Droko turned to retreat, but then his gaze landed on the stag. He was the closest one to it. Still far—but maybe close enough. He hefted his spear—but as he did, the ice crust on the river let out a resounding crack. Nimble despite his size, he hopped back and onto a jagged outcrop of stone…just as Eli scrabbled and slid further toward the river.
I knew my duty was to the shaman—
But Droko stood on solid ground.
“Eli!” I snapped, and thrust out my spear. He made a swipe at the haft, but came up with only a handful of feathers. The ice all around us snapped and popped as the crust covering the river, now breeched, failed everywhere at once. And one of the men, whether by accident or design, clipped Eli hard with the butt of his spear, sending him stumbling even farther out onto the cracking ice.
“Why are you jabbing at him?” the shaman demanded of the men. “If anything happens to their human, the Lost Clan can retaliate.”
A great gust of wind sent the snow cover scattering like dust, revealing a webwork of huge cracks. And though Eli’s arms still windmilled as he tried to recover from being knocked onto the ice, he staggered, righted himself, then gave a leap that carried him to a flat chunk of ice so big, it acted as a raft.
“Don’t let him get away,” Droko commanded.
And so…I jumped.
The ice raft dipped under my weight, but grudgingly, as if it was too big for even me to make much of a difference. But great chunks broke away from the perimeter, freeing it from the bank. It shuddered and began to drift. As it did, a dozen ragged shapes emerged from the snowy woods.
The Lost Clan.
They hooted and hollered like they were hunting down their next pint, not wild game. When they spotted the shaman and his honor guard, they only got more raucous. Bad enough they were nowhere near the territory they’d been assigned. They made somuch noise, the only animals they’d be able to sneak up on would be long-dead carcasses left for the crows.
Except…the stag, I realized, remained where it stood. Its eyes were fixed on the growing crowd of orcs.
My fellow guards were out of spear range. But as my ice raft sluggishly drifted toward the center of the river, I realized that I might be close enough. “Be still,” I told Eli, and hefted my spear. The stock was worn smooth from years of combat drills, and the wood had contoured itself to my grip. If I fell short, it would pierce the river’s ice and be lost to the current.
So, I would not miss.
I fixed the target in my single eye, accounted for the movement of our ice raft, and drew a breath. Before I could throw, however, I realized the stag was trembling, ever so slightly.
And I saw a crust of drying froth at the corner of its mouth.
Was the spittle foamy? Did any of you see?
Quinn’s words rushed back to me, as well as the urgency of his warning of Wrack—a warning that no one had taken seriously. Immediately, I stood down, and turned to alert the shaman. But Droko was busy sorting out the intrusion from the Lost Clan. I called to him, and my voice was swallowed by a howling gust of wind.
Snowfall kicked into the air from everywhere, pummeling us from all sides: the air, the trees, even the ground beneath my feet. The world went white. Meanwhile, downstream, a logjam gave way with a great crash, and the ice raft lurched forward and carried me away…with Eli.
15
Eli
Of course, I’d poled downriver on a skiff plenty of times before. But it was nothing like this.
The surface of the ice was slippery and my boots none too sure. I squatted down to lower my center of balance. If we hit any rapids, however shallow, we’d end up in the drink. And I couldn’t speak for orcs, but any human who hit that water in weather like this would go numb from the shock and get sucked right under.
I spotted an overhanging tree coming up that would let us haul ourselves out of the river. “Kof—grab that!”
The orc was surely fast enough to do it, and strong enough for his attempt to change our course. But he crouched under the branches and let the chance slip away. I knew orcs weren’t all that bright, but you’d think they’d at least have some sense of self-preservation. “Why would you—?”
“It’s not our territory. The Two Swords clan would capture us. Or worse.”
I stood corrected.
We approached a split in the river where an island rose in the center. It wasn’t much, just a knot of trees and a jut of rock. Kof shoved with his spear to try to guide us toward the Red Hand branch, but the floating ice around us only splashed away, while our raft continued on its course, undeterred. I had nothing to help, not so much as a twig, and could only watch as he frantically attempted to steer us—to no avail.
Until his spear tip finally caught on something in the water, and our floe bucked to one side. It nearly thew the orc off his feet. His free arm windmilled as he tried to regain his footing.
Now was my chance, I realized. One small shove was all it would take. I could grab the spear, too. And then I’d be cruising down the river. Provisioned. Armed.
