for a good five minutes. Finally, Kethyrdryll put his arms around my waist, and took hold of the lion’s mane. “Go.”

Connor slowly stood and began walking, Leandra pacing him. Within a few paces he was trotting, and a few more, he began to run, his body elongating and contracting under us. The hound had no trouble keeping up.

Grinning, I managed to keep from laughing, knowing the yeti would hear.

I was riding a lion in winter.

The crossing of open ground went as planned, to my surprise. I wondered if it was because I hadn’t made or helped make the plan in any fashion. Connor passed through trees and I blinked. “What the ...?”

We were back where we started, in the far tree line, the yeti on our left enjoying his meal of tree limbs. The snowy expanse was clean, no sign of paw prints from our crossing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Game reset. Who does that?”

“The Unseelie,” Kethyrdryll muttered. “We’ll have to think of something different.”

We slid off Connor’s back, and I kicked at the snow.

“Bright side,” Connor said after shifting back. I shoved his bundle of clothes at him. “Or maybe bright side. If their enchantments are working, doesn’t that mean the Unseelie are still alive?”

The elf smiled. “Yes. Or at least some of them are.”

“Great. It’d be nice if somebody noticed us and came to see what we want.” I leaned against a tree trunk. “What are our options?”

“It’s too big to kill.” Connor had finished dressing. “Wounding it would probably make it angry.”

“Right.” We didn’t want an angry yeti chasing us. “Do you have a spell to put it to sleep?”

Kethyrdryll shook his head. “No, but you could attempt that.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You did say you feel what others feel, and can hear thoughts. Tell the yeti he’s tired, and make him feel it.”

“I’ve never done that before.”

The elf regarded me. “You’ve never encouraged another’s thoughts or emotions?”

I hedged. “Well ...”

“Lady Discord, I do appreciate the fact that you’re young, and have only had your abilities for a short time. But the young have a tendency to be curious. To test things.”

“Okay, fine. I’ve encouraged a few people not to be afraid. To be brave. But,” I lifted my hand. “I only did it to get them out of trouble, and they wanted to be braver, less scared.”

The men exchanged a look I didn’t quite understand before Connor said, “That yeti looks exhausted to me.”

“You better hope it’s tired, because I don’t know if I can make it do something it doesn’t want to.” I tightened the belt of my coat. “I have to get closer. Stay here.”

I didn’t worry about the yeti hearing snow squeak beneath my boots while I marched its direction. The creature couldn’t hear that noise over its crunchy meal. Yet I did my best to stay out of sight and not make any louder noises. Once I’d drawn close enough, I sat under a tree and closed my eyes, needing to calm myself before touching the yeti’s mind.

My nervousness wouldn’t help. Neither would my doubt. We needed across, so I had to do this. After a few minutes of slow, deep breathing, I opened my eyes and a small window in my mental maze. The window belonged to the room where I‘d housed my empathic ability.

Sal had given me some great advice, and I’d experimented, discovering it was a lot easier to use my active abilities if I compartmentalized them. Then I didn’t have to worry another ability would jump in.

I let a tendril of empathy escape, and guided it toward the yeti.

The creature was content. Plenty of food to eat, no others to fight for the right to eat it, and no man-things had come in a long time, to poke sticks or make their shrill sounds that hurt its ears.

Fascinated, I added a touch of telepathy and gently dug into its memories. That took several minutes, but I found one where it hadn’t attacked intruders.

Yay, I had a backup plan for us.

Carefully leaving its memories, I focused on my own and gathered a few of various times I’d been spectacularly tired. The yeti stopped chewing when I began to filter my remembered exhaustion into its mind. It began chewing again when a few seconds passed, but more slowly.

More chunks of wood and mashed pine needles fell from its mouth. The yeti swallowed and swiped the back of its hand across its mouth.

I increased the strength of my memories, upping the speed I sent them into the yeti’s mind.

It made a weird sucking noise, and I grinned when I realized it was yawning.
That’s right, you’re really, really sleepy. A nap is a great idea
.

About ten minutes passed before the yeti lay on its side, snoring away. I punched the air with both fists before standing to hurry back to the others. “Okay, let’s go.”

We began walking across the open stretch and I kept glancing at the yeti. It continued snoring away, a few globs of mostly chewed food clinging to the corners of its lips.

Not a cute sight, but a reassuring one.

I bumped into Connor, and turned my head to see what he was staring at. Another yeti was ambling toward us from the opposite direction. “Keep walking.”

“But ...”

I pushed him. “Keep walking. Don’t run.”

“We’re going to die,” he muttered, but began walking again. Kethyrdryll did too, Leandra beside him.

The hound’s hackles were raised and quivering.

“No, we’re not. Don’t run, and don’t attack it. Just keep walking.” The second yeti was nearly on top of us. I raised my arm and yelled out the word I’d “heard” in the other yeti’s memory.

It lifted its hand and stepped over us. Kethyrdryll laughed. He kept laughing until we reached the tree line, and there he bent over, really letting his hilarity flow.

“What’s so funny?” I couldn’t keep from smiling. Connor was chuckling.

Kethyrdryll looked up and gasped, “You told it ‘hello’ in Elvish, and it didn’t attack.”

My giggles bubbled up. “That was the secret password? Hello? Seriously?”

The elf caught his breath. “I’m certain our lack of panic was of assistance. That was brilliant, Lady Discord. Absolutely brilliant.”

“Thank Sleepy, not me. He has pretty clear memories, and those are where I learned it from.” I wiped my eyes, which had gone damp from suppressing the urge to laugh. “We still have to see if it worked. Come on.”

We tramped ahead, and saw nothing but trees and more snow. “No reset. Awesome.”

“Two challenges down.”

“How many more?”

“At least one, and of course, there’s the castle itself.”

“Okay.” We saved our breath for hiking after that.