Page 57 of Blood of Ancients

He looked confused. “Gods below, son, did no one tell you what fucking mission you were coming on?”

“Not really.”

“We take the post from the other unit. Until the next crew comes to watch the portal. Rinse and repeat.”

Alarm set off inside me. “I thought this was a weeklong mission.”

“Yes . . . a weeklong at the portal.”

I flared my nostrils at him.

“Doesn’t take into account travel time, redhair.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “How much sense would that make, eh? Traveling all this way to stand around for a day and then come back?”

I hadn’t thought of the actual mission logistics during this journey. I’d been too mind-numbingly frozen to care about the details—too focused on keeping my head attached.

“We show up. Guard and patrol for a week. Go home. Easy.”

Fucking hell,I thought.That’s nearly a fortnight. Seven days longer without Ravinica. She’s going to get worried.

She thought I was only out here for a week. So did I, dammit. And now this? I hated the idea of worrying my silvermoon.Maybe Trond is building up the background for their little murder spree, once they decide to spring their trap.

It was awful trying to anticipate these fuckers’ next moves.

About an hour after grooving twin tracks through the driven snow, Argyle let out a sound of surprise up ahead.

“Ah! There she is.”

My hands went to my daggers as we approached the hill leading down to the elf encampment.

The entire place was blanketed by fresh powder. It wasn’t until I got closer that I saw the few remaining cabins the elves had built here before escaping for their homeland.

My eyes swiveled beneath the ridge of my brow, left and right, readying myself.Now seems a good time for them to pounce,I thought, holding a blade to my skin under my trench coat so I could bloodrend on the fly.

The Huscarls kept walking toward the cabin. Argyle called out names I didn’t know, his voice echoing lightly against the blast of snow. He threw the door to the cabin open.

Inside was empty. A smoldering fire lay in the center of the room, extinguished recently, it appeared.

“What in Hel?” Argyle grumbled to himself, stepping inside. “Where is everyone?”

I let the other Huscarls go first, not wanting to get trapped inside the death pit. To say I was paranoid would be an understatement.

Through an aperture, I watched as Argyle paced the small room. He went to a corner, crouched, and reached out toward the floor. When he lifted his hand, he sniffed his fingers. Then he stood and showed us.

Red coated his fingertips.

“What in Odin’s name is going—”

A black blur caught my peripheral, outside, drifting through the diagonal snowfall like a dark wraith. When I swung around and drew my daggers, the other Huscarls saw me move and looked that direction too.

The shadow was gone, vanished into the roaring white.

My brow furrowed.

“Fuckery is afoot,” Argyle roared, stamping through the door to the outside. “Shield wall!”

The Huscarls crowded close, backs against the wall and door of the cabin. They drew shields, placed them in a row to protect the man next to them. I stood to their far left, not bothering to join in their defensive stance.

Eyes peeked over the rims of shields. Deadly silent except for that howling wind and damnable snow. Feet crunching underfoot.

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