Draxin Alistair (16)'s Arc

Chapter 20 of 22

The wrapped blade tugged at Draxin's chest with every step back to the main chamber. He kept his hand low so the eye stayed pressed against his thigh. Dante watched him a long moment, then turned to the piles of crates and canvas bundles heaped along the ice wall. "We take everything we can carry," Dante said. "Fill the wagon. Move." Draxin worked one-handed. His right fist stayed closed around the leather grip under the cloth. He hauled sacks of coin to the wagon with his left arm, then boxes of old relics wrapped in oilskin. Zag rode his shoulder and pointed at things worth grabbing. A cracked bronze cup. A bundle of knives. A small carved stone that looked like a fish. Spike whistled while he worked. He kicked open a chest and grinned at the gold inside. "Boss, we're rich again." He dumped the whole chest into the wagon bed. "Short guys need extra shares. That's the rule." "No one made that rule," Dante said. "I did. Just now." Mimi carried two crates stacked to her mask. She set them down without a sound and went back for more. When she passed Draxin, she tapped the cloth on his hand once, checking the wrap. He nodded. The pull in his ribs had settled into a steady hum. He decided he would keep it. He had no way to drop it, and no way to know if it was a piece of his parents' killers or bait pulling him somewhere worse. Either answer was north of here, not behind him. He would carry it until it told him more. They loaded until the wagon axles groaned. Dante slapped the side rail. "That's the cap. Out." Draxin pulled the mule forward. The cave mouth opened into gray light and blowing snow. He blinked against the wind and stopped walking. A man stood in the snow twenty paces from the wagon. White feather coat crusted with ice. One steampunk glove hung split at the knuckles. A long red gash ran from his jaw down into his beard. He was smiling with all his teeth. "Boys," Gustavo Frostclaw said. His voice was hoarse from the cold. "You forgot to check under the snow." Spike stopped whistling. Mimi shifted her weight. Dante stepped past the mule and put himself between Gustavo and the wagon. Smoke curled weak from his shoulder. Gustavo's eyes moved to Draxin's wrapped hand. The smile widened. "And you brought something out with you. I can smell it from here." Under the cloth, the eye blinked. Draxin felt it against his palm. The blade pulsed once, hot, like it was answering a name it knew. His hiyrel answered back. Dante did not turn his head. "Kid. Get in the wagon." Draxin didn't move. His fist tightened on the grip.