Free Mistress of the Wind by Michelle Diener Page A

Clinging to his neck, Astrid looked back, and saw nothing but trees, their thick foliage already blocking the mountain from view, forcing the sun to poke through the leaves with pale fingers to find the ground.
    She clutched her bundle of things tighter, remembering the small handkerchief of rags she’d brought with her just under a month ago.
    How different things were now.
    There was a flash of movement to the right. Something running from tree to tree, but before Astrid could tell Bjorn, he swerved left. He’d seen it, too.
    “Be prepared to slide off, I will have to fight,” he said to her, and Astrid felt a chill of fear grip her heart.
    “Can you not freeze it, like you did me?”
    “I could, but it would not help for long. That was Sigurd, and he has many tricks of his own. Strong magic that shields him against mine.”
    “You know him?” The cold morning air stole her breath as Bjorn ran toward a clearing a short way ahead. No place for the creature to hide there.
    “I know all in these woods,” he said, reaching the clearing and stopping dead center. “They used to answer to me. Now some answer to Norga instead. Sigurd has shown his hand, after kneeling to me and pledging his allegiance only a few days ago.”
    Of course. The palace should have prepared her. Of course he was the lord of this place. “Could he be aiding us, rather than chasing us?”
    “No.”
    He was so sure, Astrid did not doubt him.
    “Get down, but stay close as you can. Within grasp. Sigurd may not be alone, and I dare not let you hide where I cannot see you. The trees are not safe.”
    Astrid slid down his back and stood facing the opposite way to Bjorn, watching the far side of the clearing.
    From the way Bjorn stood ready, muscles bunched, Sigurd was someone, something , to be feared. She wanted to ask him what he was, or looked like, but was terrified of making a sound.
    Above the swish and sigh of the trees, the rustle of leaves, something ran from one of the trees at the edge of the clearing to another. So fast, once again Astrid could not see them.
    Bjorn turned toward the sound, forcing her to turn too, to stay to his back. A low growl rumbled from his throat, making the hairs on the back of Astrid’s neck stand up. She shivered.
    Another sharp burst of sound made her jump, and a sliver of tree trunk, twice Bjorn’s height, levered out from the pines and reached across the clearing for her. A giant stick insect man with a thin face and cunning eyes, its weathered silver hands sharp and pointed, like dead wood.
    She cried out as Sigurd lunged at her like a stork strikes forward to catch its frog, and Bjorn spun, his roar echoing through the trees as he swiped at Astrid, knocking her out of Sigurd’s hands.
    She landed hard and rolled to her feet, grateful the ground was thick with pine needles and spongy with autumn rains.
    Bjorn had not spoken a word to his old subject, his teeth were bared and savage as he advanced.
    She saw Sigurd freeze, his backward movement stopped, and knew Bjorn had enchanted him.
    But with a cry he broke free of the spell and leapt, soaring up like a javelin over Bjorn’s head. A massive branch snapped from a nearby tree and was hurled by an invisible hand into the clearing, catching Bjorn a glancing blow to his hind legs.
    Sigurd most definitely had tricks of his own.
    And so do I.
    “Come, wind, to me,” she whispered, and felt the first flutter of breeze against her face as Bjorn launched himself at Sigurd just as Sigurd leapt at him. They smashed into each other and Bjorn cried out as Sigurd raked him with sharp hands, then struck back with his own claws.
    Sigurd’s shout of pain was the strange creak of a tree falling. He flung himself up, flipping in the air and arrowing down straight for Bjorn, hands out in claws.
    “Stop him,” Astrid cried out, and the wind howled around the clearing, blowing Sigurd off course. Slamming him down into the ground.
    Bjorn hurled himself onto Sigurd and