Lord of Snow and Ice. Heather Massey

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СКАЧАТЬ upon landing and heard a sickening pop as his right arm bore the full force of the impact. Intense pain racked his body within moments.

      The earth shook beneath him. Raising his head, he watched in a daze as the beast singled him out and began to accelerate.

      “Bloody sword, where are you?” he mumbled. Consciousness threatened to slip away. Vaguely, he heard Edward shouting something and was aware the men were regrouping. Did they mean to save him? “You’ll never make it in time,” he said hoarsely. “Just get away!”

      The air about the beast began to sing. Arrows filled the sky, but it was all for naught, ineffectual. Shooting the creature seemed much like shooting into a pile of mud. The arrows merely glanced off, or hung loosely in the beast’s thick hide. The creature might as well have wandered into a cluster of windborne dandelion seed. Rocks and other sharp objects launched from slingshots were none the better. Nothing slowed its advance, nothing.

      Lionel groaned. The bloated monster seemed intent on plunging its decomposing gums into his neck for sure. He tried to crawl away, but his arm had lost all motivation to cooperate. He thought back to the red-haired wench. She’d believed him to be “quite striking–breathtakingly so.” Was this to be his epitaph?

      Then seemingly out of nowhere, another rider appeared, dark as shadow. Lionel watched groggily while a black horse leaped into the gap between him and the monstrous beast. The mystery rider drew and fired a number of arrows in quick succession, succeeding in piercing the hide in several places where Lionel’s men had not. The creature halted, bellowing out its pain and swatting clumsily at the points of contact.

      Astride his horse, the stranger glanced over his shoulder at Lionel. His head was ringed with the hazy aura of the afternoon sun, and the effect obscured his features. “Now would be a good time to run,” he urged.

      Even through the fog of pain, Lionel discerned the confident, resonant tone of the man’s voice. Who in the Five Lands are you? A bout of snarls and barks erupted on his right. Lionel stared in amazement as a large white wolf joined the fray, its face twisted into a menacing grimace. Fur stood on end as it slowly circled the mutant animal like some sort of perimeter guard.

      Calmly, as if it would be a sin to rush, the mystery man pulled an object from a well-worn sack and affixed it to an arrow tip. He raised his bow, then fired. The arrow landed in the center of the creature’s gaping maw.

      The animal stopped. It advanced toward the stranger a few feet and then stopped again. Confusion plagued its movements. The monstrosity began to sway. Its angry wail ripped through the air, one filled with the haunted, choking gasps of a being meeting its mortality. Lionel watched in fascination as the creature cascaded to the ground in one stinking, sordid heap.

      The beast that smelled like death was no more.

      Three sets of eager hands clutched at Lionel and dragged him back a good twenty feet from the spectacle. But the show was not over, and he watched in avid interest.

      Nudging his horse forward, the mystery man approached the corpse and dismounted. He withdrew more items from the sack and knelt. A long black cape shrouded his actions, but he obviously had further intentions with the carcass.

      Some of the men shifted closer, appearing curious. But they were ordered back not only with the rider’s fierce glare, but the bared fangs of the white wolf.

      Edward knelt by Lionel, brushing back sweaty locks of his thick, brown hair. “I don’t like the looks of him,” he muttered.

      Lionel shushed him with a hand.

      A crackling sound punctured the silence, and the smell of sulfur wafted through the immediate area. The corpse burst into flames, but not with the warm yellow light of a hunting lodge fire. Tinged with green, this one seemed to burn inwardly, as if burrowing into the creature’s flesh. The pyre assaulted the men’s nostrils with a suffocating smell as it burned.

      Lionel had to see more. “Help me sit!”

      Edward obliged. Lionel tossed back his cape and inspected his injured arm. It hung in his lap at rather an odd angle. He also felt weak. Whatever you do, be a man and don’t faint. Most definitely do not faint! The pain gnawed at him, the likes of which he had never experienced before in his twenty-two years. How long would he have to bear the horrid anguish? None of his companions were proper healers. And the ride home would take hours. Lionel sucked in his breath hard, as if stiffening his insides would offset the pulsing throbs. Do…not…faint! His eyes begin to involuntarily close. Darkness drank his soul.

      Then, something changed. He experienced a presence like no other. Lionel opened his eyes. When next he glanced up, it was into the face of the stranger.

      The man knelt and reached toward Lionel’s arm, but Edward intervened and pushed him back roughly. “No one touches the duke without permission!”

      The two men glared at one another. Edward slowly reached for his hunting knife, secured by his side. This movement did not go unnoticed by the stranger, whose eyes gleamed with preternatural menace. In the background, the wolf steeled itself with a low, treacherous growl.

      “No!” Lionel exclaimed. “We’ll have none of that!” He admonished his cousin with a look and declared, “I’m the one in excruciating pain here, so humor me.” Reluctantly, Edward backed off. Lionel gave a quick nod, inviting the stranger in for a closer examination.

      The man laid gentle fingers upon his twisted limb and then sprinted to his horse for more items from another sack. He returned and began to administer aid at once.

      Lionel studied him openly as he worked, but he seemed oblivious to the attention. The pale stranger was handsome, in a raggedy sort of way. He was tall and muscular, but somewhat thin. Glossy, raven black hair shorn into uneven locks framed an angular face with high cheekbones and lips set in a determined line. Exquisitely etched brows lined emerald green eyes. Their lashes were thick and dark, but not overly pronounced.

      Lionel made particular note of his clothes. Every last stitch screamed black, but the careworn material looked faded. By the number of visible loose threads, this was either the man’s preferred outfit, or his only one. One detail in particular caught his attention over everything else–an embroidered, multicolored patch covering one elbow. Good heavens! Does he seriously think that’s acceptable fashion? But the outfit’s classic tailoring hinted of something noble, something…regal?

      As the stranger set his shoulder back in place, Lionel was literally snapped out of his reverie. “Ouch! You might have warned me,” he told him, attempting a graceful smile through gritted teeth. Lionel swore he saw the hint of a smile in return, but it disappeared as quickly as the thought itself had come. Perhaps he was mistaken. The stranger did not seem one to often part with a grin.

      Lionel was quite the opposite though, for soon he felt better–much, much better. The man had rubbed some kind of ointment into his skin. It soothed the pain completely away. What healing skill is this? I must know more about this man. After his arm rested in a makeshift sling, Lionel spoke. “Well, friend, may I know the name of my hero and savior?”

      The stranger glanced uncertainly to one side, and then resumed packing his belongings. Wordlessly he stood, and his cape flicked smartly behind him as he walked to his horse.

      “Oh, but I must know!” Lionel rushed to his feet, ignoring Edward’s glare of disapproval. Arriving breathlessly at the stranger’s side, he reached out his good arm and thrust his hand into the stranger’s СКАЧАТЬ