A Queen for the Frost Giant (Legends of Rahasia Book 0)

Chapter Thirty-Three

         We stay low to the scorched earth, the scent of discarded hides and ruin a tang in our nostrils, clogging the back of our throats in ash. A break in the cliff face, where one rock rises high, allows us some cover while we examine the forms in front of us.

Their shadows danced long in front of the emerald fire that burns Hreindyri so its rancid aura drips even to the underworld. We examine the strangers sidelong, still keeping the rest of ourselves in shadow. Only Fell stands unfazed, watching calmly with the patience of one who was born of the ice and world seiðr itself.

"Who is it? Soldiers? Mercenaries?" Leif Kazmer spits on the ground, his scimitar blade at his side, dark eyes flashing. "Gods damn the Masked Men if they came with backup..."

Quinn peeks over, her shoulder and furs brushing Fell, the bristles harsh against my cheek as I'm hiding by her hips. The edge of her lips twist in dismay. She waves the rest of us up. "Helvete. Those aren't Masked Men. They're Hreindyri survivors."

I turn behind us, staring at the wreckage of smashed antlers, torn hides, and spatters of blood. "Are you quite sure anyone survived?"

She pulls me to my feet as easily as one might heft a small pup in their arms. "Look for yourself, regina to be."

I follow their gaze, Lord Kazmer standing soon after me. There's a cart stacked high with boxes of salt meats and brown breads, glass beads and blankets. Torches are set in the front of the cart, an attempt to light the way where the ghostly emerald fire doesn't reach, into the horizon where they flee for safety. A big bearded man struggles to lift it while a shorter one with a hairless chin pushes the setup from behind. A woman holds a small child to her breast, breastfeeding it and staring off blankly as a young girl, perhaps twelve or fourteen, tugs at her skirts and brandishes a stick like a sword. They're bruised and battered, but nobody bears any broken bones, nothing lethal. Just the dark in their eyes. Unrest.

The breastfeeding woman spies us first, raising a hand to point at us. She remains silent, her finger and thumb singling us out like we're the demons in the mist.

"Do we hide?" Lord Kazmer asks.

Quinn only snorts. "Yeah, that little babe's looking real scary. It might spit at you if you get too close."

The look on the young lord's face burned.

But we have little time to revel and jest. Following the mother's gesture, the men and the young girl all turn to look at us at once, eyes clouded in apprehension.

Lord Kazmer sheathes his weapon, followed by Fell dimming his magic and returning his hands to his sides at once. Quinn is the last, keeping her axe lowered at her side as she raises her other hand in an attempt at peace.

Her fingers are still curled tightly about her weapon though, a captain to the last, to not give up fighting even when the threat appears neutralized. "Peace!" She cries, "we're just travelers. Our ship was caught ashore, and we came here for provisions."

The mother glances back at the others, the babe still at her breast. Her cheeks are ruddy from the cold winds, a reindeer skin round her shoulders, an antler knife at her hip. "Some luck you have, travelers, to go here for provisions." I can't tell entirely if her words are meant to be a joke or not. Her tone is light, but her gaze is sharp, looking behind our shoulders, searching to see if there are more of us.

I step forwards, about to introduce myself, "Pax tibi tuisque," I switch to the more formal royal dialect, showing what I assume is the utmost respect, "I am—."