In a Wolf's Eyes

by A. Katie Rose

  Then the reality of why they were there hit me.

  They intended to capture us and turn us over to the High King’s soldiers. Just as I tried to warn Rygel, they would use us to bargain themselves back into Brutal’s good graces and thus return safely home.

  “Yield.” Her voice, while light and feminine, held the firm tone born of command. A single white feather braided into her hair danced at her every movement.

  We are dead anyway, I thought. Better to die here, quickly, than with the torments Brutal could devise. In spite of how badly Brutal wanted us, I doubted very much if the newly crowned High King cared whether we still had a pulse.

  One movement of my sword would bring the arrows. I tightened my grip on the hilt and looked into Rygel’s eyes. I saw no fear, no anger and no remorse. As clearly as if he had spoken, I read his thought. Let them do what they came to do, he said. His eyes calmly urged me to yield, to surrender. Nay, I sent back, I would not. Today was a good day to die.

  I tensed myself to spring at the closest Kel’Hallan, the beautiful, exotic princess. She foolishly stood too close to me. If I took her down first, perhaps they others would shoot enough arrows into me to give a porcupine a run for its money. Rygel’s eyes shifted, warning me, staying me. His gaze asked me once more: yield, braud. Please.

  I hesitated, suddenly uncertain.

  “Don’t, man.” The big warrior holding Rygel also tensed, sensing my preparation to fight.

  “One move and you both die,” the princess said.

  I looked at neither of them. Rather I looked at my friend, my brother, as he silently asked the impossible. Trust me, Rygel’s eyes said.

  Damn it. I hated it when he said that.

  Please, his eyes asked.

  Damn your bloody hide, I retorted, growing angry.

  Trust me, he pleaded, please. I know what I’m doing, his eyes said. I wanted to sigh.

  Very well, I thought. Usa’a’mah, and Rygel, protect us. Flicking my glance to the princess, I relaxed and reversed my blade. I held it over my arm, hilt first, to her in formal surrender. She accepted both sword and surrender without speaking and leaned my blade against the wall, out of reach.

  “Dagger too,” the big man barked.

  I unbuckled my sword belt, dagger still sheathed, and dropped it to the floor.

  “Now,” Redhead spoke to Rygel rather than me. “Any whisper of magic and your big friend is dead. Understand?”

  Rygel nodded, a short quick jerk of his head.

  “I will withdraw my blade, and you will get on your knees to Her Royal Highness.”

  Again, Rygel nodded without speaking.

  Redhead sheathed his knife and forced Rygel to his knees before the princess. For the first time I saw Rygel’s hands were tied behind his back. Then Redhead moved swiftly behind me, pulling a leather thong from his belt.

  “Put your hands behind you.”

  I reluctantly obeyed. He rapidly tied my wrists together in a knot I could never untie. Then he kicked my knees out from under me and forced me down beside Rygel.

  Princess Ly’Tana took the only chair and sat down, her manner and imperious expression suggesting she were granting audience to petitioners in her throne room.

  I glanced sidelong at Rygel, catching his eye. “I’m too slow to kill you,” I muttered, “but these morons can take you hostage?”

  Instead of answering, he snickered, unable to control that short burst of humor. Sharp cuffs from Redhead and a bark for silence rewarded our quick exchange. We obeyed, but Rygel’s mouth thinned, his expression mulish.

  The silence dragged out for a long moment. I thought the princess seemed oddly hesitant, cutting her eyes from mine and looking at her hulking red warrior behind me.

  “This is not as it seems,” she said at length.

  “It seems you intend to turn us over to the High King,” Rygel commented mildly.

  The brute behind us cuffed Rygel across the ear, a blow hard enough to send him reeling, off-balance, into me.

  “Keep a civil tongue in your head when you address Her Highness,” he barked.

  I could not stop the low rumbling growl emanating from my throat. The daemon tugged at his collar, urging me to free him. I glared at Redhead and started to rise to my feet. He stared back, his eyes challenging me, daring me.

  “Go ahead,” I muttered thickly, the growl unchecked. I couldn’t help my temper, the daemon, now loose from his chain and raging dangerously out of control. “Touch him again. Give me an excuse to rip out your heart and feed it to you.”

  Redhead’s eyes narrowed as he hefted his sword.

  “Kel’Ratan.”

  The princess’s voice remained soft and quiet, but Redhead, like a dog called to heel, moved away from Rygel and me.

  I matched him glare for glare, my own lip curled in a snarl to mirror his. No doubt, we were like two mastiffs stalking round each other before the fight. Generations of warriors in my ancestry would not allow me to back down easily. Nor would the years of killing better men than this in the stadiums of the Federation. Despite the thongs biding my wrists, I started to my feet. Only her voice dragged our eyes away from each other and made me pause.

