The group rode all day in eerie silence. There were no animals, nor wind to break it. The men seemed fearful to disturb the unnatural quiet.
As the sun set, Taras found himself looking forward to sleeping in a real bed again, out of the snow. He wondered how he would be received. Margaret thought he would be treated as a boyar. Taras wasn't convinced. Truly, he didn't care, though. A soldier’s barracks would suit him fine.
Taras was lost in his thoughts when a snarl came up ahead of him. A gray blur shot out of the trees on his right. With a white flash of teeth, the wolf grabbed the arm of one of the men. The man screamed and, even from far back, Taras could hear the crunch of bone. The wolf was huge—at least half the weight of a large horse. It pulled the man off his horse, knocking the horse off its hooves. Horse, rider, and predator all crashed to the snow-covered ground. Then the man was dragged into the undergrowth, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
Taras unsheathed his sword, ready to the follow the man into the woods. The man might lose his arm, but that didn’t mean he had to lose his life. Another wolf—black, this time—sprang from the foliage on the left, attacking a second man and dragging him off, screaming, into the still wilderness.
By now the group had gotten their bearings. Men dismounted, unsheathed weapons, and formed a circle around the sledges. The horses were as valuable as the sleighs, and men could not fight four-footed predators from horseback. Taras dismounted as well, pushing on Jasper’s neck until he backed into the circle with the others. The silence felt thick as the men stood, waiting for further attacks. In the distance, the screams of the two doomed men echoed softly.
Taras winced, knowing he would dream about this.
He saw movement—something white and feathery moving through the trees. He decided it must be the wind blowing the powdery snow around. Then he realized there had been no wind all day. The moving snow jumped out at him.
He didn’t see the third wolf until it was almost too late. Stark white, this one blended perfectly with the reflective powder. Its leap would have missed him by several feet, had he stepped aside. Instead, he sprang into action.
Stepping directly into the path of the oncoming attack, he held his sword straight out like a spear, cleanly impaling the wolf as it came down, paws clawing and teeth snapping. Even after the sword burrowed through its ribcage, the wolf growled and tore at him.
The snapping teeth slowed, then stopped. The body went limp on his sword. Only then did Taras allow it to drop to the ground.
The body slid off his sword, leaving a sheen of wet, shiny blood on the blade. Taras gazed down at the creature with fascination.
A winter coat of the cleanest white Taras had ever seen covered its lithe, well-muscled body. Black socks adorned three of its legs and a gray diamond decorated its forehead, as a horse might. Taras couldn’t help thinking it ironic that he'd slain the most beautiful animal he’d ever laid eyes on. Lying still in the snow, it would have been utterly invisible, if not for the pool of blood slowly spreading around it.
While Taras studied the animal at his feet, the other men moved around him in a frenzy of grim activity.
“Someone start a fire!” one man yelled.
“Will that work?”
“They already have some food. They aren’t desperate anymore. If we start some fires, they will stay away.”
“We might as well set up camp for the night, then.”