Pack of Wolves, page 20
I know she will not like hearing my answer. However, the more I’ve thought about my options, the more I’ve come to realize that this is my only real choice to make. It’s the one thing that Wolf will not expect, because he has no idea it’s even possible. Still, I bare my teeth in preparation for a fight as I exclaim, “I think it’s time I discover the strength of my Windwalker abilities.”
***
The next day Wolf sits high on his throne, observing the separated hordes of people, all surrounded by his pack guards. The sounds of Cyrus’s screams still ring in his ears like a pleasant melody. After he passed out, Wolf turned his body over, setting one of the medic acolytes in charge of clearing the tubes in Cyrus’s lungs every hour. His brother clings to life even now, and every rattling wheeze only pleases Wolf more. “Well, well, any more prisoners to be tried, Jackal?” Wolf asks, his fingers absently rubbing a stain of Cyrus’s blood on the leg of his pants. Such a glorious day. Iris was right; I was born to rule this land.
“None, Wolf. The House of Piranhas is dissolved,” Jackal replies with a bow, backing off to the side of the platform as he waits for new orders.
“Excellent,” Wolf exclaims with a nod. In the shadows of the trees, Wolf sees the faintest outline of some long-awaited figures. “Come forth!” He calls to the men, excitement flooding his veins.
The border guards float out of the forest, moving as ethereally as fog down the Devil’s Spine. Matthais still wears a hood over his features, and even in daylight, Wolf cannot make out any distinguishing marks on the weathered leader’s face. “We are not accustomed to travelling this far into Cassé,” he remarks, his words betraying his annoyance at the summons he’d received by this would-be king. “Still, you offered us a great deal of product. That would make the trip profitable; I trust that you can make good on your word?”
“Naturally. I’m glad that you decided to venture into my lands. Your trip will be rewarded handsomely.” Wolf waves a flippant hand toward him, too euphoric to squabble over the fact that the guards did not deign to bow. After all, Wolf reasons as he slumps deeper into his seat, I’m not officially king. Yet.
“You’d better be right,” Matthais mumbles, patting a bag of gold on his hip while his other hand reaches for his sword. “Let’s get this transaction completed. I’m uncomfortable being so exposed in Cassè.”
“Where are my prisoners that admitted their guilt?” Wolf clicks his fingers on the arms of his throne while he waits for his guards to answer.
“Here, Wolf,” Hyena shouts from the crowd on his right, his words punctuated by a short, hysterical laugh. “What would you have us do with them?”
Wolf eyes the throng of bodies, slowly calculating an estimated number before turning back to Matthais with the lazy smile of a satisfied house cat after finishing a huge meal. “Our usual price is twenty pieces of gold for one head. I estimate the cost to be around two thousand.” Two thousand! Such a glorious war chest to begin my reign!
“And yet, I will only pay fourteen hundred,” the guard murmurs, dropping his bag of gold on Wolf’s throne. He folds his arms across his chest, expecting the outburst that is sure to come.
“Surely they are worth much more to you than that!” Wolf declares, failing to keep his anger in check. Then he grows still, sitting tall on his throne as he considers how a king should respond. Distant, cool, unaffected, Wolf chants the words as if by saying them he can compel himself into behaving this way. Lifting a hand and looking at his fingernails to give his eyes something to focus upon, he sighs and whispers, “I guess I’ll just have to keep them. After all, once I am made king, I will need servants too.”
“There is no one else to trade with besides us, so I have no fear that you may find a more competitive deal.” Matthais straightens his stance, pulling his sword out of his scabbard. While Wolf might fancy himself to be a master negotiator, he’s no match for the border guard’s leader. Years and years in the outposts have taught him how to persuade an obstinate customer. All of Matthais’s men follow his lead, flashing swords, bows, and spears into their hands in preparation for a fight. “I offer you a wholesale rate for so many bodies, Wolf. The best I am authorized to give is fourteen hundred. Take the deal and prevent a skirmish between our peoples. Or don’t and end your days with your head on the end of my sword. It’s up to you.”
