Page 19 of Four Ruined Realms (The Broken Blades #2)

Mikail

The Northern Pass, Khitan

You know, I really thought we were done with megafauna trying to eat us when we escaped from Fallow.

Apparently not.

Four zaybears stalk our sleigh from the tree line around seventy yards away. They move in the darkness of the forest, parallel to our sleigh, but they’re getting closer. Their silhouettes are now visible in the snow. One would be a problem. Four is a full-blown crisis.

Zaybears are built like enormous black wolves, but with more strength and thicker pelts like bears. They’re not as hard to kill as pigars, which have to be speared up close, but it’s not easy. The best course of action is to simply not come across one.

Four means we have no chance of surviving.

Royo steers us straight along the pass as I weigh our options. I’m glad he finally stopped talking so I have the quiet to think. They’re still a decent distance away, but we’ve attracted their attention and we can’t outrun them should they chase us.

Zaybears are solitary hunters when grown, so these must be a mother and three juveniles. The juveniles are still seven feet long. The mother is ten.

I suppose it could be worse—a full-grown male is twelve feet.

But they stand about as tall as a man from the tips of their ears to the ground.

No matter what I feel about him at the moment, Euyn is still the best hunter I know. He is also a genocide apologist, but I can deal with that later.

If there’s a later.

It’s a bit troubling that I keep having to say that.

I reach over the back of the sleigh, keeping my eyes on the tree line. I nudge Euyn awake. He sits right up, since he was only pretending to be asleep anyhow.

His eyes meet mine, his stare filled with hope and curiosity. And love. Euyn loves me to the extent he can love anyone. Lately, though, I wonder if it’s enough. For now, it needs to be.

“Zaybears,” I say.

“Plural? You’re joking.” He looks around and sighs. “Are there really as many as I’m seeing?”

“Afraid so,” I say.

“Gods on High,” he mutters. He gets out his crossbow and belts of bolts, then slings them over his chest. He loads the bow. “All right.”

“We’re not gonna outrun them in this heavy sled,” Royo says. “Let’s get on these deer and make a break for it.”

He’s gripping the reins and pulling hard because the califers have just sensed the zaybears. They bolt, trying to leave the path, to get away from the threat.

The sled rocks, and I grab the front lip of the wood as Euyn thuds against the back bench.

“It won’t work,” I shout over the rushing wind.

Califers are herd animals. They won’t stop until they physically can’t run anymore. Climbing aboard them is no easy feat when they’re trotting. At this speed, it’s not possible. Plus, they’re rigged to this sleigh and there are no saddles. At least one of us would fall off and be trampled.

Probably the one who thinks these animals are deer.

“We have to cut one free and leave it behind,” Euyn says, struggling to regain his footing.

“You want me to cut the harness?” Royo yells, raising his eyebrows. His large hands are gripping the reins, so I’m not sure how he thinks he can grab his knife.

“No, he wants me to do it,” I say.

I glance behind us, confirming what I already know—the zaybears are chasing the sleigh and gaining on us.

Euyn looks, too, and then leans forward. “Lose the one and hope the zaybears will be content with the sole kill.”

I glance at him. It’s so easy for him—the slaughter, the sacrifice for what he thinks is the greater good. In all the time we’ve known each other, I’ve never asked his thoughts on Gaya. Probably because I feared the answer.

But he does happen to be right in this case.

Before I can think too much about the poor creature I’m dooming, I lean forward, bracing my torso against the front rail of the sleigh. I lift my sword and aim for the leather band that holds the back harness together. I cut the right side in one motion. But there’s still the other side keeping the animal in place.

I reach back to swing my blade, but just as my arm is raised, we hit a bump. Off-balance, my feet leave the floor of the sled. My sword slams into the wood of the lip, the blade sticking.

And then I’m falling out of the sleigh.