The crunch of frost under iron boots cut through the Wastes wind, sharp as a dagger point, and Kael could taste the fine, icy particulate on his tongue as he held his breath.
Kael pressed his back harder into the frozen granite boulder, his gloved palm clamped over Elara's mouth to muffle the faint, post-venom wheeze she couldn't quite suppress. The leather of his glove was stiff with dried shadow hound blood, and he could feel her warm, ragged breath seeping through the stitching against his wrist, fast as a sparrow's wingbeat. His re-injured ankle throbbed in time with his pulse, the bruise swelling under his scuffed leather boot until he thought the stitching along the side might burst, the old ache from when he'd first woken in the Wastes flaring sharp enough to make his vision swim for half a second. The rip in his cloak's left hem let the wind cut straight through to his skin, raising goosebumps along his arm, and the metallic tang of shadow hound blood hung thick in the air, clinging to his sleeves and the strands of hair sticking out from under his fur-lined hood.
Twenty feet away, the Covenant knight paused, head tilted like he'd caught a scent on the gusting wind.
He wore polished black plate emblazoned with the silver sunburst of the Lumina Covenant, but a tiny, glowing crystal shard embedded in the center of the insignia—scratched deep on one edge, like it had been struck by a blade in battle—marked him as part of High Priest Theron's personal retinue, not the regular patrol they'd diverted west ten minutes prior. An essence tracker hung from his belt, pulsing faint blue as it swept the snow for residual magic signatures, the light flaring slightly when it pointed toward the boulder where Kael and Elara hid. Kael's stomach dropped. Elara's system still carried faint traces of shadow hound venom, even after the temporary healing boost Kael had given her with his Augment Points. If that tracker got ten feet closer, it would pick up her signature clear as a bell, and the retinue knight would have no reason to question the reading, not when he was specifically searching for anomalies.
The knight took another heavy step forward, his boot scuffing the snow half-burying one of the four shadow hounds Kael and Elara had killed when they'd intercepted the pack on the ridge. "Where'd you run off to, mutts?" he muttered, his voice rough with frustration, a thick scar slicing diagonally across his jaw matching the mark all of Theron's hand-picked retinue received when they swore their fealty. "Captain's gonna feed me to the alpha pack if I come back empty-handed. Theron's orders said no mistakes with the anomaly sweep. The old man's been on a rampage ever since the Wildwalkers hit the western supply depot last month."
Kael's fingers tightened around the hilt of his upgraded iron dagger, still slick with fresh hound blood that was already starting to freeze on the blade. Theron was looking for an anomaly. He was looking for *them*. For the stat boost Kael had given Elara, the one that shouldn't exist under the Covenant's rigid birth cap system, the one that proved someone could bypass the limits the Lumina Covenant had enforced for centuries by hoarding stolen blessing shards to extend Theron's 400-year lifespan and keep the common population subjugated. If this knight found them, Theron would burn the Wildwalker camp to the ground to get to Kael's power. The village rescue mission, the whole plan to free the low-cap populations trapped under Covenant rule, would be ash before it even started.
Elara's hand clamped around Kael's wrist, not in fear, but in a firm, deliberate squeeze, her chipped nails caked with pine sap and residual hound blood digging slightly through his sleeve. She nodded toward the overhang above the boulder, where a loose chunk of ice the size of a millstone jutted out over the western slope, frozen to the rock by three days of subzero wind, its surface crusted with fragile white frost flowers that glowed pale blue in the weak winter sun. If they could dislodge it, it would crash down the slope into the patch of thick, frozen bramble at the bottom, making enough noise to sound like a fleeing scout or a stray shadow hound breaking cover. It would draw the knight away, no questions asked. But the throw had to be perfect. No sound, no missed angle, no time to correct if the dagger veered even an inch off target. If the ice fell the wrong way, it would crash into the boulder instead of the bramble, and the knight would be on them before they could reach for their weapons.
Kael's ankle screamed at the mere thought of shifting his weight to get a better line on the ice's frozen joint. His base dexterity stat was 4, enough for a decent throw on a good day, but not with his leg half out of commission, not when the margin for error was zero. He didn't hesitate. He spent 1 Augment Point, the familiar warm tingle spreading from his sternum down through his right arm, making his fingers feel light and the dagger's weight sit perfectly balanced in his palm instead of feeling slightly too heavy, as it had a second earlier. He didn't waste the boost.
He drew his dagger back, wrist loose, and threw.
The blade cut through the wind so quiet it didn't even make a whistle, hitting the ice chunk dead center at its weakest frozen joint. For half a heartbeat, nothing happened, and Kael's chest tightened so hard he could barely breathe. Then the ice cracked, a sharp, loud sound that made the knight spin toward the overhang, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. The chunk dislodged, sliding down the slope in a shower of frost and shattered ice, crashing through the bramble with a racket loud enough to be heard half a mile away, sending a flock of tiny snow sparrows bursting from the pine trees lining the slope in a flurry of white feathers.
