In a Wolf's Eyes

by A. Katie Rose

  “You’re bloody joking, right?”

  I gaped like a fish out of water, my face burning with yet another hated blush. Gods, I hated blushing.

  “If you’ve never seen a naked woman before,” he began slowly, as though dreading the very words as he spoke them, “you’ve never been with a woman, then, have you?”

  For answer, my face burned hotter. Since looking at either him or the noble woman out cold on the floor was not an option, I found my boots quite interesting. The Synn’jhani had rather nice boots, I thought. Still painfully tight on my feet, I felt, but very nice nonetheless.

  Rygel groaned, the sound of a man in deep pain.

  When he deemed the vicinity safe, he pushed me bodily out into the corridor while I stared steadfastly at my boots, Rygel muttering angrily under his breath about the vagaries of virgins.

  Now we sat under the way out: a small window that opened from the kitchens onto the stable yards. However, a large band of Sins in white and gold fought hand-to-hand with the soldiers of Brutal’s youngest brother, the leaping stag boys. We could not cross to the barns until they killed each other. I guessed the fight would not last long, as the Sins long held the trophy as the best killers in the Federation.

  Rygel muttered another curse, bending to peer quickly around the corner. More soldiers fought and died a few feet away from our hiding place. Should any come around the corner, the game was up.

  As I watched the fighting, Rygel left my side to filch a sweet tart from a tray on the table. He tossed one to me. I munched on the treat, still surveying the battle outside. The Sins had killed most of the leopard boys. Those remaining would break and run at any moment, I just knew it.

  Rygel tucked a few more away for later, and slid on his butt back to my side.

  I rose far enough to peer over the sill at the fighting and gripped Rygel’s shoulder at what I saw.

  “Get ready,” I hissed. “This is our chance.”

  He slid up, his back against the wall, and glanced out. Routing the survivors, the Synn’jhani chased them with yells of triumph and brandished bloody swords.

  “Their backs are to us,” I muttered, drawing my sword. “We attach ourselves to the rearguard and run with them. I doubt they will notice two extra.”

  “Then where?”

  Rather than answer, I half-dragged him with me through the window. With an oath, he followed and jumped down from the sill, his own blade drawn. Rygel running ahead of me as usual, we chased after the white and gold Sins, who never looked back to find two unfamiliar men in their uniforms following on their heels. We leaped the corpses of the dead and almost dead, waving our swords, hoping no one would notice ours had no blood on them.

  Past several stable blocks, the younger prince’s retainers fled toward the city streets. Howling like a pack of deranged hounds, the Synn’jhani pursued them, still waving their bloody blades.

  Mid-step, I grabbed Rygel by the cloak collar and yanked him with me as I ducked into the nearest stable block. He yelped when my action caused him to stumble and nearly fall, but he stifled the sound quickly. I peered around the doorway cautiously, concerned his noise might have been overheard and caused a few of the Sins to return to investigate. Like the well-trained fighting force they were, the Synn’jhani had no interest in anything behind them, only the fleeing enemy in front.

  Retreating around the corner, I breathed a deep sigh. Rygel rubbed his throat where the cloak pin dug deep, scowling at me.

  The noise of the chase outside receded into tense silence as the soldiers ran on. Our entry raised interest in the occupants of the stable, who lifted ears and studied us with bright eyes. A few whinnied.

  “Bloody nitwit,” he grumbled, pulling his cloak back into place. “Give some warning next time.”

  Ignoring his complaint, I sheathed my sword and looked around. No stable hands or grooms appeared to yell a warning or defend the prize animals. Restless horses peered at us over stall walls, eyes wide and nostrils flared as they smelled the battle. Nervous squealing accompanied by the thudding of hooves against wooden doors resounded as many horses demanded to be let out. Or fed. With horses, one never knew which was more important.

  “Where is your horse?” I asked, peeking around the doorway again. I saw naught that raised any alarm bells in me.

  He jerked his head to the right. “Down there two rows.”

  “You want to keep it, or would you rather have one of these?”

  “I’m rather fond of him,” Rygel answered. “He’s not much, but he brought me here. He may as well take me back.”

  “Excellent,” I replied, walking out of the stable, calmly, my head high, as though I had every right to be there.

