Fireborn Champion (3 page)

“Oh, shi—”

A howl drowned his curse. The beasts charged onto the lake. Iron twisted around, his heartbeat thundering harder than the storm behind him.
 

He gathered the Sinner’s magic more than he’d ever done before, even more than the time he’d broken both legs using his power in a foolish stunt. Magic roared through his blood, seizing his lungs.
Too much, fool!

Iron’s body burst into inky smoke. He leapt ashore and tore into the trees. All around him, snow and ice plummeted from their perches on the heavy branches. His magic sent him speeding over the outcropping where he’d tripped. Iron leapt in a graceful arc, and for a heartbeat he crested the trees, glimpsing the horribly tiny blot in the valley that was his home.
 

He crashed into the snows. A lance of pain tore up his knee. He cried out through the tears it brought but continued on, the pain a distant echo compared to the terror roaring within him.

Branches slapped and cut his cheeks. The Sinner’s magic kept him mostly ethereal, but half a ghost still bore half the marks, and these frozen branches loved a taste of flesh.

Iron risked a glance behind him. Wolves plowed through the foliage and leapt onto trunks before bounding from them, gaining speed on the downhill slope.

That’s impossible. Wolves can’t do that. Can they?
His stomach twisted; maybe he didn’t know as much of the world as he thought.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the hillside. A low rumble rolled through the air as if a titan had pointed at the ignorant youth fleeing the wolves and laughed. Through his terror, through his blind run, a thought came to him swift as the lightning in the thundersnow.
 

It would be dark in the storm. Not even wolves would smell him in those winds, and anyway, the wind worked in his favor, not theirs. He’d have to slow to let the storm catch him, and once it did, he’d have to make his way home before the frosted winds froze him. He could try this, or he could stand and fight, and hope his blood didn’t drip from their fangs next.
 

He spied another outcropping just ahead. Maybe a decoy spell…

One chance. Sander had told him he had
one chance
. Better make sure it works.
 

Iron headed for the ledge. His feet beat on the snow. He could practically feel the wolves’ hot breath against his neck.
 

“Sinner save me!” Iron cried out. The magic burst from him. He slammed his body on the outcropping, peeking up just in time to see his mirage leap into the sky.

The first wolf followed his decoy. Then, the second vaulted after. A weight nearly crushed his back as the third wolf dove after the others. Iron shut his eyes. One more. Please.
Please
.

Heavy paws thumped on the granite beside him. A howl rode the wind and faded downhill. Iron cracked an eye and stared at the massive alpha of the pack. He smelled its sweat on the wind, heard its hot breaths puff into the cold.
 

Then, the wolf leapt off the outcropping and followed his mirage. Iron watched the four black creatures chase a comet of smoke darting at an angle to the east, away from home—hopefully for good.
 

He struggled to his feet despite their throbbing. His knee ached mightily. Cuts and bruises stained his forearms where he’d hit the ground. His spell had camouflaged his body against the rock but the effect quickly faded. With it, so would his illusion.

The rabid howl down below confirmed the spell’s end. He edged to the outcrop and looked down. Glittering eyes glared hungrily from black forms working their way uphill. Iron sighed and bent his head, pressing his palms hard against his temples.

He inhaled and wiped snot dribbling from his nose. Turning, he faced the mighty wall of the thundersnow. The cloud was so massive, it filled one end of the horizon to another. Sander always said the gods built the Everfrosts as a monument to their might, but facing the titan storm, Iron couldn’t help but think that this was the true testament to the Six’s power. Such majestic destruction.

Iron sighed. He crossed his arms over his face. “Here we go…”

The storm smashed against him with all its fury.

They called it a thundersnow. Standing in it, Iron thought thunder
glass
more appropriate. Each flake of snow or speck of ice cut against his forearms. He sucked in his breath and gathered what magic remained within him. He bent his head and turned so the wind was at his back. Somewhere below, those cursed wolves still stalked him.

Where do I go? I’m never going to find Sander in this
.

Magic enveloped him, and some of the painful storm abated. He couldn’t drop the spell unless he wanted to end up frozen or worse, but it sapped his strength. Snow and ice swirled from all directions. Iron held a hand before him. His fingers faded against the storm’s dark veil.

