She stared uncertainly at the parallel lines gouged into his side, her hand hovering over close but careful not to touch.
"The leylines around here are... odd. I don't think I can heal you."
"Yeah. Don't. We'll really be in trouble if I let an outsider do magic here. That's reserved for the shamans. Just take care of it the old-fashioned way," he said, nodding to the supplies the healer had handed him.
She carefully cleaned each wound, and when he started to squirm, she distracted him with conversation.
"I've never actually seen you transform before. What happens to your clothes?"
"Why is that everyone's first question?"
"Because it doesn't make any sense? I mean there's clothes, and then there's fur, and then there's clothes again." She patted his hip, where he might have forgotten to remove his small, last resort bodkin. "Everything back in its place."
He sighed, tilting his head back to stretch from side to side, while covertly making sure no one was close enough to overhear what many would consider Tribe secrets.
"We don't really change. It is more of an exchange. One form for another. When I'm here, the Hound isn't. And when the Hound is here, this form, and everything with it, goes somewhere else."
"So where does the other form go? When you're not using it, I mean?"
"I don't really know. Though the form we inhabit influences it, the spirit remains the same and it remains here. The shamans might know, but I doubt they'd ever share that with me."
He shrugged. Ran used to worry about it. Ask all kinds of question that no one could answer. Phelan had never cared, as long as the right body came back when he needed it to.
When Selena was done, Phelan rummaged through his pack for a clean shirt, then they went in search of Tala and the volunteers.
Looking around at the two dozen warriors gathering their gear outside the tribunal building, Phelan's heart sank. As fierce as the Tribe warriors were known to be, this might be enough to hold the outpost against the force Tresk was sending, now. But not nearly enough for when the Warlord started dispatching reinforcements.
Phelan caught sight of Xahir leaning against the building, two packs at his feet and crossed the distance to speak with the shaman. "This is our contingent, then?"
"These are the ones already here in the enclave who volunteered. Messengers are already being sent out to the rest of the kin-tribes. Others who choose to volunteer will join us along the way."
Surprised, Phelan tried not to show it. He'd thought they'd only get help from the kin-tribes present. But, if they were going to spread the word, he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.
Taking note of the shaman's knowing look and smug satisfaction, a suspicion that had been worming through Phelan's subconscious bloomed fully into being. Leaning a little closer, he kept his voice low enough not to carry, in case any of the warriors had shapeshifting gifts.
"You let me win, didn't you?"
"Did I?" Xahir asked mildly. "Why would I do that?"
His face stayed impassive, his voice bland but an air of amusement hovered around him anyway.
Phelan's lip curled in annoyance.
Shamans.
Always manipulating the world for their own entertainment.
"Doesn't matter, I guess." Phelan straightened his shoulders and loomed a little over the shaman. "As long as you're not planning to stab me in the back."
"Don't worry, little cub. If I decided you were in my way, you'd see me coming."
They stared at each other, neither backing down or showing weakness until Selena stepped closer and rested her hand on Phelan's back. He gave in, leaning into her touch, and allowing himself to be steered toward their horses.
*****
Selena sat down on a log by the fire, tired but satisfied. The mood of the group working to set up camp was much different than the one that had gathered in the shadow of the tribunal building that morning.
When they first set out through Tribe territory on the trek back to Wallen Forest and the borderlands, it had been tense and surprisingly quiet. Phelan had been stiff and leery around the Tribe warriors.
But it seemed his showing against the shaman had bought him a little more standing in the eyes of the warriors who'd chosen to join with them. More than one had engaged him as they rode, swapping stories and showing off scars.
Selena had more than a few scars and stories of her own to share. It was easy to let herself get swept up in the ritual of fighters that stretched back to the beginning of time.
The wariness slowly bled off from the group when they found common ground. As more hunters and warriors from other kin-tribes joined them on the ride, it had been easier let go of the fear and the tension. To let go and share in the camaraderie.
By the time they'd stopped for the night, this morning's couple dozen had become a couple hundred. Still, only a drop compared Tresk's army but enough to face the threat coming for the outpost, at the moment.
A weight dropped onto the log, and Selena turned with a ready smile, expecting to see Phelan.
But it was Xahir sitting next to her, looking over the gathered volunteers with satisfaction.
"It's impressive to see so many come together from all different kin-tribes. We have not been united like this since the end of the war. I'm relieved to see the other kin-tribes have seen the danger, as well. It is a fight we must all join if we are to remain free."
Selena raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide her skepticism.
"If you feel so strongly about it, why did you fight him?"
"Because Chieftain Writ is old, stubborn and set in the ways of the past." He paused and glanced across the fire. A dozen warriors from different kin-tribes listened raptly while Phelan recounted some adventure in his usual, captivating fashion. "Besides, they would not have followed Phelan if they had not respected him. And rumor and tradition would have them withholding that respect, if at least some had not seen his worth with their own eyes. Now, gossip is spreading tales of his courage and strength, instead of denying it."
