Thread of Frost

Ch. 38: Battle of Tarhalla

Isaac sprinted through the village.

Smoke filled his nostrils. Blood thundered in his ears, and his muscles screamed in protest. This distance had once been easy, Isaac thought, but he'd been confined to a small, damp cell for months; his body wasn't used to exerting itself.

He doubled his pace. The knife slapped his thigh as he ran, a comforting, steady rhythm. Adrenaline flooded his body. He always felt better when he was moving, Isaac thought; jumping or running or fighting. It was the stillness that killed you. The anticipation of what came next. That was the worst.

He hurtled over an overturned apple cart.

Tarhalla was burning. Sunhounds chased terrified people from their homes, snapping with hungry teeth. Isaac could hear distant cries of pain, the sound of metal striking flesh. The heat felt like a brand on the back of his neck. Isaac ran on, his pulse thundering in his ears. His muscles burned, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. Just a little bit further. Just a little bit longer.

"Webb!" a voice called.

Isaac forced himself to pause.

Tristan and Owain were jogging behind him. Tristan was panting, clutching at his side like his organs were about to fall out. Owain looked fine. Isaac suspected that Owain was hanging back largely because of Tristan. He wished it didn't endear him to the other boy, but it did. Only slightly, mind.

"What?" Isaac demanded.

Tristan rested his hands on his thighs. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Isaac said.

"Cryptic," Owain muttered.

Tristan bent over. Isaac could see Tristan's spine through his white shirt, knobbled like an old stone bridge. A sour taste filled his mouth. Gods. Tristan had explained that Eris hadn't fed them in the tower, but to actually see it...

Isaac looked away. At least Brigid had the decency to send the occasional chunk of bread. She'd been a tyrannical maniac with an unnatural obsession with her stepdaughter, but still. You couldn't deny she'd had standards.

"We can slow down," Isaac offered. "If it's too much."

It would kill him. Kill him to slow his pace, to hold back from sprinting towards the fight. But he'd do it, Isaac thought. He'd do it for Tristan.

Tristan's golden eyes hardened. "I can keep up."

"Alright," Isaac said. "If you're sure."

He broke into a sprint. Tristan kept pace this time, panting and wheezing, his cheeks slapped red with exertion. Owain loped easily alongside them. It would have been annoying, Isaac thought, if it wasn't so impressive.

Isaac stopped in the main square.

Tarhalla was in shreds; the fountain had toppled, spitting stone fragments. Sunhounds leapt onto blue-and-yellow checkered tablecloths, knocking over almond croissants and jugs of white wine. Several bodies lay in the street, oozing red blood into the cracks of the cobblestone. The air was thick with the smell of wet fur and entrails.

"Mother of gods," Tristan muttered.

Owain's mouth was tight. "How are there so many of them?"

"Lucia's growing stronger," Isaac said.

He drew his meat cleaver. Tristan was staring at a patch of blood. His mouth was tight, as if a terrible thought had just occurred to him.

"She knows where we are," Tristan said.

Isaac raised the weapon. "Yeah."

"I don't understand." Owain frowned. "How did she find us?"

"Doesn't matter," Isaac said. "We need to get everyone out of Tarhalla. Now."