Burkhead The wind howled down off the mountain, blowing snow into Talisa’s eyes. She pulled her ice-encrusted scarf higher over her face and held up a hand to block the tiny frozen daggers. On the slope below the few remaining people of her household struggled single file through the knee deep snow. “Milady!” Embron, her huntsman, shouted over the roaring wind. “We need to find shelter and build a fire.” “Fire will draw the Schahi,” Talisa said. “They will...” “This storm will kill us all,” Embron said. Talisa found herself smiling despite their plight. Embron had grown bold in the last few days. “There are many ways to die, Huntsman. Some better than others.” Embron shielded his eyes and stared through the snow back the way they had come, as if to conjure an image of their pursuers. “The storm will have covered our trail. Perhaps...”
