The howl came again, closer this time. The men tensed, and Torsten reached for something beneath his seat—a crossbow, I realized, as he loaded it with practiced ease.
"They're tracking us," Joran said quietly.
"Ice wolves always track," Torsten replied. "Doesn't mean they'll attack. Not in daylight."
"Day's fading," Hask pointed out, gesturing to the already dim sky growing darker.
I looked up at the pale disc of the sun, barely visible through clouds that seemed to grow thicker by the minute. Even this weak light was better than whatever passed for night in this cursed land.
"How long until dark?" I asked.
"Hour, maybe less," Torsten said. "We won't make the way station before then. Need to find shelter soon."
As if in response to his words, the wind picked up, driving needles of ice against my exposed skin. The horses snorted uneasily, their pace quickening without prompting.
"They smell something," Joran murmured.
I strained to see what might be causing their distress, but the gathering gloom and swirling snow made it impossible to discern anything beyond a few dozen yards.
Then I saw it—a flicker of movement at the edge of my vision. A pale shape, almost invisible against the snow, moving with predatory grace parallel to our path.
"There," I said, nodding in its direction. "Left side, about fifty yards out."
Torsten swung the crossbow around, squinting into the gathering storm. "I don't see—"
The shape vanished behind a drift, then reappeared closer. Now I could make out more details—a massive wolf with fur like crystallized snow, eyes glowing with an unnatural blue light. It moved with deliberate purpose, neither fleeing nor attacking, just pacing us.
"It's herding us," I realized aloud.
Hask spat over the side of the sleigh. "Nonsense. Wolves don't herd."
"These do," Torsten said grimly. "Boy's right. Look—there's another on the right."
Sure enough, a second wolf had appeared on our opposite flank, matching the first one's pace exactly. As I watched, a third materialized directly behind our sleigh, following in our tracks.
"They're coordinating," I said. "Driving us somewhere."
"Or cutting us off from retreat," Joran added.
Torsten raised the crossbow to his shoulder. "No sudden movements. They're waiting for something."
"For what?" Hask demanded.
The answer came in the form of a howl—not from the wolves that surrounded us, but from somewhere ahead. A deeper, more resonant sound that made the horses rear in terror.
"Pack leader," Torsten said, his voice tight. "Joran, take the reins. Keep us moving, but slow. No sudden turns."
Joran scrambled to comply, wresting control of the panicked horses while Hask drew a wicked-looking knife from his belt. Torsten kept the crossbow trained ahead, his weathered face set in grim lines.
I twisted against my bonds, suddenly desperate to free myself. If the wolves attacked, I didn't want to be helpless.
"Untie me," I said urgently. "I can help."
"So you can run? Not likely," Hask growled.
"Run where?" I countered. "Into a pack of ice wolves? I'm not an idiot."
Torsten glanced back at me, indecision clear in his eyes. Then he nodded once. "Cut him loose, Hask. But if he tries anything..."
"I know, I know. I'll gut him myself." Hask leaned over and sliced through the ropes binding my wrists with one quick motion of his knife. "Don't make me regret this, boy."
I rubbed feeling back into my hands, then quickly untied my ankles. "I won't. What weapons do you have?"
"Nothing for you," Hask said.
"There's another crossbow under the bench," Torsten said, not taking his eyes off the path ahead. "And bolts in the leather case."
I found the weapon—smaller than Torsten's but still lethal—and loaded it with fingers that felt clumsy from cold. The movement was familiar; my father had taught me to use a crossbow when I was eight, insisting that everyone should know how to defend themselves from gate monsters.
"I count six of them now," Joran reported tensely. "They've got us surrounded."
"Keep moving," Torsten ordered. "There's an old watchkeeper's hut about a mile ahead. Stone walls. If we can reach it..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. If we didn't reach shelter before the wolves decided to attack, we were dead.
The sleigh continued its steady progress through deepening snow, the wolves pacing us with eerie precision. They never came closer than about fifty yards, but they never fell back either. They moved like a single organism, adjusting their positions with subtle shifts that kept us hemmed in on all sides.
I studied them, looking for patterns, weaknesses, anything we could exploit. But they were too well-coordinated, too patient. They knew exactly what they were doing.
"They hunt like this all the time," I said quietly. "This isn't random. They've done this before."
"Many times," Torsten confirmed. "Ice wolves are smarter than they should be. Some say they can speak to each other without sound."
"Or that they're possessed by the spirits of those who died in the first winter," Hask added, his earlier bravado replaced by superstitious fear.
The wind picked up, driving snow into near-whiteout conditions. The wolves became ghostly shapes in the swirling white, visible only by their glowing eyes and the occasional flash of movement.
"Can't see the path," Joran called, his knuckles white on the reins. "We could be going anywhere."
"Keep heading straight," Torsten instructed. "The hut should be just ahead."
