by Joe Jackson
As it stood, she wasn’t too far behind; she was fairly certain of that. If she kept her pace through the night and next day, she reckoned she could find him in the next couple of days. The only major concern was getting stopped and either killed or captured by the Si’Dorrans. Thus far, the people of Mehr’Durillia had paid little attention to Sharyn’s lupine form, only marking it as something either shockingly rare or else suspicious, but not enough to justify investigating. If any of them had noticed the golden rings in her ear, they hadn’t cared.
Sharyn paused after scaling a rise with short leaps. Werewolf or no, the terrain here in Si’Dorra was both beautiful and annoying. The landscapes were breathtaking, with rolling hills interspersed between rocky bluffs, with so much green even among the crags that it looked out of place somehow. Sharyn assumed it was because she knew of the realm’s king, and its beauty and the bounty of the land didn’t fit with what she knew of Arku’s viciousness. As a creature of nature, she understood that Mehr’Durillia still had a natural order that even the demon kings couldn’t break, but something about it still struck her as odd. On the other hand, climbing all the hills and bluffs was exhausting work, even for someone with the stamina of a werewolf.
Sharyn sensed she was closing in on Erik, his scent becoming more and more pronounced as the track got fresher. There was another scent with him, but only one so far as she could tell. It seemed to be an elestram female, and Sharyn wondered how or if the woman had been involved in Erik’s freedom. It seemed unlikely it was just the two of them fleeing, but Sharyn detected no other traces. Was it possible there were others guarding them at a distance?
She turned her nose to an updraft that tickled the side of the rocky rise she stood atop, and the fur at the back of her neck bristled. The scent of many people – for apparently, that was all the Mehr’Durillians were beneath all the mystery – carried to her on that breeze. It was the smell of the unwashed, mixed with the scents of leather, metal, and oil. Sharyn knew they were soldiers before she even turned to look down upon them. But then her tension turned to curiosity when she saw they marched west, not east.
Had Erik and his traveling companion turned back around?
Sharyn sniffed around the ground and followed their scents a bit further east, and she soon found a nook among the rocky crags. Someone had bedded down here the night before; was she that close? There were the remnants of a fire, much more obvious to her sensitive nose in this form, and she sniffed around the camp. Erik and his companion had slept here for certain, but then Sharyn caught a much more peculiar scent.
I must be interpreting this wrong, she thought. That hard-ass wouldn’t actually have sex with a beshathan, would he?
Sharyn snorted and ran a paw along the side of her snout. The wind shifted, and she caught the scent before there were any warning sounds. She dashed among the rocks nearby and hid in the deepening shadows of twilight as a pair of beshathans came up the hill. By the sound and scent, they were with the military unit passing down below; they had to be scouts. And they were apparently good ones, because they found the nook as easily as Sharyn had, and the terse conversation between the two of them told Sharyn they understood what they’d found.
The ears of both elestram turned in her direction when they heard the cracking sound, and they came toward the rocks warily, swords drawn. They were cautious and prepared, but it made little difference as Sharyn bounded out at them and bowled one of them over in her hybrid form. Elestram were tall and there was good muscle definition to the one she hit, but against her size and weight, he toppled over effortlessly. Sharyn swiped him brutally across the face with her claws before she leapt forward and turned to face the other.
The second scout stared at her dumbly. Sharyn stretched to her full height, tilted her head back, and let out what would have been a blood-curdling howl to anyone back home. That sent the two scouts into a panic, and even the one she’d wounded got his feet under him quickly and scrambled to get away from her. They tried speaking to her in beshathan. Did they think she might be an erestram or some other Mehr’Durillian they were unfamiliar with?
It mattered little. They were a danger to her friend, no matter what direction the main body of their force was moving, and Sharyn had to convince them to go back west with the others. She crouched down, leaned on one hand, and snarled viciously. To her surprise, neither of the elestram ran. They got their weapons ready, nodded to each other, and began to circle to flank the werewolf.
