chapter 13: Through the Pines
1516 Words
The forest swallowed the clearing. Snow crunched fast under Ronan’s boots. Sylra matched his stride, her knife still slick, her breaths sharp in the cold.
Behind them, men’s voices cut through the trees.
“Spread out!”
“Check the ridge!”
“Don’t lose them!”
The echoes bounced between trunks, hard to track.
“They’re closing,” Sylra said.
“Keep low.” Ronan pushed aside a branch, shoving her through.
A whistle split the air — not from Kerrick this time, but another hunter. Answering calls rose, three of them, forming a triangle.
“They’re driving us,” Sylra said.
“Not if we break the line.”
---
A shadow flickered between the trees ahead. A hunter lunged from cover, spear thrust forward. Ronan knocked the shaft aside and slammed his sword through the man’s chest.
The hunter collapsed, the spear clattering on stone hidden under snow.
Sylra grabbed the weapon as it fell. “Now we’re even.”
“Keep it,” Ronan said.
Another shout went up behind them.
---
They ran. Branches whipped past, brittle in the frost. Their breath steamed thick, blending with the mist curling from the ground.
Two hunters broke through the brush ahead, bows raised.
“Down!” Ronan barked.
They dove as arrows hissed overhead. Ronan rolled, came up in a crouch, and hurled a dagger. One archer dropped with a scream.
Sylra rose, spear in hand, and sprinted at the second. He loosed an arrow too late — it grazed her shoulder as she drove the spear clean through him.
The body fell. She yanked the shaft free and kept moving.
---
Voices swelled again — closer now, all around.
Ronan glanced at the slope to their left. “Up.”
They climbed fast, boots slipping on ice under thin snow. Stones tumbled free, skittering down into the dark.
Halfway up, a hunter appeared above, axe raised.
Sylra thrust the spear upward. The point punched into his gut, lifting him off his feet. He dropped the axe, screaming, tumbling down past them.
Ronan pulled her the last stretch. They crested the ridge and plunged into thicker trees.
---
The pines grew denser here, their boughs heavy with snow. The cover muted the hunters’ calls, though the shapes still flickered below.
“Tracks will give us away,” Sylra said.
“Then we stop leaving them.” Ronan swept his blade at a low branch, sending snow crashing down to bury their trail.
They moved from tree to tree, breaking branches, scattering snow, throwing off the path.
For a moment, the voices grew faint.
---
Then a horn blasted, low and deep.
Both froze.
“North side!” a voice shouted.
Boots crunched fast. Shadows swarmed the ridge below, climbing after them.
“They’ll box us in,” Sylra said.
“Then we take one before they close.”
---
Three hunters appeared between the trees ahead, blades ready.
Ronan charged the first, sword smashing down. Steel cracked, splintering his opponent’s weapon before cleaving through flesh.
Sylra hurled her spear, skewering the second in the chest. She sprinted forward, snatching the man’s fallen knife from his hand before he hit the ground.
The third swung wild at her. She ducked, slashed low, and cut his hamstring. He dropped screaming, silenced when Ronan’s sword ended it.
---
The horn sounded again, closer this time.
“They know where we are,” Sylra said.
“Then we keep them guessing.”
They veered downhill, snow sliding underfoot, branches snapping against their shoulders.
A crossbow bolt hissed past Ronan’s ear, burying itself in a tree. He spun, spotted the shooter, and flung another dagger. The man fell with a gurgle.
---
More voices behind. More ahead.
“They’re everywhere,” Sylra muttered.
“Not everywhere,” Ronan said. “Follow me.”
He led her into a narrow ravine, its walls slick with frost. Snowmelt dripped from roots overhead, pattering cold against their skin.
Boots echoed above them. Hunters ran along the rim, shadows flickering through gaps in the branches.
Sylra pressed against the rock face, knife ready. “If they look down—”
“They won’t,” Ronan cut in. “Not yet.”
---
A rock clattered from above, bouncing into the ravine. Both froze.
One hunter peered over the edge. His eyes widened.
Sylra threw her knife before he could shout. The blade sank into his throat. He toppled soundlessly into the ravine, body striking stone with a crunch.
Ronan caught the knife as it fell free, handed it back.
“Quiet,” he said.
