Chapter Nine
Tassin woke cosy and comfortable, and snuggled closer to the warmth, her hands sliding over smooth skin. Startled, she opened her eyes. Her cheek rested on a hard male chest, and her arms almost embraced him. She recoiled, embarrassed and confused. Sabre turned his head and opened his eyes. Tassin’s cheeks grew hot as she moved away, pulling her coat around her as the cold bit her skin. He turned back to the entrance, ignoring her embarrassment. For once, she was glad he had no feelings, for he seemed unaware of her mortification. She helped herself to some water and food, noticing that the sun shone outside.
“Where are the wolves?” she enquired.
“Out of scanner range.”
“You mean you do not know?”
“Correct.”
Tassin scowled. “Are they above or below us?”
“They were one kilometre below this position when they disappeared.”
“So they are hiding in the rocks. They could be anywhere.”
“Yes.”
Tassin tore at the salted meat, and Sabre sat up to take a piece. Although he did not show it, she knew he must be stiff from sitting so still all night.
“So what do we do now?” she demanded. “Stay here and freeze?”
“No. Continue.”
“What if they are waiting in ambush?”
“This unit will fight them.”
She raised her brows. “I am quite capable of fighting too, if you loan me your knife.”
“You will not fight.”
Tassin wished she had a sword so she could prove that she was also a warrior. It puzzled her that he never referred to himself in the first person, and she wondered if his strange pronunciation of ‘sabre’ might perhaps have a different meaning. There was no word she knew of that resembled the one he used, so it might be a foreign tongue, although the rest of his speech was not heavily accented. The strange word, combined with his habit of referring to himself as ‘this unit’, made her wonder about the depths of his madness. Sabre packed the bedrolls and crawled out of the cave, pausing to stretch, joints cracking. She followed his example, groaning as her stiff muscles protested their abuse.
Sabre led the way up the pass, which continued to slope gently, and she wondered why horses could not use it. So far, apart from being rocky and slippery in places, she saw no reason why they could not have ridden.
By mid-afternoon, her legs ached again and her head pounded as she panted in the frigid air. Sabre stopped, and when she reached his side she swayed and grabbed his arm with a gasp. The mountain fell away in a sheer cliff that levelled out far below in a series of snow-covered shelves.
“We have to climb down that?” Tassin asked, horrified.
Sabre’s head turned as he scanned the cliff, the lights on the brow band flashing. “There is a trail over there.” He pointed to one side, where a narrow shelf started just below the summit and meandered down in a jagged, dizzying path. In some places, the shelf almost disappeared, in others sheer drops had to be negotiated. Her heart quailed at the prospect of climbing down it.
“Is that the only way?”
He scanned the cliff for a few more moments. “Yes.” Turning away, he walked over to the path, which a tall ridge overhung on one side. “Follow closely, hold on, and do not look down.”
Tassin approached the edge and peered over it. The world spun and her bile rose. She stumbled back, sickened and afraid. “I cannot climb down that. I will fall.”
Sabre turned. “Do not look down. You will get dizzy.”
“I know, but I -”
Sabre whipped around as a grey shape launched itself from a crag above him. His arm snapped up, but the wolf struck his chest, its forepaws outstretched, its jaws reaching for his throat. Sabre stepped back to absorb the shock of the impact. For a second, he teetered on the edge, then, as if in slow motion, he fell.
“Sabre!”
Tassin’s scream echoed around the mountains like the shriek of a hunting eagle. Running to the edge, she dropped to her knees and clung to the rocks as she peered down. Far below, two still forms lay in the snow. She screamed his name again, hoping for a movement, some sign he was alive. The wind tugged at her tangled hair, sweeping her cry away to echo and re-echo around the mountains. The two forms below remained still and oddly twisted, stark against the virgin snow.