Idiots, she thought.
She was about to pick one to shred when an echoing, massive howl split the air from down in the valley. That had to be an erestram, and Sharyn wondered what message it had gleaned from her call. She was only trying to shatter the confidence of the men before her, but had someone down below taken her howl as a challenge? Was it possible that the beshathans still had some territorial instincts when it came to such displays?
One of the elestram missed her by inches as she dodged with preternatural awareness. She kicked it full in the face, something people normally didn’t expect from her when they saw her bent, digitigrade legs and feet. But Sharyn could deliver a vicious kick, and the shock of the blow typically opened up defenses for her clawed hands to do their work.
And so it was now. The leather – or whatever the material was in truth – armor of the elestram absorbed her slashes to some extent, but Sharyn cut ties and straps, and left bloody gouges on unprotected flesh. Beshathan fur didn’t absorb the claws as well as Sharyn’s own would have, and she followed up with a couple more clawed haymakers before she spun and kicked the elestram male square in the gut.
Facing the other way now, Sharyn turned and leapt to her right, taking advantage of the other’s expectation that she would lunge at him. She put distance between herself and her two foes, pausing only to flinch at the next bellowing howl that echoed up the hillside. It was hard to tell what message was being sent with these howls; they just weren’t quite the same as the ones she used with her pack to send simple messages. Her gut told her it was a territorial inquiry, and that she should challenge it with another howl of her own.
Sharyn let forth her territorial howl, the one she and her packmates issued when warning someone or something to stay away. Whether or not it would make the erestram mind its own business or else come investigating, she wasn’t sure. Either way, it was just plain rude to not answer, and Sharyn knew that if the situation was reversed, silence would drive her to investigate the reason. In the end, she had little to lose.
The thing that stuck in her thoughts most prominently now was Kris’ requests that they all show mercy to the Mehr’Durillians they crossed paths with. The two elestram didn’t seem all that intent on fighting her, but at the same time, she couldn’t let them turn around and harry her friends. At the least, she had to give them a beating, enough so to send them to the nearest town for treatment. Injuring without killing wasn’t Sharyn’s strong suit, but there was a bit of sense to the thinking that she didn’t want to give people a bad impression of werewolves on her first trip to Mehr’Durillia.
Her elestram “adversaries” took stock of her, but the wounded one showed no interest in re-engaging. His partner covered his retreat, and Sharyn made no move to follow as the second left as well. She waited a minute and then crept to the edge to get a better look down into the valley, and she saw they were making all haste toward their unit. There could be more trouble on the way soon, but the hillside was steep, and even an elestram or erestram would be hard-pressed to run up the incline in time to catch Sharyn.
And with that thought in mind, she backed out of sight and returned to her lupine form.
The werewolf returned to sniffing around the camp, and despite the odd scents, she was able to find their trail heading farther east. She wondered why the soldiers were heading back west, and what mischief Kris had gotten the others into in her absence. Her snout creased in the lupine equivalent of a smile, and she took only enough time to cover Erik and his companion’s sce
nts with her own urinary marking before she dashed off, intent on putting as much distance between herself and that erestram as possible.
*****
Erik and Tarra covered up the camp hastily. She smiled at him every time their eyes met, but she didn’t find the need to talk about the night before. Erik didn’t feel the need to talk about it, either, but for one thing: He was curious whether it really meant anything to her, or if it was a simple night of fulfilling a need. He was sure he knew the answer already, as much as the doubt in his mind said otherwise. There was such a marked difference in the way she had made love to him compared to his czarikk playmates from years before. If Tarra didn’t feel something for him, then it meant he was truly clueless when it came to women.
Once their things were stowed and the camp was at least moderately covered, they came face to face, and Erik took her in his arms. She stroked his face and he returned the gesture. It was so alien to him, and yet it felt right. Erik didn’t understand having feelings for an elestram, but he had avoided finding a mate for so long it was amazing to him to feel anything at all. At times, he’d wondered if he was broken, or if he was just cut from another cloth than his siblings.