  “So it would appear to you,” she said quietly. “Yet that is not our intention.”

  “Then what is your intention?” Rygel snapped. “Perhaps you intend to kidnap us for your own amusements?”

  Instead of growing angry at his tone, the princess smiled. A smile that looked both sad and bitter.

  “We have come here to seek your help.”

  For once Rygel had nothing to say. I never thought any soul in this world could hold Rygel silent. I clenched my jaw this time, but not in anger. I set it to prevent it dropping in profound bafflement. My temper cooled immediately. I recognized when her smile widened, grew less bitter, and held a trace of wry satisfaction.

  “Ah, so that surprises you.”

  Help them? My mind whirled with possibilities. What in Usa’a’mah’s name could we do to help these barbarian people? Perhaps they wanted us to kill Brutal as well as his sire? I suspected they knew that idea was well-nigh impossible, under the circumstances. As if reading my thoughts, her eyes turned to me.

  “Being a gladiator, I trust you are familiar with the training arena?”

  I dropped my head once in a nod, suddenly wary. She knew something I did not. I shut my teeth on a sudden desire to ask questions and waited. Sweat trickled down between my shoulders, making my spine itch.

  Rygel had no such compunctions about asking questions, however. “What the bloody hell would you want there?” he demanded.

  Her green eyes flashed. “Brutal has taken prisoner one of my friends. He is holding him prisoner at the arena. And I mean to get him out.”

  In her eyes, I saw a dangerous flash, a determination and an iron will. Obviously, she was not one to watch from behind the lines of battle, I mused, but one at the forefront of every fight, sword raised and screaming for blood. If anyone dared keep her from this captured friend of hers, I could only pity him.

  “My sources tell me Brutal is keeping him there,” Ly’Tana continued. “This friend is too big to be housed anywhere else. I’m told the only way to get him out is heavily defended against us.”

  “The griffin,” Rygel exclaimed.

  “The what?” The question burst out before I could bite it back.

  Rygel turned to me, his eyes lit with excitement. “You don’t have them in your land?”

  I must have looked blank, for he went on, occasionally glancing at Princess Ly’Tana for confirmation.

  “A griffin is a mystical creature, very rare in this day and age,” he went on, raw energy in his tone. “Half lion, half eagle, a race hunted nearly to extinction. They are highly intelligent, gifted even.”

  “Bar has been my guardian since I was an infant,” Ly’Tana murmured.

  “And the High King has him hostage?”

  Her head dropped once in a curt nod. “Indeed. As
I have said, Brutal has him in the slaves’ arena…the only place large enough to hold him. We do not know the tunnels beneath to find our way in secretly.”

  Her green eyes locked with mine. “Yet you do.”

  I tried with all my strength to fathom what I saw deep in those beautiful eyes. Some hint of her thoughts, some clue as to the mind that lay beneath the thick fall of dyed hair. Dark hair didn’t suit her somehow, I thought haphazardly. I saw instead a shield protecting those very thoughts I sought. She had a wall around her soul that held a strength that rivaled my own. My own eyes were inscrutable, I knew, as I had learned long since to hide all thoughts and feelings.

  “Will you help us?”

  Braced to counter threats to force me to do as they wanted, the question, nay, it was a near-plea, threw me into confusion. A sword at Rygel’s throat would have had me jumping through their flaming hoops rather nicely. I hesitated, uncertain of the ground ahead of me. A trap, perhaps?

  Without taking my gaze from hers, I mentally shrugged. It was all in the hands of the gods, I reckoned. I finally spoke.

  Chapter 10

  Agree to No Longer Disagree

  “What will you give us in return?”

  Wolf’s soft voice broke the tense silence. Although I expected one of them to speak, I nearly jumped out of my skin when Wolf did. Inwardly cursing myself for a fool, I opened my mouth to reply, but Kel’Ratan forestalled me.

  “You have nothing to bargain with, slave,” he barked. “You will do as you are bid.”

  You thick-witted, bone-headed nitwit, I thought, you mulishly stupid man. I wanted to scream the words, but kept them in my mind with an effort. I gritted my teeth, hiding my rage at my kinsman’s blunder. While we may be able to hold Rygel hostage to Wolf’s good behavior, I wanted their cooperation. My instinct told me their alliance with us was essential and their ill will exceedingly dangerous. A wizard with magic in his hands and unbelievable cruelty in his heart together with a gladiator adept at killing was not a combination I wanted set against me.

  Wolf’s cold strange eyes narrowed. I watched him tense, his muscles bunching to impel him forward. I knew then that Kel’Ratan’s words had been enough to send the gladiator close to the edge of self-control. Like a panther uncoiling itself to spring, Wolf rose from his knees. He flexed his huge muscles, popping the leather thongs that bound his wrists. He broke the tough, fire-hardened leather as though snapping a child’s ribbon. Impossible, I thought. No one could break those ties; those thongs were as strong as steel.

