[Barik's POV]
The decision was made, and we left the relative safety of the cave behind before sundown.
We moved into the dark like a current peeling away from the gorge. The flames of our torches swayed and danced until swallowed by the rising slope. We could hardly see the path, but we had to press on, trudging through the coming storm. Each step was a prayer of reaching our destination.
We've been walking for two hours, or probably more. We didn't care how long we'd been walking; only how far we'd gone and how near to our destination. Every step carried the fragile hope of reaching Haven. The wind was whipping our cloaks, and the ground was treacherous, each footfall a gamble between slick mud and jagged stone. The flame in our torches danced and swayed, offering little light to guide us.
Dara was leading, careful with her steps. I followed, wondering how Dara found the path. The flame barely illuminated our feet, yet she trudged on with unwavering certainty. We marched behind her in silence and without hesitation. We're almost at the top of the ridge. I couldn't see a thing in my right, even with the flickering light from the sky; there was nothing but darkness. it was too deep; death awaited us with a slight misstep. We didn't run. We dared not make a sound; something out there might hear us, and our wounded bodies were in no condition for another tough fight. I sometimes looked back, trying to measure how far we'd come, but I couldn't see the cave anymore. It had been swallowed completely by the dark.
The wind whipped at my hood while the sodden ground tugged at my boots with each step. My eyes, trained to the shadows of the gorge, strained now to pierce the shroud of night. We had washed off what we could, but a hunter's nose is too keen for a simple rinse. The coppery scent of beast blood, mixed with our own, was a siren's call to the predators of the ruin.
A restless wind began whispering through the trees, its voice swelling into a mournful howl as clouds gathered overhead, illuminating the cloud mass and creating a sheet of light, a thunderstorm. At first, the breeze brushed my face like a caress. Then it shifted. The wind grew heavy, and rain began to pour. It no longer caressed. It slapped, a thousand invisible hands striking from every angle.
A tense silence pressed down, broken only by the occasional thunder rumbling in the distance; a warning of the storm's full wrath. A blinding flash split the sky, a jagged spear of light, followed by the deafening crack of its voice. We stooped instinctively, but did not stop moving, fearful that lightning might strike us where we stood. The others did the same. Lightning continued to rage, illuminating the ground nonstop. For a fleeting moment, I saw the path ahead, and there, it appeared. A shadow of a cliff face, jagged and unmistakable, loomed before us.
Haven! At last!
Hope surged so strong; it nearly brought me to my knees. But the vision twisted. I was surprised, but then it dawned on me. No, it wasn't the cliff of Haven. What I thought was only the crown of trees upon a hill's crest. Haven was not close at all. In an instant, the warmth of hope turned to a numbing dread. My own eyes, even my mind, had betrayed me. The storm-light played cruel tricks, painting false distances on the night. A cruel mirage of stone and storm. Another flickering light in the sky, and there, Haven Cliff was still half a league away.
Dara, just ahead, thrust her arm forward, pointing through the blur. Was she also fooled like me? No, her finger aimed in another direction.
Her voice jolted me. "Barik! Tell the men to move faster. I saw shadows of a pack, west of us!"
"Move faster!" I echoed at once, my voice a command. I knew what she meant without explanation.
Another flash lit the sky and the ground around us. So close, the flash seared the inside of my eyes, and a thunderclap like the sky splitting in two crashed over us. The lightning struck the very crest I had mistaken for the cliff. A tree ahead exploded, half its trunk toppling in a spray of rain and splinters, the other half still standing, aflame, a torch against the storm. Another nearby trunk caught fire, its burning crown thrashing in the gale.
The wind surged, very much alive now, lifting our cloaks as if to peel them away; we could hardly move forward. Web of light zipping, non-stop, rolled in long, guttural bellows. Rain, no longer a sheet, stabbed as a thousand cold needles against the skin.
Then, howling. A wolf's call rose behind us, long and hollow, curling through the trees. Another answered, and then another, until the chorus swelled closer.
This journey home was too dangerous.
"Wolves!" Cugat bellowed, his voice shredded by the storm. We were already stooping low against the wind, but when the pack's howls reached us, panic broke free. My men ran frantically, heedless of thorn and rock cutting flesh, no longer careful to mask tracks or scents. It was too late. The wolves had found us.
