Pack of Wolves, page 8
Alaric folds his arms across his chest, considering his options carefully. To respond too eagerly to this meeting would give off an air of desperation. Yet such a meeting can not be missed. It might even provide a means of infiltrating Cassè and destroying it from the inside out, if Alaric plays his hand well. “Very well.” Alaric’s voice echoes through the room as his decision is made. “I will meet with the guard from the outposts and see what this so-called king wants. If it is fruitless, we will reconsider the option of sending spies into Cassè.”
As the king rises from his seat at the head of the table, all of his council members fall over themselves to follow suit. Only Lady Vatusia manages to move with predatory grace, gliding over to stand beside the king. “I will come with you to meet this stranger,” she hisses, her voice as wispy as the final swirls of smoke from a doused fire. Yet despite her fragile tone, her words are not a request.
Even Alaric does not protest. Holding out a hand to her, the king replies, “Of course, my lady. I would not have it any other way.” Together they drift through the corridor on the way to the throne room.
***
A pair of glittering scarlet eyes glow unnaturally bright in the shadows, wicked teeth opening into a wide sneer as wisps of smoke rush forth from the creature’s maw. I feel my back pressed hard against solid stone. My fingers claw at its surface until my nails break, desperately struggling to find a means of escape. “Please,” I whimper, shivering as the Ddraig’s hot breath skims my collarbones. “Don’t do this! Siri!”
“She can’t help you now,” the red Ddraig cackles as I feel his teeth press into my shoulder. Time slows, leaving me coldly aware of every sensation as long incisors pierce my flesh. Turning my head, I watch them sink into my skin, clenching down when they reach my shoulder joint. With one snap of his powerful jaws, Ekard will easily rip my shoulder away from its socket.
How long can a body last when its life blood is pulsing from a missing limb? No amount of pressure will staunch this bleeding. Windwalker magic can’t spare me either. What’s the use? I’ll be mad anyway once Siri dies. With that thought my eyes drift closed, and I turn my face away from Ekard. A sickening crunch alerts my ears that he’s bitten off my arm. The sound is far worse than the numbing stillness that comes once the nerves in my fingers are no longer sending pain signals to my brain.
Without his teeth to hold me upright, my body drops to the ground, hard. I land in a warm, sticky pool of my own gore. Strangely, my feet grow cold as blood leaves my remaining limbs. I know death approaches when colors begin to drain away from the objects in my sight. Everything fades to different gray tones, darkness masking my peripheral vision.
Siri’s still alive—for now. I hear her roaring my name, begging me to take her strength. Surely the mental bonds we share are not strong enough to mend my injuries. Even a Ddraig as powerful as she must have limits. I try to tell her to save herself, but my mouth will not obey.
The red Ddraig towers over me, and I vaguely see my own hand waving at me from his mouth. Part of me wishes that I could laugh at the image of my missing limb bidding me farewell. That’s my last thought as my world fades completely to black.
With a start I roll out of my makeshift bed, my fingers immediately reaching for my shoulder. Both hands respond to my commands as I wipe my sweat soaked hair off my brow. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the dawning of another day.
A few birds are beginning to chirp in the distance, most still asleep in their nests. The sun has not yet peeked its face over the horizon. The soft hooting of an owl passes over my head; no doubt he’s searching for a last-minute snack before he goes to roost. Siri is right beside me, her tail coiled around me like a protective fence. Enomena and her Ddraig are close to my left, and Lerual sleeps only a few breaths away. The Ddraig that would have belonged to Warbler has always been two steps behind me, yet I confess to my shame that I have barely given her a moment’s notice in the recent weeks. I’ve been too preoccupied with my other concerns. I must do better, I resolve as I stare at the beautiful green Ddraig, whose brilliant yellow eyes always remind me of my old friend.
“It was just a dream,” I wheeze, laughing in shock as I struggle to find the humor in the situation. Relief at knowing Siri is still alive brings tears to my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Siri’s voice rumbles through her chest as she opens one great eye to face me. I feel her consciousness brush against my own, and I can tell she is grumpy from being awakened so early. Wordlessly I pass my dream along to her. Replaying the images brings gorge up in my stomach. Seeing the amount of blood that drained from my missing arm makes me heave. By the time I finish retelling my tale, Siri is wide awake.
