Conversation flowed only through the pack bond.
Small window of time.
Their trail isn’t hidden.
Conscripts, more likely.
Coming up…
I see it…
We stood on a rise above a gap through the mountains. Steep slopes on both sides, with trampled snow in the narrow, curving dip where a frozen stream glistened. Neon signs couldn’t have been more obvious. The dip was designed for an ambush, leaving no room to maneuver.
Use the high ground, Mace advised through the bond. Every man studied the terrain. Go up, then across that ridge.
See that cornice snow? Pike had returned to camp in time to join the team. One nudge and the snow comes down, taking everything on that hill with it.
Mace asked, Best way to get around it?
Tread lightly.
If we keep high enough? I asked.
Better than the bottom, Pike answered.
The hike upward was slow, one foot above the other on the slope—an angled ascent between the black trees. Each step sent small blocks of snow tumbling downward. Ski poles helped with stability, but my backpack shifted awkwardly as the incline steepened. The wind picked up, whistling through the trees that offered little shelter from the biting cold. In the distance and far below, a pinpoint of red light meant we were close to the hostage camp.
All chatter ceased. Only orders through the pack bond, crisp and to the point. We would spread out. Cross the open ridge one at a time to ease the weight on the snowpack. We had escape routes in case the snow avalanched, but crossing remained the best option. A risk, if sentries watched the ridgeline. We’d be visible from below, silhouetted against the white snow and black sky. But with the worsening weather, the drop in temperature and whipping wind, exposure was the least of our worries. The storm was building, lowering visibility with fog and flurried snow.
Still better than being caught at the bottom of the gap.
My fingers were numb as I flexed them, tightened my grip on the ski poles.
Pike went first, using his pole to test the snow depth. I followed. Then Mace.
Five men waited to cross. The first moved stiffly, checking his footing. He was halfway across when an echoing boom rose from the dip below. The smooth snow roughened. Cracks appeared.
I pushed out a wave of power, held the snow in place with sheer determination, and ordered the man to shift. A second boom reverberated. The wolf leapt forward. Not far enough. The snow beneath his feet broke away, a small slab, sliding with increased momentum.
More slabs slid and broke apart. Snow upon snow, seething in silence that bloomed into a thundering rush.
The wolf dug for traction, his legs churning as the snow billowed up, a smothering cloud until he broke free—well below us, charging back into the trees.
Through the pack bond, I ordered the others to toss their packs into the roiling snow. Their poles. The snowshoes. Anything to make the watchers below believe men tumbled in the avalanche.
Through my arms, my fingers, furious energy flowed, wild without Noa’s syphoning to keep it controlled. I’d altered landscapes before with this power. Crashed thunder through the air. She’d always kept me grounded. My mirror. She was the reason.
I focused, and when everyone was safe, I let the snow explode and roar down the hillside, taking trees, boulders, the discarded packs with it.
They were waiting, Mace growled.
And now they’ll see wreckage and believe the wait was worth it.
The stranded men would backtrack, find another path and catch up. Between Mace and Pike, I had enough for a diversion.
Snow was still sliding downhill. We were back in the trees, concealed. Below, the conscripts moved about, tiny figures revealing themselves. Perhaps in triumph. Or to lure any survivors out. Another order shot through the pack bond. Stay out of sight. But a part of me had gone cold and hard, and I sent a second wave of snow thundering down, watching as the enemy scattered.
The snow cut our team in half, Mace murmured through our mind-to-mind connection.