Tassin thought there was a bright splash of blood, but she was not sure. She was intensely alone all of a sudden, and the wind’s eerie moaning in the crevasses made the sense of isolation worse. Sabre was gone; her only companion, fellow warrior, provider, and friend. Hot tears flooded her eyes, blurring her vision. She had never had a friend before. The daughters of nobles had either been in awe or envious of her, and those who had offered friendship had inevitably turned out to be trying to curry favour for their own ends while whispering nastiness behind her back.
Tassin gripped the icy rock and wept bitter tears. How could she carry on without Sabre? She needed him. Worst of all, his death was her fault. The wolves had been sent to kill him because of her. He had turned back from the edge because of her. Had she been close to him, the wolf would not have dared to attack for fear of killing her too. It had been a suicide leap. The beast had deliberately sent them plummeting to their deaths. They had come so far! Once on the other side of the pass, they would have been safe from Torrian, she was sure.
Tassin banged her fists on the rock and cursed him. He had ruined her life, and now he had killed Sabre. Tears trickled down her cheeks like threads of ice as she recalled Sabre’s devotion to her well-being, keeping her warm and fed, protecting her from her enemies. Once her fury at his unwelcome rescue had abated, she had grown to depend upon him, and was now glad he had saved her. Her last shred of hope dwindled to nothing as Sabre’s distant shape remained immobile.
A low growl made her sit up, the hair on her nape rising. She turned to face the last wolf, which stood not four metres away, its yellow eyes fixed on her. Cold tendrils of fear coiled in her gut as it pulled back ice-rimed lips, baring long fangs. Tassin’s eyes locked with the beast’s, and the wind whipped away her steaming breath as she waited for it to leap. When it remained where it was, her fear receded, and she realised that it would not harm her. It was a warrior turned into a wolf and sent to bring her back. Her fear turned to rage, and she scowled at it.
“Murderer!” she shouted. “Murdering scum! What dirty slime are you? A coward’s way, to sneak up on your enemy and push him over the edge. You are supposed to be a warrior! Hah!”
The wolf snarled and stepped forward, its eyes alight. She quailed, but common sense told her that it was bluffing, and she groped for a loose rock. Finding a fist-sized stone, she hurled it at the wolf with all her might, forcing the animal to dodge. It snapped at her, its teeth bared as it advanced again, and Tassin glared at it.
“You will not harm me. I know magic turned you into a wolf, and that Torrian sent you. My magic warrior told me what you are, so do not expect me to fear you. If I had a sword, you would be dead already!” She reached for another rock.
The wolf pricked its ears, and Tassin hurled the rock, hitting its paw. It yelped and retreated a few steps, whining. She groped for another stone, but the wolf moved out of range, lifted its muzzle and howled, the mournful sound echoing through the mountains. It called the men to come and get her now that she was unprotected.
“Damn you!” she yelled. “I hope you get rabies! I hope a plague of fleas descends on you and drives you mad! As a wedding gift, I will demand your pelt to wipe my feet on!”
The wolf whined, its ears laid back and eyes cowed.
“If you think I am going to sit here and wait for your friends to come and get me, you can think again, you flea-bitten bastard!”
Tassin edged towards the path, determination bolstering an attack of reckless courage, her heart pounding. The wolf yelped and bounded towards her. She threw another rock, but it darted close to grip her coat in its jaws, trying to drag her back. She punched it, but it closed
its eyes and hung on, tugging. She groped for another stone and hit the wolf’s head as hard as she could. It released her and staggered away, stunned.
Tassin eased herself onto the shelf, clinging with icy fingers. She would escape Torrian, even without Sabre. The wolf reappeared and gazed down at her as she crept along the narrow ledge. It whined, but she was out of reach. It vanished, and its howl rang out again, more urgently. She tried to speed up her descent, keeping her eyes on the stone in front of her while she slid her feet along the shelf, testing each foothold before putting her weight on it. Remembering Sabre’s warning, she fought the urge to look down. The wolf reappeared again, whined and tried to step down onto the path, but retreated. With no hands to cling with, it could not follow her.