The knight's tracker bliped once, locking onto the noise and the residual movement in the brush. He drew his steel sword, the blade glinting in the weak winter sun, and growled. "There you are." He jogged after the sound, his boots thudding down the western slope so fast he slipped once on a patch of black ice, cursing loudly as he caught himself on a pine trunk, not noticing the sealed scroll slip out of his belt pouch, landing half-buried in the snow at the base of the boulder, its dark leather casing still warm from being tucked against his body.
Kael counted slowly to sixty, then another sixty, until the knight's footsteps faded completely, until the distant shouts of the main Covenant patrol were so faint they blended into the howl of the Wastes wind. Only then did he let his hand fall from Elara's mouth, his shoulders slumping with relief as he leaned back against the boulder, his good leg giving out slightly under his weight. He hissed as his bad ankle shifted, sending a jolt of hot, stabbing pain up his calf that made his eyes water.
"Remind me to buy you a drink when we're not about to be skinned alive by Covenant knights," Elara whispered, rubbing her jaw gently where the edge of his glove had left a faint red mark, as she knelt to inspect his ankle. Her face was still pale from the venom, her hands shaking a little from the adrenaline crash, but her eyes were sharp and alert, scanning the tree line for any sign of the knight doubling back. "That throw was perfect. Where'd you learn to do that?"
Kael huffed a dry laugh, wincing as she prodded the swollen bruise through his boot, the pressure sending a dull throb up his leg. "Brooklyn public school. Turns out throwing pocket knives at guys who steal your lunch money pays off eventually. Got suspended three times for it, principal said I'd end up in jail before I turned 21. Who knew I'd be using the skill to avoid getting murdered by magic knights in a frozen wasteland instead?"
Elara snorted, pulling the pine salve from her cloak pocket to slather on the exposed skin around his boot line, the thick, sticky substance smelling like turpentine and wild honey, stinging at first before leaving a warm, numbing tingle that dulled the worst of the pain. She wrapped the ankle tight with a strip of clean linen bandage she tore from the roll in her pack, tying it off with a firm knot that kept the swelling from pressing too hard against the boot leather. She glanced toward the western slope, where the knight's distant shout echoed as he tripped over a frozen root, followed by the sound of more ice crashing down the slope. "He's not coming back anytime soon. Let's clean up the hound corpses, make sure no other patrol stumbles on them and picks up our trail."
They hobbled over to the spot where the scroll had fallen, Elara brushing the snow off its leather casing first, her fingers brushing the deep crimson wax seal holding it closed. It bore the same silver sunburst with an embedded crystal shard as the knight's armor—Theron's personal mark, reserved for orders sent directly from his spire in the capital. "That's not a standard patrol order," Elara breathed, her fingers tightening around the scroll. "Only the retinue he's hand-picked over his four centuries of rule carry those. I only ever saw that seal once before, on the order that sentenced my sister Mia to ten years in the Covenant work camps for stealing a loaf of bread to feed a sick neighbor."
They broke the seal, unrolling the parchment carefully so they didn't tear the thin, treated paper. The ink was dark and crisp, written in Theron's looping, arrogant script, scented with the same sandalwood that clung to all Covenant high priest robes, and the words on the page made Kael's blood run cold.> Priority Directive for Retinue Knight Voss:> 1. Sweep Eastern Border Wastes sector 7 for stat anomaly signatures matching recorded unapproved cap boosts.> 2. All three low-cap villages in sector 7 are scheduled for full purge at dawn tomorrow. No survivors. The purge will draw the anomaly out of hiding.> 3. Capture the anomaly alive. Delivery to the capital spire will earn the responsible knight a personal blessing shard, raising their birth cap by 5.> 4. No communication with regular patrol command. This order is sealed and confidential.
Kael stared at the words, his throat tight, thinking of the six-year-old boy he'd met in the camp three days prior—Lila's little brother, gap-toothed, covered in frost, who'd made Kael a lopsided snow angel and begged him to teach him how to throw a knife. He was from the northernmost of the three sector 7 villages, left behind when his parents had been killed by a Covenant patrol two months prior. If the purge happened as scheduled, he'd be dead before the sun came up, along with every other man, woman, and child trapped in those villages. They'd planned the rescue mission for dawn the day after tomorrow, 48 hours out, to give the Wildwalkers time to pack supplies, coordinate scout routes, and move the villagers to the hidden northern safe valley without being spotted. Now they had less than 18 hours until the purge. If they stuck to the original timeline, every person in those three villages would be dead before they even left camp.
"We have to get back now," Elara said, rolling the scroll back up and tucking it into her inner cloak pocket, where it would be safe from the snow and wind, her voice sharp with urgency. "Mara needs to see this. We have to move the mission up, no arguments."
