The sound carried, low and resonant, cutting cleanly through the panic and noise, echoing off stone in a way that made my skin prickle. More howls answered, closer, the rhythm deliberate enough to turn my stomach.
Cold air burned my lungs as I pulled in a measured breath and let it out, grounding myself in the weight of my body and the scrape of snow beneath my shoes. I was upright and moving. Even better, my cut leg wasn’t hurting nearly as much.
The space I’d landed in was a narrow lane that ran between the outer castle wall and the inner edge of the surrounding town. The buildings didn’t press close here. They stopped short by design, leaving a clear buffer of stone and packed earth wide enough for groups of people to fit through. It was built to limit cover for anyone near the wall, but the alleys between the buildings looked to have more overhang to hide me.
Snow lay unevenly across the ground, churned by boots and wheels, darkened in places by ash and cinders. The air smelled of damp stone and old smoke, like the residue of a thousand fires burned and cleared away. Fresh prints wouldn’t show for long, even as the new snowflakes dropped and clung to the dirty surfaces.
Straight ahead, through the buildings, I could see what was likely the main road, where torchlight flared and people ran in every direction, voices overlapping in fear and confusion.
“The Night King is attacking!”
“No, it’s an escaped prisoner!”
“They’ve sent the hounds! Don’t get in their way!”
Another horn blast sounded. Based on what I’d seen from the walkway, I guessed that the eastern gate lay to my right. If the hounds came through that gate, they would sweep this lane first.
I turned away from the street and ran down the alley between the nearest set of buildings.
My shoes crunched over the thin layer of snow as I scanned the ground and the structures around me. The town appeared to be set up on a rough grid. Pools of peach-orange light surrounded tall iron lampposts, and dark wood structures were set at regular intervals. From the wall, when I’d peered over, I’d seen at least four sections of buildings before the main road that led out of the castle. It opened into a large marketplace square. As I ran, I glimpsed the main road, where people milled and shouted. Several homes had single torches in the windows, as if the occupants had been roused from sleep and hadn’t lit up every room.
The hounds would come out of the main gate, and then they’d track me fast.
I needed to find something to mask my scent. What might be available in a city that probably had less tech than Game of Thrones? Ash might work.
Heart hammering in my throat, I ducked into a gap between buildings and scanned for anything useful. There were stacks of firewood in iron rings, a pile of broken crates, and seven barrels sitting beneath the overhang of a broad-roofed shop. Fine gray powder and black chunks were scattered around the bases of the barrels, and a sign with an anvil hung out front.Probably ablacksmith.Sweet! I ran up and lifted the lid of one barrel, and found it contained powdery gray ash.
Good enough for me. I glanced over my shoulder once more to make sure no one was watching, then plunged my hands in, hoping this ash didn’t have anything toxic mixed with it. The ash was fine and cold as it coated my gloves. I worked it into my sleeves, my coat, my hair, grinding it in with urgency. Its scent, dark and choking, dulled any other smell, clinging to fabric and skin alike. But I couldn’t put on too much. I needed to apply just enough to mask my scent and not enough to live a grimy trail or make myself choke. Thank goodness I didn’t have to bathe myself in it. Even just enough to mask my scent made my head spin and made me feel gritty.
More howls sounded, closer now, threaded with excitement as they rose in pitch.
My shoulders hitched. Shit, they were close. Part of me just wanted to run, but I forced myself to be thorough, rubbing ash over my shoes and ankles, pressing it into seams where heat lingered, and all over my hands.
More shouts echoed from beyond the walls as the howling intensified. Heavy metal groaned, and chains clanked, as if a gate was being hauled open.
I jumped to shake off the remnants of the ash so that I wouldn’t leave a traceable path behind. My wounded leg barely protested at all, and my body no longer ached as if I’d been beaten. While I wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, this lack of pain was not what I expected. As soon as I was safe, I needed to figure out what was going on.
I circled the blacksmith shop and crossed the lane diagonally, taking care to step in other people’s footsteps, and slipped back toward the wall farther down from where I’d fallen. Ash clung to me like a second skin.
The howling intensified along with yips, and a rage-filled roar cut above the chaos.
My body tensed, and an odd tug twisted in my chest.
What the fuck was that?Heat spilled through my veins and pooled in my belly, rushing faster and hotter as a sudden urge to charge at the source of that bellow pulsed through me.
I shook my head.No! What’s wrong with me?
I kept moving, forcing myself to focus. Ash would dull my scent, but it might not completely erase it, especially with fear and sweat clinging to my skin. I needed layers of confusion, something alive and overwhelming enough to tangle the trail beyond easy recovery.
I pushed myself into a stealthy trot, angling away from the wall and following the rear line of the buildings rather than the open street. This part of the city was quieter, built for labor instead of trade. I passed storage sheds, tack rooms, and long, low structures set back from the places of business that looked more like dwellings. A warm, familiar, earthy scent reached me.
I’d know that smell anywhere.
Horses.
A stable stood ahead, its wide doors shadowed beneath a slanted wood-shingled roof.
Relief tightened my chest as I veered toward it and shoved my way inside just as another chorus of howls rolled through the night.
