Dragons of Siberia (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 7) Read online

  "I was an angry woman then. Mad that the universe had conspired to destroy me. That crucible of pain had created a different woman than you see now. They gave me names like 'the Terrible' or 'The Sorceress Queen of Angrular.' Names I earned and paid for, every one.

  "At the apex of my power, I found myself on a backwater planet, on my way to another place. I decided to take in the local culture. I don't know why, perhaps I was bored. I'd ruled for a long time. There was this village. A village of mud and bugs..."

  Her voice had grown quiet, trailed off to nothing. Her brow wrinkled.

  "Is something—"

  The words barely left my lips when the snow exploded around us. Figures with swords and spears leapt out of snow-covered holes.

  Rowan mouthed the word "No" at me to remind me not to unleash my magic.

  Male and female warriors wearing caribou furs surrounded us. They had smooth skin and tiny folds at the corners of their eyes, reminding me of the goddess Matka. In moments, our gloved hands were bound. They took our knives and pistols. The warrior who searched me barely glanced at the hilt of the oestium rapier, leaving it on my hip. A rope was strung between Rowan and me.

  No one spoke to us. They talked amongst themselves in a language I recognized but did not understand. Russia was a polyglot country. In her day, Catherine had tried to employ speakers of the major languages in the capital, but often times, citizens from the far reaches of the empire arrived with no way to communicate with their empress.

  I had no way of knowing what their intentions were. There were many tribes across Russia, each with their own code of ethics. Cannibalism was rare, but not unknown. I would risk magic if it came to that.

  They led us across the snowy plain in an easterly direction towards a range of hills. The warrior leading us with the rope had a short bow hooked over his shoulder. His lips were stained black. While the others of the group gave us few glances, he barked at us, yanking on the rope when we couldn't keep up.

  We marched for a few hours. The warriors constantly glanced towards the sky, which at first I thought was to gauge time, but then I realized they were checking for some potential danger.

  To the south, the clouds were dumping snow. The gray wall stretched east and west. Part of me was glad not to be heading into that storm. It was partially sunny above us, and the heat from the sun, though faint, was enough to make the cold bearable.

  Later that day, we stopped, crouching in the snow. I was tired from the hurried pace. My lips hurt from not being able to keep my face covering adjusted properly. I leaned against a clump of snow and enjoyed the respite.

  A fierce-looking woman with steel blue eyes and twin scars across her cheek that looked as if a clawed hand had raked her face came over to give me water. It wasn't until she lifted her arms that I noticed the desiccated hand on a rope around her neck. The gray skin and black nails were unmistakable.

  I nodded towards it and said, "Uthlaylaa."

  She made a sound of surprise, looking down at the hand and back to me. Then she spoke harshly to her companions. I worried that I'd made a mistake in acknowledging my recognition.

  The warriors spoke amongst themselves, constantly motioning either towards me or the wrinkled hand. While they spoke, Rowan and I shared glances. She shrugged her shoulder, looking unconcerned about it. After a time, a broad-shouldered warrior with black hair and black eyes stood before me. The woman with the Uthlaylaa hand around her neck stood by his side.

  The big warrior pointed to the hand and said something in their language. Then he pointed to me.

  "Uthlaylaa," I said, then added, "An Archivist, or a Memory Thief."

  They blinked a few times, and I realized my mistake. I'd been speaking in English.

  I switched to Russian and asked, "Do you understand?"

  Their eyes went wide, faces breaking into a mixture of understanding and concern. The big warrior motioned for the other with stained black lips to attend us. He was the cruel one who had been leading us on the rope.

  "You speak Russian?" he asked with a rough accent that suggested it was not his first tongue. "Where you learn?"

  For a moment, I thought about exposing myself and my history with the empire, but decided against it until I understood where these people fit into the greater schemes. Some of the peoples of Russia hated Catherine and how she had treated them.

  "In Karelia, the town of Kalevala," I said.

