Embers in The North

1

Across the snow-covered mountains, a storm tore through with fury. The ground trembled as thunder rumbled through the valleys. The world was a cold, unforgiving place, and Reyna knew it better than most.

Perched atop Ator, her Shadowbeast, Reyna scanned the southern border of Egranox. The rhythmic rise and fall of Ator's breath beneath her was calming. Her powerful muscles shifted under the saddle as she snorted, sending plumes of steam into the air. Ator's senses were Reyna's out here, where the cold could kill the unprepared in minutes. Her nostrils flared, picking up even the faintest scents, guiding them through the storm. They had tracked the Redfall wolves who had slipped past their patrol earlier, and now they stood at the edge of the Silver Oak forest.

"Are we really going in there?" Lance reined in his Reaper beside her. She heard the reluctance he tried—and failed—to hide.

Reyna's gaze swept over the dense thicket of ice-glazed trees, where the snow piled high. The Silver Oak was a dangerous place, full of hidden dangers—avalanches waiting to bury the inexperienced, crevasses deep enough to swallow a man whole. It wasn't a place for the faint-hearted, or for someone like Lance, who was more at home in the warmth of the citadel than out here in the frozen wilds.

Even with all the layers of fur and wool, Lance shivered as another gust ripped through the valley. He was a Redfall, born and bred in the jungles of Greenpeak. When he could, he avoided border patrol with her, always finding an excuse to stay inside the citadel where he could stay warm. He hated being outside the walls, but he needed to learn: it was always cold in the North.

"Berserkers are smuggling a Fleet of Redfall wolves into the North." Reyna tugged sharply at Ator's reins, turning to face Lance directly. "Knowing that, would you still hesitate to follow them into the white forest of death, Fang?"

Lance's frustration was clear as he threw his gloved hands up, before rubbing them together in a futile attempt to keep warm. "By Odin's beard!" he muttered, his breath misting in the air. "This could be the end of me."

The cold had no mercy, and neither did she. "It might be," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "But the end comes for all of us, one way or another. Better to meet it head-on than to hide in the warmth, waiting for it to find you."

Watching Lance, Reyna's jaw clenched. He was out of his element here, and Reyna knew it. Bringing him along was a mistake. Any of the other Fangs in her Fleet would have been better; they were all Icehelms. Bringing him along was an exercise to build his cold tolerance. She could hear Lance's teeth chattering now and then as the cold wind nipped at him.

In her pursuit of the intruders, she ignored a glaring detail: Lance's Redfall heritage. The only Redfall in the Icehelm Fleet. She felt bad about dragging him out here. It was a mistake that made her feel foolish, a rare and unwelcome sensation.

Reyna knew Redfall wolves weren't built for this. The biting cold of Frostcall's tundra was dangerous for them. They lacked the thick fur and ice-hardened paws that allowed Icehelms to thrive in these conditions. With the approaching storm on the horizon, her concern heightened. As if she didn't already have enough on her plate, the last thing she wanted was for Lance to freeze to death on her watch.

"Head back to the citadel," Reyna ordered. "I'll follow the trail alone."

Lance shot her a defiant look, his breath fogging in the freezing air. "I'm not leaving you to chase down a pack of wolves that could be crazed Berserkers! I'd rather die out here, Prime."

"You're already courting death, Lance," Reyna snapped, giving him a pointed look. "Get back before the storm hits. That wasn't a suggestion."

But Lance shook his head. "And what about the Warmaster's orders? Have you forgotten he called all Fangs back to the citadel? The Alpha is due north at dawn."