  “Excellent?” Rygel walked beside me, in step with me. “Why?”

  “Because that’s where my horse is.”

  From the tail of my eye, I caught a quick frown and an uplifted brow.

  “They refuse to give you a name, but they gave you a horse?”

  I entered the stable two blocks down from our original hiding place, my eyes glancing about for any stableboys here. Nothing moved save the barn swallows above and the restless inmates giving us the once-over. “‘Gave’ isn’t exactly the word I would use,” I answered.

  “Ah. So the horse isn’t yours.”

  “He is now.”

  Rygel and I walked down the aisle, looking for our mounts. I stretched out my hand to caress extended muzzles as I passed, many eyeing me with reproach when I failed to linger and feed them. Rufus nickered at me in friendly welcome as I walked to his stall. Rygel paused to watch me as I caressed the huge blazed head, laying my head against the stallion’s broad forehead for a long moment. Rufus nudged my hand, begging for more attention, then nibbled my ear playfully as I straightened.

  “I reckon that’s your horse, all right,” Rygel said, moving away to fetch his own.

  Formerly owned by Commander Balloch of the High King’s royal army, I had trained the flashy bay stallion the previous summer. Often temperamental and violently disagreeable, Rufus had thrown several other horse-breakers, killing one of them. He ruthlessly attacked soldiers and stableboys alike, baring teeth with flattened ears at anyone who ventured too close. Commander Balloch, that fearless leader of the Soudan garrison, never approached Rufus without a club.

  At the very onset of our relationship, Rufus grabbed hold of my left arm and bit deep. With my right, I hit him such a blow between the eyes he staggered and nearly fell. He jumped backward, hooves digging deep furrows into the soft soil of the stableyard, and would have run had I not held his rope. At the end of the tether, he stared at me, ears forward, eyes wide, but made no other movement.

  “Do that again,” I told him. “And I’ll have your guts for garters.”

  I reached to stroke the blaze down his face, and he jerked away, frantic to escape me. It took only a short while to win his trust and, afterwards, Rufus adored me. His manner grew affectionate and even playful, tugging my sleeve or belt, his huge liquid brown eyes bright. For me, his manner was as gentle and obedient as any well-trained mare or gelding. I often felt that, if asked, Rufus would cheerfully die for me.

  Balloch rode Rufus only after I spent an hour or two on his back, calming his savagery, and found other horses to ride if I was unavailable. He still treasured Rufus with a greedy pride, as Rufus was quite simply the best in the royal stables. Few horses compared with him and I knew many, including the High King himself, tried often to buy him. Balloch risked much political disfavor by refusing to sell him. I took bets with other slaves as to how long it would be before the High King had Balloch arrested on false charges and executed. With Balloch and all his property under attainder, Lionel would be free to seize Rufus and all the other assets Balloch had. The entire process quite legal, of course.

  Taking his rope, I led him from his stall. Rygel looked over the back of a tall rangy black gelding he saddled. He whistled when he saw the rest of Rufus, clear of any obstruction. He now rec
ognized Rufus, for tales of the stallion’s exploits reached everywhere. Considerably larger than any other horse in the royal stables, his huge blaze was matched by four glossy white stockings, and his thick black mane fell to his knees. Despite his classy looks, only my reputation as a killer exceeded his.

  He paused to eye me sidelong. “No insult intended, but can you even ride?”

  A sudden mischievousness came over me. In answer, I vaulted onto Rufus’s bare back. Dropping the rope on his neck and with no other means of reining him, I guided him down the wide avenue between stall rows. The soft dirt muffled his hoof beats as Rufus trotted and cantered up and down in obedient response to my knees. At my reinless request, Rufus slid to a sharp halt and backed up, nearly stepping on his thick flowing tail.

  “Bloody showoff,” Rygel muttered as I trotted Rufus back to him. “Put a saddle on that beast if you want to look like a Sin. They don’t ride without saddles and bridles.”

  Grinning at Rygel’s discomfiture, I slid down from Rufus’s back. Although not tied, he stood quietly as I fetched a saddle and bridle. He opened his mouth obediently for the bit, snorting down his nose as I dropped the saddle into place. Rygel eyed the big bay with disillusion.

  “Perhaps you aren’t as thick as you look,” he remarked, swinging into his saddle.

