Page 55 of Blood of Ancients

Trond shrugged. “Thought we would. Argyle says otherwise, redhair. Best not to argue with the boss.” He winked at me, snorted, and meandered ahead to the camp.

Argyle was was the oldest Huscarl of the bunch, maybe forty years old, and the scars on his face told me he’d seen some battles in his day.

Battles with what? It’s not like we have natural predators at Vikingrune. Is training to become a Huscarl that difficult and intense?

I shook the thought aside, teeth chattering, and pulled my trench coat around me. Even the coat wasn’t enough to stave off the blizzard, but I’d packed it full of fur and hay before leaving Vikingrune, at Trond’s recommendation.

That had been my first interaction with the large man, and our conversations had grown from there during our three days of travel.

As I got to the fire pit, the six snow-white faces stared up at me beneath their hoods.

“Well, boy?” Argyle grunted, clapping his gloves over the pit and rubbing them together. “Get to it.”

I crossed my arms. “It takes a lot out of me, you know. I can’t just snap my fingers and—”

“Do I look like I give a shit? Maybe you shouldn’t’a shown us your trick in the first place.”

I flared my nostrils—a mistake, I realized, once snowflakes swept up there and froze my damn brain.

Settling down beside Trond, I sighed and started my “trick.” “Just don’t go bitching when I lag behind tomorrow.”

“There won’t be a tomorrow.”

My head whipped up from the pit, hands already moving for the daggers at my belt.

Argyle remained seated, the squat soldier frowning at the fire. “We’ll be there before daybreak.”

I rallied, trying to still my beating heart.I thought that was the fucking moment.“Then why are we even stopping, if we can push through?”

“Because we can’t. Grayon’s got a bum leg. The cold makes it worse.”

I tilted my head. “You think we should have brought a man with a limp on a mission in the raging snow?”

“Fuck you, bloodboy,” the soldier named Grayon said.

“Wasn’t our choice,” Argyle said. “Captain’s decision.”

The captain? More like the Tomekeeper, you smug bastard.

“Besides, after this trek, Grayon gets to retire. Ain’t that right, you surly bastard?” Argyle clapped his friend on the back, to which Grayon grumbled something unintelligible.

My eyes flickered between the four men and two women around me. All of them experienced and battle-tested, whereas I was a simple second-year cadet. Somehow I’d been named Drengr—warrior and top of my class—but it didn’t mean shit when staring down the mean mugs of six people older and more experienced than I.

How many of these soldiers have fought in snow like this? And how often have I?

So, I kept cordial. Nodding slowly, I pulled up the cuff of my sleeve, baring my skin to the freezing cold. Puffs of mist blew out in heavy clouds from the breaths around the black fire pit dug into the ground.

My “trick” had come about last night, on our second evening. The timber we’d found had been so water-logged with snow it had been impossible to light with fire, whether sparks, flint, or runeshaping. The fire never took.

I had a workaround, and I was cold enough to show my secret to these strangers because I didn’t want to die of frostbite before I died of swords in the back. I also hoped my helpfulness would give me some measure of respect—some amount of usefulness to make the others hesitate when the time came to kill me.

Perhaps that moment’s hesitation was all I’d need to get out alive from this treacherous mission.

Just as I had last night, with my scarred skin bare from wrist to elbow, I pulled out a dagger and gently sliced across my skin, Shaping a small rune in my flesh. I worked the dagger around the bump of another scar, gritting my teeth.

My blood welled, instantly freezing as it hit cold air—but I was able to concentrate enough to keep the Shape active. I carved the air around me with my free hand, working a simple fire spell, and set my hand on the soggy wood.

With my blood rending, my palm sizzled on the wood. The water and snow melted away, until my palm sank deeper into the husk of timber where it was dry. Blood visible, I added to the potency of my spell, andthatwas the trick. The fire that sprouted from my fingertips and palm was stronger and brighter than any fire a natural runeshaper could possess. My bloodrending powers helped amplify my spell, and within thirty seconds the wood was alight.

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