Tassin bellowed, “Tough luck, bilge breath! You are a wolf now, not a man! It has other disadvantages, besides not being able to talk.”
The wolf growled and retreated. She concentrated on climbing down the steep, narrow path, longing for Sabre’s reassuring presence. Without him, terror made her mouth dry and her heart pound. She had no idea how far it was to the first ledge, where Sabre’s body lay. The wolf reappeared and stood silhouetted against the sky, staring down. She had descended several metres already, but at any moment she expected the men to arrive, which would really complicate matters.
Time seemed to slow as she concentrated on moving her feet carefully, testing each step and groping for handholds. Sweat dewed her brow, and several times she stopped to rest. When she reached one of the sheer drops, she crawled down it with her heart in her throat, her stomach a painful knot. Once, a piece of rock broke off in her hand, causing a moment of gut-wrenching panic followed by a freezing tide of terror. Tassin wanted to stop and scream until someone came to rescue her. Her fingers bled, her back ached terribly and her neck was stiff with tension.
Shouts drew her attention upwards. Two men climbed down after her, and she cursed. She had not gone through all this just to be dragged back now. From the distance to the top, she calculated that she must be more than halfway down. The sun had moved closer to the horizon, so several hours had passed. Her foot encountered another gap, and she eased herself down until she found rock under her foot again. As she put her weight on it, it crumbled away and her fingers slipped, making her yelp and press herself to the rock. One foot now bore almost all of her weight, her knee bent at an awkward angle. She clawed for fresh handholds, a scream clogging her throat.
Shouts came from the men above her. “Hold on, Majesty! We’ll save you! Don’t move!”
This spurred Tassin on, and her aching fingers found cracks and crawled in, securing her. She lowered herself more, hanging by her hands as her foothold passed the point of no return. Her other foot found the path, and she eased her weight onto it. It held, and she breathed a sigh of relief as the ledge widened. Aware of the men above her, she moved faster.
At last, she dared to look down. She was only a few metres above the snow-covered ledge. Throwing caution to the winds, she scrambled onto it. She stood gasping and shaking, then looked up. Torrian’s men were halfway down. Turning away, she crunched through the snow to the edge of the ledge and looked down. Another dizzying drop greeted her, and she recoiled. She was not ready to face another terrifying descent.
Tassin looked at Sabre’s sprawled form, wondering if she could use his magic. She shuddered at the thought of touching his corpse, but desperation made her walk over to it. He lay face down, his head twisted to the side, and he was half buried in the snow, sunken from the impact. She knelt beside him, fresh tears stinging her eyes. One leg was bent awkwardly under the other, and his arms were outstretched as if to embrace the snow.
“I am so sorry, Sabre,” she whispered, her throat raw and dry.
Blinking away her tears, she reached out to stroke his cheek in a gesture of affection and farewell. She snatched her hand away when her fingers encountered warm skin. Hope flared in her, but she quashed it. His body had not cooled yet, that was all; no one could survive that fall. Still, she could not stop her hand creeping to his throat. After a brief search, she found a pulse, and her heart leapt. Gladness brought a spurt of warmth and hope. He was alive. She had not lost him after all. She glanced up at Torrian’s men, who were on the last steep stretch.
Tassin dug Sabre’s right arm out of the snow and examined the wrist laser and launcher. When he used it, he curled his hand down. Her groping fingers found two raised buttons on a curved pad under the band. She lifted his arm, pointed it at the men and pressed one of the buttons. The two tubes spun around the band with a soft whirr, the larger one moving to the top. The grenade launcher fired with a sharp pop, making Sabre’s arm jerk. An explosion tore into the cliff face above the men, who stopped and shouted, then scrambled down faster.
