He just hadn’t expected her to be so…self-sacrificing and vibrant.
Most would say Gemma wasn’t an expressive girl. She generally kept her mouth shut and usually spoke words that were as prickly as a thistle.
Stil disagreed.
She’s expressive alright. But it’s in her eyes—the way they shift from ice when she’s upset to sapphires when she’s happy, he thought.
And that didn’t even touch on her noble character. Who would escape certain death only to turn around and go back because they realized they would cause the death of those who served as their wardens?
No one.
No one, except Gemma.
Feeling the need to speak it out loud, as though making it final, Stil said, “Leaving her is no longer an option.”
It was then Stil realized he had left Verglas while musing over the seamstress. He whirled around, taking in the bare trees and the lack of the Verglas pines and firs.
Uttering an oath under his breath, he ran back in the direction from which he had come, cursing his stupidity.
There was a snarl, and the hellhound leapt in front of Stil, cutting him off.
“Fire,” Stil said, throwing a red feather in the beast’s face. The feather exploded into an inferno of fire, forcing the hellhound backwards.
The beast whipped its head and howled as Stil ran north.
The nightmare answered the hellhound with a snort, bursting out of murky darkness with its flaming eyes.
Stil slipped his hunting knife out from under his cloak as he ran parallel to the nightmare and its rider. “Sorry,” Stil said to a tree, his hand scraping the rough bark. “Cleave,” he said before slicing the knife straight through trunks of several trees.
The nightmare shrieked angrily and lunged to get out of the way.
Stil took the opportunity to start running east, back into Verglas.
The hellhound was back, snarling and panting on Stil’s heels. “Of course you always find me in the wild. Not in the city where I could use the very ground against you,” he said, flicking a ribbon from under his cloak. “Bind,” he said, throwing the ribbon at the animal. The ribbon wrapped around the beast’s snout, muzzling it as though it were made of iron. The hellhound scratched at it and tried to flex its mouth, but the ribbon held. Stil reached under his cloak and popped out the only real weapon he had—a metal bar roughly the length and thickness of his forearm. “Cudere!” he shouted, throwing it into the air. Stil jumped aside to dodge the nightmare and was almost shot by the rider, who loaded another bolt into his crossbow.
Still muzzled, the hellhound leapt for Stil—claws extended—just as Stil’s weapon came slicing downwards, glowing as metal grew and extended, forming a double tipped spear taller than Stil. One tip had metal wings at the base of the spearhead. The other end had a curved blade that was sharp on only one edge; the other edge was covered by decorative metal work and gems.
Stil caught it, bringing it up just in time to guard against the black claws, although he was driven back by the force.
“Blaze!” Stil said. The spear erupted in light, temporarily blinding the mongrel. Stil whirled the spear over his head and shoved the curved end out behind him. He countered another arrow—which made the weapon flash like lightning when it was struck.
The hellhound and the nightmare shrieked, and Stil ran.
Where is it? I couldn’t have walked too far into Kozlovka! Stil thought as he ran, ducking just in time to avoid an arrow.
Stil almost drooped in relief when he spotted a pine tree. He had to be getting close! He planted his feet and, using his momentum, spun. He slid his spear across his left arm and braced it with his right. He landed a direct blow to the hellhound’s head, knocking the creature to the ground but failing to draw any blood.
Stil cursed and ran again. Being a craftmage, he hadn’t trained much for fights. That failing was painfully obvious to him as the cold air stung his lungs while he sprinted.
Stil grabbed a leaf while on the run and used his magic to shape it into a snowflake. “Home,” he said. The snowflake glowed, and forty feet away, an opalescent line shot through the ground. He was almost there.
The nightmare screamed somewhere behind him. He swung, releasing his spear, which sliced through the air with glittering edges.
The nightmare swung so the rider could block it with his short sword, but the loss of the weapon lightened Stil and let him sprint unhindered.
He closed the distance between himself and the Verglas border as the rider spurred his mount on, catching up.
Still almost took an arrow to the shoulder, but he darted to the side just in time.
He was so close!
The nightmare jumped, closing the gap.
“Go bother a war mage!” Stil shouted as he threw himself across the border.
The nightmare skid to a stop, shrieking as the Snow Queen’s power exploded into an icy wall of sharp, glittering ice shards.
