The Winter King
Page 131
Wynter looked up as the door to his office opened. Valik entered, but Wyn’s automatic smile of greeting died a swift death at the sight of Valik’s expression.
“What is it?”
“There’s trouble in Jarein Tor. A shepherd came down from the mountains, claiming his flock was slaughtered.” Valik’s gaze flickered. “He says it was garm.”
“He saw them?” Skepticism colored Wynter’s words. Garm rarely left witnesses. If you were close enough to see a garm, it was close enough to follow your scent—and fast enough to rip out your throat and belly before you could go for help.
“Not them. He saw the tracks, heard the sheep scream, and took off running down the mountain. Didn’t stop ’til he reached the village.”
Wynter nodded. “Send an eagle to Friesing. I want Skyr and his men on their way to Jarein Tor within the hour.” If the garm had come, he must move swiftly to kill the beast before it grew bold enough to feed on more than sheep. “If the reports are true, we must call the Hunt.”
“Done.” Valik bowed crisply, pivoted on his heels, and strode out the door.
When he was gone, Wyn forced his clenched fists to relax. Tales of tracks and a sheep’s scream from a frightened shepherd weren’t proof the garm had come. It could be a rogue snow wolf, come down from the glaciers in search of easy prey.
But even as he reassured himself, he knew the words for the lie they were.
The Ice King’s minions were gathering to usher in the return of their god. Laci had warned him they would sense the Ice Heart’s power growing stronger. And Wynter had already passed the point of no return. With each passing day, the icy void in his chest grew colder and spread farther, freezing what was left of his humanity bit by bit.
The only thing holding it at bay now was Khamsin and her Summer-born gifts. Wynter pushed away from his desk and stood. Speaking of his little Summerwitch . . . he had not laid eyes on her nor had one whispered update about her activities since leaving her bed this morning. That did not bode well. If he’d learned one thing about his wife, he’d learned that Absence of Khamsin held a far greater potential for disaster than Khamsin Constantly Underfoot.
“Hold it steady!” Khamsin shouted.
“I’m trying!” Krysti shouted back. Irritation snapped in his voice. “But I’m just a kid, and you’re heavier than you look! I told you I should have gone first.”
She looked over her shoulder and down the ladder fashioned from the trunk of a tall, knotted pine and grinned at the boy clinging to the base of the ladder to keep it from rolling. “You’re doing fine. I’m almost there.”
She reached the top of the tree-trunk ladder and hopped off on the rocky outcropping that jutted out over the tree line to provide what Krysti assured her was one of the best views in all of Wintercraig.
“Coming up!” the boy called from below, and Kham took hold of a broken limb near the top of the tree trunk to hold the ladder steady while Krysti clambered up to join her. He managed in a fraction of the time it had taken her. Of course, he could have climbed the cliff face without a ladder, too.
“What did I tell you?” Krysti dusted his palms on his trousers and gestured to the spectacular vista spread out before them.
“You’re right. It’s gorgeous. Well worth the trouble of the climb.” From the snow-covered spruce on the steep mountainside, to the frosty, evergreen-laden valley below with its wide, rocky river that snaked along the base of the mountains, to the blue, blue sky that seemed to stretch forever, Khamsin was hard-pressed to think of any sight more lovely than the breathtaking grandeur of this rough, rugged land she now called home.
“There is Friesing.” Krysti pointed to a distant gathering of shingled roofs and stone chimneys amid the evergreens. “You can barely see Gildenheim from here.”
They were a good twenty miles east of the palace as the birds flew. Almost twice that distance by land. Kham bit her lip. She’d grown so comfortable in the saddle, she hadn’t even thought about how far or fast they were going. And they’d gone much farther than they ever had before.
She glanced up at the sky. The sun was still high overhead. It was barely past noon, but they would need to start back within the hour. If she and Krysti didn’t get home before dusk, Wynter would organize a search party.
“How did you find this place?” She gazed out across the valley and the rolling hills and mountains of Wintercraig’s lowlands beyond. Vera Sola had been a man-made mountain in the center of a wide, fertile valley. The view there had been of flat, cultivated farmland. Miles and miles of wheat, corn, barley, and more. Nothing so dramatic and untamed as this.
“I had an uncle who lived in a cabin on Jarein Tor, five miles that way.” He pointed to the east. “I used to spend summers here with him, helping him check his traps.”
“That must have been fun.” Krysti never talked about his family. Of course, neither did she. “I never met my uncle—my mother’s brother. He died before I was born.”
Krysti started to say something when a high-pitched shriek ripped through the air.
Khamsin nearly jumped out of her skin. “What in the name of Halla was tha—”
Krysti’s hand clapped over her mouth—hard. He shook his head. The snowy freckles on his golden skin seemed to disappear as his face lost all color. The hand covering her mouth was shaking like a leaf. Whatever that scream was, it had terrified him.
