“I’ll be fine from here, Perst,” said Azvalath.

“But Machli…” he started.

“She told you to give me a hand, not put me to bed. Thank you, though,” said Azvalath. “I swear I’ll get that monster out of here before anyone gets killed.”

“I’m sure you will,” said Perst. “Good night.”

Azvalath waved goodbye and ducked into his hut. The wolf slept curled up in the middle of the floor. Zoromon looked up at him from where he sat. “I couldn’t find the woman. What were you doing out there in the dark?”

“I was looking for you when I ran into the Ferash Therall. Same one who burned my right hand. Don’t worry, I’m not hurt. Just…tired.” Azvalath sat down next to Zoromon. “Very tired. I overused my commands.”

Zoromon looked troubled. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“Promise. All I need is some rest.” He grabbed his caribou fur blanket and settled down. Zoromon curled up under it with him. Azvalath put an arm around his partner. “I love you, wild thing.”

Zoromon chuckled. “Love you too.”

Azvalath lay awake for a while longer. He, unlike Zoromon, had never learned to fall asleep quickly. Far too often, sleep brought nightmares. It dredged up old memories he spent every waking moment trying to forget. He squeezed the lightningfisher tooth on his necklace. The smoothness of it between his fingers helped him feel safe again. Finally, he closed his eyes.

His sleep was fitful. In his dream, a disembodied voice screamed his name. A pale hand reached for him out of the darkness. He seized it tightly, intent on saving the one who needed him, but the hand came off the arm as soon as he grabbed it. Then it disintegrated.

He woke up with a sharp gasp. The first rays of morning sun crept through the walls of their hut. Azvalath sat up. Zoromon was already awake and eating a strip of pemmican. “Good morning,” he said. “Here. Breakfast.”

Azvalath caught the piece of pemmican Zoromon threw at him. “Now this is food for people.” He took a bite of the dried meat. “Where’d the wolf go?”

“I let him outside. But you should’ve seen what I saw last night. You were asleep and having a bad dream. The wolf started licking you,” said Zoromon. “If we see the woman again, I’ll ask her about him.”

“I think it was good that we helped him. Otherwise, he’d be a Ferash Therall now, instead of our friend,” said Azvalath. “Though I’m not sure how the woman plays into all this.”

“And what about that fox?” Zoromon asked. “I haven’t seen it again.”

“I’m not entirely convinced it’s real,” said Azvalath. “I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my life. Nothing quite like that, though.” He shook his head. “I’ve also seen a lot of things that I wish weren’t real.”

“And I have no doubt you’ve also seen things most men would give their lives to see. Like a lightningfisher!” Zoromon pointed to Azvalath’s necklace. “How’d you get one’s tooth, anyway?”

Azvalath smiled. “Someone gave it to me a very long time ago. But yes, I’ve seen a lightningfisher. Such a strange and beautiful creature. Wings like a bat, claws like an eagle, a head like a horned snake, and bright as a shooting star in the sky. And when they fish…crack!” He snapped his fingers. “One bolt, and all the fish float up stunned. Then they feast.”

Zoromon laughed. “I’d love to see one someday.”

“Maybe you will.” Azvalath finished off his pemmican. “Have you tended to the horses yet?”

“Yes,” said Zoromon. “A while before you woke up. Machli was there too. She told me not to go in the storeroom. Said there was something nasty in there.”

Azvalath raised an eyebrow. “Well, do any of the horses need to go out?”

“All of them, honestly,” said Zoromon. “They should be out on the pasture. But it’s not safe anymore. I don’t want Ferash Therall coming for Sakhal…”

“Then let them out during the day. Ever thought of that?” Azvalath asked.

“But you told me that there are some who come out during the day,” Zoromon reminded him.

Azvalath nodded. “There are. Kai’rei, they’re called. Day-walkers. But they’re very, very rare. If those ever show up, I don’t think there’s anything we can do. And it’s not as if a stable door will deter them.”

Zoromon shrugged. “Well, anyway, our mares need a good run around. Ayhoshki more so…”

“I’d rather take Tashnuk,” Azvalath interrupted. “Her, I can actually handle.”

“All right.” Zoromon gave him a devilish grin. “Ayhoshki it is.”

