Magnus Frostbeard's Arc

Chapter 7 of 15

Winterchase held up one hand for silence. The riders were still above, hunting the tunnel mouth. Magnus looked at the pale horses grazing in the blue light. His crew could not outrun shod horses on foot. But the herd knew the caves. He made his choice fast. "We ride them," he said. "Deeper. Where the riders can't follow." Greta laughed once, hard. "They're wild. They'll break our necks." "Then we go slow." Magnus stepped toward the nearest mare with his palms open. She swung her head, ears flat. He stopped. He pulled a clump of blue leaves from his rucksack and held it out on a flat hand. The mare's nostrils worked. She took a step. She ate from his hand. Thornpaw moved next, low and slow, his white fur bristling. He did not lunge. He let the horses smell the bear in him and waited until they decided he was no threat. Winterchase pressed her hand to a gray stallion's neck and hummed low. The stallion stilled. One by one the herd let them close. Magnus gripped a fistful of pale mane and climbed on. The mare shuddered but held. Greta hauled her weight onto a broad-backed stallion. Thornpaw rode bareback with his claws gentle in the mane. Winterchase mounted last, light as snow. "Which way?" Greta asked. Magnus felt the warm wind on his face and pointed down the throat of the cave. He pulled the glowing relic from his rucksack. It pulsed warmer as he aimed it into the dark. "The wind and the stone agree," he said. "That way." Above, the riders reached the tunnel mouth. Iron horseshoes rang on the ice. Magnus heard shouts echo down the blue walls. "They're in," Winterchase said. "Behind us." Magnus dug his heels in. The mare surged forward. The whole herd moved as one, hooves drumming the cave floor, carrying the crew deeper into the glacier. Loose horses ran with them, a wall of pale bodies the riders could not push through. Magnus glanced back. The armed riders reined up at the herd's edge, their mounts refusing the crush of wild horses ahead. The cave narrowed. The walls dropped lower. Behind them the shouting faded, then stopped. The riders could not force their horses into the tight dark after a stampeding herd. Magnus slowed his mare when the noise died. His crew breathed hard around him in the blue glow. They had lost the riders. They had gained mounts and speed. He unrolled his chart against the mare's warm neck and marked the turn they had taken. Then he lifted the relic. Its glow burned steadier here, and the warm wind ran stronger against his beard. The passage sloped down ahead into a dark he could not see the end of. "The relic's brighter," Winterchase said quietly. "We're close to whatever made it." Magnus nodded. They rode on, toward the heat, into ground no map had ever touched.