Wolf sniffs, annoyed to find himself with the losing hand. “Fine. Have your men take possession of the slaves and go.”
“Slaves! That’s outrageous!” Murmurs among the damned break out, bodies shoving against Wolf’s guards in an effort to find freedom. “You said we would join your house if we plead guilty!”
“On the contrary! I said I’d let you live. I never said you’d live under my rule,” Wolf shouts over the roar. “Guards! Any slave that attempts to fight is to die immediately.”
“Better to die fighting than live in chains!” A handful of men and women hurl themselves at Hyena and his squadron. They are cut down before they reach the edge of freedom, their bodies painting the ground with blood. Most of the rest, seeing the futility of the fight, trudge brokenly to the border guards.
Matthais swaggers back to the bag of gold, deftly ripping open its ties. He raises five coins from its depths. “Refund for those that rebelled.” Before Wolf can protest, he stalks away from the throne. “Line them up, boys! You know the drill. Soldiers on either flank. Move!”
Wailing cries pour from innocent and guilty alike, families and friends torn apart. Those who chose an innocent’s death thrash in their corral, hands reaching futilely toward their loved ones as they march off to their new lives as slaves. The sounds of grief still echo in the air long after the slaves and border guards disappear back into the trees.
Most of the guilty walk with silent tears pouring down their cheeks, stumbling across the sand. Fear reigns in their eyes as they helplessly stare up at the soldiers, all the while wondering just exactly what the future holds for them. Will they find decent masters? Will they be in service at the king’s palace? Or will they be sold into gods knows what, scratching away the rest of their lives with bloodthirsty abusers? They march as the silent damned, their worries stealing whatever life is left in their bodies, souls, and hearts.
“So that’s how you’ve managed to stay so well-funded,” Goldeneye accuses from his place among the remaining prisoners waiting to be executed. “You’re selling your own people into slavery! You’re a traitor! Disgusting!”
“Shut him up,” Wolf mutters under his breath as he hoists the heavy bag of gold into his lap. “Jackal, take four men and set up traitor binds right in front of my throne. We will need something to hold our prisoners in place for the firing squad. We’ll start the executions after lunch, so get it done quickly.”
“Fox first then?” Jackal inquires, picking out the men to assist him. “I mean, his actions show a personal treachery, and I figured you’d want him to die quickly.”
“No,” Wolf answers after some thought. “Keep Fox and the rest of the House of Vultures alive until the very last. I want them to watch the rest of the ‘innocent’ die; let them feel the deaths of every soul who dares to stand against me. I want them to anticipate the moment when their time finally comes.”
***
“We should get to the House of Piranhas in about three days,” Siri explains to me as we settle into another clearing before night falls.
“That’s all my life has become now, a new field of grass and dead animal carcasses every single stinking day,” I snarl in a noncommittal response, whipping the wind until it dances through the field, chewing through blades of crunchy, dry brush.
“You’ve improved quickly,” Siri observes solemnly, carefully watching me as I continue to fashion my little breeze into a powerful dust devil. “Take it easy; don’t give yourself over to the power, Iris.”
“We have to get there as soon as we can,” I insist, trying to ignore her words. The Windwalker magic in my blood has become a tiny voice in my thoughts. It urges me to give more of myself, whispering of all the amazing things I could do if I only give in to its call. So tempting…so alluring—
“Iris!” Siri growls, snapping me out of the power’s draw.
“I’m fine,” I lie, knowing that I am not fooling my Ddraig for a moment. “But if Wolf is hurting those people—” In my mind’s eye I envision Cyrus, bloodied and broken. I see his swollen face calling out for me, his voice hoarse as he begs me to return. Unable to see my reflection to determine if my eyes are white, I am uncertain as to whether this is a vision from my Gwen abilities or if this is just my imagination. Either way, I’m determined to reach the House of Piranhas with as few stops as possible.