Selena watched as more men and women joined the crowd around him. Smiled at the sense of surprise and gratification their acceptance and praise gave him. He'd never admit it, she was certain, but the exile from his people had been an open wound. Now, it was getting a chance to heal.
"What we are going to do to protect the outpost is important," Xahir said, breaking into her thoughts. "But it will mean nothing if the magic of your home remains vulnerable. If you truly want to defend your land and your people, the spring needs a keeper."
"We're all its keepers. Everyone at the outpost has pledged to do whatever necessary to keep it safe."
Xahir shook his head, frowning at her. "No, those who protect it are its guardians. It needs a keeper."
"And what exactly is a keeper?"
His frown deepened, and he stared hard at her. Whatever he looked for in her expression, he didn't find. Instead, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"You are one of the touched, yet you truly don't know."
She thought about Phelan's assertion that she was a descendant of one of the Goddess-touched from the past. She still wasn't sure she believed her gift was anything but dark, but maybe Xahir could answer a few more questions.
"No. Tell me, please."
"Once, every junction of leylines had a shrine. And every shrine had a keeper. But as the old ways were forgotten, it became only the most powerful shrines that had a keeper. Though many of them forgot their true purpose, as the tradition and burden were passed from generation to generation. The Handmaiden of d'Hara has passed the truth and history from daughter to daughter. The Kelans in Galwei have forgotten their true purpose but always passed on enough training to each successor to keep the power safe. The recent death of the old Kelan has left it vulnerable. The new Kelan has not completely claimed it yet." Xahir paused, his gaze went glassy and far away for a moment before a flicker of revelation
returned his focus to her. "Or, perhaps, it has not allowed itself to be claimed. Either way, though, someone capable of being the keeper remained close at hand.
"Until your father came to power, with the help of his sorcerer, the wellspring along the border was tended by a succession of healers for generations. People would come from all over to ask for herbs and tonics. Hafgan destroyed or scared away any of the wise women and men in Marnak though. Those that did not simply disappear, I mean."
Cold fear dripped along her spine, but she buried it under the burn of anger. Selena kept her voice even and low, but her hand slid to her hip, fingertips resting on her sword.
"What do you know about my father?"
"I know a great many things. Shamans are trained to look beyond the surface. And to feel the strings of fate and destiny as they pull and slacken around us. Your thread is pulled taut, stretched between two intentions."
Selena pinched her lips, but her hand relaxed.
"You'll need to choose, soon, which path to take." His voice was a whisper, but it resonated with finality. "There is no guarantee on either path. One will tie you in place with a burden that is. The other will pull you away from the comfort of the known. Either will separate you from that which you love."
"Doesn't sound like much of a choice," she muttered. "What if I don't choose either?"
Xahir's smirk returned. "Unfortunately, that is not an option. Fate will push and prod. If you don't choose for yourself, it will make the decision for you."
"So, what is the right choice?"
"Only you can answer that. But to protect the entire continent, a sacrifice will need to be made, one way or another."
Selena felt herself pale, she had no idea what he meant, but it rang with truth that she recognized deep in her soul.
"Everything all right?"
Startled by the interruption, Selena turned to find Phelan standing in front of them, eyeing Xahir with a dark look.
"Everything's fine," Xahir said, getting to his feet. "We were just discussing destiny."
Phelan sat down in the shaman's abandoned seat, but his glare followed Xahir until he disappeared into one of the tents his clanmates had brought along.
"Are you really all right?" Phelan slipped an arm around her back and pressed his mouth close to her ear.
"Yeah. His pronouncements were just a little unsettling." Selena smiled to reassure him, but she knew it was a little shaky.
"What did he say?"
"Just that there was a choice coming soon." Selena shrugged, trying to pretend that it hadn't sounded more ominous than that.
"A choice? Let me guess, kind of vague? Probably slightly unpleasant sounding?"
"Exactly."
Phelan rolled his eyes.
"Shamans are all the same. Cryptic for the sake of their egos. That way they can lean back and say 'I told you so' no matter what happens."
Selena laughed, the anxiety and uncertainty bleeding out in the comfort of Phelan's blithe nonchalance. With a sigh of contentment that she knew wouldn't last, Selena leaned her head on his shoulder and allowed herself to enjoy this fleeting moment of peace.
-14-
WHEN he'd arrived at the enclave four days ago, Phelan didn't give a damn what his former kin-tribes thought of him.
Now, though, he rode at the head of more than two hundred of them, knowing they at least respected his hard-earned skills.
Their opinion still didn't really matter, but it was nice to know they saw him as more than an outcast abomination and a warning tale told to children.
Xahir rode on his left. On his right was Elnick, Tala Ven's youngest son. They'd had a few tense minutes when they'd started out the day before when Phelan realized that also made him Lorcan's brother. It was clear from the beginning, however, that he was nothing like his older sibling.
Despite his relative youth, Elnick was the one who would take command of the Tribe if... when... it came time to engage Marnak's troops. He'd been somewhat apologetic when he'd first explained it, but Phelan agreed easily that the young warrior was a much better choice. Phelan was used to fighting his battles one on one. He'd never lead anyone into so much as a skirmish.
