16. Thirteen

An hour before dawn, surrounded by my brothers, my general, the Empress of Bones, and my human prince, I knelt to be anointed with earth and water. Drums beat as a bone handled knife was passed through the flame until the blade was red hot, and the priests invoked the gods with their prayers and dancing.

The moon was still hanging in the sky when Elindir and I started up the mountain, picking our path through sparse trees and stony outcroppings. Crickets chirped in the patchy grass and small rodents scurried for the safety of their burrows.

It was a long climb up into the mountains, but there was no reason to go all the way to the peak, especially not when the quarry I sought stuck to the passes midway up. Still, the hunt was likely to last several days and the weather could shift at any moment, which meant my first priority had to be finding and building a shelter.

Unlike recent kings and Primarch Taratheil, I had opted not to go into the mountains with a full retinue of slaves and retainers. There would be no tents to pitch, no servants to fetch water and warm my meals. I would do things the old way and live off the land as best I could, or I would die up there.

Elindir, for his part, seemed surprisingly adept at climbing the steep mountain path behind me without making much sound. We didn't speak, but when I looked back at him occasionally, I saw him taking in our surroundings, scanning the rocks and trees for any signs of movement. He was silent until the morning sun rose and began to warm the gray rocks underfoot. By then, the plant life had become sparser, the rocks larger, and the path forward more difficult.

As the sun rose higher in the pale blue sky, Elindir's breathing grew heavier behind me. I glanced back to see sweat beading on his brow and his cheeks flushed with exertion, despite the chill in the air.

"How much further?" he asked, voice slightly strained.

I surveyed the rocky terrain ahead, the jagged peaks looming in the distance. "Another few hours at least, to reach a suitable place to make camp. Then the real hunt begins."

Elindir nodded, pushing damp hair back from his face. "Lead on then."

We continued our ascent, picking our way carefully over boulders and loose stones. The only sounds were our labored breaths and the occasional cry of a circling hawk overhead. As the sun climbed toward its zenith, a light covering of clouds settled above, chilling the air further. An easterly wind picked up, bringing with it the promise of snow.

I spotted an outcropping of rock that would provide some cover and held up a hand, signaling for a brief rest. Elindir sank onto a flat boulder, pulling out his water skin to take a long drink. I settled beside him, our shoulders nearly brushing.

"You're not used to this kind of terrain," I remarked, taking a swig from my water skin.

Elindir shook his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "The mountains in Ostovan are gentler," he said, gazing out at the craggy peaks surrounding us. "Nothing like these jagged stone teeth."

I nodded in agreement. The Spine of the Gods was a formidable place, unforgiving and wild. It took a hardened soul to traverse its treacherous paths and withstand its fickle moods. That was why my ancestors had used it as a testing ground for would-be kings. It was a test not just of one's ability to survive, but of determination, bravery, and cleverness.

"We'd best keep moving," I said, standing and offering Elindir a hand. "We need to find shelter before nightfall."

He clasped my forearm, and I hauled him to his feet, noting the determined set of his jaw despite the weariness in his limbs. Together, we pressed onward, the only sounds our harsh breaths and the crunch of our boots against the rocky ground.

As we climbed higher, the temperature continued to drop, the wind picking up speed. It whipped at our hair and clothing, chilling the sweat on our skin. Elindir shivered, and I handed him my spare cloak without a word. He accepted it without comment, wrapping the thick wool around his shoulders.

The clouds above us thickened and darkened, blotting out the weak autumn sun. A few lone snowflakes drifted down, melting as soon as they touched the ground. But soon more followed, swirling on the rising wind.

"Snow," Elindir muttered, squinting up at the slate gray sky.

I nodded grimly. "We need to find shelter now."

We pushed onward with renewed urgency, eyes scanning the rocky landscape for any sign of a suitable refuge. The snow fell harder, obscuring our view and making the footing treacherous. Wind howled through the crags, its icy fingers clawing at our exposed skin.

After what felt like an eternity of battling the elements, I spotted a dark crevice in a sheer rock face up ahead. "There!" I shouted over the rising gale. "A cave."

We stumbled toward it, limbs heavy with exhaustion. It was more of a shallow indent in the stone than a true cave, but it would have to suffice. The overhang of rock provided some meager shelter from the driving snow, at least.

