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“No,” Michaela snapped. “I won’t go there.”
She pressed her legs into Telko’s side, directing him to turn to the left.
“Please,” Astolpho said. “Bradamante needs our help.”
“Not mine,” Michaela said.
Telko’s hooves carved a new path through the snow beside the furrow he and Rune had just made. Rune turned and followed behind as Michaela rode Telko back toward the bulk of the herd.
It was midafternoon, and the sky had darkened again. The air felt heavy with the frigid kind of moisture that would harden into snow some time soon.
But the air would also soon carry the iron scent of blood. Michaela needed to get away quickly before it could reach her.
She saw the same thing Astolpho did: Bradamante facing a warrior and his large army.
Michaela assumed the man was Rogero.
The only t
