Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Maybe he just wants forgiveness.
I glance over my shoulder at him. He’s a few paces to my left and behind, boots crunching on loose gravel. He should be in front of me, but I can still keep an eye on him this way. The sky is a sickly gray above us, clouds scraping the peaks. Snow drifts lazily—not enough to blanket the ground, but enough to blur the edges of the world. The soldiers between us and the main party are distant shapes bobbing along the jagged path. I feel oddly alone, despite knowing they’re not too far off.
Rasmus notices my attention. He tries a tentative smile, one that flickers and fails. I give a short nod, acknowledging his presence. Words feel heavy in my throat. I’m still not sure how to treat him. Like a brother? A friend? An ally? Is he any of those things? Time and battles have dulled the sharp anger I once held, and yet, trust doesn’t come easily to me. But we share a purpose now, don’t we? Survival and revenge. Perhaps that’s enough.
We move slowly, careful not to slip. The path isn’t wide, and below us is a steep drop that gives me a rush of vertigo. The sound of distant water echoes somewhere, a hidden stream or a melting snowfield. The hair on my neck prickles, and I feel a looming sense of dread, though I don’t know what of. Everything seems fine, but I know enough to never let my guard down.
I pause, listening. There’s something odd about the silence. The wind whistles and stones clatter under Rasmus’ boots as he catches up, but beyond that…no birds, no distant calls. I grip my sword hilt tighter, scanning the crags and ledges. Nothing moves. The columns of soldiers have disappeared around a bend, leaving me and Rasmus almost entirely alone.
“Lovia,” Rasmus says quietly from behind me, voice carrying despite the wind. “Should we hurry to catch up?” His tone is respectful, cautious, like he knows I might snap at him.
Before I can tell him yes, the ground trembles beneath my feet and my stomach drops.
An earthquake?
Or something worse?
We lurch backward as the ground splits open behind us, hurling shards of rock in a violent spray. I cry out, feet sliding on loose stones, and beside me, Rasmus lets out a string of expletives. A jagged fissure yawns wide, and a blast of bitter, frozen air hits my face.
From the craggy gap, something emerges—an Old God of stone and ice, as though the mountain’s marrow has formed into a living nightmare. It rises, hulking and immense, its body a mass of cracked granite shot through with icy veins. Shards of frost hang in jagged protrusions from its limbs, and where a face should be, there is a cavernous hollow rimmed with jagged blood-red crystals.
My heart leaps into my throat, terror sparking through my veins. I have my sword in hand before I know I’ve drawn it, fingers numb against the hilt. I back away, trying to find space, but the path is narrow, the drop behind me unforgiving. Rasmus stands near me, eyes wide and panicked.
Can we run fast enough?
The creature lunges before we can move, an arm of ice-crusted stone swinging toward me. I duck at the last moment, feel the rush of frigid air. My blade lashes out, sparks dancing where steel meets granite. The impact jars my arm, nearly twisting the sword from my grip. It lets out a grinding shriek like glaciers groaning under their own weight. As I block its second strike, the force rattles my bones.
“Get back!” I shout at Rasmus, but he doesn’t flee. Instead, he spreads his hands and chants, wind howling around him as sigils flicker in the air. I sense elemental power stirring as he attempts to bind it, slow its movements, give me a chance to finish it.
The Old God roars, a hollow echo rolling through the cliffs. Its icy limb lashes out again, razor-like shards scraping across my forearm. My armor deflects some of the blow, but pain flares hot under my skin. I grit my teeth against a scream.
Rasmus steps between us, his chanting intensifying. I can feel the air grow dense, a hush of magic that sets my hair on end. The monster hisses—an eerie sound of stone grinding on stone—and swings low. Rasmus leaps aside but not far enough. A hammer-like fist of ice and rock clips his leg, spinning him off-balance.
“Rasmus!” I snap, slashing wildly at the creature’s flank, desperate to draw it away from him. My sword skitters, carving shallow grooves into ice and stone but not nearly enough to cripple it. I’m fighting gravity, fear, and pain all at once.
Rasmus recovers, gasping. He thrusts a hand forward, and faint lines of runes blaze momentarily, his sword raised in his other hand. The Old God recoils as if whipped by invisible chains. For an instant, I catch my breath. Warm blood dampens my sleeve. We must end this now, or we won’t survive. The others are too far ahead, their footsteps lost in the wind. No one will come to our aid.