We ducked inside, shaking the accumulating snow from our cloaks and hair. The space was cramped, the ceiling barely high enough for me to stand upright. But it was dry and out of the worst of the wind, so it would have to do.

"We'll have to make do here for the night," I said, already scanning our paltry shelter for anything to use as firewood. A few scrubby bushes clung stubbornly to the base of the cliff. Their branches were scrawny, but they would burn. I set to harvesting them, fingers already numb with cold.

Elindir helped, arranging some stones in a circle. Soon, with the help of flint and steel, I had a small fire sputtering to life, its weak flames doing little to drive back the encroaching chill. The wind howled outside our miserable shelter, driving the snow sideways. It piled up in the entryway, creating a wall of white that nearly sealed us in.

Elindir huddled as close to the fire as he could without singeing himself, drawing his knees up to his chest as he fought shivers. I added more of the scrawny branches to the fire, but they burned too quickly, eaten up by the voracious flames. Our supply was dwindling fast, and soon we would be left in utter darkness with nothing to ward off the biting cold.

Elindir's face was pale, his lips tinged blue. He had drawn his cloak as tightly around himself as possible, but it did little good. The temperature was plummeting faster now that the sun had set, the icy fingers of the night reaching for us with greedy intent.

I moved closer to him, sitting shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, trying to share what body heat I could. He leaned into me instinctively, seeking warmth.

"We should conserve our strength," I said, my breath clouding in the freezing air. "Huddle together, share heat."

Elindir nodded jerkily, too cold to argue. We shifted, rearranging cloaks and limbs until we were pressed tightly together, my arms wrapped around him, his ear resting against my chest. "Is this why you brought me up here?" he asked, words stuttering against the cold. "I imagine it would be far more awkward were I Niro."

I couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Yes, this was my plan all along. I knew it was the only way you'd ever let me hold you close again and so I hatched this entire plan to have you. Too bad I clearly didn't consider how poorly my cock would react to the cold."

"You're not the only one. I think mine has frozen to my thigh."

"A pity," I said with a sigh. "You have such a nice cock."

He tipped his head to look up at me. "I heard you sent Ayrn to Duskfell."

I nodded and shrank further under our cloaks. "He set out this morning."

Elindir shivered against me, his teeth chattering. "Why Duskfell?" he asked, breath clouding in the frigid air. "They must be a very small clan if I've never heard of them."

I hesitated, weighing how much to reveal. The information was sensitive, and in the wrong hands, it could jeopardize everything. If our enemies captured Elindir, they would surely torture him for any scrap of intelligence. The thought made my blood run even colder than the icy wind howling outside our pitiful shelter.

But if we were to have any hope of winning this war and claiming our respective crowns, there could be no more secrets.

I shifted, pulling him impossibly closer, my lips brushing the shell of his ear as I spoke. "The Duskfells are a small clan," I murmured, my voice barely audible over the raging storm. "Less than a dozen still live and bear the name. They aren't generally regarded as an important force in elven politics, but they have a particular skill that I have need of if we are to stand any chance against the Runecleaver host."

Elindir tilted his head up, snow-damp hair brushing my cheek. The light of our dying fire flickered in his eyes. "What power?"

I hesitated a moment longer, the weight of the secret heavy on my tongue. "It is written that long ago, monsters prowled the land. There are countless tales of elven heroes battling half gods, demons, and beasts. Every clan has such a hero in their history, but none has more than the Duskfells. They were once regarded as the greatest monster hunters in all the world. Legends say they could track and slay any fell beast, no matter how powerful or cunning. Wyverns, chimeras, even dragons… No creature was too fearsome for the Duskfell blades."

Elindir snorted. "There are no such things as wyverns and demons."

"Perhaps not anymore, but there are still monsters in the world, Elindir, and the Duskfells are the best option to deal with them. Their powers extend beyond merely understanding and hunting monsters. They learned to harness the very essence of the creatures they slew, to bend the forces of life and death to their will."

I paused, gauging Elindir's reaction. He looked equal parts fascinated and unnerved, his brow furrowed as he processed my words. "You're saying they have power over the dead?"

"Necromancy," I confirmed. "The blackest and most forbidden of magics. Even speaking of it is taboo in most elven circles. But desperate times call for desperate measures."

"And you believe we need such dark sorcery to win against your father and the Runecleavers?"

