The Winter King
Page 143
He came up sliding on the ice, but there again the dark power of the Ice Heart flowing through his veins stood him in good stead by granting him more traction than he’d thought possible. He leaned forward, putting pressure on his toes, and his backward slide slowed, then stopped altogether.
A flash of dark near the mouth of the cave made him swear and scowl. “Damn it, Khamsin! Get back in the cave!”
She wasn’t completely out in the open, just crouched too close to the opening to be truly safe. Not that she, fool woman, seemed concerned about her own safety.
Regrettably, not his either.
He saw her eyes widen just before claws raked down his back. He fell forward onto the ice, and it was only by the grace of Wyrn that he managed to keep hold of Gunterfys as he fell.
The fourth garm sprang from the cliff and landed on the lake directly in his path. The other two leapt towards him from opposing sides.
Wyn twisted to one side, rolled, and popped to his feet as the three garm converged. Gunterfys flashed. He spun in a tight circle, not daring to leave his back open to attack. But even in constant motion, even with Gunterfys swinging, thrusting, parrying in constant attack and defense, the garm’s sharp claws and sharper teeth ripped through his leather armor and shredded his flesh. Violet blood streamed from his wounds, soaking his garments.
A slash across his thigh dropped Wyn to one knee. He thrust his sword back, over his head to defend against a death bite to the back of his neck, but that bared his chest for a raking blow from the garm in front of him.
Muscle shredded as the garm’s claws scraped against bone.
He bared his teeth and roared. With every ounce of energy he could muster, he brought Gunterfys arcing over his head and drove the sword hilt deep through the garm’s skull.
Its limbs splayed, body twitching spasmodically in death throes.
Teeth clamped hard on his left arm. With his arm locked in its jaws, the garm shook its massive head, yanking him off his feet. The other garm’s claws raked across his belly. Fire exploded in his abdomen. If he didn’t get free of the garm holding him by the arm, the pair of them would rip him in two. With his free hand, he punched the monster in its nasal slits and clawed at its eyes. The jaws released, and he went flying.
He heard Khamsin cry his name.
The ice came up fast, and he hit hard. He skidded across the ice, leaving streaks of rapidly freezing violet blood in his wake.
Momentum sent him skidding up the small embankment at the edge of the lake. Gripping his torn belly with one hand, he managed to push himself up on his other hand and his knees and start an awkward, three-legged crawl towards the surrounding forest.
Panting, claws clicking on the ice, the two remaining garm loped towards him.
His strength was dwindling rapidly. He was losing too much blood. His thigh, chest, and arm were slashed to the bone, his belly torn open. His sword was out of reach, still quivering in the skull of the one beast he’d managed to slay. He couldn’t even summon the strength to stand. Each attempt made agony rip through him while gouts of violet blood gushed from his wounds.
He was done, and he knew it.
It was all he could do to lift his head and face his death head-on.
As Wynter fought the garm, Khamsin cast about the cave, looking for something—anything—to use as a weapon. She found a few rocks, but most were too heavy to throw or too small to be of much use. She snatched up an armful of stones anyways and hurried to the mouth of the cave to throw them, but the rocks fell shy of their targets. She shouted and waved her arms, trying to distract the garm. She didn’t dare step foot out of the cave because she knew Wynter would sacrifice his own life to keep her safe.
No one had ever risked their life for hers.
No one.
And yet this man, this Winter King, this supposed enemy from the north, had taken on not one but four of the most dangerous monsters in the world to save her.
Khamsin had spent all her life in a fury. Always fighting, rebelling, raging against something. A harsh, hateful parent, her own tempestuous nature, her fears, and her failings.
She’d never known this. The feeling that clamped so hard around her heart it hurt. Whatever it was made her shake, not with fury, but with humility and fear. Fear for someone other than herself.
He—Wynter, her husband—was willing to die so she might live.
Her heart soared when Wynter drove Gunterfys into one of the garm’s head, only to sink when one of the remaining beasts sank its teeth into Wynter’s arm and tossed him about like a rag doll. Wynter fought back, his free hand curled in a fist that pummeled the beast until it gave one last shake of its gargantuan head, roared, and sent Wynter flying across the lake.
“Wynter!” She screamed his name and lunged forward, gripping the black stone edges of the cave’s mouth.
The remaining garm loped after him. She could see Wynter struggling to rise, unable to do more than push himself to his hands and knees, his head drooping between his shoulder blades. He was badly wounded. There was no chance he could make an escape, much less fight off the two approaching garm bare-handed.
Once the beasts reached him, he would die.
A strange buzzing filled her ears. Khamsin wasn’t conscious of moving. She just did. One moment, she was clinging to the mouth of the cave, the next she was staggering across the ice and shouting to get the garm’s attention.
Her ploy worked. The garm turned her way.
