Page 72 of Death Will Follow

Callan joined the Wyldling, the two of them maneuvering to stay on the beast’s blind side, but the drak snapped its head in their direction. Its mouth fell open, and a blast of flame burst forth. The blaze didn’t travel far, however, halting in midair as it crashed into a wall of Callan’s ice. The frozen shield melted as it made contact with the crackling flames, but Callan stood firm, stance wide with his feet planted and arms outstretched, a steady flow of ice replenishing itself. Nova used the momentary distraction to scale the drak’s long neck. At last, the beast’s fiery breath ran out.

Blood spewed forth from its injured eye in time with its heartbeat as Nova sprinted toward the summit. Another sharp whistle of an arrow from Bryn’s bow, this one striking the drak in a vulnerable spot under its chin. The creature shook its head violently, and Nova hooked an arm around its neck to avoid being flung into the molten lake. A disgruntled noise rumbled in the beast’s chest; the drak was injured but not yet ready to give up the fight.

The harsh odor stung her nostrils, and, in the time it took the drak to summon its flaming breath, Nova finally reached its head. Fire poured once more from its gaping mouth, and Nova shot a glance to Callan below, a squall of wintry magic rising to block the flames. Bryn had retreated to the stone footbridge, ready to make a quick escape when the time came. The Wyldling sent forth another arrow, narrowly missing Nova as the drak ducked its head.

Nova slashed her sword at the side of the beast’s neck, but the thick scales acted as a plate of armor, and the blade glanced off. She tried again, striking at the same spot, but the blade barely sank in at all. It’s no use, she thought, chest heaving and muscles burning; her steel was no match for its scales. She watched as, far below, Callan’s legs buckled. He braced himself on one knee, arms extended above his head, the flames eating up his opposing ice until they lapped only a short distance away from him. Finally, the drak’s breath ran out, giving Callan a brief respite. Nova called his name, and his eyes shot to her.

“Run,” she shouted. “Go!”

Callan shook his head. The sharp stench of brimstone filled the air, and he tore his gaze away, returning his attention to the beast. Nova fell to her knees beside the creature’s still-seeing eye, raising her sword high. Summoning all the strength remaining within her, she plunged her weapon down.

Nivalian steel pierced the soft globe of the beast’s eye, the blade driving deep inside its skull. Nova held fast to her buried sword as the drak thrashed from side to side. A strangled screech filled the cavern, the sound wild and desperate, and the creature’s head dipped suddenly as if it were on the brink of losing consciousness. Nova spied Bryn and Callan below, both stumbling back as they tracked the drak’s jerky movements. Nova kept her grip on the hilt of her sword as the beast’s head dropped out from beneath her, careening toward the lake of molten rock. The chamber rattled with a deafening crack as the beast’s neck collided with the ledge, its spine surely broken and its head hanging at an unnatural angle.

The impact carried Nova forward, but her sword held, firmly embedded in the drak’s skull. Nova shot a glance at her boots, her legs kicking uselessly in the open air above the fiery pit.

“Nova!”

She tore her gaze from certain death below to potential salvation above. Callan had already recklessly thrown half his body over the edge. Bryn peered down at her from behind Callan’s shoulder, presumably holding his legs.

“Here,” Callan rasped, reaching for Nova, a sheen of sweat and soot coating his brow, his kerchief pulled down beneath his chin. The molten rock reflected in his dark eyes, glowing like embers. “Take my hand.”

She would need to let go with one of her hands and swing herself up somehow to reach him. Rebelling against every instinct of self-preservation, she let her left hand drop. She swung her legs side to side a few times, hoping to use the momentum to haul herself up, but the sword slipped, and she choked on a gasp. Her body weight was working against her; gods only knew how much longer the blade would hold.

Nova exhaled sharply through her nose. No more cautious test swings. It was now or never. Resisting the urge to look down, she focused her gaze on Callan. He gave a tight nod then gritted his teeth as he shimmied himself closer, extending his arm as far as he could. Nova swung her legs forcefully and pulled herself up with her right hand. The sword slid free from its sheath within the drak’s skull just as Callan clamped his fingers around her left wrist. Nova squeezed her eyes shut, and Callan roared through his teeth, dragging her into his arms as Bryn wrenched him back over the ledge by his cloak.

