Wolf pack, p.4
Wolf Pack, page 4
She looked as if she might speak, but her brow pinched, and tears fell instead.
Ferth shifted forward, not knowing what to do, wanting to cradle her, but feeling like he could not touch her again. Not without her permission. Never again.
Lyko stepped to Shale’s side and leaned his warmth against her thigh.
With her fingers gripping Lyko’s fur, she turned and walked out of the tent with the wolf.
Every rib in Ferth’s chest cracked as he and Rom silently followed them out.
The drums called them south of camp to a rolling field. Seven blaring fires burned around an army of soldiers, all facing the center, where Cal’s body lay clothed in white silks above an altar of sticks.
This would be a good time to attack. Even as he thought the words, Ferth cringed. He was not a Draco Sang captain anymore.
Shale and Lyko glided between a company of soldiers toward Cal, but Ferth stopped on the edge with Rom.
Shale reached the cluster of a dozen warriors with their hewans. A small moat of space separated those with Draco Sang blood from the rest of the army.
Zemira embraced Shale. Good. She had made friends here.
A hawk soared down and landed on Shale’s shoulder.
Realization hit like one of Keal’s punches. Ferth reeled, clutching at Rom’s back to keep from toppling.
He blinked. “How did we not see it? How did I not know?” His legs shook. “She was my slave. And she was Draco Sang.” The horror of it rose like bile in his throat.
“She hid it well,” Rom said. “But it makes sense now. She did not seem like an ordinary slave.”
“No, she is no ordinary woman.” Ferth thought of her strength, thought how her fertile blood had called to him, still called to him. “How many more slaves hiding their hewans do you think there are in Skotar?”
“More.”
The thought didn’t chill Ferth as much as he expected it to, not nearly as much as his next thought. “She will never forgive me.”
“You were a good master.”
“There is no such thing,” Ferth said.
“She came back to Skotar to save your brother.”
Ferth needed time to think on that. What had Cal meant to her? Why had she done that? “And she returned with me instead.”
Across a hundred heads, Captain Titus approached Shale and they turned. Both faces found Ferth over the sea of soldiers.
Titus motioned them forward. When Ferth shook his head, declining the invitation, Titus strode over.
“Come, soldier.” His voice was hard. “You will stand as you are assigned.”
“Yes, sir.”
Titus led Ferth to a space behind Uriah, Zemira, and a large man holding the baby. With a start Ferth realized he was the same man Ferth had fought with when he’d stolen the baby. It seemed a world away, a life separate. The man eyed him pointedly, but the rest ignored Ferth. Uriah didn’t lift his gaze off the pyre.
A raven, perched on an older woman’s shoulder, turned around and trained its glossy eyes on Ferth. Ferth nodded an acknowledgement, but the creepy bird didn’t blink or shift its stare.
The music changed and the assembly dropped to one knee. Ferth knelt on two. Captain Titus stood and with a booming voice, praised their fallen comrade. Praised Callidon for his strength, for his sacrifice, for his humanity. Callidon was loved, honored, revered. Callidon had died for Elysium. Callidon died for freedom. Callie Poe bore his name, but may they all bear his errand in this fight. Let no Draco Sang find victory here.
Vomit rolled up Ferth’s throat, coating his mouth in acid. He swallowed bile and bit down hard on his tongue. He gagged, but sealed his lips and swallowed it all back down. Down. Down.
A bone-jarring cheer rang through the night as Titus finished his rousing tribute.
When silence fell, Zemira stood. As she got up, Shale came into view. Ferth thought for a moment Shale looked to him, but his chest crumpled when he realized she stared at Uriah. Jealousy flamed through him at the look she sent that man. And Uriah didn’t spare her a glance. Didn’t even notice the longing in Shale’s eyes. No, Ferth was left to watch it. Ferth wanted the ground to devour him, but it was hard and unyielding.
Zemira opened her mouth, and her song rent the night. Powerful notes rang over the army, piercing and clear.
