Verena's Whistle: Varangian Descendants Book I by K. Panikian (top android ebook reader txt) 📕

I didn’t see any new prints in the snow, and it was daylight, but my scalp was prickling.

When we reached the edge of the clearing and I saw that there were no people there, I pulled the crossbow out of my backpack and loaded it. I put two spare bolts in the waistband of my snow pants. Owen pulled the gun from his shoulder holster and carried it in his right hand, pointed at the ground, safety on.

“Do you see something?” he whispered to me.

“No,” I whispered back. “I’m just being paranoid.”

He nodded and we crouched down at the lip of the crater. The snow in the clearing looked fresh and new. Obviously, the scientists were long gone. I softly described what Theo saw at the moment the portal opened and pointed to the north side of the clearing, where the besy had gone.

Owen looked down into the clearing for a long moment. “It is a good vantage point,” he said finally, “if they are down there and we are up here, firing down at them. However, and I admit I know nothing about how their minds work, but unless the leader is a completely inept military commander, he won’t bring his whole troop to check out your bait and stand there, in this killing field, like a nice big target for you.

“He’ll instead send one or two guys to check the bait. If it’s legitimate, he may come himself to investigate. He’ll leave the rest of his force in the cave. There is no point in bringing them here.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “So maybe we split our forces? Some do the bait plan here; some attack the cave?”

“Maybe,” Owen answered carefully. “Can we go see the cave?” he asked. “Or is it too risky?”

“We can go, but I want to approach differently than last time. I want to try an angle where maybe we can see into the cave.”

“I’ll follow you,” Owen replied.

I led us all the way back to the snow machine, and then we drove another few miles up the ski trail. Owen kept his gun out and I turned my head back and forth, scanning the trail and the woods on either side.

We stopped again when I saw a creek on the east side of the trail. That’s what I was hoping to find. “Now we find out if our boots are as waterproof as they should be.”

Owen grimaced and followed me. I stepped down into the frozen creek bed carefully. The water was still flowing in the center of the bed, trickling down in tinkling, icy waterfalls. I tried to keep my feet in the water without breaking the ice too much and I slowly climbed upstream. It was very slippery and my feet got colder and colder, though they stayed dry in my boots.

Finally, I paused and checked the GPS on my phone. I was surprised I still had a signal. The cave was just over the ridge ahead. I climbed out of the water and motioned to the ridge with my finger over my lips. Owen nodded and we crept up the snowy slope, staying low. At the top, we dropped down flat on the ridge, hidden under the boughs of a large fir tree.

The cave opening was about 20 yards in front of us. The sun was high in the sky behind it, so we couldn’t see inside the dark entrance. So much for my new angle. The snow was trampled and muddy in the glade. I didn’t see anything moving.

At the far edge of the clearing, there was large plastic bin. It was knocked over onto its side and I could see it was empty inside. There were some black rocks in the snow in front of it. I pointed it out to Owen and he waved his hand, acknowledging he saw it too. He stared down at the glade for a little while longer and then he was ready to go.

We backed slowly down the ridge, stepped carefully, quietly into the creek again, and began to move downstream. The walls of the creek bed kept us out of sight but also from seeing anything that might be approaching. It was a strange feeling of safety and vulnerability.

Finally, I saw the prints in the snow where we’d climbed into the water and I knew the snow machine was just out of sight. As I slipped and slid out of the water and into the snow, I froze in place. Owen froze beside me and cocked his head, listening.

There it was again, a low, growling sound. I pulled my crossbow up and peered around us through the trees. I didn’t see anything. It must be by the snow machine. I pointed in that direction and then I pointed to Owen. He nodded at me. Then I pointed to myself and a spot a little farther downstream and mimed my fingers walking. He nodded again.

I sidled along the slope, trying to keep my bogged down, snowy boots from slipping back into the stream. When I was about ten yards away from where I’d left Owen, I turned back to him to check. He was watching me and seeing I was set, started to climb out. I turned and crawled up the wall of the bed, staying low, my crossbow in front of me.

At the top of the slope, I hid under a snowy bush. I could see the snow machine on the side of the trail just a few feet away. I could also see the canine face of a psoglav sniffing around the machine and growling. The bes was about the size of a small bear. It was upright on equine legs and its human arms kept reaching out to touch the machine before it pulled them away. It growled again and its gray, iron teeth gleamed sharply.

Suddenly it stopped dancing around the machine, lifted its head, and stared with its one eye directly at my hiding spot. I didn’t think it