With Mirza mentioning the animals, Ryne recalled the familiarity he had with their howls. The six-legged creatures were descendants of similar beasts created from the Forms during the height of the wars between the Eztezians and the gods. Coveted for their ability to traverse the worst terrain, many a hunter or herder reared them. However, unlike their namesakes, they lacked hanging jowls, their features more like the wide-muzzled lapras that inhabited the wilds of Ostania.
Behind them, Galiana had stopped to peer up the gully.
“Can we outrun them?” Ryne hefted Ancel higher onto his back.
“No.” Mirza tilted his head; his face strained with concentration. “They don’t seem to quite have our scent yet, but once they do, we’ll have a mile, maybe two at best before they catch us.”
Galiana kicked her spurs and her horse trotted over to where they stood. Worry creased her forehead. “Go.”
Ryne turned and began loping up the path Charra had made. Behind came another bray from the rockhounds.
“How far is this place of yours?” Galiana called.
“After this gully, maybe another four miles.”
“Too far. Our pursuers are close enough now that they will pick up our scents at any moment.”
“There must be something one of you can do,” Mirza said.
“Anything I try will destroy any chance we have. If you are what you say you are, Ryne. Now would be the time to act.”
Ryne gave a slow shake of his head, while trying to ignore his burning limbs. “Despite what you have read, there are limits to our power. And I have just about reached mine. I refuse to attempt anything that will jeopardize Ancel’s life any further.”
“If they catch us, it will not matter,” Galiana said.
Ryne pushed harder, willing himself to place one foot after another. He would see Ancel through this no matter what. If he was forced to fight, then he would make sure no one survived that could stop Ancel from reaching the Entosis. If it came to that, he would tell Charra where to take Ancel.
A low whine made him glance up the path. Charra sat watching them. A feathery touch brushed Ryne’s mind. He shivered. It was too familiar, echoing the link he once had with Sakari. No words were spoken but he immediately knew it originated from Charra. The creature gave off an impression, more like a picture of what it intended.
“The daggerpaw will give us the time we need,” Ryne said over his shoulder.
“Look,” Mirza said, “I know he’s big even for a daggerpaw, and he’s smarter than most, but what can Charra possibly do that you two can’t?”
“Whatever it is, let’s hope it’s good.” Ryne continued on, passing Charra where the daggerpaw crouched with its gaze riveted on the gully behind them.
When the hounds brayed once more, this time closer, and with more urgency, Ryne stopped. He eased Ancel from his back onto a snowy mound. When he rose, he drew his greatword.
Eyes fearful, Mirza drew abreast of him. Ryne couldn’t help his smile as the young man drew a bow and nocked an arrow.
“They have the scent now.” Next to him, Galiana peered up toward the cliff faces and the plateaus above. She turned to Charra. “Whatever you plan to do, now is the time.”
Without his Matersense, Ryne didn’t see what Charra did. There was a brief sensation of pressure on his mind. A surge of energy and increased awareness ebbed through him. The air throbbed, followed by the slicing sound of a portal opening. Then Charra was gone. Before Ryne could locate the beast, a barking roar echoed from beyond the gully. Ryne understood.
“Run, run now,” the bark said. “Run.”
Pulling on the renewed vigor he was certain Charra had lent him, Ryne sheathed his sword and hoisted Ancel.
They fled.
Chapter 31
Irmina tensed as the search party surged through the snow and away from the small cave set in the cliff behind them. Fear and worry tied her stomach in knots. She had stopped feeling the link to Ancel not long after he left Eldanhill. Her mind conjured the worst possible scenarios from its absence.
“On the other side of that ridge,” a tracker yelled above the rockhounds’ baying.
Similar to the one she controlled in the Mondros Forest, these had a stony carapace, but were not as large, maybe the size of a wolf. The six-legged creatures paced back and forth at the plateau’s edge.
Ahead of her, several High Ashishin in woolen trousers and fur-lined jackets picked their way toward the edge of the ridge. Half a dozen Pathfinders in their customary silver armor, faces enclosed in full helms, followed them. The trackers were pointing below as she caught up.
The tiny forms of three people, two on horseback, were fleeing through a gully several thousand feet below them. Somehow unimpeded by snow, they made good time. The largest of them was carrying another person on his back. Sunlight glinted from swaths of color on the big man’s arms. Irmina’s breath caught in her throat. At once she knew that was Ryne and Ancel. She attempted to find the link but came away with nothing.
One of the High Ashishin snarled. Three others raised their hands.
Essences of cold coalesced as they sapped them from the ice, snow, and the chill in the air itself. A crackling sound ensued; a semi-transparent bridge formed. It elongated out over the precipice and down.
A roar reverberated, rebounding off the surrounding cliffs. The bridge shattered.
Icy shards careened through the air. Quick as thought, the Pathfinders erected a shield of solid air. When the projectiles struck its translucent surface, they broke into pieces. The Matii scrambled away from the precipice.
“They dare to attack us?” High Jin Quintess blurted, round-eyed, auburn hair spilling about her face. “Finders, use-”
A gust of howling wind cut her off. It abruptly grew to gale-like proportions, snowflakes pelting them, tiny icicles pinging off armor, and thudding into Irmina’s clothing. If not for her layered wools and furs, Irmina was sure the wind and icy barrage would have sliced to the bone. Squinting, she pulled her scarf up to cover her mouth and bowed her head. The snowflakes became pebbles.
However, she knew they shouldn’t be exposed to the hail of ice. The way the ridges and plateaus formed, with this one being maybe a few hundred feet from the one directly opposite, and the method in which the outcrop of the ridges above extended over each other, they should have been sheltered from such weather. The storm had found a way to funnel itself down into the passage.
Before she could dwell on the idea, the hail grew bigger, some almost the size of a fist. Now, they didn’t simply thud against her clothes. They hurt. One struck her in the head. She cried out. Bright lights danced before her eyes. A moment later, she felt something wet under her fur-lined cap. Warmth trickled down her brow followed by the sharp scent of blood.
She thought she heard yelling above the gale, but when she glanced up she couldn’t see but a foot or two in front of her face. Ice crusted her eyebrows and lids. Instinctively, she retreated to the cliff face rather than attempt to move forward against the swirling eddies buffeting her. Her breaths grew raspy as the temperature plunged.
Head throbbing, she remembered the caves. With her back to the icy wall, the torrent of the storm was less. She edged sideways, a hand feeling along the cliff to where the opening should be. When she met empty air, she grasped the edge and pulled. The cave mouth and the warmth within yawned blessedly before her. Breaths coming in ragged gasps, she stumbled inside.
Irmina blinked several times for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. A rustle of movement sounded in a corner, and then a light bloomed. The luminance resolved into a small fire. Around it was what remained of their party.
There was High Jin Quintess, lying on her back, eyes closed; High Shin Hardan, his eyes reflecting the flames, silver hair soggy as he worked a mending on Quintess; High Shin Cantor with his broad back against a wall, nursing a gash to his head, blood running down his dark-skinned pockmarked face. Of their counterpart, Neftana, there was no sign. Only four of the six Pathfinders remained. Not a single tracker or rockhound was among those inside.