“We must be careful,” Siri whispers, her voice dropping until it is no louder than a hushed breeze that might be rustling through the grass. “Drake and his Ddraig are powerful, Iris. We’ve made a formidable enemy.”
“What do you mean? It was just a bad dream,” I reply, my words slowing as Siri carefully shakes her head.
“It was more than a dream, I think,” Siri whispers, her voice breaking as a ripple of fear overtakes her resolve. The thought of Siri frightened makes my knees go weak.
“You think I was having a vision?” I stumble over the words, forcing myself to recall the images of my dream once more. This time, I am not repulsed by the blood and gore I see. My mind is solely focused on seeing the details of my own eyes in the images. I quickly scan through the dream sequence until I find what I am looking for. At the moment when Ekard chewed on my arm, my eyes popped open wide from the pain. I see no irises or pupils—they are completely white. “How is this even possible? I was reading the future in my sleep, Siri!”
“The bigger concern is how we stop this from happening,” Siri replies, carefully rising to stand upright and scan the horizon. Even though she does not say it, I know she is searching for Ekard and Drake. “We cannot afford to sleep without setting up a watch. I’ll speak to Lerual and Anemone tomorrow. They can be trusted, I think. And I might have a few other allies I can call upon to watch over you at night.”
“We cannot go unprotected any longer,” I agree as my eyes land on the scarlet Ddraig. Unlike the rest of our company, he is fully awake. His crimson, murderous stare brightens when he notices that I have spotted him. He bares his teeth, and the image is eerily similar to that of my vision. “We’re in trouble, Siri. He’s never going to let us lead without a fight.”
“Get everyone up now!” Siri roars as she stares into the distance. “We’ve got bigger troubles! There’s a group of nomads in the tree line. They noticed us in the fields, and they are about to attack. Take to the skies! Get off the ground now! Go!” Siri’s fire blazes like a silver shooting star as she pinches me into her claws and jumps into the sky. I barely make it off the ground before I feel an arrow whiz beside my ear.
A couple of echoing screams alert me to my greatest fear—someone in our camp was struck. We have injured Cadogans. The arrows appear to be too flimsy to harm our Ddraigs, but the thought of anyone wounded feels personal. How am I supposed to keep everyone safe?
“What do we do? Iris?” Enomena wails as Anemone immediately secures her position just over my right shoulder.
I scan the ground below us, helplessly watching the new recruits stumble through the tall grasses. They are a clumsy mess of disjointed movements and fearful quivering. If I could hurry them along by sheer force of will, I would do so.
“Iris! How can we help?” Lerual reiterates Enomena’s question with a high-pitched shriek.
“I…Siri?” I stumble for an answer, unsure how I can be of use. Battle cries erupt from the nomads as they charge upon my pitiful excuse for an army. They point their long stakes at the hearts of the Ddraigs, forming a circle to close off any escape on foot. “Get in the air, you fools!” I snarl, watching in disbelief as the frightened Cadogans freeze in the faces of their foes.
“Wait! Don’t hurt them!” Drake demands, soaring low over the heads of the nomads. He fearlessly bats away the stakes as they thrust in his direction, lithely jumping off Ekard’s back once he’s in the heart of the battle. Crouching low, he clicks his tongue in a sound that reminds me of a beetle hissing on a warm summer night.
The effect of that noise is immediate. Angry shouts cease, weapons are lowered uncertainly, and a couple of braver nomads answer the beetle call with their own. Drake stands tall, holding his hands wide as he approaches the strangers. “My friends! Come closer and see what amazing things I have discovered!”
“We’re coming down.” I raise my voice, but the words go unnoticed. The nomads surround Drake, brushing the marks on his arms and face as they speak in a strange language that I do not recognize. It’s their own tongue, Siri explains when she feels my confusion. Only a member of this nomadic tribe would be able to understand their language.
