“Why were you imprisoned?” Esharah asked.

  The beastkin hunter glared daggers at Esharah. All lean muscle, half-a-head taller than her, the red-furred canin warrior could have crushed her with bare hands and claws. Neither cursed manacles nor mundane chains restrained him. Only one of Yvris’ practices remained in Hellfrost: listening to the prisoners. Rather than coaxing out confessions with torture, however, Esharah’s chosen approach simply e them an opportunity to tell their stories.

  With the prisoners pardoned and transformed either to hunters or quarry workers, Esharah was left Head Warden of a prison without prisoners. Or, viewed differently, the prison expanded to cover even more. None were confined to cells, but the choice remained: fight voidspawn, mine for the empire, devote body and life to the empire’s service...or die. While some of the former prisoners joined Aven in calling their new status “freedom”, others held less generous views.

  “I’m here because your empire invaded my lands, killed my brothers and dragged me here in chains,” the canin said. Rage smoldered within the wolfman’s soul even stronger than his blazing eyes showed. A hatred far deeper than mere months could cool.

  “Aven tells me that you fight hard on the hunts,” Esharah kept her voice friendly.

  “I’ll smash the bugs just fine. You can tell the voidtouched that. I’ll fight; just won’t kiss his arse.”

  “Noted,” Esharah did indeed write down the comment as a note. Etrani’s preaching on the importance of note-taking had some effect. Esharah certainly didn’t want to forget taking the chance to relay this particular message to Aven’s ears. Then, she closed the book to signal that the next words would remain behind these closed doors, “Do you have any concerns about Aven’s leadership?”

  The canin scoffed, “None that his daemon whore needs to hear.”

  Esharah suppressed irritation, even though the comment made her fist clench. Iskir was angry at the empire. Just lashing out, she told herself. How could she possibly speak to people determined to be hostile? Not without reason, mind; she’d participated in their torture. That it was also her own torture wasn’t relevant in their minds. “This hurts me more than it hurts you” were never words that dulled the pain.

  “I assure you that whatever I am, I’m not his whore,” Esharah forced her fist to unclench and her smile to return.

  That only got an eye-roll in response.

  “What is it you want...Iskir?” Esharah paused for a moment to recollect the name. Between the guards, prisoners, and wardens now under her charge, there were over two hundred names to track.

  “My brothers alive,” Iskir said without hesitation. “And every imperial bastard gutted and dragged through the dirt like they were.” He stood, “Can’t have that. You tell me to fight voidspawn or die, I’ll fight. I’ll live to see the day when the empire burns. May I go?”

  Ignoring the mocking tone in the request, Esharah gave the lightest possible mental touch to cool the rage. All she managed was burning herself in the scorching touch. “Yes, you are free to go. I won’t hold you in chains-“

  Any other explanation fell on deaf ears as the canin shoved past her and slammed the chapel doors shut behind.

  Esharah took a moment to breathe, glancing around Hellfrost Keep’s chapel. It still held the three symbols of Yvris’ sworn Ideals: Justice, Piety, and Discipline. What was justice? The imperial church’s seminal text defined it as “giving to each what he deserves”. Tanya often said no one in Hellfrost got what they deserved. Maybe Iskir’s wish was closer to justice than what the empire gave to him. Esharah certainly didn’t deserve a place of leadership among Hellfrost.

  “Warden Esharah? Warden Esharah?” the voice came from the door, a minari girl popping her tiny head in. Not girl, a woman; just because she was under four feet high and had the energy of a newborn frostfang. “Are you alright? Should I send the next prisoner- I mean, next worker, next soldier? Next-“

  “Yes, Kalashi,” Esharah gave Hellfrost’s newest Warden a smile. Paragons be thanked she hadn’t joined prior to the battle. Zadrine would have eaten the poor girl alive. “Please send Moran in.”

  The minari gave an overly vigorous salute, then flinched at the impact of her own hand against her forehead. “Ow, yes ma’am!”