“Cyrus is going to need you once he is free. He needs to hear that you do not hate him and you never meant for him to suffer…unless that isn’t true,” Siri whispers as I settle against her side, chewing on a cooked leg from some unfortunate animal my Ddraig has scorched for me.
“Of course I didn’t want this!” I cry, wondering how Siri could ever think such a horrible thing about me. But, how can I face him now? I accused him of horrible monstrosities, and while I still do not believe he’s completely innocent, he’s also not the fiend I once believed him to be. Where does that leave us? “He must hate me. I sent him back into the claws of his brother. Every pain he’s endured since our separation is my fault. I feel so guilty, Siri.”
“I see,” Siri mumbles, deep in thought. “Wolf’s lost a lot of standing in your eyes, hasn’t he? And Cyrus truly has gained a great deal more of your attention.”
“I…I don’t know what to think about either one of them,” I hedge, tossing my half-eaten meal away. “I can’t afford to dwell on it right now. There’s too much at stake.” Although, deep down I know that my words are a lie. My mind cannot let go of the worries that echo like moaning ghosts in my head.
“You will find him greatly changed,” Siri informs, her voice sounding small. “We will find them both very different from the way they left us.”
Suryc. I’ve given very little thought to what he’s endured, watching Cyrus tortured, helpless and unable to step in to save him. No doubt he will hate me too. That thought is almost too much to bear. Suryc’s been nothing but kind to me, and I’ve put him through hell too. What is wrong with me? I’m no better at leading than Cyrus was. My heart stops beating at the thought, aware of how he must have felt every day in the House of Vultures. What a terrible life it is to be a leader; you can never do what’s best for all of your people, can you? Maybe Cyrus put me through hell because he thought I was strong enough to endure it….
I pass the rest of the evening in brooding silence, dozing off as the first stars wink to life in the sky. At around midnight, when the moon is high overhead, something startles me awake. A hollow cry like the sound of an owl echoes through the forest. Leaning back against my sleeping Ddraig, I listen for the sounds in the forest, feeling wary when I distinctly do not hear the rustling of crickets or buzzing of cicadas.
Yet when the owl’s hoot reaches my ears again, my heart drops in my chest. That’s not right, I tell myself as my breathing catches in my throat. That sound is different, like it’s coming from a human voice. Siri, wake up! Someone’s here.
Siri’s large silver eye blinks to life immediately, her sensitive ears pricking as she searches for any sign of intruders. There’s a group of unmasked people at the edge of the forest, maybe twenty or so. They are watching us, debating whether or not to attack. They suspect that we are from Déchets. How do you want to do this?
I’m afraid that if I speak, they will attack out of fear. A shiver overtakes me despite Siri’s warmth at my back. What do you suggest?
I’d call out to them anyway while they are at a distance, Siri advises with a sigh. If you wait until they are close, the results of their attack would be much more severe. Right now, if they charged us, we could just fly away.
On trembling knees, I rise. No matter how many times I make this kind of speech, the fear of rejection and the uncertainty of an upcoming battle that will lead to death never seems to leave me. As I had done with the minor markets, I hold my hands over my head and prepare to share the same story with these newcomers.
Nameless unchosen nomads. How many more Cadogans do you really think we will find among them? They are the lowest, weakest people in Cassé, I question Siri as I hear them scuttle closer to the protection of the trees.
And yet they have survived without the protection of a major house, Siri muses with a snort. Perhaps they are the strongest ones. We won’t know until the other Ddraigs meet them, will we?
An arrow thwacks into the ground between my feet, halting my progress forward. “I’m not from Déchets!” I cry, hoping my words will keep the nameless from perfecting their aim and attacking. “Let me explain, please!” I share my entire story, including my past life in the House of Vultures.
At the mention of my former house, one of the men steps forward, a young boy sitting on his shoulders. His voice is deep and hoarse as he calls to me. “The man called Condor belongs with you?”
“You know him?” I feel a string of hope tugging on my heart. Maybe they’ve seen him, Siri! Maybe we are close!
