Wolves.
Instantly, Bryn was six years old again and lying in the snow at Saint Serrel’s shrine, bleeding out as a pack of wolves tore into her flesh. Digging her fingers against the scars along her ribs, she fought her rising panic.
Outside, a wolf howled, and then the carriage jolted again.
Wide-eyed, Bryn met Saraj and Valenden’s equally concerned looks before she thrust her head out the window. Twilight was falling, and the thick forest cover overhead made the evening that much darker. One of the horses was bleeding from its shoulder. Both animals were stamping their hooves, eyes flashing wildly as though they might bolt at any moment.
Something rustled in the brush on the side of the road. Bryn caught a quick glimpse of gray fur. “Rangar?” she called in alarm.
He twisted to look backward at her call. He had his sword in one hand, the reins firmly in the other to keep the horses from bolting. “Bryn, get back inside the carriage! And tell my damned brother to get out here with his sword!”
“Wolves don’t attack large groups,” she pressed, her voice rising in pitch.
A moment of sympathy softened his face. He, more than anyone, knew what wolves meant to her. For ten years, they’d haunted her nightmares. She feared wolves more than anything else.
“These wolves are different,” he said. “Larger. More violent. Now get Valenden out herenow.”
Bryn ducked back in, chest rising and falling quickly. “Val.” Her voice was hoarse. “Rangar needs you.”
For all his cursing, Valenden couldn’t hide the fact that he was actually quite fearless. He didn’t hesitate to climb out of the carriage, closing the door behind him to keep the women safe.
A howl sounded from somewhere close by in the woods.
“What’s happening out there?” Saraj asked in a rush.
“A wolf attacked one of the horses,” Bryn explained. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to continue. It looked badly wounded.”
Saraj’s brow furrowed.
Bryn wet her lips and said in a shaky voice, “Mars warned us of reports about wolves attacking travelers—” Before she could finish, growls sounded outside, followed by one of the horses shrieking. The carriage suddenly rocked violently.
They heard a man grunt—either Rangar or Valenden, Bryn couldn’t tell—and slash at something with his sword.
Rangar suddenly yelled, “Behind you!”
Valenden let out a determined cry as he slammed into something. The carriage rocked violently again. Saraj tightened her jaw and pressed a hand on Zephyr’s back to keep him calm. She reached for the door handle.
“What are you doing?” Bryn said breathlessly. “Don’t go out there!”
“Zephyr can help fight off the wolves,” she insisted.
A minute later, Bryn was left alone in the carriage as more growls sounded outside. She heard Zephyr’s shriek, followed by a wolf’s pained yip. Rangar and Valenden shouted warnings to one another.
“Val, another one to your left!”
“That’s not a wolf, that’s a gods damned demon!”
Their swords clanked as the two men fought off the wolves. One of the horses let out a scream that sounded all too human.
“Lords and ladies,” Bryn muttered under her breath to rile up her courage. “I’m not eight years old anymore. I can help, too.”
She unsheathed the small knife she kept strapped to the outside of her boot and opened the carriage door. Before she could even step out, a flash of gray fur bolted past her. Shrieking, she clutched the door jamb with one hand and the knife with the other.
The wolf washuge.
For a second, she felt like she was back in the battle of Saint Serrel’s shrine, only instead of soldiers against rebels, it was monsters attacking. Several wolves snarled at the head of the road, where Rangar stood between them and the horses. One of the horses was already dead, its carcass weighing down the harness and spooking the other, who was covered in blood but still standing.
Valenden was frantically trying to free the living horse.