When we fall into the pit and darkness swallows us whole,
There we find that the Great Ones descend below.
They rise up and carry us on.
Though the road is grim and bleak,
They go before our feet.
Carry him home.
Raise me up.
If they leave us on the brink, for them we will not sink.
Let us carry the sacrifice on. Carry it on.
Grant us their mantle of honor that we might carry it ever onward. Ever forever onward.
Firelight reflected off the tears streaking Zemira’s face. The Warrior’s Rite ended, but the music seemed to linger in the air and in Ferth’s soul. The raven cawed. Zemira extended a hand to Uriah and pulled him to his feet. One of the commanders passed them each a torch, giving one to Captain Titus and keeping one.
The drums rocked Ferth’s bones as the four took their places surrounding Cal.
Captain Titus set his flames against the pyre first, leading off the commander and Zemira. Flames licked the sky before Uriah finally threw his torch in. He stood so close, Ferth thought the fire might claim him too.
As the inferno devoured the face that matched his own, grief embraced Ferth. He thought of the time he never had with his brother. If only he could go back and save Cal instead of bringing him death. Death by the horn of their father. Their father who was now his enemy. The exquisite pain of regret overwhelmed Ferth’s mind. The fire burned through him as it did Cal. Ravishing, destroying, purifying.
Ferth sank lower on his knees. The heat hollowed his insides. His raw heart pounded with the rhythm of his brother’s death drums. Hazy darkness engulfed him. The world disappeared.
When Ferth could finally peel his soul away from the embers of what had been a mighty fire, a mighty life, he knelt abandoned in a grassy field, the dawn approaching. Everyone had left him alone with his sorrow and shame except Rom and Lyko, who slept nearby.
Lyko lifted his head as he sensed Ferth’s attention returning to this world.
“He lives on in you,” Ferth said to Lyko.
“And in you.” Floating ash landed on a white nose.
“Let’s make him proud.”
The wolf nodded, and Rom nudged his head against Lyko’s neck.
“We’ve got work to do.” Ferth turned his gaze north, toward the training yards, toward Skotar, toward the father who had killed his son.
Five - Confirmed
THIRRO
The weary scout landed heavily outside the command tent, near where Thirro loitered in the shadows. Thirro slid closer, ears perked, as Commander Mina approached the flyer.
“Confirmed visual of Ferth,” the bat Draco said to Mina. “He’s human and has a wolf abomination with him, the second wolf in the camp. He is not treated like a prisoner. He seems to have joined their army, along with the escaped slave, Shale.”
Exactly as Thirro had said. Satisfaction warmed his feathers.
“Come in.” Mina motioned the flyer toward command. “You will report the details to Chief Laconius.
Thirro slunk to Ferth’s tent—his tent now—and dropped his bow and quiver on the table. He picked up one of the traitor’s books—a ballad. What a waste of time. Thirro dropped the book when the door of the tent peeled back. Dara marched inside. Shadows circled her puffy eyes.
“Still weeping for our lost comrade?” His voice dripped with scorn.
“It still smells like him in here.”
“Regretfully.”
“You truly feel nothing? What we saw wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal.” Dara looked at Ferth’s things. “What happened to him? How?”
“I wasn’t surprised.”
“Yes, you were.”
Thirro didn’t appreciate being reminded of how he’d reacted that night. He hated that Dara had witnessed his hesitation and shock. And since then, he’d had plenty of time to remember how Ferth had protected underlings. How he’d snuck food to slaves. “He’s always been weak.”
“He could beat you in a fight.” Dara’s voice rose.
Resentment flared in his breast. “He couldn’t even beat his beast.”
She rolled her eyes, but her shoulders slumped. She turned away. Defeated.
“You’re welcome for covering for your cowardly silence. I could have told them you were with me. You saw it too.”
Her face hardened as she whirled back. “And I could have said you lied about several important details.”
“And you’re too late to speak up about it now.”
She glared, her orange eyes like twin fires. “I don’t owe you anything.”