  She sprinted off. Whether that speed came from her vis domain or natural energy, Esharah had yet to figure out. An appreciable chunk of her time as Head Warden turned out to be finding tasks for all the other wardens. Most of the others had their own directives, acting more as Etrani’s direct agents than Esharah’s subordinates. That suited Esharah fine; a few of them had served as wardens alongside Esharah under Yvris, and trying to act as their superior simply felt wrong. Kalashi, on the other hand, was Esharah’s direct assistant, and finding tasks to occupy someone so eager took up nearly as much energy as delving into the dark feelings of those crushed under Hellfrost’s chains.

  Another quick breath, and then Esharah had to bring the smile back to her face as Kalashi returned with another prisoner. Personal stress aside, Esharah had work to do. Aven was Hellfrost’s hands, warding off the voidspawn threats. Etrani was the mind, guiding the decisions and planning their course. The least Esharah could do was listen to its cries and offer some comfort to its shattered hearts. Whether those hearts would accept the new chance was up to them.

  * * *

  A herald wasn’t meant to stop and admire the scenery, but there was no one to stop Shevi out here in the woods west of Hellfrost. Blackeye certainly wouldn’t; the blackfang hound practically turned back into a pup in these woods, sticking her fat nose down every hole in the ground and leaving a trail of broken branches behind her. A far cry from the image of one of Hellfrost’s terrible wolves cursed by the black blood mixed into their meat. Anyone worried that voidmeat would corrupt a hound need only look to Blackeye to see their fears dispelled. The only thing corrupted was Blackeye’s figure, fat from the meat and the attention from Hellfrost’s soldiers.

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  But the forest itself. Shevi took a deep breath of air, cool and crisp as an autumn wind. A soft wind stirred the pine needles and the few leaves that still clung to their trees in defiance of the coming freeze. Good to take this mission before the trees fully shed their leaves.

  “Come on, girl!” Shevi called out as her swift jogging pace threatened to leave the hound behind. A bark answered her and Shevi slowed to let Blackeye catch up. Even a blackfang would have difficulty catching up to a Farrunner vis like Shevi with enough distance. As it was, blackfangs were about the only creature who could keep pace with Shevi hour-after-hour on these trips.

  As the trees grew thicker and thicker, the light grew dimmer, until the sun barely made it through the needles and leaves. The trees here grew tall. Far taller than those around Hellfrost, so thick and tangled that it would be easy to get turned around. These trees had no idea that Hellfrost’s leadership had changed. Hells, that was probably why Frostwood was so reticent. Out here, it was easy to forget the rest of the empire entirely. The road looked the same as it always did, merely a winding, half-cleared path through the trees reinforced by animals following the natural way between the foliage. No imperial roads out here. That project was probably even beyond the zeal of Hellfrost’s new leader. Enthusiasm and numbers alone couldn’t made the stubbornness of the land bend to their will.

  Shevi started up the whistling tune again, Blackeye occasionally barking along. A traditional herald running song. Or at least one as old as Grimald had been when he taught it to her twenty years ago on her first run. Grimald who’d been a runner even old and knotted as a root by the time the frost finally crept into his bones last winter.

  The day wore on and the sun fell towards the horizon, the shadows growing long in the forest. The forest was quiet, even as she approached Frostwood. There was the split oak, alright. That landmark had been a part of the road since long before Shevi first stepped on it. This close to Frostwood, they were out of the danger of wolfpacks or the forest’s other dangers.

  So why was Blackeye acting so anxious?

  The hound had grown silent, no longer bounding around and chasing scents, instead keeping pace with Shevi. Dead silent with ears straight up, huddling close. The hound who had faced voidspawn and bandits alike now tucked close, tail low and immobile. A warning more ancient than even the looming trees all around.

  The forest felt silent too, the only sound the crunch of snow and needles under Shevi’s own feet.

  A cold wind rustled the trees above her.

  Shevi only paused to give Blackeye a pat before starting up the tune again, a bit softer this time while her eyes searched the surrounding woods.

  Smoke rose over the trees, carried on the wind. Not quite chimney smoke. Too thick for that. Not enough for a burning village, but enough for a large bonfire. Or a pyre.

  Over the roar of the wind, she couldn’t quite hear Blackeye’s low growl, but she felt it rumble through the hound’s flank against her side.

