Garrett Ironpeak's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

The den lay half a day away, across open tundra. Garrett and Daren crouched behind a low ridge and studied the ground. Flat white snow stretched toward the cave mouth, a jagged opening shaped like a wolf's jaws. Two wolves still guarded it. Garrett's glaive hummed with fresh lightning, and the bow sat warm against his back. But he saw no cover between here and the den. "They'll spot us the moment we move," he said. "Wolves see far on open ground." Daren had watched this den for three nights before he ever met Garrett. He knew its rhythms. "There's a fold in the land," he said. He pointed with his spear. "A dry creek bed. It runs low, out of their sight, almost to the mouth. I walked it once." He looked at his mentor. Garrett had turned him away as a student before. Now the old man listened. "Show me," Garrett said. They crawled to the creek bed's edge. Daren was right. The channel cut deep, its banks tall enough to hide a walking man. But snow had drifted into parts of it. Garrett could not tell where it stayed clear and where it choked. Blind ground was as bad as open ground. One wrong turn would spill them into the wolves' view. Then a shadow crossed the snow. A white falcon dropped from the gray sky and settled on a stone above them. It fixed one dark eye on Daren and did not startle. "That's mine," Daren said. "I raised her from a chick. She flies where I send her." He lifted his arm. The bird hopped to his wrist. He stroked her pale feathers, then flung her upward. "Follow the creek," he said. "Find me the clear road." The falcon climbed and glided low along the channel. Garrett watched her trace its whole length. She banked twice, marking two bends where the snow lay deep. Then she circled the den and returned, folding her wings on Daren's arm. "She dipped at the drifts," Daren said. "Twice. We hug the north bank at both. The rest runs clear to the mouth." They moved. Garrett led with the glaive low. At the first bend they pressed the north bank, and the drift passed on their left. At the second they did the same. The falcon flew ahead, silent, guiding each step. The wolves never lifted their heads. Garrett reached the last stretch of the creek bed and rose. The jaw-shaped cave mouth loomed ten paces off. Both wolves stood inside, unaware. He nocked an arrow and spoke the word. Fire woke in the shaft. "We're here," Garrett breathed. "They didn't see us come." But as he drew, a man's voice echoed from deep in the cave, calling the wolves by name. Fenrir was home. The strike would not be two beasts alone. It would be all three at once.