Azvalath put his head in his hands.

They headed for the stable after that. The whole way, Azvalath hoped Zoromon was joking about putting him on Ayhoshki. The red mare was a favorite of Zoromon’s, next to Sakhal, but Zoromon was…well, Zoromon. He had a way with horses.

“How’re you feeling?” Zoromon asked when they arrived.

“I’ve said it before. You tell Tashnuk, talk it over with Sakhal, ask Daichen, and pray if it’s Ayhoshki.” Azvalath stepped inside and went over to pet Tashnuk. “Hey, sweet girl.” The dappled gray mare lowered her head so Azvalath could scratch her poll. “See? This is a nice horse.”

Zoromon stopped at the stall across from Tashnuk’s. “Hello, Pokey!” Ayhoshki came up and nudged her stall door. “Yes, you want to get out. Look at me, Ayhoshki. Do you want to carry Azvalath?” He held out his right hand. “Or me?” He held out his left hand.

Azvalath couldn’t help but watch in fascination. Ayhoshki moved her head from side to side, as if considering the options. Zoromon repeated the question. She blinked, then nudged his right hand. Azvalath swallowed hard. “Why do you even give them choices?”

Zoromon ignored him. “Hold still. This halter doesn’t chafe, remember?” Once he had it on her head, Zoromon opened the stall door and led her out.

Azvalath looked at her, then at Zoromon. “I know it’s your gift, but it’s still so strange to me.” When the red mare nearly stepped on his foot, he backed up against the wall. He found himself right next to Machli’s white stallion, who pinned his ears and turned his head to glower at Azvalath. Azvalath glowered right back. “What’s your problem, dickhead?”

Daichen kicked his stall door and snorted.

“Don’t engage him, Azvalath,” said Zoromon. He tied Ayhoshki, then went to fetch her tack. Azvalath wandered over to the storeroom door. When he saw it was tied shut, he knew immediately what the nasty thing behind it was. And sure enough, when he pressed his ear to the door, he could hear her breathing.

“Zoromon, there’s no time. I’ll take Ayhoshki now. Bareback is fine. I’ve got to find Machli,” he called.

“What’s the hurry?” Zoromon asked.

“There is something nasty in the storeroom. I need to talk to Machli about getting rid of it,” said Azvalath. He untied Ayhoshki and replaced the lead with reins. “Zoromon, I’d recommend getting Sakhal out of here until further notice.”

He took Ayhoshki outside, then mounted. As soon as he was on her back, she threw her head up and ran. Azvalath immediately regretted not using a saddle. He nearly ended up down in the snow. It was through pure determination that he stayed on, much less managed to steer. Hanging on for dear life, he rode across the tiny village to where he knew Machli lived.

Her hut was bigger many of the others, and as far as he knew, she did not share it. Machli was just walking out when Azvalath rode up and nearly hit her. Ayhoshki veered sharply to one side and threw him off balance. He dismounted hastily and grabbed her by the reins. Machli looked at him and laughed. “You’re a terrible rider. Well, do you need something?”

“Machli, we can’t keep a Ferash Therall in the stable! Not with Zoromon and Sakhal there. She’ll kill them. And she’s not alone. There’s another one out here somewhere.” He looked up, then back at Machli. “This is not a good idea.”

“And what would your idea be?” Machli asked.

“Kill them both,” said Azvalath. “As soon as possible. Why hold her captive? It will serve no benefit.”

“We can get information out of her,” she said. “Simple.”

“That won’t be necessary, I assure you,” said Azvalath. “If you want to know anything about the Ferash Therall, I can almost certainly tell you.”

“Well, no one knows them better than an insider. She’s the best chance we’ve got for gathering intelligence. And we could use her as a hostage. If they lay a finger on you or any Razaghal, that’ll be the end of her.” Machli sounded overly confident.

“Machli, we cannot wage war against the Ferash Therall. There are only a few hundred people here. The Iron God’s apostles far outnumber us. And they are far stronger,” he insisted.

“They can’t be much stronger,” said Machli. She straightened herself and took a step closer. “We might be few, but we know how to fight.”

Azvalath thought for a moment. “Now scratch your head.”

Machli scratched her head. “Your point is?”