They moved on.
---
The ravine narrowed further, forcing them single file. The walls closed, shadows deepened.
At the far end, two hunters waited, blocking the exit.
Ronan lifted his sword. “Together.”
They charged.
The first hunter swung wide. Ronan parried and rammed him into the wall, crushing ribs.
Sylra darted past, knife flashing. She cut the second across the throat, kicking him backward into the snow.
Both bodies slumped at the ravine’s mouth.
---
Outside, the forest spread wide again. A frozen stream cut across the clearing.
Ronan crouched by the bank. “Water will hide us.”
They splashed in, moving upstream. The cold bit like teeth, soaking through boots, climbing their legs.
Sylra’s teeth clicked. “How far?”
“Until the horns fade.”
They waded on, water breaking loud around them, masking the pursuit.
Behind, the hunters’ voices scattered, breaking, confused.
---
Snow thickened again, falling harder, muting the woods.
Sylra looked back once. No shapes followed.
“Did we lose them?”
“For now,” Ronan said.
The snow fell heavier still, swallowing the tracks, cloaking the pines in silence.
Only the river’s frozen pulse carried on.
----
The snowfall thickened, each flake drifting heavy, softening the world into muffled white. Ronan and Sylra waded through the stream, its black water biting at their legs, but the storm gave them cover.
Then came the crack.
A single sharp snap echoed beneath their boots.
Sylra froze mid-step. “The ice—”
The surface splintered under her. She leapt forward just as it gave way, a jagged hole swallowing the spot she’d stood.
Ronan caught her arm, hauling her upright before the current could drag her under.
More cracks spiderwebbed across the surface.
“Off the river,” he said.
---
Shouts rose from the banks on both sides. Hunters poured from the trees, bows raised, blades flashing in the dim light.
“Too late,” Sylra muttered.
Arrows hissed down. Ronan shoved her aside, raising his sword to deflect. Shafts splintered off steel, clattering into the ice.
“Fight here, then,” he growled.
Sylra spun, knife ready. “On thin ice?”
“Better than not fighting at all.”
---
The first hunter rushed from the bank, leaping down onto the ice. His weight broke through at once; he plunged waist-deep, screaming.
Ronan was on him before he could climb free, driving his blade down to still him. The river swallowed the body whole.
Another two came from the opposite side, more cautious. They spread out, balancing carefully as they advanced.
Sylra sprinted at one, sliding low across the ice. Her knife cut deep into his leg as she passed, dropping him flat. The ice groaned, buckled, and broke under his flailing weight.
The other charged her. She pivoted sharp, kicked his knee backward with a crack, and shoved him under with the heel of her boot.
---
Arrows still fell.
Ronan raised his sword, catching another on the flat. “Keep moving!”
They dashed across the ice, dodging shafts, their boots hammering cracks into the frozen sheet.
Hunters shouted from both sides, firing, closing in.
One arrow clipped Sylra’s cloak, tearing fabric. Another whizzed past Ronan’s jaw.
“Bank ahead!” he called.
They surged for it.
---
Three hunters dropped down in their path.
Ronan charged, blade flashing. He slammed the first man’s sword aside, crushed his skull with the pommel.
Sylra caught the second mid-swing, ramming her knife into his chest. Blood sprayed across her cloak, steaming in the cold.
The third slashed for Ronan’s throat. Sylra hurled her knife past Ronan’s shoulder. The blade buried itself in the man’s eye. He toppled backward without a sound.
---
The ice shrieked beneath them, a long tearing sound.
Ronan grabbed Sylra’s arm. “Jump!”
They threw themselves toward the bank. The surface collapsed behind them, river swallowing broken slabs of ice.
They rolled onto snow, breath steaming, boots soaked.
Hunters shouted, slipping as the ice gave way under their own charge. Several plunged in, dragged down by armor and weight.
The rest hesitated, backing to safer ground.
---
Ronan rose, sword ready. “They’ll regroup.”
“Then we go before they do.” Sylra retrieved her bloodied knife, wiping it on the snow.
The horns sounded again, distant but steady.
More were coming.
Ronan nodded once. “North ridge. Move.”
They plunged into the trees, leaving the river’s cracking echoes behind.
- Writer