  “Oh?” I asked, quirking a brow over Rufus’s cavalry saddle as I tightened his girth. “Aren’t all gladiators as dumb as tree stumps?”

  “Of course they are.”

  He reined in his gelding beside Rufus, staring down at me, tawny eyes glinting. “There are tree stumps,” he said soberly. “And then there are tree stumps. You fall into the category of the latter.”

  Laughing inwardly, I vaulted into my saddle and picked up the reins. Rufus and the black danced in place, fretting at their bits. No doubt, the lack of any recent exercise added to their sensing our stress that caused them to want to run. Forlorn whinnies trailed after us as the remaining inmates complained we neglected to feed them.

  “We go calmly.” I curbed Rufus sharply. “Let’s not attract too much attention just yet.”

  Nodding his agreement, Rygel followed me out of the barn, our horses trotting smoothly. Huge, the smooth sandy stable yards encompassed the entire back of the royal palace, built with enough room to train a cavalry in. The gates into Soudan seemed very far away. I set my sights on the half-open gate, my back itching as though feeling the weight of evil stares on it.

  “Ho there! Stop!”

  So, my back wasn’t so far wrong, then. I whipped my head around at the voice, my heart leaping into my throat. A mounted column of Federal troops in purple and gold emerged from behind stable block several hundred rods away. I recognized Balloch, the garrison commander, at the same moment he recognized me. And Rufus.

  “There they are!” he howled. “Take them, and take them alive! And I will kill any man who harms that horse!”

  Gods above and below. I urged Rufus into a gallop, Rygel hard by on my right. Should we escape them, Balloch would never relent in his pursuit of me. He hated and feared me, and I had stolen his most prized possession. The loss of face, and Rufus, meant he would outstrip Brutal in his hunt for me. One bad enemy on my tail was enough, but two—

  I made my decision in an instant.

  “Rygel, go on!” I yelled, wheeling Rufus around. “I’ll cover your escape.”

  Drawing my blade, I dropped the reins on Rufus’s neck. With both hands on the hilt, I charged the ranks of soldiers. If I could kill Balloch, his men might just think their own hides valuable enough to cut and run. As a commander, Balloch failed to inspire much loyalty. If I didn’t? Today was as good a day to die as any. At least I would go down fighting.

  Rufus slammed chest-first into Balloch’s horse, making the other beast stagger and swerve to keep its feet. I must admit Balloch put up a decent fight. He parried my first thrust, and deflected my second. His eyes, filled with fury at my gall in stealing Rufus, warred with his fear of me. Sweat not caused by the summer’s heat or the brief exertion of battle streamed in rivulets down his face. I curled my lip in a silent snarl.

  Kneeing Rufus sideways, I relaxed the pressure on the other horse, causing it to stumble. I feinted at Balloch’s helmet, forcing his head back and his sword to rise. However, his sword blocked mine when I sought to thrust through his hauberk. That irritated me. I clamped my arm down on his sword as he thrust low to stab me in the belly. He looked up, eyes wide as I brought my sword down on his helmet hard enough to split the steel and his head along with it.

  I scarcely paused to yank my blade free of the corpse and meet the broadsword of the next soldier. He met me with bold blade, his eyes terrified, his sword swinging too wide of me to do any harm. I almost hated to kill him, since he was too frightened to fight well.

  Then chaos erupted.

  Another band of horsemen hit the Federal soldiers from the side, riders wearing no armor but leather clothing and bits of metal on wrists and throats. To my surprise, I saw women wielding light swords and making deadly use of them, cutting the royal troops unarmored flesh to ribbons and killing with savage slashes. Still others, wild hair streaming down their backs, shot the royals with small lethal horsebows. Men cursed, screamed and fell under trampling hooves as the newcomers felled soldier after soldier. Arrows shot from horseback past my face and found marks in faces, throats, punching through armored chests.

  I fought on, slashing my blade across the neck of a soldier who would have stabbed a leather-clad warrior in the back. With a choking cry and a fountain of blood the man fell, his horse kicking its way loose from the milling mass. I kneed Rufus around, raising my sword to meet the next foe and came face to face with Rygel. His own sword raised against me dripped blood, his horse, wild-eyed and lathered, tried to rear.

