Page 124 of A Land So Wide
Recklessly, she unfurled Ailie’s cloak, letting its fullness flutter free. It sparkled under the moonlight, the metallic threads dazzling and as bright as the stars overhead.
“The sovereign’s mantle,” whispered the tall guard, cowed by its luster.
“Get it,” Elowen managed to gasp, stabbing her knobby, elongated finger at Greer.
“This?” Greer held out the cape as if she might actually hand it over.
Elowen’s eyes burned, smoldering with contempt.
With a burst of reckless laughter, Greer bundled the cloak beneath her arm and took off running, heading into the forest. She didn’t dare look back; the Bright-Eyeds would be on her within seconds. There was a hiss of orders from Elowen, and Greer heard the rattle of blood across the wound.
“Thank you, Ellis,” she murmured, darting into the tree’s shadows.
She’d planned to make a large circle, swooping back toward the camp, but the Gathered crashed through the undergrowth, moving slower than expected. Their giant wings did them no favors in thedense woods, and Greer began to envision a scenario in which her stupid, ill-thought-out scheme might actually work.
But then she heard the footfalls.
They came from her right, the sound of padded paws dancing over the snow. She heard the pant of an animal racing after her at lethal speed. She saw the swish of a tail, long and tufted and nearly white.
The tall guard had shifted, giving himself the sleek body of a wolf. Greer caught sight of yellow eyes just before it lunged, jaws snarled wide.
She ducked, pivoting her direction, and the wolf skittered past, sliding into a snowbank. It rolled, flipping over to find its prey, but Greer was already heading back toward the site. She raced through the rubble as fast as her snowshoes would allow.
The yard was empty.
That surprised Greer. She’d assumed that the Bright-Eyeds would chase after her, temporarily leaving their sovereign behind. But the spot where Elowen had lain was empty, save for a smattering of blood and something else, something small and precious, cast aside in the chaos and forgotten.
The iron knife.
It stuck out of a snowdrift, its flat edge reflecting moonlight and drawing Greer’s attention. The handle had been carved of bone, but even so, her skin prickled as she pulled it free, uncomfortably close to the iron. How it must have burned Elowen as it sank in.
Greer whirled back with the knife drawn, ready for the wolf.
But it was gone.
An eerie stillness fell over the site. Nothing stirred. Nothing breathed.
Greer scanned the area, keeping a sharp watch on the sky, wary of an attack from above.
When a great horned owl fell from the darkness, too big to be anything but one of the Gathered, talons stretched forward to gouge her eyes, she was ready. Dropping Ailie’s cloak, she slashed at the owl with the knife and caught the bird across its belly. It screeched once, sounding so much louder than an owl had any right to.
Innards spilled free, steaming lengths of intestines falling into thesnow. When the body hit the ground, it landed with a lumbering thud. In death, the Bright-Eyed returned to its monstrous state, and now lay sprawled on its side, wings stretched in broken angles, fractured in the fall, its face forever frozen in a murderous snarl.
Greer’s insides thrummed; her heart was pattering so fast she felt it might burst from her chest. She’d killed another Bright-Eyed, this time without the power of her scream.
That made two.
She glanced down into the mine’s tunnels, watching, listening. Somewhere in that darkness were more. They did not know what had happened to Elowen. They did not know Greer was here at all.
That left just the wolf and one other outside.
But Elowen…
Elowen could be anywhere. With no tracks in the snow, Greer had to assume she’d managed to fly away.
But which way had she gone? Into the trees or down the tunnel?
Greer tried to focus on the sounds coming from the mine, but there were too many tunnels full of too many echoes. Noises bounced off rocky walls, repeating their cadence until they were a jumble of sound, falling over themselves in a mess of confusion. She couldn’t pinpoint their source, couldn’t make sense of the rustled whispers.