  That seemed the safest answer until I understood these men and women more. Karelia had been part of the Russian Empire at times, and at others a part of Finland. So my political views couldn't be ascertained by my homeland.

  Black Lip's face soured, which was impressive since he seemed to have been born with a scowl. His black scraggly hair fell into his eyes, and he knocked it away with a hitch of his head.

  "Why here?" he asked.

  "Travelers," I said. The vaguest answer was the safest.

  He sensed my obfuscation, wrinkling his nose and mouth as if he'd eaten something bitter.

  "Not travelers," he said. "Spies."

  A stone formed in my gut. He said the word as if he were cutting our throats already.

  "Hunters," I said.

  "Hunters?" he asked skeptically, then laughed, a cutting noise. He turned to the others and spoke in their language, repeating my claim. Laughter surrounded us.

  "Hunted, maybe," he said. "You have no weapons."

  "Where did you get the Uthlaylaa hand?" I asked.

  He squinted at me, not understanding the word, so I nodded towards the woman with the desiccated hand hanging from her neck.

  "The Eaters?" he asked.

  "Yes, the Eaters. They are called Uthlaylaa, or Archivists, or Memory Thieves," I said.

  The Russian word he'd used was an older form of it, harkening back to previous centuries. I wondered if there was meaning in that choice.

  "Do you hunt the Eaters?" he asked, chuckling.

  "We have killed them," I said.

  He looked between the pair of us, shaking his head lightly.

  "We are more than you think," I said, hoping it sounded ominous enough.

  I didn't get a chance to gauge his reaction because a broken howl reached us across the snowy plain like a knife to our ears. The warriors immediately hopped to their feet, grabbed their gear, and began a hurried march south.

  Our boots were unsuited to running across the hardpack, so we barely kept up, falling at times. Twice while we ran towards the line of snow, we heard the howl of the wolves of shadow. Each time the sound was closer.

  Due to the pace, I couldn't check over my shoulder for pursuit without falling, but the faces of the warriors said enough about our predicament. After the fifth or sixth fall, the big warrior stopped the group.

  He barked at Black Lips, who grumbled and pulled out a knife, advancing on me with a frown on his lips. I readied my magic to unleash it upon him, when he slashed forward, severing the rope.

  "No more falling. Keep up," he said, and then cut Rowan's rope.

  I caught her glance at the storm and knew what she meant. We would attempt our escape there.

  We continued our flight while the pace quickened. I lamented the absence of the rope since it had kept our speed to a bearable minimum. The warriors prodded us as we ran, a full-out sprint towards the storm.

  Any doubts about the necessity of the pace were erased when the hunting yips erupted behind us. It sounded as if they were right on our heels. I glanced back, but saw nothing on the white plains.

  The storm, which had seemed so far away for so long, suddenly rushed up and enveloped us. The warrior party had kept a ring around us while we ran, but as soon as we entered the storm and sight was reduced to a few feet, that organization vanished.

  The snow battered my face and stung my eyes. I adjusted my coverings until I peered out of a thin slit. A hand grabbed my arm and pulled me through the storm. We still ran, but our pace was reduced to a stagger due to the buffeting winds that threatened to
knock us over.

  I could barely see the others around me. Forms lurched out of the blistering white, then disappeared again. The identity of the person who had grabbed my arm was lost in the storm.

  In one motion, I knocked away the hand on my arm and ran in what I hoped was a southern direction. Shapes passed me as I slipped into the storm, their cries swallowed by the fierce winds. I ran for a minute or two, hoping no cliffs lay in my path, before throwing myself into a drift and covering myself with snow.

  The snow was wet enough that I could make a space by curling myself into a ball and wiggling, keeping a breathing space around my face. Once I had made a suitable hiding location, I stilled and listened for sounds of pursuit.

  A pair of broken howls, one ascending and one descending in pitch, cut through the storm, sounding only a dozen feet away. The intensity of the hunting call shook me. I swallowed back my fear. It seemed the wolves of shadow had found me.

