spoke. They landed in a dark alley and moved quietly into the night, sticking to the shadows skirting around the edge of the market square, heading toward the apothecary.
“Looks like we’re going to have to steal it after all,” Anatoly said.
“We’ll leave her some coin for the snowbell and the damage I’m going to do to her door.”
They slipped up to the back door and Abigail slid the Thinblade along the doorjamb, cutting the bolt effortlessly. They entered quietly and cautiously, assuming that the shopkeeper was probably sleeping within the building. Anatoly motioned to the bed on the far side of the room where a woman covered in furs was lying, breathing deeply and evenly.
Abigail motioned for him to watch her while she went in search of the snowbell. She moved slowly, with deliberate care, stopping for several moments to let her eyes adjust to the low light before continuing into the room lined with shelves behind the counter. It took several minutes before she found what she was looking for, but she managed to get the jar of snowbell without making a sound. She left five gold coins in its place, easily triple its value, and returned to Anatoly.
The woman was still sleeping but rolled over, muttering in her sleep when Abigail stepped back into the room. She froze, waiting for the woman’s deep, even breathing to resume. When she and Anatoly thought it was safe, they slipped out into the alley and closed the door without a sound before melting into the shadows.
“That went well,” Abigail whispered.
“A little too well,” Anatoly said. “Makes me nervous.”
They moved to the edge of town and made their way along the inside of the berm wall toward the road leading to the northwest but stopped when they saw a squad of soldiers waiting quietly in the shadows on either side of the road. Abigail motioned to Anatoly to backtrack. Once out of sight of the road, they climbed up the berm wall and down the other side, setting out across the snow toward the relative safety of the cave.
“They’re going to pick up our trail,” Anatoly said.
“I know, but there’s not much we can do about that. Besides, they probably won’t notice it until daylight. At least we’ll have time to prepare for their attack.”
“If they come with the whole company, the dragon’s our only hope.”
“I know,” Abigail said.
Dawn broke over an overcast sky, heavy grey clouds floating so low that the mountain peaks in the distance were shrouded in gloom. In the rising light of dawn, the sky started spitting snow in fits and starts as if it couldn’t make up its mind. As unpleasant as it would be to travel in such weather, Abigail hoped it would snow heavily enough to cover their trail.
By midday Abigail was entirely disappointed with the weather. The snow came in flurries driven by gusts of wind coming off the mountain, not enough to erase their tracks, but plenty enough to make their journey miserable.
Trudging across a snow-covered plain, skirting a copse of trees, she caught motion from the corner of her eye, but a moment too late. In the next second a wolf had her by the leg, biting hard enough to draw blood, shaking his head back and forth, trying to drive her to the ground. He’d been nearly buried in the snow, all but invisible—and there were more, all coming to their feet now that the ambush had been sprung.
Abigail stumbled back, crying out in pain and surprise at the sudden and unexpected attack, her heart pounding in her chest as she toppled into the snow. The wolf released his grip on her leg and sprang on top of her, snapping at her face and throat. She jammed her forearm into his mouth. He clamped down on her bracer, crushing it into her arm.
Anatoly unleashed a battle cry that rivaled the howling of the wind, startling the rest of the wolves and giving them pause. He charged, driving the top spike of his war axe into the side of the wolf atop Abigail and lifted him clear, tossing his mewling body into the snow.
Abigail scrambled to her feet, unbalanced from the wound she’d sustained but steady enough to draw the Thinblade. Five wolves were circling them, looking for an opportunity to strike. Abigail and Anatoly stood back to back, watching the predators as closely as they were being watched by them. One darted close to them, snapping at Abigail’s good leg, but