Page 33 of Winter's Echo
One of the creatures slammed into the line of soldiers, scattering them like they weighed nothing. A spear shattered, and a man hit the ground hard enough that I heard the crack of bone even over the chaos.
The mercenaries weren’t here. I twisted, searching the terrain…there. The three of them were racing across the snow.
They were at an angle, running toward the carnage created by the monsters.
I knew from his height that Baxley was in the lead, Nicco and Larana on either side. Their long legs covered the snow as if it were solid ground.
They approached the Hulgrim from behind, and I watched, transfixed, as Baxley stepped in first.
He showed no hesitation. He didn’t shout a warning. He was pure movement. He ducked under a wild swing of claws, closing the distance rather than retreating. His blade came up fast and precise, carving along the creature’s side, not deep but deliberate.
Testing. Finding a weak point.
The Hulgrim growled in anger, not pain. Larana followed a heartbeat later — not behind Baxley, but alongside him. She moved low and fast, cutting in where the soldiers had failed, targeting joints and movement rather than brute force. Her blade struck, withdrew, then struck again.
Her cut was efficient and ruthless. The creature turned on them as they drew its attention away from the soldiers, who were dealing with the other one.
It was the creature’s mistake. Baxley was already there, driving his weapon forward with enough force to make it stagger half a step.
That was all Larana needed. Steel flashed in the morning light, and a howl tore through the air.
The other creature cried out in response to the howl, and that was when I saw Nicco. Like the others, he didn’t rush in. He walked through the chaos, the shouting, the blood, and the panic, as if none of it touched him.
The second creature saw him, the clever one. It felt wrong.
Everything about that creature was wrong.
Nicco’s hood was shoved back, his brown hair blowing faintly in the wind, and I saw him tilt his head slightly, as if considering it.
Then he moved, and my jaw dropped at how fast he was. One second, he was out of reach, and the next, he was closer than anyone else had managed.
His blade moved too fast for me to see, but the scream as it met the creature’s flesh was loud, and I knew he had made a clean cut. Not a desperate blow like the soldiers had landed, but a precise one.
He wasn’t panicking. None of the mercenaries were.
Nicco stepped back, swung his sword, and struck again. The creature convulsed, emitting a guttural sound that didn’t belong in this world.
Nicco jumped back as the creature swayed, moving clear of it, like he already knew where it would fall. Snow sprayed up in an arc as the beast collapsed, shaking the ground beneath us.
The other creature’s scream made me wince, sensing the pain and rage, and it started to swing wildly. Claws extended as it swiped through the air, hitting anything and nothing.
Baxley ran forward and leaped onto its leg. I watched transfixed as he used the creature's own fur to climb it. Heclambered to the top, holding on grimly as the creature, in its grief over its mate's death, caused destruction, never realizing the soldiers in front of it were backing up not because of it, but because of the man it carried on its back.
Baxley lifted his sword, then drove it downward, right into the Hulgrim’s neck. As it fell, he rode it down. It landed on the ground in a heap, and he jumped off, grinning as Nicco reached out and clasped his arm, patting him on the back.
Silence followed.
No one moved as reality swooped back in, and I realized I was still gripping the reins hard enough to hurt. The horse trembled beneath my hand. Or my hand was shaking too much to calm it.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scene before me. Amid the churned snow and blood, the soldiers who could still stand stared in disbelief, not at the creatures but at the mercenaries.
The silence didn’t last. A groan broke it first. Low and human. One of the soldiers was still alive beneath the wreckage of the fight. Then another voice, sharper, called for aid. Movement followed, and orders were barked. Panic trying to dress itself as control.
I didn’t move. My hand stayed on the horse’s neck, feeling the tremor still running through him. His sides heaved under my palm, breath coming fast and shallow.
“Easy,” I murmured, my voice breathless and shaking.
The wind pushed against us, weaker than I was used to, but enough to carry the scent of blood. Even from here, I could smell it, hot, thick, and strong against the cold.