  Chapter Four

  The winds howled and the wolves carried its song. I crouched in my tiny cave. Chunks of snow fell onto my face. I was too worried about the shadow wolves to try and fix it. The top of my head stuck out of the snowbank.

  Over the howling winds, I heard the crunch of footfalls, accompanied by a crackling noise. Through the storm, I sensed a terrible presence reaching out.

  The nearness of the shadow wolves seemed to draw out my magic. I strained to contain it within the well of magic in my head. I felt like a naked woman trying to cover up with a handkerchief.

  The presence grew nearer. The storm had turned visibility into a white wall and I was half buried in snow.

  I tried to shrink into the cave. Like a blanket, I wanted to wrap it around me. The shadow wolves drew magic to them like a magnet. I knew that if one moved close enough it would discover me crouching in the snowbank.

  Through the blistering white winds, a dark shape formed. It was larger than a wolfhound, calling to mind stories of dire wolves. It had a wolfish shape with flickering black tendrils emanating from its back. The darkness moved like a languishing flame.

  When it leapt from its spot, I was certain it had found me. The shadow wolf sprinted deeper into the storm, called by something, the use of magic I assumed. I hoped it wasn't Rowan trying to defend herself from those who had captured us.

  I waited in the snowbank for an hour, checking my pocket watch after removing my glove. The brief exposure to the elements seared my skin, but I wanted to make sure I'd given the wolves plenty of time to leave the area.

  When I was certain nothing was nearby, I left the comforting confines of the snowbank. I headed in the direction I hoped was north. I wouldn't survive long in the storm and hoped to return to the sunny skies beyond its reach.

  To my great relief, I stumbled out of the storm, the absence of wind leaving me to fall to my knees. I crawled a few feet north and silently marveled at the wall of snow howling past me.

  I hadn't realized when we'd run into the storm, but it was made by magic. There was no other explanation for its peculiar boundary.

  Even the brief time I'd been exposed to its winds had worn me down. It was only a few hours until darkness, and I had no tent in which to survive the night.

  I dearly hoped that Rowan was well. If it weren't for the shadow wolves I wouldn't have been worried, since I doubted our captors could seriously injure her. But without the protections of the hut, those hellish creatures would feast on her magic.

  Using the storm wall as a guide, I marched east. If the warriors had taken her to their village, I would find her in that direction. Additionally, the plains were a poor place to hunker down for the night. I hoped to make the hills before night and find a thick pine to crawl beneath, making a bed of needles.

  As the sun crawled towards the horizon, I quickened my pace. I wouldn't reach the hills until after dark, but could easily keep my heading, even if I had my eyes closed. The storm wall provided a steady whistle in my right ear. If I veered too far north, it lowered in pitch, and if I got too close, it rose.

  Not long after dark, the moon climbed into the sky, casting the world in silver. I shivered as the temperature dropped precipitously. My skin burned against the cold.

  I made the tree line and found the largest pine with drooping boughs that came down to the snow like a skirt. On my hands and knees, I crawled into the center area. The space felt warmer than the air outside, but I knew even that was deceptive.

  I formed a u-shaped bed in the snow, then gathered all the scattered pine needles I could find and threw them in the hole. Then I broke small sections of pine away from the inner skirt of the tree until I had enough to cover me.

  Then I lay in the hole and placed the pine sections overtop, forming a blanket. Before long, the space started to warm from my body heat. After twenty minutes or so, I stopped shivering enough to rest. My muscles were sore from the hike. I carefully sipped my water, replacing what I drank with snow and then putting the water pouch against my stomach so it would melt while I slept.

  Sleep was like a block of granite. I woke without the annoyance of dreams. After drinking more water and replacing it with snow, I crawled from my lair.

  As if to remind me of my predicament, my stomach gurgled. I ignored it and continued my march east.

  During the night, the storm wall had shifted south, or I had wandered farther north than I thought. The wall lay about a half a kilometer from where I thought it should be.