  He had not fled as I told him. With a grin, he lifted his bloody sword in salute, clapping the fist that held the blade to his chest.

  “Quite the party,” he yelled. “Thanks for the invitation.”

  I groaned. “Do you ever do as you’re told?”

  “Not since I left my mother’s tit.”

  A Federal trooper came at us with a wild scream and swinging sword. Yet, a warrior’s arrow took him through the eye before he came within a few paces of us.

  “Let’s get out of here before these people make us their next targets,” I muttered.

  “I think they’re on our side.”

  “Do you ever stop arguing?”

  Whipping Rufus’s head around, I kicked him into a gallop before Rygel could answer. He jumped over bodies on the ground, both living and dead, Rygel’s horse leaping alongside. An instant later, we rode free of the melee. I glanced back once to catch a glimpse of the last Federal soldiers falling to the ground, and the leather-clad warriors dismounting to pick over the dead and clean their weapons. None of the newcomers seemed interested in chasing us, although I did catch a glimpse of a flame-haired wench staring intently after us. Another tall, red man with a huge mustache on a big rawboned bay also watched our retreat.

  Once free of the palace grounds, the moving crowds hindered our headlong pace. I reined Rufus in to a slower canter, Rygel slowing his black gelding to keep pace.

  “Who were those people?” I asked, glancing back once more for signs of pursuit.

  “Kel’Hallans,” Rygel answered, shifting in his saddle to look around.

  A quick vision of the dark-skinned beauty with those exotic angular green eyes filled my mind. Ly’Tana. Her name came unbidden to my tongue and I almost spoke it aloud. I remembered that Kel’Hallan women fought just as valiantly as the men did. The rumor proved true, I thought, since I witnessed several girls no bigger than pre-adolescent boys slaughter the best the Federation had to offer. I wondered briefly if the exotic princess was with them, but dismissed thoughts of her. If the fighting in the palace had reached the streets, Rygel and I remained in danger. He must have read my mind.

  “We need to get rid of these unifor
ms,” he muttered, fingering his armor uneasily. “Brutal isn’t very popular in this quarter and most anyone with a blade might like our heads as trophies.”

  “Perhaps we should just get out of Soudan.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “We’ll need supplies, first of all. Anyone hunting us will assume we fled into the hills. We have a much better chance right now if we appear to be ordinary citizens.”

  Rygel paused to look me up and down. “At least one of us looks ordinary.”

  I snorted, but inwardly had to agree. A fugitive with any sense would run for the border. Brutal would assume we had sense. Blending into the thousands of people inside the teeming city walls would be easier than finding hiding places in the nearby forests and hills. Hide in plain sight.

  I took note of the people we passed. Fear, panic, anger, and malice rode high in the faces of those I saw. I noticed few unarmed civilians in the crowds, no nobility in carriages or on horseback, no merchants hawking their wares from stalls in the market square. However, I did see a few slaves hurrying about their duties, their expressions tight with panic.

  Those few merchants I did see had armed themselves and walked, rode or drove with no fewer than four mercenary guards. The City Watch patrolled in swarms of five or more, their stout cudgels in their hands, not thrust through their belts as customary. Royal troops rode and walked in greater numbers than was their usual wont, their weapons carried openly. My gut clenched as I realized the innocent had long since fled to the safety of their homes. The buildings we rode passed had shutters over the windows, an act unheard of in this high, late-summer heat. I glanced about, looking more closely.

  Those people on the streets, I judged, were primarily those of the lower classes: peasants, yeoman workers, serfs from the fields, common, low-ranking soldiers, mercenaries and riffraff from the seedier parts of Soudan.

  Most were Khalidian born, but still many others wore the cultural dress of the provinces. I saw Zhous, Jinns, quarrelsome Sabathians. A few Yuons, the dark-skinned people far to the east of Khalid, drove a small herd of reptilian horned y’bex down the wide avenue. Their hands rested on their swords as they eyed the mobs. I guessed they sought to get the prized animals to safety. I saw still many others whose costumes I did not recognize. Most, if not all, held a weapon of some nature, ranging from cudgels, axes, long daggers, large steel hooks, whips, chains, bows, short swords, broken lances, rusty halberds with splintered shafts. Items stolen from the Federal refuse piles, I suspected.