Frost Winterchase's Arc

Chapter 4 of 8

The drum of hooves grew louder under the grass. Frost turned toward the sound. Riders spilled onto the ice within sight of camp. She counted a dozen dark shapes, spurring their mounts hard across the frozen ground. There was no cover here. No wall, no ridge, no place to plant her feet and hold. Her wild serpent bristled at her knee. Magnus set his boots wide and lifted his axe. "They'll be on us before you finish one serpent," he said. "We can't outrun horses." Frost tried anyway. She opened her hands and reached for the cold. But her fear crept back in. Her fingers curled. She grabbed at the magic the old way, hard and fast, and it slipped through her grip like water. Two half-formed serpents broke apart and melted into mist. "No," she breathed. The riders closed the gap. She had no time to summon a pack. She had no defended spot to make her stand. Then a shadow crossed the sun. Frost looked up. The great butterfly of the valley rose above the frost trees. Its wings were wide as sails, silver and clear, edged with snowflakes. A crown of ice sat on its narrow head. She had calmed this creature days ago with open hands. Now it had felt her fear through the cold air, and it answered. The queen swept her wings once. Frost from the trees lifted into the air. It shaped itself into dozens of small stinging butterflies, each one bright and sharp as glass. The swarm poured toward the riders in a glittering cloud. Frost heard the horses scream. The butterflies stung necks and hands and flanks. Riders threw up their arms. Mounts reared and bolted sideways across the ice. Frost stopped fighting her own magic. She watched the queen work, the way the great creature did not grip the cold but let it flow out of her. Frost breathed slow and opened her hands again. This time she did not grab. She made room. A serpent formed above her palms, calm, and then a second beside it. Her wild serpent joined them. Three of them coiled at her side, ready and quiet. The riders broke. They wheeled their horses and fled back across the ice, swatting at the swarm as they went. In moments they were small dark shapes again, then gone beyond the far edge of the frozen ground. Magnus lowered his axe and let out a long breath. "For now," he said. "They'll come back once they lick their wounds." Frost nodded. Her three serpents held steady above her hands, and they did not strain. She understood now. The queen had shown her the last of it. She had made her stand, and it had held. But the swarm would fade, and the valley's guardian could not fight her hunters forever. The next time the riders came, Frost would have to summon her own pack alone.