in her. In the last few weeks she’d matured at a terrifying speed; circumstances hadn’t allowed anything else. But she was trying to make an alliance with the Icemark’s oldest enemy. There were centuries of bitterness and hatred to overcome. And if she failed, they’d all die. He shrugged. There was nothing he could do to help her; he’d just have to hope and wait like everyone else.
16
Thirrin, and her escort of soldiers and werewolves, had been traveling through the forest of dark pines for more than an hour. It had taken them all morning to ride down from the pass and reach the tree line, thousands of feet below, and when they’d finally ridden under the eaves of the forest, it had been with a sigh of relief. At least here they had some shelter from the bitterly cold wind that had begun to blow, but now the soldiers were getting nervous. All around them the forest echoed with strange noises. Sudden screeches and distant howling would burst out, then fall silent. Now and then a glittering grayness would form far off in the shadows and keep pace with them briefly before fading away like mist before the sun.
But there was no sun here in the forest. Thirrin caught only an occasional glimpse of the sky through the tightly packed branches, and what light there was seemed to emerge in an unhealthy glow from the snow that had somehow managed to find its way through the trees to the ground all around them. This place was nothing like the forest at home. There, the trees were alive with creatures that scampered along the branches and trunks in search of food. Even in the winter when most of the trees had shed their leaves, there was a sense of life at rest, and the many animals that hadn’t hibernated searched for nuts or hunted one another with an intensity made sharper by hunger. But here in this great pine forest where no tree slept through the cold months, there was only a sense of watchfulness. Even the howling and screeching that burst out here and there in the gloom seemed to have nothing to do with animal life. It was too cold, too removed from any need to communicate with other living things. Thirrin thought it sounded like sharp glittering knives being scratched over polished ice. She shivered, drew her cloak tighter about her, and stared as far ahead as the tightly packed trees would allow. The whole world seemed to have been smothered by the trunks and writhing roots and stiff needle-covered branches of these dark green-black trees.
At last they reached a clearing, and the soldiers almost ran forward to greet the space, but then checked their pace and stared. In the very center of the clearing, sitting on the broken trunk of a dead tree, was an enormous Snowy Owl. It stood at least three times taller than the white owls that lived on the northern snowfields of the Icemark, and its vivid blue eyes seemed alive with a sharp intelligence. The captain of the werewolves walked forward and saluted the creature, which stared at him, blinking slowly. A strange conversation followed as owl and wolfman snarled and hooted at each other, after which the captain saluted again and walked back across the clearing. He stood before Thirrin, but before he could speak, the owl spread its huge white wings and soared silently away, its brilliant form glowing in the gloom as it dwindled skyward over the trees.
“Their Vampiric Majesties sent their herald to greet you, Queen Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North. They bid you as welcome as you deserve, and advise you to hurry, as the weather is closing in again and there will be snow before nightfall,” the captain said, slipping into the formal language of the court as he reported the owl’s message.
Thirrin turned to Oskan. “Is that right? Will there be snow?”
Oskan nodded. “In two hours or so.” He was the only one in the entire party of humans who seemed as relaxed as the werewolves in the dark forest.
“Then we must make haste. Captain, is there a more direct route to the Blood Palace?”
“No, Your Majesty. But if we hurry, we should be there before the snows, if the Witch’s Son is correct about the time.”
“The Witch’s Son is correct,” she answered, spurring her horse across the clearing.
After another hour of hard marching, the trees began to thin and eventually