  The growl turned to a bark just before the sound of an arrow in flight buzzed through the trees. Blackeye’s warning saved Shevi, instinct throwing her down in a duck that sent the arrow just over her shoulder. She didn’t see the arrow, only a faint warp in the air like a cloud’s shadow through a sunbeam. The arrow thumped into a tree just beyond her, snapping into visibility on impact as if shedding the shadows that coated it in flight.

  “Run, girl!” Shevi took off at a run. “Back to Hellfrost!” She didn’t know how many were in the trees, and she didn’t care to stick around and find out.

  Shevi’s command overcame a blackfang’s instinct, and Blackeye moved to cover her retreat rather than attack their unseen assailant. Dodging and weaving in through the thickets and brush, even a vis archer would have a devil of a time hitting her. The shots impacted into trees or sped into thickets.

  Shouts came from behind, too distant and muffled to hear.

  But close. Close enough that Shevi’s heart raced, the thrill of fear coursing through her as the woods whipped by.

  No one in Frostwood would fire on her like that. And no one in Frostwood had any vis power like the invisible arrows of the shadowy archer. A group of bandits? But there were vis in Frostwood. Few, but enough to defend from mere brigands. Frostwood was even more isolated than most of the county as well, off the main roads in an area that was already the northern extreme of the empire.

  Shevi was a runner, not a warrior. She could handle herself in a scrap well enough, and Blackeye was a monster of a dog, but they two of them weren’t enough to fight off an unknown number of enemies in an ambush. This was a job for legionaries.

  A heavier whoosh split the air and instead of an invisible arrow, a spear slammed into the tree just beside her, the strike so strong a crack nearly split the elm in half. Hells and devils, someone stronger than an ox threw that.

  Fear gripped Shevi, a choking sensation like a rabbit under a serpent’s eye. This was it. This was how she died, an arrow in her back. Or a spear.

  “Go, Blackeye!” she shouted. “Run!” Even if she fell here, Blackeye would be fast enough to make it. And that was what mattered, that someone got back to Hellfrost with the news. Let them mourn for her. The empire must be informed. That was what being a herald meant. Information first, even above your own life. Grimald would have been proud of that.

  To her horror, Blackeye didn’t run. She turned, pouncing at something just behind Shevi, knocking her over with the force.

  For a long moment, the world swam. The air was kicked out of her lungs, the impact with the earth driving the wind further out.

  Her vision resolved, the spinning slowing to a crawl. Shevi saw the blackfang standing over her, teeth bared and barking.

  A spear ran Blackeye through. Shevi screamed as Blackeye still fought, scrabbling to get past the crossguard to snap at the assailant, even as blood poured from her throat. Blackeye died howling, roaring, snapping, refusing to the last to give in. A blackfang’s defiance.

  A hand pulled the spear free and the great hound collapsed in the dirt. The figure stepped forward. Shevi stared, horror-struck. A man well over six feet high, with a tangled mane of dark hair and a ragged beard. Wearing animal skins over a patchwork of ragged clothes, bloody spear in one hand and a bundle of throwing javelins strapped to his shoulder.

  Rage overcome fear, and Shevi yanked the dagger from her belt, scrambling to her feet. If she was to die here in the forest, it’d be fighting to her last. The figure moved towards her. She charged, dagger raised to stab. Faster than her eye could follow, a palm struck her chest, sending her flying back. The breath slammed out of her. A boot slammed on her wrist, followed by a spear butt against her chest.

  “Black frostfang, huh? That’s new,” the figure spoke, voice rough but calm. “Well trained too. Better than any frostfang I ever saw. Bastards in the kennels finally cracked the secret of voidtouched dogs, eh?”

  Shevi stared up. There was something familiar about that voice. An echo from memories when she’d first arrived at Hellfrost more than seven years ago.

  “Let’s see...” the figure hunched over, dark eyes searching. “You’re a Hellfrost girl, yeah? Runner. Oh, old Grimald was training a canin girl like you, wasn’t he?”

  “Who...” she frowned. “Who in the hells are you?”

  The man stepped back, a feral grin twisting his scarred face. “Get up, runner. You’re here to bring news of Hellfrost, right? Let’s hear the news. I’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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