It was late afternoon when they finally got within a few miles of the outpost and halted. Elnick sent out a handful of scouts, two of whom transformed first. A fox and a sleek, white spotted cat disappeared into the underbrush while the rest fanned out into the forest in a more conventional advance guard.
The news when they returned wasn't dire, but it wasn't ideal, either.
"They've set up on the edge of the borderlands, within sight of the outpost. Your people are manning the front, but it's obvious the fortifications won't last against a prolonged assault. It's only a matter of time before they decide to attack."
"Well, then," Elnick said, eyes bright with anticipation. "Let's go make sure Tresk's troops know exactly what they'll be facing before they make that decision."
The ride through the last couple of miles was as stealthy as two hundred riders on horseback could be. Phelan was surprised at just how quiet that could be.
When they got close to the outpost, stealth gave way to showmanship. At Elnick's silent hand gesture, they poured out of the woods in a cacophonous wave of thundering hooves and bellowing war cries. The zig-zagging and circuitous path looked like unfettered mayhem at first glance. But Phelan watched closely and saw it for what it was. An intricate, precise dance of riders and horses meant to overwhelm and confuse the enemy.
When the riders finally came to a halt, they were ranged in a solid line halfway between the Marnak company's encampment and the outpost's front gate. Behind them, cheers erupted along the fortified walls.
Phelan and Selena and Xahir watched from the shadows of the treeline, unnoticed by anyone from the Marnak's side as they scrabble around their camp. There was shouting and chaos and ignored commands as they tried to figure out their next move.
Finally, an officer rode out with a small detachment of guards, a thin man in red robes sticking close to his side and constantly whispering in his ear.
When they got within a hundred yards or so, the officer bellowed across the open space.
"This is disputed land. The treaty names this as neutral territory and you're not supposed to be here."
"Neither are you," Elnick responded with no change to his relaxed posture.
The officer seemed nonplussed by the succinct response, and Hafgan's man hissed in his ear.
"We're on the Marnak side of the disputed lands," he finally shouted back but sounded much less confident than he had the first time.
Phelan couldn't see Elnick's smirk from where he was, but he could hear it in his voice.
"And we're here to see you don't cross over it onto the other side of it. Although I think you did, just now, by about ten feet or so."
Startled, the officer looked over his shoulder like he expected to see a line drawn in the grass. Phelan grinned, but something tugged at the edge of his awareness. Something was off about the situation but whatever it was eluded him.
Elnick continued to exchange insults and threats with the blustering officer. Phelan half-listened, amused by the young warrior's laconic delivery that only seemed to further infuriate his foes. But while he grinned at the antics, he focused on the feeling that something wasn't right. That something was missing. The unease wasn't just his own, either. It ran thick along the bond from Selena, as well.
Something was missing. Someone...
Selena hissed and wheeled her horse around, racing for the path that cut through the woods to the back side of the outpost and the wellspring clearing beyond. He recognized Selena's shock and outrage and fear rushing along the connection and understood without needing any words from Selena.
"Mora," he spit the name like a curse. That was what was missing. Who was missing.
Phelan turned to follow Selena but paused to look back at the line of riders. They were
here to protect the outpost because of him. For him.
If Marnak stopped posturing and attacked, he should be with them.
Phelan trusted Selena to take care of herself, but letting her go into danger without him was an impossible decision.
"Go," Xahir said. "The true battle is not out there. If she fails, what happens on that field is meaningless."
Grateful, Phelan jumped from his horse and called for the Hound. As soon as paws replaced feet, he chased after his mate without another thought.
*****
When the track to the spring became too over grown for her horse to safely traverse, Selena abandoned it and ran the last hundred yards on her own. She burst into the clearing and found her brother in a standoff with Mora. The sorceress had Omal by the throat, a knife pressed into her side while she chanted angry, evil-sounding words that Selena half recognized. Arun stood firmly planted in front of the spring, refusing to let Mora near the water.
Selena took up position a few feet away from her brother a moment before the Hound raced in. He set himself so the three of them made a wide semi-circle around Mora and her hostage.
The chanting broke off, and Mora glared at each of them in turn. Her eyes, fierce and angry, twitched between them before settling on the Hound.
"I knew it was one of you," Mora sneered. "It takes more than cutting your hair and changing your name to remove the stench of beast and barbarian from you."
Her eyes flicked to Selena. "Don't expect much help from the likes of it. They couldn't even keep the Alwyns safe. And my mentor is on his way as we speak to finish what Irana started on the Isles."
The Hound stiffened, muzzle peeling back to bare his teeth. His pain and despair and nearly feral fury snapped into her. But she also felt his resolve not to be goaded into making a mistake. He was coiled and ready, though, to take advantage of any opportunity.
Trying to draw Mora’s attention, Selena shifted forward. "Let Omal go. No matter what, we're not letting you get control of the spring. You've lost. It's over."
By Blood Betrayed (The Lost Shrines Book 3) Page 17