  A few hours after I awoke, I went down a steep hillside. The wind thrashed my face, forcing me to hold my arm up as a shield. I moved with a deliberate slowness, fearful to lose a step and tumble down the hill in an avalanche of rocks and snow.

  Halfway down, a narrow ridge of rock formed a path. I was almost to the end of it when I noticed a man sitting on an outcropping, drinking from his pouch. He wore the elk hide jacket of the men and women that had captured me before.

  I produced my oestium rapier and approached him quietly from behind. The rocky slope and wind direction provided a silent advance.

  After slapping the pommel, I spoke in Russian, "You are captured."

  The man sprung up, but I leapt after and slapped him across the arm with the flat of my blade. Thinking he'd been cut, the warrior cried out, rolling onto his side and feeling for a wound with his ungloved hand.

  The man with the black lips stared up at me. His expression was a mix of revulsion and anger.

  "What is your name?" I asked, resting the tip of my rapier against his chest.

  "Koryak," he said, infusing it with disdain, as if I weren't worthy enough to hear it.

  "Well, Koryak, where is the rest of your hunting party? And my friend?" I asked.

  "Storm scattered us, then wolves hunted us. I do not think your friend survived," he said.

  Despite the doubling of my heartbeat, I doubted Rowan had been foolish enough to use her magic.

  "Do you have food?" I asked.

  He seemed prepared not to answer, so I pressed the tip of the blade into his chest until it made a small split in the hide. "I'm prepared to kill you and take what I want."

  "I doubt it," he said.

  "Stand up and throw down your sword, then throw me your pack," I told him.

  He complied reluctantly. I sensed he would try to escape or attack me at the first opportunity.

  "Open your pack and dump it out," I said.

  His disappointment was plain, signaling he'd planned to use the distraction to his advantage. Keeping both eyes on him, and the rapier pointed in his direction, I crouched down and grabbed a strip of leathery jerky. I put the salty meat in my mouth and ripped off a hunk, letting my saliva soften it before swallowing.

  Once I'd eaten and drank from his pouch, I told him to put the food and water pouch back into the pack. I thought about taking his sword with me, but decided I needed one hand free.

  When I motioned for him to start moving down the mountain, he crossed his arms. "I will not go with you. Once away, you kill me."

&nbs
p; "Not going away. Take me to your village," I said.

  He frowned. "I knew you were a spy."

  "Not a spy. I want my friend back. Then I'll leave," I said.

  Koryak considered this, then nodded. I knew he expected to betray me when we neared. I didn't have a plan on what I was going to do once we got there, but I couldn't go on without Rowan. I didn't have to go into the village to confirm her presence. If she wasn't there, I'd have Koryak lead me away until I was far enough that he couldn't gather forces to recapture me.

  I let Koryak lead me, staying a good five to ten paces behind him. During our journey across the snowy, pine-covered hills, I noticed that he glanced frequently at the sky. I wondered if he was looking for bird sign, or something else. My gut told me the latter.

  We stopped to drink from our pouches. While looking at the storm wall to our south, I asked, "Do you know what is causing that?"

  His gaze narrowed as if I were trying to trick him.

  "You know what it is," he said.

  The forest closed up, pine trees stacked together so we were forced to push through the needled boughs. Koryak pushed faster, so I hurried to catch up. His pace made me believe he was trying to escape, so I maintained a lesser distance.

  But this was fraught with danger. If he were quick enough, he could leap inside my blade's reach and grapple me before I could ward him away. It was frustrating not to have use of my magic, but Rowan's warning was deterrent enough.

  We crested onto the crown of a hill absent of trees. The windswept crag was littered with stones, reminding me of an old man's bald head. The wind was particularly ferocious. When we reached the eastern side, a short cliff gave us a good view of the valley below.

  I saw them a moment after Koryak did. They were winding through the trees in a single file. I heard his in-breath and followed his gaze. I caught a glimpse of Rowan's cloak before the green canopy swallowed her again.