“He saved my son,” the man replies, his hands tightening around the boy’s skinny legs as if he’s assuring himself that the child is still alive. “We were travelling through the forests around the House of Piranhas when the Wolf and his pack stumbled into our midst. They attacked us, and we lost many from our ranks that day. I would have lost my son too. Condor was able to stay between Wolf and my boy, allowing him the chance to run to freedom. I’m afraid the action cost your friend dearly, although judging by the looks of him, he was already suffering.” His mouth drops into a more severe frown, but his eyes are soft, as though the man has bad news he’s reluctant to share, afraid of how I will respond. “I…I think you should prepare yourself for the worst. Wolf fired two arrows into his chest.”
What a fool I was to send him there! I imagine the scene in perfect detail from Wolf’s wild eyes as he draws the bow and fires, to Cyrus’s chest bursting open with bloody, scarlet fire as the arrows find their marks. He’s not dead, I tell myself, hoping that Siri has been honest with me. He survived this attack. Suryc would tell us if he was dead. I can still find a way to make this right.
“Will you join with me and follow me to the House of Piranhas?” Extra fighting hands with a score to settle against Wolf could certainly come in handy. I silently pray that they will band together with me; fighting is so much easier if you aren’t trying to do it alone. “The other Ddraigs will meet me there, and maybe some of you will be chosen as Cadogans. And if not, you have my word that you will remain free.”
The man turns to converse with his people before responding. “We will come. Not for you or your Ddraigs, but for Condor and my son.”
Even under duress, he’s garnered loyalty, I realize, feeling very humbled as the nameless pour out of the trees toward me. He is a far better leader than I ever gave him credit for. That knowledge does very little to remove the lead weight in my heart.
“We’ll fly ahead to scout the land. You follow on foot,” Siri commands for me as I climb onto her back once more, my burdened heart making every movement a gut-wrenching agony.
***
“Shall we begin this morning’s executions?” Wolf questions with glee as he drops to his throne. Seeing his brother finally break is enough to make him giddy. He points to Cyrus’s crude tent prison, calling out to Jackal, “As much as I would love for my brother to watch this scene, I think it is time to move on without him. Bring out the next prisoners!”
Three broken people sway as they are prodded up to the bloody posts where so many of their friends and family have already met their demises. The bodies of the dead are thrown into a large pit and burned every night. Wolf likes the view of the night sky aflame. For the last few days, when he’s not with Cyrus, he spends his time stalking the perimeter of the campsite, watching for any curious nameless unchosen that he can attack. So far, he’s added at least twenty nameless bodies to the pyre. The noxious smell of the burning damned is a heady perfume to his nose.
“Please! Give us another chance! We will—” one of the prisoners begs, his words abruptly cut off as Hyena slams a sword hilt into his jaw. The bone cracks audibly, blood pouring down the prisoner’s chin.
“Please! Give us another chance!” mocks Wolf as he raises his hand to the archers. “You had your trial! Suffer the punishment of your crimes!” He smirks as the arrows loose, shutting his eyes as the bodies writhe in pain. “Fire until they die!” Wolf whispers, nodding as the telltale plucking of the bowstring sounds a second time.
In the corral, Goldeneye, Grouse, Bittern, and Fox huddle together, their backs turned to the grizzly sight of the executions. “I have a plan to escape,” Fox mutters as he checks the guards to see if they are paying attention. Most of them have their bloodthirsty eyes fixed upon the firing squad, jealously wishing they were the firing the arrows. “It’s risky, but it could work.”
“Anything’s better than sitting here, resigned to our fates,” Grouse replies hotly, her hands balled into fists. “How could Iris ever care for such a monster?”
“Do you judge me as harshly?” Fox whispers, his eyes focused on the ground. “After all, I mentored Wolf from his first days in power. Even I didn’t realize he was as far gone as he is.”
“I…I’m sorry,” Grouse stutters with a deep exhale. “What’s your plan for escape?”