True, Sonja and Typhonix were still single as well, but they were much younger than Erik was: Sonja was eleven years his junior, and Typhonix fourteen. Both of them had yet to make it into the thirties, and had – for all intents and purposes – all the time in the world. Erik had a long life to look forward to as well, and he’d used that as an excuse when this very subject had come up in conversation with Kari four years before. But now here he was, four years later, still single and unattached.
Or perhaps not, he thought.
He couldn’t help but wonder how Ty was doing, but he recognized that he had to think of himself and Tarra first, that they would even live long enough to care. No doubt his boisterous brother would have plenty to say about Erik bringing an elestram home, but it would all be in good fun. The trick would be making sure Tarra knew that.
She was staring into his eyes, trying to figure what thoughts were running through his mind. There was such intelligence in that golden gaze, and Erik found he could probably stare into her eyes for days, constantly finding some new depth. In the now, though, Erik assuaged her wondering with a broad smile, and leaned in to kiss her. It was a small miracle that he’d fallen for a woman that was the same size as he; he’d always imagined ending up with a much shorter woman. Tarra was lither, but she had an athletic physique, and she had complemented him in a way he’d never expected when they made love the night before.
She returned his kiss, but they didn’t linger. Today, they would reach the border of the realm of Ekkristis, and endure what should be the final hurdle of their exodus. If Lestanaek the Blademaster, King of Ekkristis, saw fit to imprison or even kill them, then it was all for naught. Tarra was reasonably sure no such thing would take place, but if it did, Erik was glad he’d spent that “last night” with her.
They departed their camp and continued to pick along the highlands until the border was in sight. They could see camps here and there – more permanent ones with homes and amenities built for those who watched the border long-term. There were patrols, but they seemed neither numerous or heavy. There would be increased risk when they had to descend from the rocky crags to the flatter plains, but risk was the backbone of this entire endeavor.
“What are our odds?” Erik teased.
“Almost sixty percent that we are not even noticed if we cross there,” Tarra answered, gesturing to the north with a clawed finger. “I am not certain if that is Resaddek, the realm of King Ouraggra, but I would rather cross directly toward the great peak over Ekkristis.”
“But our odds are worse if we go that way?”
“Lower, but acceptable.”
“And what if I go with you?” came guttural, growling speech from behind the two.
Tarra turned in alarm and gasped before she backed away. Erik swept in front of her, but kept his eyes on the elestram. “It’s ok, Tarra. This is a friend of mine.”
“A friend…? How…?” the elestram woman whispered.
Sharyn’s bestial eyes settled on the elestram. “Tarra…?”
“The same,” Erik confirmed, glancing at the werewolf over his shoulder. “Tarra, this is my friend, Sharyn. I have to do a bit of explaining, but it can wait until we’re across the border. Sharyn, who else came with you?”
“Damn near everyone,” she growled. “Kari stayed home; she was injured. The Warlord leads your siblings and friends. They appear to have made a diversion for you.”
Erik nodded. “Not sure it’s going to be enough,” he said.
“Then let me make another,” Sharyn said, striding forward.
“Wait,” Tarra interjected, stepping before the werewolf but still a respectful distance away. “If you wish to make a diversion, I have an idea that may work.”
Sharyn squatted down on her haunches, and that seemed to ease a bit of Tarra’s tension. “What do you need?”
“Not so much what I need as what I suspect you can do without physical confrontation. How loudly can you howl?”
Erik saw a smirk play on Sharyn’s face before the werewolf answered, “Loud enough.”
“Can you imitate this, but as a howl?” Tarra asked, and she hummed out a short sound. Erik wasn’t sure if the elestram woman couldn’t howl, if they considered it undignified, or if she was just shy about making such a sound. But Sharyn nodded her great lupine head in response, and Tarra smiled. “Excellent. If you were to hide among the hills to the north and howl in that manner, it will attract a lot of attention.”