Great
.

The doe had asked for forgiveness. Was she his mother, come back from the grave to warn him? Sander never told him much of what came before their arrival in Skaard, and Iron didn’t remember anything besides the frozen wasteland of their home.
 

A branch caught his jaw and cut flesh.
Pay attention!

He shivered, realizing he could barely feel his feet and his hands. Maybe now wasn’t the time to sit down and ponder what was turning out to be a very odd day.
 

He still faced the ledge—he hoped. If he was lucky, the wolves were working their way toward him. With the winds at his back and his body a good deal lighter thanks to being mostly mist, he might gain some distance between them. Keep facing forward, power through the thundersnow, and he might live long enough to survive the brutal front. It would only last a few minutes if the Six blessed him.

Iron backed from the edge. He crouched, wincing once again at his knee. Then, he charged. He left the ground with a grunt and spread his arms. Wind roared around him, shearing long ribbons of his ghostly body before him.

His time in the air continued long enough for him to wonder if he would ever touch the ground again. At first, he feared spearing himself on a frozen branch launched by the storm or getting his skull crushed by an airborne rock. That fear gave way to a new thought. The thundersnow might carry him off into the distance and drop him somewhere in the wilds, somewhere Sander had never taken him.

You’re riding a thundersnow. A thundersnow! Why are you afraid of anything?

Iron’s fear evaporated with his excitement. He inhaled, slowly spreading his arms to the winds. He flew above the lower reaches, above the trees, above the rocks, above the creatures of the world. Iron smiled. Then, he laughed.

 
“I’m a glory hawk now!” he screamed, throwing his chin to the sky. This moment of pure freedom, riding a wave of godlike wrath and fury, it carved itself into his memory.
 

This is life. This is what I’m meant to feel.

The moment faded as quickly as it came. His stomach fluttered, warning him that even a ghost could still plummet to the ground in this maelstrom. Iron grimaced and tucked his legs against his chest. He folded his arms over his face and clenched his teeth. He slammed into snow, his muscles seizing with the frigid shock. Not a single branch or leaf cut him upon landing. That could only mean one thing. The storm brought him to the valley where the cabin—and hopefully Sander—waited.
 

Not bad for an apprentice
, he thought with a smirk.
Wait ’til I tell the old man about this. I bet he’s never flown in a thundersnow before
.

He wrapped his arms around his shivering torso and grit his teeth. His magic kept him on the snow’s surface, but even that simple spell would dwindle from him soon. At least he’d made it close to home. Now to face his master.

The storm lost some of its fury, the storm wall having swept over the valley. While snow still fell in thick curtains, he at least made out the ground and a few trees dotting the valley. An odd shape appeared in the snows, out of place on the rolling landscape. Home.
 

Iron spit out snow and combed the ice from his hair. He stalked toward the cabin, wiping flakes from his shoulders with a wide grin. “Talk about luck. Sander!” Iron shouted. “I’m ready for dinner…”

Iron’s grin melted, and he stopped in his tracks. A hunched black object prowled from behind the cabin. Its eyes gleamed hungrily despite the heavy snows masking most of its muscular form. Three other creatures stalked into view with it, their amber scowls piercing winter’s veil like the hate within them melted ice.

He groaned and flexed his hand. Once pale skin flushed a deep red. He fumbled for his sword hilt, but his fingers were stiff as bark and his grip unsteady. Taking Shade Stride, he forced his fingers around the grip. “Sinner, you four are fucking annoying, you know that? I’d tell you to go choke on an elk antler.” He ripped his sword from its sheath. “But I’ll settle for letting you choke on steel instead. You want a fight? You got it!”

Like a dimming candle snuffed, the Sinner’s magic extinguished from his heart. Iron sunk to his knees and nearly dropped the sword into the snowdrift. He groaned again and rolled his eyes, looking to the sky. “Really?”

The wolves howled. They charged, tossing snow in their wake.

It took all Iron’s strength to grip the sword. The leather seemed off—distant. The blade weighed his sore and bleeding arms—they sagged like wet bags on branches too thin to lift them. He tried summoning the Sinner’s magic into him, but his well of power had run dry.
 