“You scratched your head. Not because you had an itch, but because I commanded you to. Everyone with the Iron God’s blood in them has power beyond anything even the strongest of mortals could fathom.” He clutched Ayhoshki’s reins tighter. “Now think. Will you?”

Machli retaliated. “Now give me Ayhoshki.” When Azvalath handed her the reins, she chuckled. “I can fathom power, Azvalath. And I want to help your kind. If that means taking a stand against the Ferash Therall, then I will do it.” She mounted the mare. “And I am not asking for your permission.”

Machli rode away before Azvalath could say anything else. He sat down on the log bench next to her fire pit and put his head in his hands. A terrible ache throbbed behind his eyes. Using his power always brought pain. He had learned to live with pain, but he would never come to relish it. That, Azvalath supposed, was for the better. Pain served a purpose, and that purpose was not to reward.

He sat in silence for a moment before someone else came. He nearly jumped when the strange woman from the river sat down beside him. “You…” he stammered. “What are you doing here?”

She pointed at her eyes, then at him.

“Looking for me, hm? What’s your name, anyway?” Azvalath asked.

She crouched in the snow and traced it with a shaking finger. One letter at a time, she spelled it out. Tevorac. Her handwriting was truly horrid, but legible. She erased it hastily.

“All right, Tevorac. What do you want from me?” he asked.

She signed a response. Helping. You help Iron God family? I am one.

Azvalath was taken aback. “You know how to sign? Me too. I had a hard-of-hearing friend once.”

Tevorac brightened and kept signing. Meet friend?

“She died a very long time ago. Killed by a Ferash Therall,” Azvalath admitted. He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt inclined to tell her anything personal. “But you can meet my partner. His name is Zoromon. And I’m Azvalath. Did Machli tell you about us?”

Tevorac nodded.

“Well,” said Azvalath. “It looks like Machli won’t be negotiating with me today. I’m going to head back to my place.”

She followed him as he started walking back. Azvalath shivered a little. Why in the world did she seem so familiar? For a moment, he wondered if he had known her before. Nonsense, he told himself. No sense at all…

His thoughts were interrupted when Tevorac seized his shoulder with a pale, cold hand. He stopped and looked at her. Her cloudy blue eyes darted around wildly. She stood still for a moment, then shook her head and let go. Sorry, she signed. Sorry for loud in me.

Azvalath kept going. He had no idea what she was trying to say, but she didn’t press it any further. Questions swirled through his head, but he asked only the one pressing on him the most. “Now tell the truth. Do you serve the Iron God?”

Tevorac paused. She blinked a few times. Seeing her hesitation, Azvalath’s heart skipped a beat. He put a hand on the hilt of his sword. Tevorac raised her trembling hands and signed an answer. I hope not.

“What do you mean?” Azvalath asked. “Wouldn’t you know?”

Wouldn’t you? She pointed at him. Do you?

“No,” said Azvalath. “I don’t serve him. A god who demands the blood of his own children is no god of mine.” He picked up his pace and fidgeted with his necklace. “I know the Ferash Therall believe the world will die without Vraelen. Perhaps they’re right. But the possibility that the world might die without the Iron God is not enough for me to stand back and let the ones I love be murdered.”

Tevorac nodded, though she seemed uncertain. Azvalath fought to maintain his composure. He kept a hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it and fight at a moment’s notice. Regardless of what she told him or didn’t tell him, he supposed he could never be too careful.

Tevorac’s fist slammed into his upper back, right where the raven had wounded him, and knocked the wind straight out of him. Pain exploded through his chest. Azvalath drew his sword in the blink of an eye and pointed it at her. She snarled silently as she signed. Don’t trust me? Want a fight?

“Just who do you think you’re dealing with?” Azvalath snapped. “Some dull-witted yokel?”

She signed something clearly meant to provoke him. Someone about to have black eyes.

Azvalath ducked as she swatted at his head. He swung his sword in her direction, but she dropped and flattened herself against the ground. He pointed the blade at her again. “Whoever you are, Tevorac,” he growled, “try something like that one more time, and I’ll kill you.”

Much to his confusion, she laughed. It was a soft, voiceless laugh. I like you already, she signed. Don’t take dirt. She got up, dusted herself off, and ran off before Azvalath could say anything else.