“How many nomadic groups are there?” I murmur as a new fear envelops me. If the nomads do not speak the master language of Cassé, how can I ever hope to tell them about the Ddraigs?
“Lots,” Siri grunts, and I feel my heart sink. “We’ll figure it out, Iris.” I wish I believed her.
Ekard smiles wickedly as he allows one of the nomads to brush his scaly side. He flashes his teeth at me in a challenge as his Cadogan explains our purpose for travelling through these lands. He’s doing my job, I grumble to Siri in complaint. He’s already acting like the leader of the Ddraigs.
“And garnering allies too,” Siri adds as we watch a few of the nomads slip out of the masses, drawn to the sides of certain Ddraigs. We find at least fifteen Cadogans from Drake’s tribe, and with each passing one, I feel my shoulders hunch as my worries grow too heavy for me to carry them alone.
“They will be his army.” My voice sounds as lifeless as a leaf in the heart of the winter. “Our enemy’s gaining ground with each passing second, Siri.” For surely these nomads will support Drake over an unknown leader.
“Leave it to me,” Siri whispers as she throws open her wings and roars, demanding attention. She addresses the crowd of onlookers in their native tongue, ignoring Ekard’s murderous scowl at being upstaged.
Drake demurely bows his head, but I can see the tiniest clenching of his jaw. He stomps over to my side and points a finger at me, his long nail almost grazing the tip of my nose. “I wasn’t saying anything against you. I’d already told them that you were in charge. But they are my friends, and I deserve the right to speak to them—”
“Did I say you’ve done something wrong?” I snap, my nerves raw. “Siri’s just establishing her right to rule. And I should be with her.” I exaggerate my pose, throwing my shoulders back as I move to stand beside my Ddraig. It takes a great deal of willpower not to run away or turn around to make sure Drake isn’t about to thrust a knife in between my ribs.
As I move, Ekard stalks closer, his crimson eyes reminding me of the pool of blood I’d fallen into in my dream vision. His lips pull back into a sneering smile, almost as if he can read my thoughts. “You know, only the weak and insecure feel the need to assert their control in every situation,” Ekard hisses, waving his claws dismissively toward Siri.
I bristle at his insult, but I do not rise to the bait. I will not let him see how much I fear his words to be accurate, I command myself, barely breathing so that I do not visibly react. Yet the traitorous voice in my head keeps whispering. Insignificant. Weak. Useless. He’s going to beat you and Siri because he is right. You were never meant to be in control. Not at the House of Vultures, and certainly not here among the Ddraigs.
Ekard towers over me to intimidate me, his voice barely a growl as he questions, “How long do you think Siri will last when she fights me? An hour? Thirty minutes? Or will she just roll over and give up, like you?”
“Ekard, I need you,” Drake calls out from the shadows, where a few of the nomad children have gathered while their families are distracted by Siri’s words. “Come help me show these kids that they have nothing to fear from the Ddraigs.”
Smirking at me, Ekard hastens off to obey his warrior. When he reaches Drake’s side, Ekard is the picture of gentility. He calmly lets the children brush his scales, tug on his tail, and climb up onto his back. Envy bursts to life in my chest as I watch these children play. How desperately do I wish that I could trust the crimson Ddraig like they do!
Chapter 6
“Well now, what do we have here?” One of the pack’s perimeter guards drops his calloused hands onto Grouse’s thin shoulders, snickering as she tries to jerk away from him. “A few stowaways from the old House of Vultures, hmm? You know, I do enjoy the taste of most birds.”
“Take your filthy paws off her,” Bittern snarls, swatting at the guard like he is an incessant fly. “What are you supposed to be anyway? A wolf pup or a vixen’s kit?”
“Spicy, aren’t you? Especially for someone still living like a refugee in the middle of a war. Why haven’t you changed your masks yet? You’re supposed to reflect your new house,” the guard informs, his hands sliding down Grouse’s shoulders until they cup her elbows and return all the way up to either side of her neck. “What’s say you and I take a little trip over to my tent, sweetheart? Maybe you’ll let me see what’s behind that bird beak you wear. We got a deal?”