And so he watched, knee-high in a fresh thundersnow drift, as the pack of black wolves snarled and charged. A puff of air escaped his lips. He held his sword before him, slipping into what he hoped was Shade Stride. He’d lost all feeling in his toes. Sinner only knew if they obeyed his commands.

Shouldn’t he be scared right about then? The wolves tore toward him, although the deep snows slowed the pack. It gave him even more time to consider his likely, extremely savage death. And yet, a quiet calm blanketed his soul. He could have sat and said a prayer if he had the time. Unfortunately, he did not have the time.

Shade Stride would save him. Sander said he hadn’t yet mastered the Sinner’s swordplay. Maybe Iron hadn’t, but he had nothing else. Iron closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Without sight, somehow he
saw
.
 

Snow sprayed him as the first wolf bounded within reach.
Step lightly. Be swift. Be shadow.
 

Iron leapt, wincing as his wounded knee protested at the pressure of his jump. He spun and slashed in a long arc, his blade flattened. Steel met flesh and raked a deep gash that spat warm droplets against Iron’s cheek. The first wolf yelped and recoiled. Iron opened his eyes to a white snow stained red and a feral beast taught a painful lesson.

He took another deep breath. Long days and hard nights training with his master roared through his mind as he bent his knees in preparation, knuckles whitening on his sword grip. A flash of movement disturbed Iron’s periphery. He twisted his blade back and danced to the side, ramming the steel behind him. The tip of his sword caught the wolf’s shoulder, but the scratch hardly phased it.
 

Iron turned. It lunged, wild eyes round and glistening wet like fresh sap from a bleeding tree. He feinted a high attack as it snarled and lunged low, aiming for his belly.
 

Instinct guided him more than thought now as the rage of battle and adrenaline overpowered his inhibitions. He brought his elbow down, slamming its point right between the wolf’s eyes. Bone crunched, and the wolf fell limp onto the snow.

Three more to go
, he thought.
Where are you, Sander? Is this another lesson?

Iron grunted as he jumped to the side. The third wolf’s jaw chomped air. Iron kicked, landing a solid blow against its torso. His toe cracked against the beast’s muscular ribs, and Iron screamed.
 

He grimaced and barely caught his balance. The pain faded as quickly as it came. Maybe his feet freezing in the thundersnow had been more a blessing than he thought.

Another set of jaws came at him. The fourth, largest wolf? No, that one hung back. Iron shook his head.
Concentrate
.
 

He shoved his sword at the wolf he’d kicked, but the monster thrashed up snow, blinding him. Panic shocked Iron’s system. He swung, wildly, sloppily, hoping his blade hit flesh. His feet slipped from Shade Stride.

His weapon passed through a void. Iron cursed, blinking snow from his eyes. He pivoted in time to see a black form lunging. A white maw full of fangs appeared within the black. The wolf angled its jaw around his sloppy swing and clamped its teeth over his wrist.
 

Iron shrieked. Hot fire raced through his veins. His sword plunged into the snow, leaving a sword-shaped hole behind and taking his hopes of survival with it. The quiet calm he had felt before evaporated as the wolf tossed him onto his back, swinging him left and right so hard his brain knocked against his skull.
 

The beast threw him into the snowdrift, and the white encased him. Iron tasted the cold flakes. He blinked, trying desperately to still a world spinning chaotically.
 

Somehow, he made it to his feet. His wounded knee buckled, and his arm hung limp. Blood dripped from his fingertips and formed little crimson craters in the drift.

Iron clutched his forearm instinctively. His pulse throbbed against his grip, but even then, it did not lessen the fiery burn in his wound.
 

“Kill me then,” he spat, the memory of the white doe’s slaughter flashing through his mind.
Except
it will be me this time and not her
.
Maybe if I’d screamed sooner, she would have lived. I’m sorry, little doe, I would have done it if I’d known.

One wolf still lay in the snow. At least he’d killed one of their pack and wounded another. The other two sat on their haunches, growls slipping the curtains of their lips from between long fangs. They waited. For some odd reason, they did not attack their wounded prey.