Rey’s hard look conveyed a dozen different plans he had in store for her. “We’ll work on the good sort of ache tonight.” He paused. “Svangormr Pass is the most treacherous stretch from here to Kopa. We cannot pause until we are through it but shall stop for the night in the valley beyond.”
Swallowing, Silla nodded. She was eager to warm her toes by the fire, a cup of róa clutched in hand. The trail sloped up sharply, towering pines dwindling to scrawny firs spearing through the deepening snow.
By the time the terrain evened out, Dawn’s coat was dampened with sweat. “Good girl,” Silla whispered, stroking her withers. “Extra oat treats for you tonight.”
The wind howled as long, ridged mountains climbed up on either side of the path. Silla recalled Vig’s explanation of the mountain pass. They did indeed resemble a pair of curving serpents, slumbering beneath blankets of snow. Silla couldn’t help but shudder. If she never saw another serpent in her life, it would be too soon.
Though trees dotted the mountainside, distinct gaps existed on the steep slopes where avalanches had plowed through. The wind tunneled between the mountains with increasing rage, lashing against Silla’s cheeks. Hooves crunched on snow at a smooth pace. In light of the fresh fallen snow, Rey had instructed their group to remain silent through this stretch, which lent a decidedly eerie feel to the place.
Yet, an unsettling feeling grew in Silla’s stomach. Her eyes searched for danger, but she saw only more trees, more snow, and the endless curving line of the mountain range.
As they rounded the bend, she heard it—a sound so faint, Silla thought it the wind. Rey held up a fist and their line came to a halt. Without the crunch of hooves on snow, the sound was more defined, sending a chill straight down Silla’s spine.
Hardly daring to breathe, she leaned in the saddle to see past Rey. White and evergreen were disrupted by a mass of ice-blue. Silla blinked against the frigid wind, trying to discern what exactly it was, and why, exactly, it was moving. She nearly choked on the realization.
The hatchlings.
Dozens of serpents, swarming atop one another in a mob of ice-blue scales.
“We must turn back,” murmured Mýr from behind her.
“No,” interjected Hef, his voice fortified with steel. “This is our chanceto end them.”
“Our task is to protect Eisa,” interjected Kálf, a surprising note of concern in his voice. “It would be folly to leap into battle.”
“They are too many,” said Runný. “That must be all the remaining hatchlings—four dozen at least, and in unfavorable terrain. There is no cover, no advantage to be found.”
Silla swallowed the lump in her throat as a pair of ember-bright eyes turned to regard them. A forked tongue slipped between gleaming fangs, crimson dripping from each. The hatchling undulated from the mass, tipping off the top of the pile and tumbling to the snow.
“It’s not built for land,” whispered Hef. “See the paddle on its tail? These creatures are meant for the water. Here, they are cumbersome. I’m telling you, this is our advantage!”
Slowly, Rey unhooked his shield from Horse’s saddle. “Unless we can take that one out without the horde’s notice, we may not have a choice.”
“On it,” muttered Mýr from behind them, followed by theshickof a bow being slid from its straps. A softtwangsignaled Mýr’s arrow whisking through the air. It sank into the hatchling’s glowing red eye, causing the creature to hiss as it writhed, then stilled.
“I don’t like the feel of this,” whispered Kálf, and Silla had to agree. Alerted by the noise, another hatchling tumbled up from the horde. A second, third, fourth…Silla stopped counting.
“Dismount!” ordered Rey. “The corpses will trap the horses, and we have a better angle from below. Breakers up front, Ashbringers in back. Silla beside me.” Swiftly, the group dismounted, sending the horses down the trail. “Against this rock face,” Rey ordered, darting toward a bare, sheer cliff face of dark basalt. “We’ll make a small shield wall formation against it. Have a clear view of incoming serpents.”
They made a semicircle against the rock wall—Blade Breakers again in the front, protecting the Ashbringers. Runný, predictably, was nowhere to be seen.
“Shields up,” ordered Rey. “Aim for the eyes, underbellies, as silent as you can.”
Rey’s eyes locked with Silla’s, his steely mask dropping for a bare moment to reveal fear and worry.
“Together,” she assured him.
“Together,” Rey repeated, smoke peeling up from his palms as he expressed. “Stay beside me.”
The serpents fell upon them like wolves on a dying creature, and the world dissolved into chaos. There were only those blood-red eyes, their lashing strikes, the spear-sharp fangs stabbing between shields. Fireballs exploded from Rannverand Nefi, Kálf’s whip charring serpents left and right. Hef, Erik and Mýr shielded the Ashbringers with their Blade Breaker strength. Serpents were torn in two, black blood spraying the snow as they were hurled through the air. And as the underbelly of a serpent split open mid-strike, Silla knew Runný fought beside them.
Rey’s smoke burrowed down throats and coiled around serpentine bodies, while Silla’s white sword slashed out time and time again. But as beast after beast swarmed atop one another, Rey soon relinquished his galdur for his sword, heating it with his palm until it glowed red hot. After weeks of sparring together, Rey understood Silla’s movements before she did herself, keeping away from her sword with ease. They worked in tandem, Silla’s bright sword disorienting, while Rey finished them with a sizzling strike to the underbelly. And where Silla’s gaps in defensive awareness existed, Rey seemed to fill them, hacking off fangs and shielding her from attack.
More hatchlings fell upon them, a frantic mass of forked tongues and slashing fangs. Silla cleaved off a fang, shoving the creature back as it screeched in confusion, then plunged her sword deep into its eye. The eerie red glow extinguished to black as the serpent fell still. Her hair was now frosted, lashes glinting.
A shrill male screech filled the air, and she whirled. An enormous figure blotted the sky out. And Rannver…he was lifted from the ground, a large fang protruding from his chest.
“No!” screamed Mýr, diving for Rannver. But the mother serpent yanked him back from the group’s safety, holding a writhing Rannver out for her children. A hatchling struck at him, its fangs sinking into his thigh and wrenching it free. Blood spurted in vivid streaks of crimson. A third beast snatched at Rannver’s middle, but the mother jerked back. Rannver was torn in two, half a dozen serpents swarming upon one another at the scent of his blood.
