Gild (The Plated Prisoner 1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sail and I are dragged uphill.

We make heavy, sloppy tracks as we go, snow shin-deep, threatening to topple us with every step. But the Red Raids carry on easily, as if buried legs and pushed steps hold no difficulty for them at all.

Just a few dozen steps, and yet with the effort it takes for each one and with the pirate’s jostled hold on my arm, it’s enough to leave me panting by the time we crest the top.

I’m too busy catching my breath for a moment to take in the sight. But once I manage to look at the flat land below, my eyes widen. Beside me, I hear Sail suck in a breath.

Gone is the emptiness, the flat landscape of nothing except the snow-white expanse that the Barrens are known for. Instead, it’s been overrun.

There are three large pirate ships made of white wood below us. They sit on the snow drifts like ships docked in an ocean’s harbor, except they have no sails. Where waves of water and windy skies normally drive a boat out to sea, these ships are more like massive snow sleds, pulled not by wind or tide or oars, but by an entirely different force.

“Fire claws,” Sail says in shock and awe beside me.

My wide eyes hook onto the snowy felines below. They’re massive. Ten feet tall at least, with hooked fangs dripping down past their lower jaws, the ends shaped like shovels, used to scrape at snow and ice.

But the most remarkable part of them, aside from their sheer size, is the glowing flames that lick around their paws. Some are lit, some not, some have all four footsteps blazing red, while on others, only a single burns, as if they have one foot standing in the doorway to hell.

That explains the balls of fire we saw in the distance.

When one of the Red Raids raises his whip, cracking it over a line of the creatures to make them move the ship forward, a massive growl emits from the entire row of them, baring their ferocity in a unified growl. The noise cuts through the air and soaks into the ground, vibrating my very feet.

That explains the thunder.

“I thought fire claws were a myth,” I say.

The pirate beside me chuckles. “More like a nightmare,” he says, and even with his face covering, I can tell he’s smiling. “One swipe of their paw and they can kill a man—or woman.”

I look back at him, struggling not to shiver.

“You’re either gonna be dead from their razor claws or burned to a bloody crisp from their flames. Not a good way to go, either way.”

I don’t want to go anywhere near those things. Unfortunately, the pirates begin to tug us down the other side of the sloped hill, heading closer to the beasts, heading closer to the ships and the hundreds of more pirates below.

My eyes take in as much as I can, searching for familiar faces, both hoping I’ll see them and praying that I won’t. As we get closer, I can see signs of struggle, more dead horses, another carriage that’s being stripped bare and hacked up into pieces, every gilded inch pried away and carried onto the ships.

The pirates work methodically, pilfering everything, right down to every trunk and carriage curtain.

The surviving horses are being led onto one of the smaller ships too, their hooves clopping against the wooden ramp as they go, most of them eyeing the fire claws nervously. Crisp is one of them. I spot him by his tail, by the gold twine I braided into it.

Pirates crawl everywhere, hauling screaming saddles away, looting through all of our things. Fighting and taunting our vastly outnumbered guards. Every single one of them wears the same white fur clothes, the same red cloth wrapped around their faces and heads, leaving only their eyes exposed.

The flames from the fiery feline paws light up the scene, basking it in flickering red, somehow making all of this so much worse. My eyes sweep down from one of the ships, and I notice the blood splattered over the white snow—so dark that it looks black. And then I start to notice the unmoving guards littered on the ground.

Beside me, Sail goes still. Silent. Dread curls into my chest like acrid smoke, burning my eyes, polluting my chest.

Everywhere I look, there are dead or captured guards being stripped down to nothing but their underwear. The ones alive are battered and bloodied, shaking from the cold, even their boots stolen from them as their clothes and armor are thrown into a pile, to be distributed to the ships.

I bite my tongue so hard that the taste of copper drips against my cheek. I hold it there, crush it between my teeth, biting, biting.

When we get closer to the ships, the heat from the rows of fire claws chips away at the fierce chill of the night, but it doesn’t warm me. Doesn’t hold a lick of comfort.

I search the guards, seeking past the swarming pirates, but I don’t see the face I’m searching for. I don’t see Digby.

A gruff pirate sees us approaching and cuts over to us. “Another saddle?” he asks, looking me over. “Bring her over there.” He jerks his head to the left, and my head turns in the direction. The saddles are there, lined up, a group of pirates looking them over, leering, touching. Rosh, the male saddle, gets shoved onto his knees, the pirates mocking him, spitting on him. His blond head hangs down.

I whip my head back around. “Sail.” My voice cuts off, because I’m already being dragged away, while the pirates holding him head in another direction.