They worked fast, hefting the shadow hound corpses one by one into a deep frozen crevice half a mile from the ridge, each hound weighing at least 80 pounds, their fur cold as ice, their eyes still glowing faint red even in death. Elara took the heavier two when she saw Kael wince as he shifted his weight onto his bad ankle, her face tight with effort as she dragged one across the snow by its scruff. They covered the bodies with thick piles of snow and loose rock until no trace of them remained, packing the snow down hard with their boots and scattering pine boughs over the top to hide the discolored patches from any patrolling scouts or birds of prey. They brushed away their own tracks as they went, Elara using a thick pine branch to sweep the footprints from the snow, the wind picking up right on cue to scatter fine, powdery snow over the path until it looked like no one had ever walked there. Kael leaned heavily on Elara's shoulder as they walked, his ankle throbbing with every step, the cold seeping through the rip in his cloak until his fingers were numb and stiff, even inside his gloves. The faint smell of pine smoke drifted on the wind from the direction of the camp, a welcome reminder that they weren't out of the woods yet, but they were close.
Half a mile from the camp entrance, two Wildwalker scouts stepped out from behind a stand of frozen pine, their crossbows raised before they recognized Kael and Elara, their fingers relaxing on the triggers. Lila, the younger of the two, 16 years old on her first patrol rotation, a streak of faded blue dye in her dark hair, relaxed immediately, her crossbow dropping to her side. "We were sent to check on you. Mara was worried when the knight split off from the main patrol. Did he spot you?"
"Not even close," Kael said, nodding toward Elara's cloak pocket, where the scroll was tucked safely. "But we found something you need to see. Theron's moving the village purge up to dawn tomorrow."
Branna, the older scout, her face crisscrossed with old battle scars, a crossbow bolt scar slicing through the top of her left ear, went pale. She had a cousin in the middle sector 7 village, who'd had a baby three weeks prior, the first birth in the village in two years. "Dawn? That's 16 hours from now. Our supply packs are only half put together. Half the medic team is still treating Joren's leg wound from the last skirmish, we don't have enough pine salve or bandages to treat a whole village of wounded if we run into a patrol on the way back."
"We know," Elara said, already walking faster toward the camp, Kael leaning on her shoulder as they picked up the pace. "That's why we need to get to Mara immediately. We don't have time to waste."
The four of them moved as fast as Kael's ankle would allow, reaching the camp entrance ten minutes later, the stacked pine log gate reinforced with iron bands, two more guards posted there with crossbows at the ready, who nodded and let them pass without question. Mara was waiting by the gate, her arms crossed, her face tight with worry, her fur-lined cloak dusted with snow, her hair braided back with leather cord, a dagger sheathed at her belt and a bow slung over her shoulder. She'd been up for 36 hours straight coordinating the camp defense and the original rescue mission plans, her eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion, but she relaxed when she saw Kael and Elara unharmed. She nodded toward the council tent, where the rest of the leadership was gathered, going over the original rescue mission maps spread out across a wooden table. "The main patrol's fully diverted west, following the false scent trail. We picked up their radio transmissions ten minutes ago, they're heading back to the capital outpost, think they chased a Wildwalker raiding party off. Good work. But we have a problem."
"Not as big as the one we brought you," Kael said, nodding to Elara, who pulled the sealed scroll from her pocket and handed it over.
Mara unrolled it, her knuckles whitening around the edges of the parchment as she read, her jaw tightening so hard Kael could see the muscle jumping in her cheek. She didn't say a word for a full minute, her eyes scanning the lines again and again like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. When she looked up, her face was set, hard as the Wastes granite they'd hidden behind earlier. "We move the mission to midnight. We leave in eight hours. Send runners to all teams, tell them to pack light, only essential supplies—rations, bandages, cold weather gear, weapons. We can bring extra food and medicine on the second trip once the villagers are safe in the valley. No exceptions, no delays."
Before anyone could respond, Gareth burst out of the council tent, holding a crumpled scout message in his hand, his face grim. His left arm was still in a linen sling stained with old blood from the last Covenant skirmish, but he was moving fast, his boots crunching across the frozen camp ground, his cheeks bright red from the cold and exertion. He'd run three miles through the Wastes to meet the forward scout halfway, he'd later explain, the message almost blowing out of his hand twice on the run back.
"We just got word from the forward scout posted near the first village," he said, holding up the message so everyone could see the smudged ink, written in a hurry, the letters running where snow had seeped through the paper. "A second Covenant patrol, 20 men, heavy armor, two shadow hounds, is heading for sector 7 right now. They're two miles out, moving fast, burning every brush pile they pass to flush out any hiding Wildwalkers. They'll be at the first village by sundown."
The cold wind picked up, carrying the faint, distant sound of shadow hound barking over the camp, sharp and hungry, growing closer by the second. The Wastes weren't done biting yet.