Aiming Sabre’s arm more carefully, she pressed the other button. The tubes spun again with a whir, and blue fire cracked into the cliff to the right of the men. Elated, Tassin moved Sabre’s arm to the left and fired again. The laser beam hit the upper man in the back, and he toppled away from the cliff, dead before he let go. The other man shouted for mercy, but Tassin was not in a merciful mood. It took three shots before she hit him, and he died as silently as the first. High above, the wolf stood silhouetted. Raising Sabre’s arm, she fired at it. The shot missed, but the wolf retreated.
Tassin turned her attention to Sabre, who breathed in shallow, laboured gasps, his lips tinged with blue. She struggled to roll him onto his back, for he was surprisingly heavy. He flopped limply, his mouth slightly open. The brow band was black. She unhooked the bags from his harness and dug out a blanket, spreading it over him. His hands were ice cold, and the front of his clothes was soaked. A splash of red in the snow caught her attention, and she peered at it.
A rock hid just beneath the surface, covered with frozen blood. Alarmed, Tassin examined Sabre’s head more closely, and, after some frantic scrutiny, noticed that a vertical crack ran through the brow band’s crystals, and two struts were bent. Evidently it had taken the brunt of the impact. Blood had seeped from around the struts and run down them to freeze on the brow band. The band had saved his skull from fracture, but at what cost? If the brow band was broken, did that mean he would wake up an idiot? Maybe he would not wake up at all.
Tassin rocked miserably, caught between grief and despair. What should she do? She wiped the melting snow off his face with trembling hands. Grimacing, she tried to straighten the band, but the metal was far too strong. Her efforts caused fresh blood to ooze out and drip onto the snow. She wiped it away, glad when it stopped. The sun sank towards the desert horizon in a glory of red and gold, and she knew she must move him out of the snow.
Tassin rose and slogged towards the cliff. Snow formed banks along its base, and, without really knowing why, she traversed its perimeter. Floundering through deep drifts, she came across the bodies of Torrian’s men, twisted like broken dolls. She stripped them of their supplies and blankets, averting her eyes from their frozen expressions of horror. Burdened with their packs, she continued to search the base of the cliff for some sort of shelter, a spur of rock or an overhanging shelf.
The snow caved in under her, and she tumbled into a cave with a startled yell. Tassin stood up and brushed snow from her clothes. The cave was little more than a crack, but snug and dry. It narrowed rapidly, only about two metres deep and one and a half metres wide at its entrance. Dry twigs and animal fur indicated that once it had been a den. Bones testified to the predatory nature of the beast, but she did not pause to ponder the prospect that it might return.
Tassin scraped the sticks into a pile, and then cleared some of the snow from the entrance, careful not to widen it too much. She returned to Sabre, who lay quite far from the cave. Hooking her hands under his armpits, she tried to lift him, but her back protested, and she released him. She dug in a pack, extracted another blanket and used his knife to cut two strips from it, which she tied around his shoulders. Gripping the ends, she leant into the make
shift harness. At first, she strained futilely, then, with a jerk, he slid over the snow.
Tassin dragged him to the cave, slipping, straining and cursing his weight. For all that he was not a particularly big man, he was extremely heavy. Getting him into the cave was easy, and she pulled him as far back as she could, then sat down to rest her aching back and burning legs. She checked on him again, distressed to find his hands freezing cold. He had lain in the snow for a long time. Searching through the dead men’s packs, Tassin found a treasure trove of wood.
The soldiers carried bows, arrows and two axes with wooden handles. She added them to the pile of twigs and set fire to it with her tinderbox. The seasoned wood burnt well, producing hot coals. The cave grew warm, and a little of Sabre’s colour returned. She covered him with all the blankets, and then huddled close to the fire. Soon, it grew dark outside, and she chewed on some tough dried meat. The exertion and tension had sapped her, and she lay down beside Sabre and shared his blankets, cuddling up to him. Even though he was unconscious, and unlikely to awake for quite some time, his presence was comforting.