The guard leaves no room for his nicely worded threat to be misinterpreted. Pressing one hand’s dirty fingernails into the skin below Grouse’s chin, he carefully wraps his other hand around Grouse’s throat. With enough pressure, he could choke the life right out of her. While his grip tightens, his eyes linger on Bittern, daring her to move. Bittern can only hold her breath and wait, her fingers digging trenches into her thighs with the intensity of her fear. If she says no, Grouse won’t have the chance to scream before he rips out her vocal cords. But if she says yes…Bittern quivers at the thought of what horrors would await her friend.
“Impala, that’s enough!” Fox snarls as he sidles up to the guard and sticks a knifepoint to his throat, pressing hard enough to draw a tiny trickle of blood from the space in front of his jugular. “Let her go and move on. Now.”
Impala whines, but he does not test Fox’s resolve. Shoving Grouse to the ground, he bows with a wide smile. “We’ll have our day, bird beak. And don’t worry—when you finally do decide to change your mask to reflect your new alliance, I will still find you.” Chuckling to himself as Grouse’s hands begin to tremble, he whistles a lively tune as he saunters away.
Fox carefully stows his knife before hurrying to help Grouse back to her seat. “Did he hurt you?” Ever the medicine man, he carefully assesses Grouse for any signs of blood or injury.
“Not really,” Grouse mumbles, her voice a little hoarse. Yet she does not take another bite of her meal. Terror and revulsion are the greatest thefts of appetite, and Grouse cannot fathom the idea of chewing and swallowing the stew in her bowl. “I feel like I need to bathe though. Not that the water will fix anything, really.”
“I can have a hot bath ready in my tent in a matter of minutes.” Fox’s hands shoot up from his sides in self-defense when Bittern starts hurling curses at him. “I run the medical tents, ladies! Hot water is always close by, just in case it’s needed. That’s all I was trying to say.”
“I….” Grouse stares at Bittern, unable to find any reason not to take up Fox’s offer. So far, he’s been the only member of this new house that has been kind, offering help with no intention of exchanging favors. It is a welcomed reprieve from enduring the advances of every eligible male in the pack. “I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”
Fox silently leads the way to the medical tents, motioning for the young ladies to go inside. A rustic table crowds one side of the canvas, tiny vials lining its edges in one long, neat row. In the center of the table stands a heavy looking set of scales and a stone mortar and pestle. From the ceiling drape various plants and flowers, their leaves and petals reaching toward the ground like long grasping fingers, yearning to return to the earth where they once dwelled.
“Cheetah! Bob!” Fox barks at a couple of acolytes waiting just outside the tent flap. “I need lots of warm bath water in the basin. As quick as you can!” Turning to Grouse, his mouth folds into a grim, straight line as he observes her jumpy, agitated state. Any sudden movement or noise is enough to alarm the poor woman. Wordlessly, Fox moves to his array of medicines to prepare a tincture that will calm her fraying nerves.
“Yes sir.” Both young people jump to obey the commands from their leader, neither one bothering to question why he’d ask for bath water in the middle of the day. They saw enough strange occurrences in their first couple of years as medical students to last a lifetime. Peculiarity was more normal than humdrum, everyday experiences.
“Bob?” Bittern questions as she stands close to Grouse, wrapping a warm, comforting arm around her shoulders. Ever since Goldeneye disappeared into the ranks of the soldiers, Grouse has grown increasingly more fearful and erratic. Whether Grouse realizes it or not, Bittern can see how much the girl worries over her friend’s absence. I’ll kill him if he doesn’t check in soon, she vows as she waits for Fox to speak. “Bob’s a strangely mundane sounding name, isn’t it?”
“It’s short for Bobcat. I just call him ‘Bob’ because it rankles him,” Fox replies, his pestle not missing a rhythmic crunch as he slams it into the lavender and passionfruit flowers in the mortar. Their heady aromas fill the air, and even the scent is enough to slow Grouse’s rapid heartbeat.
“Why would you intentionally want to annoy him?” Bittern wonders aloud, struggling to mask the judgmental slur in her voice. “He’s what, barely twelve?”
