While the fire roared in the ancient hall above, the atmosphere inside the hunter’s cabin at the base of the mountain was thick with the smell of wet wool, iron-scented blood, and desperation.
In the corner of the one-room shack, Matthias lay on a pallet of moth-eaten blankets. His breathing was wet and shallow. Every time he coughed, a thin spray of crimson stained his beard.
Silas stood by the window, his silhouette illuminated by the erratic, ghostly green light of a handheld satellite radio. He was shivering, not just from the cold, but from a frantic, buzzing energy.
“The signal is weak, but it’s holding,” Silas hissed, his voice tight. “I got through to the dispatch in Hallstatt. They’re patching me through to the regional commander. I told them we have a hostage situation. I t