Freezing, blue-white slime dripped from gaping, razor-toothed maws that grinned at her with evil eagerness. The huge bodies began to lope towards her, picking up speed with each step.
A flash of dark near the mouth of the cave made him swear and scowl. “Damn it, Khamsin! Get back in the cave!”
She wasn’t completely out in the open, just crouched too close to the opening to be truly safe. Not that she, fool woman, seemed concerned about her own safety.
Regrettably, not his either.
He saw her eyes widen just before claws raked down his back. He fell forward onto the ice, and it was only by the grace of Wyrn that he managed to keep hold of Gunterfys as he fell.
The fourth garm sprang from the cliff and landed on the lake directly in his path. The other two leapt towards him from opposing sides.
Wyn twisted to one side, rolled, and popped to his feet as the three garm converged. Gunterfys flashed. He spun in a tight circle, not daring to leave his back open to attack. But even in constant motion, even with Gunterfys swinging, thrusting, parrying in constant attack and defense, the garm’s sharp claws and sharper teeth ripped through his leather armor and shredded his flesh. Violet blood streamed from his wounds, soaking his garments.
A slash across his thigh dropped Wyn to one knee. He thrust his sword back, over his head to defend against a death bite to the back of his neck, but that bared his chest for a raking blow from the garm in front of him.
Muscle shredded as the garm’s claws scraped against bone.
He bared his teeth and roared. With every ounce of energy he could muster, he brought Gunterfys arcing over his head and drove the sword hilt deep through the garm’s skull.
Its limbs splayed, body twitching spasmodically in death throes.
Teeth clamped hard on his left arm. With his arm locked in its jaws, the garm shook its massive head, yanking him off his feet. The other garm’s claws raked across his belly. Fire exploded in his abdomen. If he didn’t get free of the garm holding him by the arm, the pair of them would rip him in two. With his free hand, he punched the monster in its nasal slits and clawed at its eyes. The jaws released, and he went flying.
He heard Khamsin cry his name.
The ice came up fast, and he hit hard. He skidded across the ice, leaving streaks of rapidly freezing violet blood in his wake.
Momentum sent him skidding up the small embankment at the edge of the lake. Gripping his torn belly with one hand, he managed to push himself up on his other hand and his knees and start an awkward, three-legged crawl towards the surrounding forest.
Panting, claws clicking on the ice, the two remaining garm loped towards him.
His strength was dwindling rapidly. He was losing too much blood. His thigh, chest, and arm were slashed to the bone, his belly torn open. His sword was out of reach, still quivering in the skull of the one beast he’d managed to slay. He couldn’t even summon the strength to stand. Each attempt made agony rip through him while gouts of violet blood gushed from his wounds.
He was done, and he knew it.
It was all he could do to lift his head and face his death head-on.
As Wynter fought the garm, Khamsin cast about the cave, looking for something—anything—to use as a weapon. She found a few rocks, but most were too heavy to throw or too small to be of much use. She snatched up an armful of stones anyways and hurried to the mouth of the cave to throw them, but the rocks fell shy of their targets. She shouted and waved her arms, trying to distract the garm. She didn’t dare step foot out of the cave because she knew Wynter would sacrifice his own life to keep her safe.
No one had ever risked their life for hers.
No one.
And yet this man, this Winter King, this supposed enemy from the north, had taken on not one but four of the most dangerous monsters in the world to save her.
Khamsin had spent all her life in a fury. Always fighting, rebelling, raging against something. A harsh, hateful parent, her own tempestuous nature, her fears, and her failings.
She’d never known this. The feeling that clamped so hard around her heart it hurt. Whatever it was made her shake, not with fury, but with humility and fear. Fear for someone other than herself.
He—Wynter, her husband—was willing to die so she might live.
Her heart soared when Wynter drove Gunterfys into one of the garm’s head, only to sink when one of the remaining beasts sank its teeth into Wynter’s arm and tossed him about like a rag doll. Wynter fought back, his free hand curled in a fist that pummeled the beast until it gave one last shake of its gargantuan head, roared, and sent Wynter flying across the lake.
“Wynter!” She screamed his name and lunged forward, gripping the black stone edges of the cave’s mouth.
The remaining garm loped after him. She could see Wynter struggling to rise, unable to do more than push himself to his hands and knees, his head drooping between his shoulder blades. He was badly wounded. There was no chance he could make an escape, much less fight off the two approaching garm bare-handed.
Once the beasts reached him, he would die.
A strange buzzing filled her ears. Khamsin wasn’t conscious of moving. She just did. One moment, she was clinging to the mouth of the cave, the next she was staggering across the ice and shouting to get the garm’s attention.
Her ploy worked. The garm turned her way.
Freezing, blue-white slime dripped from gaping, razor-toothed maws that grinned at her with evil eagerness. The huge bodies began to lope towards her, picking up speed with each step.
