Hannah
Fur and leather scratched my cheek with every jolt of the Clydesdale-sized caribou. My body was draped awkwardly across the caribou’s broad neck, with the center of my stomach pressed against the horn of the saddle and my side pressed to the Night General, who was resting his forearms on my back while holding the reins.
He pressed down on me iron-solid, keeping me pinned there like an inconvenient sack of potatoes. The thick rope around my wrists was awkward but not painful, leaving my fingers numb and aching but more from the cold than tightness.
The Night General didn’t seem worried about me escaping. He’d even wrapped a wool scarf around my head and face to protect me from the cold. Probably because we both knew this wasn’t a situation I could run away from. Even if I got free, I’d have to get something to ride and figure out where to go. But I wasn’t going to give up. I’d been working to free myself from the rope. A metal clasp on the caribou’s neck harness had a jagged edge that I’d been rubbing the rope against, working through the fibers discreetly and tugging at the knot. This was the only advantage of having my torso hanging over the caribou's shoulder, since the headache I was getting was no picnic.
It was a slow process, but it wasn’t like I had anything better to do. I’d made good progress, but time was working against me. I could count the seconds by the pulses of pain through my face. Blood had dried on my lips and down my chin, my face split and aching, not only from the blow but also from the sheer cold. My cheeks stung where the first soldier had grabbed my face, wearing metal gloves. The raw skin was cut, and every brush of the scarf reminded me of the wounds. The scarf had dulled the roar of the storm, but it dragged roughly against those wounds, scraping with each breath. Cold pressed in from all sides, but the enchanted coat held the worst of it back with a muted warmth clinging stubbornly to my core. My gloves helped, too, keeping my fingers from freezing solid.
My feet were another story. I tried kicking them to keep the blood moving, but it wasn’t doing much. These pink and white sneakers were a cruel joke out here. The deepening snow had already covered the caribou’s fetlocks when we’d left, and it was deeper now.
As we traveled, cold seeped through soaked fabric and bit straight into bone. My toes burned, then went numb, then burned with a deep, vicious pain that made my calves tense and shake. Hypothermia was probably setting in, and I had maybe another hour before it turned severe.
Torchlight bobbed and smeared through the darkness, the flames of the soldiers’ torches bending sideways in the wind. They cast broken pools of orange across the snow, stretching out shadows that twisted and vanished as the caribou pushed forward, heads bowed against the storm.
The rope was stiff with ice, the fibers rough against skin already rubbed raw where it had slid past the glove and rubbed my wrists. I pressed my thumbs together and rolled my wrists in small, careful movements, letting the caribou’s long stride maskthe motion. Pain flared bright and sharp, shooting up my arms. I leaned into it, jaw locking as my breath hitched.
The final knot shifted.
My pulse jumped in a rush that made my vision swim. I went slack, letting my weight sag, then twisted again, harder. The rope scraped and burned, then went slack.
I twisted my head up to see if the Night General had noticed. He wasn’t even looking at me. Though his horned helmet masked his features, his head was tilted up as if searching for something. We seemed to be in a snowy pass, near a jagged mountain wall. The terrain ahead of us slanted upward at an alarmingly sharp angle.
Twisting my wrists against the metal buckle, I caught the rope and tugged. My hands slid free in a rush of pain, and the heat returning to my fingers made them curl reflexively. Needles prickled under my skin as circulation returned.
I held my hands still against the caribou’s neck for a painful breath, shaking. Free hands changed nothing. I still couldn’t see past the torchlight and blowing snow, and I couldn’t get my feet under me. I was surrounded, and I’d never been so cold in my life.
The caribou stiffened, its muscles bunching under me. Somewhere in the wind, several voices cackled—high, thin, metallic, and wrong enough to hollow my chest.
Silver light exploded in the storm.
“Ice imps!” the Night General yelled as he unsheathed his sword. “Take off their heads. Keep moving forward.”
For a heartbeat, everything snapped into violent clarity.
Dozens of small, strange creatures with burning silver eyes burst from the snow, each about three feet tall and all sharp angles. Their bodies flared silver-white and exploded in bursts of silver light as they leapt at the troops. Soldiers shouted as silver claws struck and skidded off armor, glinting in the firelight. Theydrew their swords and swiped at the imps as the caribou pressed on. Torches spun and fell, the flames hissing as they hit the snow and kept burning.
“Steady!” the Night General shouted as he brought his sword down on one of the ice imps and severed its head from its spine. Silver blood shot into the snow.
Something struck his caribou’s flank, and we veered hard. The impact jolted straight through its frame and into mine, knocking my teeth together. Another hit landed, and the animal lurched sideways, hooves scrambling for footing in the churned snow as it made a bellowing call.
The Night General shifted behind me, his knees tightening to steady us, but the caribou twisted again, forced out of line by another blow. The sudden lateral movement wrenched me loose.
My throat dried as I slid, and the scarf pulled away.
I hit the snow, the breath knocked clean out of my lungs. Cold swallowed me as I plunged deep into the drift. The snow pressed against my face and chest and went down my collar and into my mouth. I gagged and rolled, clawing with my hands to dig myself out as the ground shifted beneath me.
Silver flared again.
I raised my head. The fight fractured into frozen pieces—soldiers struggling to keep formation, caribou pushing through the chaos with heads low and shoulders driving, and ice imps darting and striking wherever the line thinned. The Night General continued to fight as several ice imps attacked him again. Then the light vanished, and the storm swallowed it all.
I staggered to my feet and stumbled away.
Each step was a fight. Snow mid-thigh dragged at my legs while my sneakers soaked through instantly. Cold bit at my feet with relentless agony. My mouth tasted of blood and ice, and my hands shook as I held them out for balance with numb and clumsy fingers.
Several of the riders had fallen.
Ahead of me, a caribou broke free of the line, forcing its way laterally through the snow. It had no saddle, and I assumed it was one of the pack animals. Empty holders slapped its sides, the straps torn, and whatever it had been carrying gone. It was moving in my direction.