He cracked a crazed grin.
“I certainly don’t miss you in our tent.” With that parting blow, she waltzed out.
He muttered curses at her under his breath, marched over to Ferth’s bed, and sprawled across, claiming it. The tooth around his neck slid over his chest, shaving off small feathers in its path and cutting into his arm as it came to a stop. He was going to look like a molting hen if he didn’t do something about this stupid trophy. Careful not to let the tooth cut him again, he got up and left.
Laconius was resting alone when Thirro entered command. Perfect.
“You look to be healing up nicely, my chief.” Thirro executed a beautiful bow.
Laconius closed his eyes with a sad sigh and leaned back against pillows. “You were right, Thirro.”
Beautiful words. Warm pride gushed through him, bringing tears to his eyes.
“My son is a traitor and an abomination. I have no son.”
“You have me. I will not fail you.”
Laconius opened his terrible eyes and studied Thirro. Thirro leaned so the treasure on his chest would swing forward. Laconius’s focus shifted to it. Thirro gratefully lifted it off his neck and held it out.
“A token of my devotion to you.”
The chief accepted the giant tooth, crusted with rusty black blood. “An iron-toothed crosk.”
Thirro swelled at the awe in Laconius’s voice. “Yes, sir. While scouting last night, I found one outside of our camp. I couldn’t risk it harming one of our own.”
Laconius turned the tooth over and over in his thick fingers. “You took it down yourself?”
“Cutting that out of its jaw was the hardest part.” He grinned.
Laconius laughed. “Well done.” He sobered. “I see I have underestimated you.”
Thirro’s ribs expanded nearly to bursting. The tent flap rolled back, and Jade sauntered in. He deflated.
At least she couldn’t worship that traitor Ferth now. A smug smile crossed his lips. He had enjoyed telling Jade of her hero’s tragic fall. He’d seen the horror in her eyes, the utter devastation. He hated Ferth more after seeing Jade’s broken-hearted reaction.
“My chief.” She smiled at Laconius before giving Thirro a curt nod. “Thirro.” She turned her delicate face back to Laconius. “I’ll be brief so you can rest. I found an iron-tooth crosk carcass one mile northeast of camp.”
Thirro smiled.
“Yes.” Laconius held up the jagged tooth. “Thirro here is telling me how he brought it down.”
Pale purple eyes narrowed on Thirro. “How did you get your blade under its arm before it killed you?”
His grin broadened. “Skill.”
“There was blood everywhere.” She looked at the hanging tooth, her brow furrowed in thought and her emotions unreadable.
“We’ll leave you to rest, chief.” He swept his arm, motioning Jade to leave in front of him.
She darted out. He ducked the low door, unable to move as fast. He caught a glimpse of the deep purple sash she wore tied to her weapons belt as she slipped around the back of the tent. He followed. He jumped around the corner and caught her elbow before she could disappear. He pulled her close as she jerked at her arm. He didn’t let go; his sharp fingernails dug in. She swung a blade at his chest with her free hand, but he’d anticipated her move. Using his strength and size advantage, he grabbed her wrist and squeezed until she released her weapon.
“Going somewhere?”
“Away from you.”
He chuckled, bringing his face closer to hers. “Ah. You don’t mean it.”
She tugged at her arm, and he wrenched it behind her back, drawing her front against his chest as he secured her other wrist in his long wiry fingers. He brought a blade to her belly. Her breath hitched.
“You hit me.” His voice was as soft as a lover’s caress. “And in public.”
The flash of fear in her eyes set his pulse singing.
“Do you think because you’ve got fluff on your scalp, you’re my equal?”
“I was very upset about Ferth. I reacted poorly.”
“Is that an apology?” He licked his lips as he looked over her enticing face. Was she ever going to grow fur on that freckled nose? He found it hard to believe someone with a heart as stony as hers might still have that much human weakness in her.
“Is that what you want?”
“I want a lot of things, but I’ll start with retribution.” He thrust her back, making sure his blade sliced through skin.
