Chapter 151
From Dirty Paws & Creatures of Snow
Rowan rode on Hralvek’s back along a frozen river. The edges had already begun to thaw, rivulets of dark water cutting through the ice like veins. Southward, the landscape softened into rolling hills, the harsh white of winter giving way to the muted greens of early spring. Grass poked tentatively through patches of frostbitten soil, and the air carried the faint, wet scent of thawing earth.
He slid down from Hralvek’s back, his boots crunching softly against the half-frozen ground. The Ferrax snorted, its breath misting in the cool air as it lowered its massive head to sniff the earth. Hralvek’s thick red coat gleamed, and the faint gold streaks along its sides caught the pale light as it pawed the ground. Its sharp gaze darted south, following the trail Rowan had been reading for hours now.
Rowan could sense Hralvek’s thoughts over the bond. The abomination moves south.
It was a strange feeling. Sharing his mind in this way. Hralvek insisted they were now one mind. But Rowan still couldn’t come to grips with that and preferred to keep them separate. Even if it all felt like his own thoughts.
The lands of the Balfold stretched out before him, an expanse of hills and ridges that rolled on endlessly, their slopes still clinging to the season’s frost. Pockets of green broke through here and there, but the land was still caught in the liminal space between winter and spring. For most, the chill would bite at their fingers and cling to their bones. For Rowan, the cold had stopped bothering him since he had become soulbonded.
Rowan didn’t need to crouch to inspect the tracks. Deep claw marks raked the earth, the size and spacing wide enough to suggest that these were still the alpha’s tracks. It was moving at a deliberate pace—not running, but not lingering either. The tracks veered south, weaving through the hills with a purpose Rowan couldn’t yet discern.
Hralvek huffed, and Rowan glanced up, his hand instinctively going to the beast’s neck. “I know,” he murmured to the beast. “I want to stop it too. But we should return to camp, we shouldn’t push too far ahead without the others.”
Rowan climbed up onto Hralvek’s broad back, his hands gripping the Ferrax’s thick, furred neck for balance. The creature’s coat was warm, smooth to the touch, but Rowan couldn’t help but wish—again—for a proper saddle. He’d floated the idea once, and Hralvek’s reaction had been less than subtle. It wasn’t worth the argument.
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He adjusted his position, his bow and sword shifting against his back as he settled in. The wind picked up behind him, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and thawing moss, mingled with something else. Rowan’s sense of smell and sight also heightened after the bonding. It seemed like across the board there was nothing but benefits for Rowan from the soulbond.
Rowan frowned. Hralvek growled, detecting it quicker than Rowan. It was the unmistakable scent of rakmen. To Rowan, it was similar to the smell of burnt wood.
More of the war parties were roaming through the Balfold. There was little left for them here—no villages worth burning, no towns to sack. A decade ago, the rakmen had razed this region to the ground, leaving little but ruins and scattered survivors clinging to the remnants of their homes. Rowan thought of those stragglers now, holed up in crumbling cottages or broken barns, praying the beasts wouldn’t find them.
Hralvek shifted beneath him, the Ferrax’s muscles tensing. Rowan didn’t need to guess at the beast’s mood. He could feel Hralvek’s desire to hunt. Not out of hunger. To destroy the rak.
“We should head back to camp,” Rowan said, though the words felt hollow even as he spoke them. “Daegan won’t be pleased if we’re not back by nightfall.”
Hralvek huffed, the sound halfway between a growl and a snort. Rowan smirked despite himself, patting the Ferrax’s neck. “Alright,” he said, the grin spreading across his face. “A little detour, then.”
Hralvek didn’t wait for further encouragement. He sprang forward, his claws digging into the frostbitten ground as he surged south. Rowan tightened his grip, the wind whipping past his face as the land blurred around them.
Rowan knew that Daegan wouldn’t be that upset. He’d be worried if they didn’t come back by nightfall. But if he and Hralvek took another rak war party off the map. He’d be happy.
The alpha draega’s trail had led them in circles for days now, since it veered east into the Balfold. He and Hralvek had chased it hard after the retreat from Bluewater Wall. Most of the Reldoni and Bluewater soldiers had followed Commander Torvin’s withdrawal horns. It hadn’t been a retreat, not really—more like a rout. When that wall fell, the defenders had scattered.
Rowan’s jaw tightened. He hadn’t seen Tanlor since. But his brother was too stubborn to not survive. And yet, doubt gnawed at the edges of Rowan’s mind. Tanlor was skilled, but a lot of skilled fighters had died at Bluewater Wall. He shoved the thought down, burying it beneath the task at hand. If Tanlor was alive, he’d be among the stragglers still filtering into Harriston. Rowan would see him there, alive and arrogant as ever, complaining about the mud or the food.
The alpha draega had eluded Rowan after turning east into the Balfold lands. Daegan and his guard had caught up to him and joined him in the hunt for the creature. There were a lot of problems to deal with now that Bluewater Wall had fallen. But the alpha was at the top of the list for both Rowan and Daegan. It could not be allowed to move further south.
They’d been tracking it since, but the Balfold was vast, and the draega was fast. Hralvek had done most of the work, his instincts sharper than any man’s. Now, though, the scent of rakmen offered something more immediate—a fight to bleed off the frustration that had built over the past few days.