The wolves were closing in now, the circle tightening with each passing minute. I raised the crossbow, tracking the nearest one, but hesitated to fire. With visibility so poor, I couldn't be sure of hitting anything—and a missed shot might trigger the attack we were trying to avoid.
Then, through a momentary break in the swirling snow, I caught a glimpse of something solid—a dark shape against the endless white.
"There!" I shouted, pointing. "Structure at two o'clock!"
Joran yanked the reins, turning the horses toward the shape I'd indicated. They responded eagerly, sensing safety ahead, and the sleigh lurched forward with renewed speed.
The wolves reacted instantly. The one I'd been tracking broke from its position and darted in front of our path, forcing the horses to swerve. The others moved in as well, no longer content to simply herd us.
"They're attacking!" Hask yelled.
Torsten fired his crossbow. The bolt disappeared into the storm, followed by a high-pitched yelp that told us it had found its mark. But there was no time to reload—the wolves were upon us now, leaping at the horses, snapping at the sleigh's runners.
I aimed at a pair of glowing eyes and fired. The wolf dropped without a sound, but another took its place immediately. I grabbed for another bolt, but my cold fingers fumbled, and it fell into the snow beneath the sleigh.
One of the horses screamed—a terrible, human-like sound—as wolf teeth tore into its flank. The sleigh lurched sideways, nearly tipping over before righting itself.
"We're not going to make it," Joran shouted over the howling wind.
"Like hell we're not," Hask snarled, stabbing downward with his knife as a wolf leaped at the side of the sleigh. The blade sank into fur and flesh, and the creature fell away with a pained howl.
The dark shape I'd spotted was closer now—definitely a structure of some kind, low and solid against the driving snow. But the distance, perhaps a hundred yards, might as well have been a hundred miles with wolves tearing at our horses.
I made a split-second decision. Dropping the crossbow, I lunged forward, grabbing the reins from Joran's hands.
"What are you—" he began, but I was already moving.
I snapped the reins hard, urging the horses to their absolute limit. The injured one responded weakly, but its partner surged forward, dragging both sleigh and wounded companion toward the structure with desperate speed.
The wolves, momentarily surprised by our burst of pace, fell behind for a crucial few seconds. It was all the advantage we needed. The sleigh shot forward, closing the distance to the structure—now clearly visible as a small stone hut with a partially collapsed roof.
"Get ready to jump!" I shouted as we approached. "The horses won't stop!"
As we drew alongside the hut, I threw the reins aside and launched myself from the moving sleigh. I hit the ground hard, rolling through snow to absorb the impact, then scrambled toward the dark opening of the hut's doorway.
Behind me, I heard the others landing in the snow, followed by curses and the sounds of desperate movement. The wolves were upon us again, their howls filling the air as they closed in for the kill.
I reached the doorway first, diving through into darkness beyond. Torsten was right behind me, then Joran. Hask was last, barely making it inside before wolf teeth snapped at his heels.
"Bar the door!" Torsten yelled.
There was no door to bar—just an empty frame. But a heavy wooden beam lay nearby, perhaps once part of the roof. I grabbed one end while Joran took the other, and together we wrestled it into place across the opening.
It wouldn't hold for long against determined wolves, but it might give us time to find better defenses.
The interior of the hut was a single room, mostly intact despite the partially collapsed roof. Snow had drifted in through the gaps, covering the floor in patches of white. A stone hearth dominated one wall, cold and dark but still functional.
"We need fire," I gasped, my breath forming clouds in the freezing air. "Now."
Torsten was already moving, pulling flint and steel from a pouch at his belt. Hask shrugged out of his pack and began rummaging through it, producing a bundle of what looked like dried moss and twigs—emergency tinder.
Outside, the wolves circled the hut, their shadows visible through gaps in the walls as they passed. Their howls had quieted, replaced by an almost thoughtful silence that was somehow more terrifying.
"They're waiting for full dark," Torsten said, striking sparks into the tinder. "When the temperature drops even more."
"Why?" I asked, helping Joran reinforce our makeshift barricade with debris from the collapsed roof.
"Because that's when the cold will do half their work for them," he replied grimly. "Smart hunters, ice wolves. They know we'll be weaker, slower when the real cold sets in."
A small flame caught in the tinder. Torsten carefully transferred it to the hearth, adding larger sticks from Hask's pack, then pieces of broken furniture scattered around the hut.
The fire grew slowly, casting flickering light across stone walls covered in frost patterns like delicate lace. As the flames strengthened, I could make out more details of our shelter—and what I saw wasn't encouraging.
The hut had been abandoned for years, perhaps decades. Whatever supplies or weapons might have been stored here were long gone. The roof damage meant we couldn't trap heat effectively. And the walls, while solid stone, had cracks and gaps that would let in the killing cold as night deepened.
We were alive, for now. But morning felt very far away.
I sank down beside the growing fire, extending my hands toward its warmth. Twenty-nine days left in my trial, and I'd nearly died in the first few hours.
Some Awakening this was turning out to be.