"Not my father," I clarified, my jaw clenching. "There are those who use their magic for evil, making pacts with blood and hair to extend their lives beyond the natural limit. You have already come face to face with such a witch."

His eyes widened, and he looked up at me. "You don't mean…"

I nodded gravely. "I speak of Vinolia Runecleaver, who was old when my father was born, and his father before him. She has held sway over four kings and a primarch. No one holds power in D'thallanar without the blessing of Vinolia Runecleaver. Since I have no desire to win her support, I have no choice but to end her reign of terror. For that, I need the Duskfells and their secrets. But if I am seen speaking to them, if Vinolia even suspects that I am courting them…"

Elindir exhaled slowly, his breath a white cloud in the frigid air. "She'll know you're coming for her"

I nodded again, my jaw set. "And she'll stop at nothing to destroy me first. That's why Aryn must go in secret, to secure their aid without drawing attention. If we can surprise her, catch her off guard..."

"Then we might stand a chance," Elindir finished. He was silent for a moment, huddling closer as another gust of icy wind howled past our meager shelter. "But necromancy, Ruith? Can we truly fight darkness with more darkness? What's to stop the Duskfells from turning on us once Vinolia is dealt with?"

"Nothing," I admitted heavily. "But what choice do we have? Vinolia's power is vast and terrible. She has had centuries to perfect her craft, to amass her forces, both living and dead. We cannot hope to match her through conventional means alone."

Elindir sighed, his head falling against my shoulder. "I don't like it. But I trust your judgment. If you believe this is our best chance, then I will stand with you."

Warmth bloomed in my chest at his words, a bright spark amidst the bone-chilling cold. "Thank you," I murmured, pressing my lips to his hair.

The howl of a wolf in the distance pierced the night, and I lifted my gaze to the storm raging outside. Another howl, long and lonely, answered from further away and I wondered briefly if they knew they were being hunted, or if they were planning a hunt of their own.

The night deepened, and the cold intensified. Elindir and I huddled together as closely as possible beneath our cloaks, limbs intertwined until it was hard to tell where one of us ended and the other began. Elindir's head rested heavily against my chest, his soft breaths puffing against my neck. The scent of his hair, like woodsmoke and winter air, filled my nose.

Despite our dire circumstances, there was a strange intimacy to it, our bodies pressed together out of necessity, secrets spilled in hushed whispers. The howling of the wind and wolves faded into the background as I focused on the steady rise and fall of Elindir's chest against mine, the thrum of his heartbeat, the brush of his hair against my jaw as he shifted in slumber.

He had complained that he would be away from home for two long years, and that was likely true, but the time would pass quickly. Before either of us knew it, we would soon be sailing across the Barren Sea, and then I would have the great honor of helping my sun slay his enemies too.

At some point in the long, frigid night, exhaustion claimed me as well, dragging me down into restless dreams haunted by visions of skeletal armies, eyes glowing with eldritch light, and a withered crone with a cruel smile and hair made of hungry shadows.

I woke with a start to find my skin chilled and my arms empty. I panicked until I spotted Elindir squatting just outside the rocky overhang, his cloak thrown back and blade drawn. I didn't understand why until I looked just past him and spotted the small black wolf baring his teeth at Elindir, hackles raised. A deep growl resonated from the wolf's throat and he shrank back a step.

"Elindir!" I hissed in warning, but he didn't take my meaning.

"Quickly," he urged, "before he gets away!"

"Elindir, don't!"

The wolf darted off, a black streak against the pristine snow. Elindir surged to his feet and gave chase without hesitation, his boots crunching through the icy crust on top of the snow.

"Elindir, wait!" I called after him, scrambling up. But he was already disappearing around an outcropping of jagged rock, heedless of my warning. Cursing under my breath, I snatched up my own blade and took off after him.

The rising sun painted the snowy mountainside in hues of pink and gold, the light glinting off patches of ice. But there was no time to admire the stark beauty of the winter dawn. Elindir was in danger, and he didn't even realize it.

I pumped my legs harder, my breath puffing out in white clouds as I raced after him. The biting cold seared my lungs, but I ignored the discomfort, wholly focused on catching up to Elindir before it was too late.

I rounded an outcropping of rock and skidded to a halt, chest heaving. A series of towering basalt columns spread out before me, thrusting up from the snowy ground in a perfect circle.

