To Curse the Wyre by M.A. Lee & Remi Black

Author:M.A. Lee & Remi Black
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, wizard, sorcery, shapeshifter, dark fae, elemental magic
Publisher: Writers Ink Books
Published: 2021-05-10T00:00:00+00:00

~ 7 ~

The dead man knelt with head bowed, as if he prayed as he overlooked the valley. His arms, though, were limp at his sides.

Blood had trickled down and pooled beneath his knees on one of the sharded bits where the boulders had sheared off from the rocky escarp above. His blood had drained toward the road but hadn’t reached where the stone formed part of the road. It was not long pooled, for it still had a reddish gleam.

Snowflakes drifted down, gently falling, swirling.

The man wore leathers that Orielle recognized. The sentinels of Iscleft Haven had that soft hide, tanned and smooth. Grim’s friends Brok and Waren had both worn similar leathers. This man had pale hair, a shock of flax so white that the snow blended in.

She didn’t recognize him.

A quiver full of arrows was slung over his back. An empty scabbard was fastened to his belt.

With a muffled curse, Grim slid off his horse and leaped across the planed side of the boulder.

Orielle screwed her eyes shut. Death. So many deaths—when she had expected none—and more to come. She opened her eyes and deliberately looked at the massed heavy clouds, deep slate with the snow that rapidly fell, more flakes now, big, slushy with ice. The snow fell onto the bared tree limbs, caught in the curve of dried leaves, clung to the colored leaves that clutched at life.

Grim straightened. “They cut his throat. From the blood, I’d say he just entered rigor.”

“Bare hours ago. Not a battle, then, but—is that not a sword?” Vrigsmal pointed down the rock-tumble that the boulder had grounded itself on.

A sword stood upright from the rocks. The blade was driven into a crevice. Hilt up, it waited for a hand to wield it. Whoever had killed the sentry had taken him from behind, held him while a partner disposed of the sword, then killed him. The sentry hadn’t struggled.

Grim looked as ashen as she’d ever seen, even after the fight with his former friend Fortis, who had intended to betray the whole Haven.

This was the day, she remembered, that Fortis had claimed the sorceress and her wyre would ride into Iscleft Haven and he would welcome her.

Wyre were the enchanted enemies of the elemental-wielding Rhoghieri. How had Fortis intended to convince the Rho to welcome Frost Clime?

Days ago, when she first met Grim, a wyre had come after them. He’d planted himself on a switchback. Grim had avoided the forest road she’d been following and angled up the mountainside. They’d come out above the wyre.

She missed Grim’s first words. She heard “a residue of sorcery around him.” Orielle jerked to the here, the now.

“Ah,” Vrigsmal said, as if the sorcery explained everything.

And likely it did. Sentry frozen by sorcery then killed. Who or how didn’t matter, just that death occurred.

They were on a road to the Haven, a backroad that came deeper in the valley, working south from Iscleft Citadel ... where Frost Clime attacked the fragile alliance. This sentinel had watched one of the approaches to the Haven.

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