“What is it?”
“There’s trouble in Jarein Tor. A shepherd came down from the mountains, claiming his flock was slaughtered.” Valik’s gaze flickered. “He says it was garm.”
“He saw them?” Skepticism colored Wynter’s words. Garm rarely left witnesses. If you were close enough to see a garm, it was close enough to follow your scent—and fast enough to rip out your throat and belly before you could go for help.
“Not them. He saw the tracks, heard the sheep scream, and took off running down the mountain. Didn’t stop ’til he reached the village.”
Wynter nodded. “Send an eagle to Friesing. I want Skyr and his men on their way to Jarein Tor within the hour.” If the garm had come, he must move swiftly to kill the beast before it grew bold enough to feed on more than sheep. “If the reports are true, we must call the Hunt.”
“Done.” Valik bowed crisply, pivoted on his heels, and strode out the door.
When he was gone, Wyn forced his clenched fists to relax. Tales of tracks and a sheep’s scream from a frightened shepherd weren’t proof the garm had come. It could be a rogue snow wolf, come down from the glaciers in search of easy prey.
But even as he reassured himself, he knew the words for the lie they were.
The Ice King’s minions were gathering to usher in the return of their god. Laci had warned him they would sense the Ice Heart’s power growing stronger. And Wynter had already passed the point of no return. With each passing day, the icy void in his chest grew colder and spread farther, freezing what was left of his humanity bit by bit.
The only thing holding it at bay now was Khamsin and her Summer-born gifts. Wynter pushed away from his desk and stood. Speaking of his little Summerwitch . . . he had not laid eyes on her nor had one whispered update about her activities since leaving her bed this morning. That did not bode well. If he’d learned one thing about his wife, he’d learned that Absence of Khamsin held a far greater potential for disaster than Khamsin Constantly Underfoot.
“Hold it steady!” Khamsin shouted.
“I’m trying!” Krysti shouted back. Irritation snapped in his voice. “But I’m just a kid, and you’re heavier than you look! I told you I should have gone first.”
She looked over her shoulder and down the ladder fashioned from the trunk of a tall, knotted pine and grinned at the boy clinging to the base of the ladder to keep it from rolling. “You’re doing fine. I’m almost there.”
She reached the top of the tree-trunk ladder and hopped off on the rocky outcropping that jutted out over the tree line to provide what Krysti assured her was one of the best views in all of Wintercraig.
“Coming up!” the boy called from below, and Kham took hold of a broken limb near the top of the tree trunk to hold the ladder steady while Krysti clambered up to join her. He managed in a fraction of the time it had taken her. Of course, he could have climbed the cliff face without a ladder, too.
“What did I tell you?” Krysti dusted his palms on his trousers and gestured to the spectacular vista spread out before them.
“You’re right. It’s gorgeous. Well worth the trouble of the climb.” From the snow-covered spruce on the steep mountainside, to the frosty, evergreen-laden valley below with its wide, rocky river that snaked along the base of the mountains, to the blue, blue sky that seemed to stretch forever, Khamsin was hard-pressed to think of any sight more lovely than the breathtaking grandeur of this rough, rugged land she now called home.
“There is Friesing.” Krysti pointed to a distant gathering of shingled roofs and stone chimneys amid the evergreens. “You can barely see Gildenheim from here.”
They were a good twenty miles east of the palace as the birds flew. Almost twice that distance by land. Kham bit her lip. She’d grown so comfortable in the saddle, she hadn’t even thought about how far or fast they were going. And they’d gone much farther than they ever had before.
She glanced up at the sky. The sun was still high overhead. It was barely past noon, but they would need to start back within the hour. If she and Krysti didn’t get home before dusk, Wynter would organize a search party.
“How did you find this place?” She gazed out across the valley and the rolling hills and mountains of Wintercraig’s lowlands beyond. Vera Sola had been a man-made mountain in the center of a wide, fertile valley. The view there had been of flat, cultivated farmland. Miles and miles of wheat, corn, barley, and more. Nothing so dramatic and untamed as this.
“I had an uncle who lived in a cabin on Jarein Tor, five miles that way.” He pointed to the east. “I used to spend summers here with him, helping him check his traps.”
“That must have been fun.” Krysti never talked about his family. Of course, neither did she. “I never met my uncle—my mother’s brother. He died before I was born.”
Krysti started to say something when a high-pitched shriek ripped through the air.
Khamsin nearly jumped out of her skin. “What in the name of Halla was tha—”
Krysti’s hand clapped over her mouth—hard. He shook his head. The snowy freckles on his golden skin seemed to disappear as his face lost all color. The hand covering her mouth was shaking like a leaf. Whatever that scream was, it had terrified him.
