fight three dragons later when they decide to attack us.”
Jordhan shrugged. “All I know is I’d rather live a little longer, even if it’s only a few hours. I mean to squeeze every last drop out of life before I’m dragon food.”
“No one on this ship will be dragon food,” Gaven said, louder than he meant to. “Just keep sailing, Jordhan.”
The captain’s face darkened, and he stalked back to the helm without another word.
“Damn,” Gaven muttered. “I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s been a long journey, Gaven,” Rienne said. “We’re all getting a little testy.”
“At this rate, we’ll kill each other before the dragons have a chance.”
CHAPTER 5
Kauth stared out the window of another Orien coach as it rolled past an apparently endless series of trees. This time, though, Vor sat stiffly beside him, and Sevren and Zandar joked in the seat behind. Perhaps a dozen other passengers half-filled the enormous coach, watching the countryside drift slowly by or talking quietly with each other. Even a team of magebred horses pulled the coach at what felt to Kauth like a snail’s pace. The first five days outside of Varna, the view had been monotonous-farm after farm on the starboard side, and the broad expanse of Lake Galifar to port. The other side of the lake was too far away to see, except for the peaks of the Blackcaps jutting up in the middle. Leaving the unremarkable village of Niern that morning, though, the coach had finally turned away from the coast toward Greenheart, and fields soon gave way to the dense forest that made up the heart of the Eldeen Reaches.
The trees crowded close in to the road, as if they resented the civilizing influence that had cleared away their brothers and sisters. Their leaves blocked the sun, shrouding the forest in a perpetual twilight. At times, branches scraped against the roof of the coach or broke against its sides. Wild animals watched the coach without fear-at one point, passengers on the port side had screamed in terror as an enormous Eldeen bear shambled up beside the coach, staring at them eye to eye. Other, stranger things flitted through the forest at a safer distance, some wearing more or less humanoid shapes, others more like beasts. Sometimes the trees themselves walked, shadowing the coach on its course.
Around midday, the coach lurched to a stop. A nervous hum of whispered conversation rose immediately in the coach, and Kauth shot a glance at Vor. The ore looked at him, nodded, and heaved himself to his feet-plate armor and all. He strode to the front of the coach, and Kauth grabbed his crossbow as he got up to follow. “Wait.” Zandar grabbed his arm.
“There might be trouble,” Kauth said, whirling to face the warlock. “I’m not going to let Vor face it alone.”
“Neither are we,” Sevren said. He bent his bow and looped the string around the free end. “But Vor prefers to face trouble head-on.”
“While we sneak around behind,” Zandar said, jerking his head toward the back of the coach. “This way.”
Sevren followed, and Kauth trailed behind to the door at the back of the coach and out into the shadow- cloaked woods. The air was warm and heavy, quiet with the expectation of a summer thunderstorm. Vor’s voice, coming from in front of the coach, was muffled but clear.
“This coach is under my protection,” he called out. “You will face me before you harm a single person aboard.”
The only sound Kauth could hear in response was a harsh hiss that pulsed with anger.
“It’s the Children of Winter,” Sevren whispered, and Zandar nodded.
“What does that mean?” Kauth asked. The name sounded familiar to him-he thought perhaps it referred to one of the druidic sects of the Eldeen Reaches.
“It means bugs,” Zandar said with a grin. “Lots of big bugs.”
“Let’s move,” Sevren said.
He and Zandar moved to opposite sides of the coach and skulked into the shadows of the trees. Kauth decided to stick with Sevren, trailing several yards behind. The shifter held an arrow nocked in his bow, and made only the slightest rustle as he moved. Kauth felt clumsy by comparison.
Another rattling hiss made him start, then Sevren cried out. An arrow flew wild, and something yanked the shifter off his feet and into the air. The forest blocked Kauth’s view, so he broke into a run.
He cleared an ancient oak and stopped short. An enormous green mantis, taller than an ogre, held Sevren in two scythelike claws. Four other legs held the insect’s slender body off the ground, and its long abdomen jutted out and up behind it. Sevren had managed to pull out two long knives, but it was all he could do to keep the mandibles at the bottom of the creature’s triangular head from tearing open his belly.
Kauth lifted his crossbow to his eye and sighted along the shaft of the quarrel, aiming for one of the insect’s enormous eyes. Just as he tightened his grip to loose the bolt, a centipede the size of his finger dropped onto his hand from a branch above. He jerked, and his quarrel soared over the mantis’s head.
“Bugs, indeed,” he muttered, shaking his hand to throw the centipede off. In the same moment, something landed on the back of his neck and bit, sending a jolt of pain down his spine.
Swatting at whatever had landed on him, he stumbled away from the oak where he’d stopped. Glancing back at it, he realized that the tree was alive with centipedes, writhing and crawling over every inch of bark. He shuddered, brushing at his arms and chest, then he remembered Sevren.
Just as he turned, Sevren fell from the mantis’s claws, the creature’s head falling with him. The creature jerked spasmodically, lashing out with its claws as it staggered forward. One claw raked across the shifter’s chest, but Sevren lashed out with a knife and cut it cleanly off. With a final shudder, the mantis fell to the ground, its legs twitching in the air.
Kauth ran to the shifter. “Let me look at you,” he said. “How bad are your wounds?”
“Don’t worry about me!” Sevren snarled. “We need to get to Vor!” He sheathed his knives, retrieved his bow from where it had fallen, and set off, nocking another arrow as he ran.
The shifter leaped over ferns and roots without breaking stride, and Kauth found himself lagging again. When he lost sight of Sevren, he felt the forest close in around him. Everywhere his eyes fell, he saw some kind of crawling thing-spiders the size of his fist skittering along branches, thick millipedes snaking amid the fallen leaves, beetles whirring their wings in the air, a scorpion the size of a dog creeping slowly alongside his path.
He felt them all watching him-thousands of eyes following his every movement, sizing up their prey. His skin crawled, and every few steps he swatted at some real or imagined vermin pricking his exposed skin.
He broke, panting, out of the forest and onto the road in front of the Orien coach. Vor stood directly in front of the coach, the ground around him littered with the shattered carapaces of enormous spiders and insects of every description-as well as one crumpled gray-cloaked human form. Two more of the hooded figures dodged the sweeping strikes of his greataxe, trying to slash through his armor with their curved blades. A wasp the size of a horse darted around him, lunging at him and then flying back out of his axe’s reach, the droning of its wings drowning out the sounds of the battle.
Two men and a woman, all wearing the unicorn symbol of House Orien on their shoulders, stood behind Vor with lightweight blades in their hands. They jabbed at the hooded Children of Winter and the pack of scorpions and spiders at their feet, but it was clear that if the defense of the coach had rested in the hands of these warriors alone, it would already be overrun. The horrorstruck faces of the other passengers peered out the windows at chittering swarms and gigantic vermin crawling over the carriage’s sides and windows.
Sevren and Zandar ranged back and forth at the edge of the forest to line up clear shots against the Children of Winter and their many-legged minions. Sevren kept his bow in his left hand, but he alternated between pulling it back to loose an arrow and yanking out his knife to cut down a foe that came too close. His arrows feathered several corpses littered over the road, and a few more lay along his path at the side of the road.
Zandar held no weapon, but he fired blasts of shadow from his hands, like the one he’d used to shatter Vor’s mug back in Varna. When an enemy got too close, he lashed out with a hand curled into a claw, drawing streaks of shadow and blood across the chest or face of his foe. He had evidently reached the scene before Sevren-without the