“Why’s that?” Erik asked.
“It is how the erestram call for help across distances,” Tarra answered. “If the erestram among the border guards hear that, they will go to investigate immediately, and bring many of their comrades with them. Therein lies the risk, for you will need to flee before they arrive, and then try to reach the border before you are stopped. But it should allow us time to cross the border safely, and you… well, you look more capable of taking care of yourself than we do.”
Sharyn blinked slowly and turned her gaze upon Erik, her lupine lips curling up in a grin that sent a shiver down his spine despite the humor behind it. “Never thought I would see you so defenseless,” she growled with a deep, throaty chuckle.
“Enjoy it while you can,” Erik laughed.
And then she was off. The black werewolf stayed as hidden as possible as she ducked along through the rocky crags to the north. Erik followed Tarra southeast once the werewolf was out of sight, and they found a sheltered place among the rocks. Erik considered himself a fairly patient man, but anxiety sank its claws into him as he sat under the bright sun, waiting for the last diversion that would determine whether they escaped or died here. He was worried about Sharyn, but far less so than for himself and Tarra, who had no weapons and no armor. Sharyn would at least carve up a number of enemies before they subdued or killed her. The best Erik could hope to do was ignite himself with hellfire and get killed from a distance instead.
A howl sounded through the fissures, and Erik’s hackles rose. It was loud, but there was an underlying whine to it. He didn’t have to be beshathan or a werewolf to recognize the cry for help for what it was. Sharyn repeated her cry a couple more times, and Erik and Tarra watched over the rocks to see what effect it had on those in the distance. Within minutes, there was a pair of erestram from adjacent camps headed in the werewolf’s direction, and squads of elestram and mallasti soldiers rushed to get in order and follow in their wake.
That didn’t leave the camps uninhabited; if anything, it made those who stayed behind more vigilant, as they took to patrolling back and forth. There were fewer of them now, though, and while Erik and Tarra risked being run down, they wouldn’t be overwhelmed. Erik could call upon his hellfire to maybe hold off an attacker or two as they tried to puzzle out what he was able to do with the flames. That would hopefully b
uy Tarra enough time to cross the border.
Sharyn came bounding over the rocky hillside before the two even worked up the nerve to make their way to the border. She paused only long enough to gesture for them to follow before she was off again, loping on all fours to set a comfortable but determined pace. She had to know Erik was going to be the one who lagged behind, but he pushed himself with every bit of willpower and stamina he had to make the crossing quickly.
It didn’t take long to be spotted once they left the crags, and there was still considerable ground to cover to reach Ekkristis. With Sharyn in the lead, though, Erik’s hopes were running higher than the ears of his other companion. He was sucking wind before long, gasping to keep up a torrid pace to match the long strides of the elestram woman. Tarra, by contrast, seemed to be putting effort into not outrunning Erik, leaving Sharyn to circle and zig-zag to keep from getting too far ahead.
The werewolf crashed into the first resistance with reckless abandon, and Erik saw fur and blood fly in the wake of the collision. He was surprised to see her clawed hands tempered, knocking their enemies down and wounding them, all while refraining from taking obvious kill shots or finishing any of them off. Despite having traveled with her to hunt the Tilcimer, it was the first time Erik got a chance to see Sharyn fight, and he was not disappointed. The fact that she could show mercy when that battle form was built to destroy was impressive in itself.
The beshathan border guards were prepared for trouble, but not of the sort Sharyn proved to be. Tarra didn’t hesitate at all, avoiding conflict altogether and sprinting for what was, to some degree, freedom. Erik stayed with her, confident that Sharyn could take care of herself. He left her to it, and pushed himself until he was sure he was risking total collapse. He ran like the wind, and still only kept up with Tarra because she let him. Fixated on their destination, he didn’t even notice an arrow pierce his folded wing in two places and remain lodged there.
