“You’re going the wrong way for horses,” Phelan said mildly, fighting back a grin. Despite the gravity of the situation, he couldn’t stop the expression from blossoming. It was just too much like old times.
“Blødning drittsekk,” Sif spat, glaring at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Phelan said. “And I’m not the one who’s bleeding. We’ll need to deal with that before we ride.”
She snarled and stalked back toward them, snatching her blade from his hands and resheating the weapon. “Sometimes I hate you, Wanderer.”
“You and everyone else who’s ever given a damn about me.” He glanced sidelong at Marin. “You heard the lady. Horses and rescuing an idiot with a death wish.”
“I wish that was something new for me,” Marin muttered, shaking her head.
Phelan at least had the grace to look abashed.
They made quick time back to camp, even with Phelan and Marin’s efforts to bind up Sif’s bleeding hands on the way. They headed for the stable, where Davon had a trio of horses ready and waiting for them.
“Once Thom came through, I figured it was only a matter of time before you guys would be heading out,” he said as he gave Marin a leg up into the saddle.
“Good instincts,” Phelan said as he settled into his saddle, wrapping the reins around one hand.
“I like to think so. What am I telling Jac?”
“The truth,” Phelan said. “I rode out with Marin and Sif to keep Thordin from getting himself killed.”
Davon blinked, staring at them for a moment, then smiled wryly. “Right, well, I’ll tell her to have her kit ready.”
“Good idea.”
“Are you bloody well coming?” Sif snapped, already beyond the doors to their makeshift stable, her mount pawing restlessly at the snow.
Phelan waved Marin onward and leaned down toward Davon. “Tell her I’m intending to come back in one piece, but something tells me someone else won’t. She’ll need the green box under the bed. Tell her that.”
Davon nodded slowly. “Should I raise the alarm around here?”
“No. If it’s what we think it is, it won’t be able to reach us up here.”
The other man’s brow furrowed. “What do you think it is?”
Phelan exhaled through his teeth, glancing over his shoulder. Sif and Marin had ridden out; he’d have to hurry to catch up. “Judging from Sif’s reaction and the incredibly vague description from Vasily, I’m pretty sure it’s a lindworm.”
“A what?”
“Cross a sea serpent with a dragon and you might get close.” Phelan smiled weakly. “And unless I’ve missed my guess on this one, Thordin killed its daddy and it’s going to take a few bites out of him to say thank you—right before it goes back to eating whatever gets in its way.”
“That sounds pleasant.”
“Yeah.” Phelan smiled weakly. “Tell Jac one more thing for me.”
“Sure.”
“Tell her I love her.”
With that, Phelan spurred his horse into motion, riding at a gallop in Sif and Marin’s wake.
