chapter 14: Blood on the Ridge
1468 Words
Snow clung thick to the pines, branches bowing under its weight.
Ronan shoved through, each step breaking crusted drifts. Sylra followed close, knife still wet, her cloak torn at the shoulder.
Behind them, the horn sounded again, muffled by distance.
“They’re still on us,” Sylra said.
“Not close enough,” Ronan replied.
The slope steepened. He dug his boots in, pulling at roots to climb. Snow slid away, hissing down into the dark.
Sylra gripped the ridge face with one hand, steadying herself. “How high?”
“Until we stop hearing horns.”
At halfway, a crow burst from the branches above, wings beating sharp against the cold air. Both froze, eyes scanning.
A shape dangled from the pine just ahead — a body, half-buried in snow, swinging by its neck from a frozen rope.
Sylra stared. “Not yours?”
Ronan shook his head. “Not mine.”
The corpse’s throat had been slashed before the hanging, blood black against white.
Another body lay sprawled further up, face half-eaten by frost.
“Patrol,” Ronan muttered.
“Slaughtered,” Sylra said.
They climbed higher. More corpses appeared — three men sprawled together, weapons still in hand. Arrows jutted from their backs.
Sylra crouched, tugged one free. The shaft was black-feathered. She held it out. “Not Kerrick’s.”
Ronan studied it, jaw tight. “Another pack.”
“Working with him?”
“Or hunting him too.”
Snow stirred around them. The forest creaked.
At the ridge’s crest, they broke through the last trees. The ground leveled into a wide clearing.
Blood stained the snow. A dozen more bodies lay scattered, armored men torn open by claws and steel alike.
Sylra stepped over one, crouching to search. “Same arrows.”
“More wolves too,” Ronan said, pointing to tracks. Massive paws, deeper than any they’d seen.
The prints circled the dead like dancers. Some led back into the trees, others disappeared over the ridge’s far side.
Sylra straightened, knife in hand. “Something tore them apart.”
A low groan came from the pile of corpses. One man still breathed, barely. His chest rose in shallow jerks, blood bubbling at his lips.
Sylra knelt beside him, pressing fingers to his throat. “Alive.”
The man’s eyes rolled open, unfocused. He tried to speak. Only blood spilled.
“Save your strength,” she said.
He caught her wrist, nails digging. One word rasped free: “Ridge… fire…”
His grip slackened. The light went out.
Ronan stood watch, scanning the treeline. “We can’t stay.”
Sylra rose. “He said fire.”
“Which means they’re coming back to burn the rest.”
As if summoned, smoke curled on the wind. From the southern trees, flames flickered — torches moving in formation.
The horns blew again, closer now.
Ronan’s grip tightened on his sword. “They’re sweeping this way.”
Sylra’s eyes tracked the far side of the ridge. “Then we go down the other side.”
“Careful. If those paw prints belong to what killed this patrol—”
“Better than waiting here to roast.”
They hurried across the clearing. The snow crunched wet with blood.
A sword jutted upright from the ground, planted deep. Ronan stopped a moment, wrenched it free. A hunter’s blade, blackened steel, heavier than most.
He handed it to Sylra. “Take it.”
She weighed it, gave a short nod. “Better than a stick.”
Flames grew brighter behind them. Voices carried, harsh and sharp.
“Clear the ridge!”
“Burn it all!”
Ronan pushed her onward. “Move.”
They reached the far slope. It plunged steep, slick with ice.
Sylra tested a step, slid half a foot, caught herself. “Damn near vertical.”
“Slide, then,” Ronan said.
He planted himself, let the snow take him. His body carved a path down, scattering powder and shards of ice.
Sylra followed, blade in hand, sliding fast, sparks flashing where rock broke through snow.
At the bottom, they hit hard, rolled, and came up crouched.
The forest here was darker, denser, air thick with pine and smoke drifting down from above.
A howl broke the silence. Not a wolf’s — deeper, longer, layered with something unnatural.
Sylra’s grip tightened on the blackened sword. “That wasn’t theirs.”
“No,” Ronan said. “That was worse.”
The sound echoed again, closer. Branches trembled in its wake.
Ronan jerked his chin north. “Keep moving.”
They ran, leaving the ridge and its burning corpses behind.
---
The howl rolled again, closer now, shaking snow loose from the pines. The trees trembled as though something massive brushed past them.
Sylra lifted the blackened sword. “That’s no wolf.”
Ronan raised his blade. “Stay tight.”
The forest went silent. Then branches snapped ahead, a trunk splitting with a crack.
A shape pushed through the trees — huge, hunched, fur matted with ice and blood. Its head was wolf-like, but its eyes burned red, its chest broad as two men. Claws longer than daggers gouged the frozen earth.
It sniffed once, steaming breath curling in the air, then fixed its gaze on them.
Sylra whispered, “Saints…”
“Not saints,” Ronan said. “Run.”
They broke into a sprint. Snow sprayed under their boots. The beast thundered after them, each stride shaking the ground.
Sylra glanced back once — the thing closed fast, too fast.
“It’s gaining!”
“Split!” Ronan shouted.
They veered apart as the monster lunged. It barreled between them, claws swiping empty air. Trees cracked as it slammed into the trunks, turning in a snarl.
Ronan wheeled, sword ready. “Now!”
Sylra charged from the side. Her blade slashed across its flank, carving a line of black blood. The beast roared, swinging back. She ducked under its arm as Ronan drove his sword at its ribs.
The steel sank half an inch before the muscle forced it back out.
Ronan cursed aloud. “Armor under flesh.”
The beast reared up, towering high. Its shadow blotted the snow.
Sylra stabbed again, this time at its leg. The point bit deep; the monster’s knee buckled. It crashed down onto all fours, snapping jaws clamping inches from her face.
Ronan hacked downward, blade striking the creature’s muzzle. Teeth shattered; blood sprayed hot.
The beast bellowed, swinging wide with one claw. The blow caught Ronan across the chest, hurling him into a tree. The trunk shuddered from the impact.
Sylra screamed his name — then ducked as the monster’s head swung toward her.
Arrows whistled suddenly from the treeline. Three shafts buried into the beast’s shoulder. It roared, staggering.
Sylra looked up. Hunters emerged through the pines, torches in one hand, bows in the other.
“Bring it down!” one shouted.
The creature turned on them, charging. Men scattered, torches flying. Its claws cut through two in a single swipe.
Ronan pushed off the tree, gasping, sword still in hand. “They’re not here for us.”
“Good,” Sylra snapped. “Let it eat them.”
“Bad,” Ronan said, steadying himself. “It’ll eat us next.”
The hunters swarmed, steel flashing, firelight swinging wild. The monster tore through them, shrugging off arrows, snapping men like twigs. Screams cut the night.
Sylra grabbed Ronan’s arm. “Cave — there!”
A black mouth yawned at the ridge’s base, half-hidden by snow and roots.
They sprinted. Behind them, the beast crushed another hunter underfoot.
“Inside!” Ronan shoved Sylra through the gap.
She ducked into the dark, blade scraping stone. Ronan followed, dragging broken branches to block the opening.
The creature slammed into the ridge outside. The ground shook, rocks tumbling from the ceiling. Snow sifted down in fine powder.
Sylra pressed against the wall, panting. “That won’t hold it.”
“No,” Ronan said. He raised his sword in the cramped dark. “But it’ll slow it.”
The beast’s roar thundered through the cave mouth, echoing into black tunnels ahead.
- Writer