The basalt columns loomed overhead, their weathered surfaces etched with intricate spirals and geometric patterns that danced in the early morning light. Snow dusted their tops and gathered in the crevices, a stark contrast to the dark stone. Ancient power emanated from the standing stones, a palpable presence that raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

I took a step forward, my boots crunching in the snow, and that's when I saw it—a great circular altar of obsidian at the center of the ring of columns. Its polished surface gleamed like a dark mirror. Runes were carved around the edge, their meanings lost to time but their significance unmistakable.

This was no natural formation. It was a temple. An ancient place of worship dedicated to one of the dead gods. And based on the imagery of snarling wolves and crescent moons etched into the basalt, I knew with chilling certainty which old god it honored.

Vargulf, Lord of the Hunt, Master of Beasts, the Ravening One. He was a primal deity, as savage and untamable as the creatures he held sway over. Elven children grew up hearing tales of Vargulf around the hearth fire, of how he could take the form of a great black wolf, how he led the Wild Hunt across the night sky, how he devoured those who dared to cross him.

And we had dared to disturb his sacred resting place.

The circular space within the ring of columns was blanketed in pristine snow, marred only by the footprints of Elindir's pursuit. But Elindir himself was nowhere to be seen. I gripped the hilt of my blade tighter, unease prickling along my skin as I scanned the desolate temple grounds. An unnatural hush hung in the air, the kind of silence found only among the dead.

Movement flickered in my peripheral vision, and I whirled to face it, blade at the ready.

A figure emerged from behind one of the basalt columns, moving with an unnatural grace. A warrior, tall and broad-shouldered, clad in furs and leather. A wolf pelt was draped over his shoulders, the fur a deep, rich black that seemed to absorb the light. The head of the wolf formed a hood, pulled up to obscure the warrior's features. But his eyes - those I could see clearly. They glowed an eerie amber, more akin to a beast than a man.

In one hand, he held a spear fashioned from a dark, gnarled wood, the stone point gleaming wickedly sharp. And in the other, he gripped Elindir by the throat, holding my sun effortlessly aloft. Elindir's boots kicked futilely at the air, his hands scrabbling at the warrior's iron grip. His face was turning an alarming shade of purple.

"Release him!" I snarled, my words ringing through the holy silence. I shifted my stance, readying to attack.

The warrior tilted his head slightly, like a wolf considering its prey. When he spoke, his voice was a low, rumbling growl that shook the snowy ground. "Why have you come to this place, elf?"

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribs. I had to choose my next words very carefully. "I am Ruith Starfall, and I seek to prove my worth as the next king of the elves by completing my sacred hunt."

His grip tightened on Elindir's throat, making my sun choke and gasp for air. "You dare to profane this sacred place with your petty mortal ambitions, elf?" He took a menacing step forward. Shadows gathered around him, darkening the snow at his feet. "You have trespassed where no living being is permitted. The price for such transgression is death."

With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed Elindir's limp form aside like a ragdoll. Elindir hit one of the basalt columns with a sickening crunch and crumpled to the snow, unmoving.

"Elindir!" I tensed, every muscle in my body screaming that I should go to him, but I didn't dare take my eyes off the being stalking through the snow toward me.

With his glowing eyes, and strange powers, it was clear that I was not facing some tribal warrior, and this was no mere temple. The being before me was Vargulf's chosen, an avatar sent to watch over the resting place of a dead god.

The avatar lunged at me with impossible speed, his spear whistling through the frigid air. I barely managed to bring my blade up in time to deflect the blow, the impact reverberating up my arm and rattling my teeth. He quickly pressed his advantage, his strikes coming faster than any mortal could hope to match.

I backpedaled, my boots slipping on the icy ground as I parried desperately, the clang of metal on metal echoing through the temple. The avatar's eyes blazed with feral hunger, his lips pulled back in a snarl to reveal gleaming fangs. He moved with the fluid grace of a predator, each motion perfectly controlled, relentlessly driving me back.

I ducked under a sweeping slash of his spear and darted to the side, trying to flank him. But the avatar anticipated my move. Black fur rippled across his body as he transformed mid-stride, dropping to all fours. Where a man had stood a heartbeat before, now a massive black wolf lunged at me, jaws snapping.