Once they were both safely on solid ground, Callan rolled onto his back and crushed Nova to him. She lay limp across his heaving chest, her sweat-drenched forehead resting against his jaw.

“Have you got it?” he panted.

With a weak pat of her hand, Nova confirmed that the final shard remained secure in her belt. She could only nod.

Between ragged breaths, Callan muttered against her temple, “Barely a nuisance.”

Twenty-Eight

Snowflakes drifted down from the gray sky, clinging to Callan’s cloak as Frost navigated a narrow path at the foot of the Nephari Mountains. Two days had passed since Nova shadow walked them out of Sonnend and back to her home in the Lunar Court. At first, Callan resisted her suggestion to conjure another shadow portal, but faced with the alternative of riding across the Realm on Bryn’s back, he yielded.

Portaling was inherently dangerous—especially for someone who had yet to master the ability. Still, he’d promised he would stand beside Nova and support her decisions. He intended to keep that promise, even it if meant ignoring the overwhelming urge to shield her from the dangers of the world.

Nova had brought the three of them safely to the Silvergard Estate, taking a handful of guards by surprise when they materialized in the courtyard out of thin air. Fortunately, Nova’s friend Zara was among the group, and she rushed to Nova’s aid, concern written plainly in the crease between her brows. Zara sent two of the guards to notify Lucan of Nova’s return, then escorted Callan and Bryn into the Estate, a delirious Nova propped up between them. Once they’d seen Nova to the safety of her chamber, Zara assured Callan in hushed tones that no one would breathe a word of how she had arrived.

The events of the past several weeks had taken a toll on his mate. Eir, the same healer who had once mended his torn side, insisted Nova required several days’ rest. Though she’d sustained nothing more serious than a few bumps and scrapes on their travels around the Realm, the shadow walking had drained her as he feared it would. Though it pained him to leave her behind, Callan took comfort in knowing she was reunited with Nox and Lucan, under the care of a skilled healer, and safe within the walls of the Silvergard Estate.

He, on the other hand, was as out in the open as one could be: on horseback with nothing but a cloak shielding him from the unforgiving elements. Few traveled the path he followed, a rocky, snow-covered trail leading to the home of the legendary smiths of Nivali. The three shards that made up Kinslayer sat heavy in his saddlebag, destined for Brumal’s Forge, an underground city buried beneath the Nephari Mountains. He’d never before visited the Forge, as it was known. The smiths took special commissions and delivered their works throughout the territory by wagon every few moons.

Tugging at the reins, he brought Frost to a halt before an unremarkable cave, the opening large enough for him to pass through seated atop his horse. Callan turned his face skyward, searching for any marker to indicate he’d reached his destination. Snowflakes gathered on his eyebrows as he scanned the rock face. At last, he spotted a carving of the god Brumal, nearly hidden by a snowdrift, perched high above the mouth of the cave. Satisfied he’d found the entrance to Brumal’s Forge and not the den of an ice drak, Callan nudged his heels against Frost’s ribs, and the horse entered the cave, the darkness quickly swallowing them up.

Callan retrieved his moonstone from the pouch at his hip, and its pale light painted the walls of the tunnel. The icy wind continued to swirl around him as he traveled the downward slope. He flexed his fingers inside his gloves, joints slowed by the cold. When roughly an hour had passed, the tunnel at last opened up into a large chamber of rough-hewn stone, and Callan brought his horse to a halt once again. On the opposite side stood an imposing metal gate with a complex system of interlocking bars, orange-hued light peeking through gaps.

Callan clicked his tongue at Frost, and the animal moved toward the gate with measured steps.

“Halt,” a gruff voice called out.

Callan drew back on the reins, his eyes flicking to a guardhouse carved into the rock to his left. He should have expected the entry to Brumal’s Forge would be guarded. What had started as a small outpost of skilled artisans had grown into a thriving community over the millennia, but folk didn’t cut themselves off from the outside world only to be infiltrated easily. A burly male exited the guardhouse, tugging at his breeches as he approached.

“What’s your business in the Forge?” the guard asked, toying with the ends of a long ginger beard as he craned his neck toward Callan.

“I’ve a broken blade that must be reforged.” Callan dismounted, putting himself on even footing with the guard who stood a hand taller than he did. “It’s a weapon of great importance. I wouldn’t entrust its care to just any smith.”