Page 38 of Cursed Shadows 4

The litalf advances… but he risks another collapse for it.

The added weight on the ice is enough to trigger those loud, growling howls. The glacier protests. It threatens them, threatens to collapse again, and drown the fae in the waters below.

Rune rolls onto the ice, then unwinds his fist. The rope slaps to the ice.

Panic flares in Daxeel’s eyes. He shoots the wild look at Rune, who simply jerks his chin to the litalf.

A subtle gesture.

It steals Daxeel back to their times in battle. Side by side, Rune and Dare and Daxeel and Samick learned each other. Learned each other’s gestures, thoughts, manners.

So Daxeel knows what’s about to happen.

Rune will make a run for it. The ice will crack, it will collapse. But the litalf will give chase.

And it’s Daxeel’s duty to take out the threat.

His answer is a mere tuck of the chin, the faintest of nods, one he doesn’t have to give, because Rune knows he will do it anyway.

It happens fast, in a blink, in a heartbeat.

Rune is suddenly on his feet, shoving into a run.

Daxeel has tossed aside the silken rope and notches a fresh arrow.

The litalf scrambles onto his boots, then chases after Rune.

And the glacier responds. Loud groaning floods the spanning landscape, cracks spearing like branches beneath every pounding boot step. Chunks start to break off. Their collapses are thunderous.

Rune outruns the fall of the ice.

Daxeel drops into a crouch and aims at the litalf. But this aim isn’t so faithful. It shoots over the head of the litalf, not even close enough to disturb his bark-hued hair.

He scrambles to re-notch. His final arrow. Not another in sight, not another in reach.

The litalf is closing in on Rune. Faster, smaller, more agile than a bulk of muscle. One of their advantages. Always so much lighter.

Rune is a blur of black. He barrels over the collapsing glacier. At his heels, the litalf is a smear of brown, a wisp of paint over a stark white canvas.

Daxeel traces him with the arrow.

His heart beats in his throat.

Behind the litalf, right at his heels, the ice just falls away into rushing, roaring waters; a current too strong to swim against.

“Move!” Daxeel shouts the same moment that his gloved finger slips from the bow string.

The arrow spears.

It cuts over Rune’s shoulder, a breath too close, but zips right by him… and before it can plunge into the chest of the litalf, he twists out of the way—and it strikes the muscle of his bicep.

The litalf’s shout of pain is drowned out by the roaring waters beneath the howling glacier. But Daxeel sees him strike the ice-floor, hard.

Then, in a blink, he’s vanished.

The ice collapses, still, and chases the heels of Rune’s boots.

Daxeel flings the bow aside just as Rune throws himself onto the shoreline.

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