Violet eyes burned with hatred above gritted teeth. Her pointed canines gleamed. One of her hands went to her weeping waist, the other to a short sword. Before she could draw, he backhanded her across the jaw with all his strength. She flew, landing on her side with a thump.
He straightened his vest and marched away, grim but determined, paying no attention to the murderous look she directed at his back.
Six - Exposed
FERTH
Ferth’s back hummed a harrowing hymn. He’d taken his dressing off himself yesterday before the funeral with no replacement. After this morning’s training exercises, Cal’s undershirt had become the new bandage. He couldn’t move without feeling the stuck linen pull at his stripes. He wouldn’t be able to get the shirt off alone without making things worse. Checking over his shoulder like a fugitive, he worked his way to the healers.
“Don’t let Shale in here,” he said to Rom when they reached the low building.
Rom curled up at the door. Lyko was on the other side of camp with Captain Titus and his lion hewan, Eio.
Satisfied that Ferth hadn’t been seen by anyone he knew—the list was short—he slipped inside. Three rows of cots ran down the length of the long room. Rectangular brick fireboxes dotted the spaces between the rows. Only the first few beds had occupants.
“Morning, sir,” a woman said as she approached. She smiled kindly and the skin around her eyes crinkled up. Gray hair twisted into a knot at the top of her head.
Ferth’s knees buckled at the sharp memory of Keturah—the slave woman who’d raised him, nursed him, tended him, loved him. He’d left her in the slave quarters at Shi Castle. Far from this freedom.
The healer stepped forward in concern. Sturdy fingers gripped his forearm. “You’re ill.” She motioned toward the first open bed.
He straightened. “No. I’m not ill.”
Her brows lifted.
“I’m fine actually. I just need. Um. I just need a bit of dressing. For a wound.”
She scanned his upright frame, clearly confused. “And how much dressing does the wound require?” She grinned.
“Quite a lot.”
“I see.” She clasped her hands over her apron. “Actually, I don’t see.”
She was teasing him. Ferth shifted his feet. “I guess I’ll have to show you.”
“I guess you will.” She spoke as if sharing a joke.
“Over here maybe.” He strode past the other patients, several of which had taken an interest in the conversation. He stopped halfway down the building, in the shadows. The fires had not been lit this far down. He faced the front, making sure to make eye contact with each curious face until they turned away. He did not want anyone to see his stripes. He did not want anyone to talk about his whipping. He did not want Shale to find out. He slowly peeled off his jacket.
The healer, standing in front of him, watched with matronly amusement.
He unbuttoned the shirt and let it hang open, revealing healthy skin. Her eyes locked on the stark Draco Sang brand above his heart.
“If you could help me get this shirt off?”
She stepped behind him and lifted her short arms high to his shoulders. Ferth grimaced as she, none too gently, started to tug the linen down.
She gasped. “Oh, my.” Her voice was sorry, not a trace of her earlier cheer. Achingly slowly she peeled away at the rest of the cloth. Warm liquid dribbled down his back in itchy rivulets. “Best lie down.” She kept a comforting hand on his arm as she invited him onto the bed.
“Please,” he said before moving an inch. He looked over his shoulder to stare in her eyes. “Not a word to anyone.”
Her sad gaze flickered over his back. “Who did this to you?”
His voice hardened. “Not a word.”
She exhaled and nodded.
With a tired sigh, he lay face down on the bed.
“I’ll be right back.” She returned three times with supplies and set a torch near her tray. She picked up a wet cloth smelling of witch hazel and herbs. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
She brought the rag down.
Not ready. The acid burned. His back arched. His jaw clenched. His eyes watered.
“I’m sorry, dear. I must clean them properly. They’ve festered and somehow you’ve gotten gray fur stuck in here.”
Somehow. He wondered what fun it would be to tell her that it was his fur, but a whimpered acknowledgment was all he could eke out of his tight lips. Was it only two days ago that he was a feared Draco Sang wolf?