I threw myself to the side, rolling through the snow. The wolf's teeth grazed my calf, tearing through leather and flesh. I bit back a scream as searing pain lanced up my leg. Crimson blood stained the pristine snow.

The wolf whirled, lips peeled back from dripping fangs, and pounced again. I swung my blade wildly, managing to open a gash across the wolf's side. Black ichor stained the snow and he let out a bark of pain, but the fur rippled and immediately knit itself back together.

He shook his body and lunged again, transforming back into a man with a spear. The avatar lunged at me, his spear a blur of dark wood and glinting stone. I parried desperately, the clang of our weapons ringing through the temple. My arms burned with fatigue, my wounded leg trembling beneath me. The snow around us was churned and bloodied, a macabre canvas of our battle.

His blows rained down relentlessly. I gave ground, stumbling over the uneven terrain. He feinted left, and I fell for it, overextending. His spear whipped around in a lightning-fast strike that I barely deflected. The razor edge of the spearhead sliced across my bicep, parting leather and flesh. Hot blood ran down my arm.

I gritted my teeth against the pain, my grip slackening on my sword. The avatar's amber eyes glowed with triumphant hunger as he moved in for the kill. His black wolf pelt billowed around him like a living shadow, the air shimmering with ancient power.

Time seemed to slow as I faced down certain death. The familiar presence of my mother's ghost was suddenly there, and I thought she was there to welcome me into the afterlife. Instead, she sang to me the same lullaby from my dream.

The ancient lullaby told the tale of an elven mage given the power to transform into animals whenever he wore their skins. So long as he wore the pelts, he was immortal, but when he took them off…

Even the wildest tales were based in some truth.

Gathering the last of my strength, I ducked under his next blow and lunged forward, dropping my sword. My hands latched onto the wolf pelt, fingers sinking into the thick fur. The avatar snarled as I slid under him through the bloody snow, yanking the wolf pelt from his body.

The wolf pelt came free with a ripping sound, black fur tearing away from the avatar's body. He let out an inhuman howl of rage and agony as I rolled clear, clutching the pelt to my chest. The air around us crackled with released energy, ancient magic unraveling.

I surged to my feet, ignoring the white-hot pain lancing through my wounded leg. The avatar staggered, his form flickering between man and beast as he struggled to maintain his hold on the physical world without the pelt's power. His spear clattered to the stone altar, forgotten.

Seizing my chance, I scooped up my fallen blade and lunged at the avatar, putting all my remaining strength behind the blow. The razor-sharp edge sliced through the air, a deadly silver arc, and cleaved through the avatar's neck just above the collarbone.

Black blood sprayed across the snow as the avatar's head tumbled from his shoulders, his amber eyes wide with shock. An unearthly screech tore from his severed throat, a sound that made my bones vibrate and my blood run cold. The scream rose in pitch until it became a howl, primal and furious.

Panting, I fell to one knee and watched in astonishment as the avatar's body rippled and contorted, black fur sprouting from his exposed skin. Bones cracked and realigned with sickening pops. Fingers curled into clawed paws and the spine elongated to add a tail. Then, with a sickening thud, the body of a massive wolf—bigger than any I had ever heard of—lay headless and bleeding black ichor into the snow.

Elindir let out a groan. "Ruith?"

I'd never been more relieved to hear his voice than I was in that moment. I tried to rise so I could go to him, but I was out of strength. My leg folded, and I remained in the snow. "I'm here. Can you move?"

"I think so." He shook his head and rose on unsteady legs, stumbling over to where I knelt. "Your leg…"

"I'll live."

He turned, wide-eyed, to the avatar's corpse. "What was that thing?"

"A dire wolf." I grunted and brought my leg in front of me.

"I thought those were extinct." Elindir ripped a strip from his cloak to use as a bandage on my leg.

"They are." I glanced up at the corpse. "Have been for hundreds of years. This one has been up here guarding the resting place of an old god for who knows how long. A very long time."

Elindir finished tying the makeshift bandage and met my eyes. There was so much I wanted to say in that moment, but the words wouldn't come. He looked at me as if he felt the same, but neither of us said anything before Elindir drew the sharpened knife he kept at his side and held it out to me. "Let's not waste the opportunity, your grace."

I huffed out a cloudy breath and nodded, taking the knife.

And up in the Spine of the Gods, over the tomb of a long dead god, I carved out the icy black heart of a dire wolf to complete my hunt.