How did the wolves find us? How could they see us in this darkness, had they caught our scents? Too many questions in my mind, but no time to indulge in answers.
"To the hills. Up there!" I shouted, pointing toward the burning tree on the crest. Its flame lit a path, a beacon of both danger and refuge.
I knew the instant they closed in. It wasn't a sound. It was a feeling, the hunter's instinct prickling at the back of my neck, the ancient hunter's instinct screaming danger and unshakable.
"Move faster!" I shouted. My eyes caught Dara stumbling, her wounded thigh bleeding, slowing her climb. She should have been leading, but was faltering instead. Ahead, the men ran wild over slick stone. Except one. Joeren. He stood frozen at the rear, arms outstretched, clinging to nothing, his body rigid as stone.
I halted, swung the heavy horn from my back, a carved mountain beast's horn, banded in copper. I blew. The deep note tore through the storm, hoping to frighten the wolves and wake him from his fear. I blew again, praying Eris' group could hear, not to ask for their help, but to prepare for a possible attack.
The sound tore through the storm, a deep, booming note that seemed to shake the very air. It echoed off canyon and ridge until it was impossible to tell where it began or ended. The reverberating sound seemed to mock us, bouncing endlessly in the dark. The echoes made liars of distance. I no longer knew if any ear could place where the sound had come from
"Hurry!" I growled; my voice nearly swallowed by the wind. "Higher ground! Now!"
We scrambled upward, boots slipping, hands clawing at jagged stone and rusted iron bars. At last, we reached a broken plateau. There was a slab of concrete jutting from the canyon wall; a poor fortress, but higher ground.
Joeren did not follow. He stood below, a pale statue carved by terror, eyes glassy and wide. The pack emerged. First, a scarred brute with milky eyes, then a dozen more, fangs gleaming.
"Joeren! Move!" I roared, but he was deaf to me.
His lips trembled with madness. "We should have stayed! You tricked us! You want me dead!" Joeren mumbled in fear, half-crazy. There was no grin, no crafty smile; fear distorted his face.
Rage surged.
I charged back, seized him by the shirt, and shook him hard. "Move, damn you! Move!"
His rant continued, wild and broken. "I'm going to die! Scar, we're going to die!"
I slapped him hard, not once, but twice. Then, his eyes finally focused, his voice was still hysterical, a trembling rant, but his eyes cleared at last.
"We die if we stay," I spat. "We fight if we move! Now climb, or I drag you myself!"
Stunned, Joeren stumbled upward, dragging his clumsy legs to the plateau. I rejoined the others just as the pack reached our base.
"They can't come all at once," I muttered. "But they'll find another way up. We need a barricade." My hand pointed to the burning branches, loose slabs, scraps of rusted metal.
"Cugat! Get the men! Build a wall; burning woods, slabs, anything. Move them in front. Make a choke point."
The men moved with desperate purpose, stacking debris. Dara couldn't help; she tightened the bandage over her wound to stop the bleeding in her legs. Her bow gleamed in the firelight; she nocked an arrow to her bow.
"Ready yourselves," I said. "They can't climb, but they can leap. Hold fast." My spear was firm in my hand, jaw clenched. Joeren stood pale but tried to help. But most of the time, he just stared, spear trembling, but pointed to the wolves below. The firelight painted our fear in flickering hues.
I blew the horn again, long and low. Its call rushed over the ridge. For a heartbeat, hope. Somewhere out there, another horn might answer . . .
But only wolves replied, their howls drowning ours, grinning at our helplessness. Closer now. More than a dozen. A bark split the night, sharp and snapping, then a chorus. The torchlight edge bristled with unseen bodies.
A low, guttural howl from the blackness, then another, closer this time, a chilling chorus that spoke of hunger and numbers. The wolves approached, not in a hurry; they were waiting for their leader, an alpha. This journey home had become a fight for our lives. The storm was never our only hunter.
The storm pressed harder, the wolves closer, and even the ruin itself seemed to reel against them. Barik's men tightened their hold of their spears and bows, blades shaking, breath ragged. They had no shelter, no mercy left to call upon. Only steel. Only each other.
And in that ragged silence between howls, one thought clung to Barik like a curse: Would any of them live to see the next dawn?
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