  Kel’Ratan shifted his stance, crouching into a battle-readiness, his sword once more out and leveled. At his movement, my warriors stretched bowstrings to their ears, the creaking suddenly loud in the heavy silence. Holy Lady, nay, I thought. They will kill him. Should he die, so should Bar.

  Kel’Ratan lifted his sword, his lips curled into a snarl. Wolf dropped to a half-crouch, unarmed, ready to meet an armed man with nothing more deadly than his hands. He pushed Rygel behind him, his scarred body shielding his friend. No trace of fear in those altered yet still eerily cold eyes, facing his certain death with incredible courage. Or perhaps it was stupidity? With men one never knew.

  I wanted to scream in frustration. Why did the Lady put men’s brains in their muscles rather than their heads? Lady above, help me now.

  I did not scream. Instead, I jumped between the two, thanking Nephrotiti in a quick prayer that, thus far, none of the warriors had yet filled Wolf with arrows. My back to Wolf, I glared at my cousin, my own sword level and ready.

  “Hold.”

  My command froze everyone, as I intended. At least my royal blood had some uses besides creating the next heir.

  My self-congratulation died when I saw Kel’Ratan’s eyes widen in shock and sudden fear. I knew then my cousin had more brains in his muscles than I did in my entire head. My impetuous movement brought me within reach of a trained killer who had no reason not to reach out with one hand and snap my neck. If he did not kill me out of hand, I would make a very useful hostage. None of the warriors, even Kel’Ratan, would dare risk my life should Wolf choose to hold me and demand their retreat.

  I froze, waiting for the quick grab, the flash of pain and death. May the Lady guard my soul and bring me to her sacred feet in the next world. If not that, then a quick grab, my sword stolen, and the demand Kel’Ratan order a quick retreat.

  Naught at all happened.

  My instincts for danger, which seldom failed to warn me in the past, remained quiescent. Wolf, his breath stirring my hair, stood motionless. Aware of him as never before, I perceived his anger, his mistrust; I sensed the incredible power of his body, the strength of his will. And yet—

  I knew I was safe.

  Rygel, half-forgotten in the last moments, rose awkwardly to his feet to stand beside Wolf.

  Glaring at Kel’Ratan, I ignored his silent plea for me to move away, out of the reach of an angry, snarling wolf. I sheathed my sword, scowling, and put my hands on my hips. As though I never doubted for a moment I was safe within reach of a trained killer who had no love for me.

  “Listen to me. Put up your sword and cease this nonsense.”

  My warriors lowered their bows, uncertain, not daring to shoot for fear of striking me. They glanced from Kel’Ratan, to me, to Wolf and back again. Kel’Ratan, on the other hand, did not relent. Lips thinned into a tight white line, he stepped forward, his blade poised to kill the Wolf behind me. My form between them seemed to matter about as much a flea in a sandstorm.

  In an instant, several things happened at once. A vision of my cousin slaughtering the slave flashed across my vision. Behind it came another: that of the slave killing my cousin. In either case, Bar’s life ended as surely as if Brutal cut my griffin’s throat himself. Then I felt the Wolf’s hands on my shoulders and for a brief moment wondered if he meant to move me out of the way. Or, perhaps he meant to kill both of us in an effort to free himself and the wizard.

  Kel’Ratan came on, his eyes blind with bloodlust, and I wondered wildly how I would stop him. Lady Starlight, help me! I reached for my sword to defend the unarmed man from my own blood kin.

  I froze.

  In addition to Wolf’s powerful hands, I felt something seize me in a tight grip. An invisible web closed around me, rendering my limbs useless. I struggled to lift my hands and arms, but the web would not yield. Helpless, I was now at the mercy of whoever, and whatever, held me captive. I struggled harder, a tiny niggle of fear tickling at my heart.

  A grunt from Kel’Ratan brought my attention from my own predicament to his. I looked up. Poised to leap and strike, he too, stood fast in the grip of the unknown power, his eyes wide and confused. Nor could he move from its clutch any more than I could.

  “Well, now,” Rygel drawled. “Are we having fun yet?”

  I had nearly forgotten Rygel’s existence, so intent was I on preventing bloodshed.

  He sauntered casually into my line of sight, between Kel’Ratan and me, his hands still tied behind his back. Then I realized Wolf, too, could not move. His hands still lay on my shoulders, trembling slightly as though he too fought the invisible net.

  Rygel grinned as he looked from each of us, the only one in the room able to move about freely. Even my warriors stood fast, hands holding bows still nocked with deadly arrows. I saw no end of nervous fear on their normally stoic and courageous expressions.

  “It seems we have a problem,” he mused, still walking about as though strolling through a garden. He nodded toward Kel’Ratan. “This big fellow here wants to kill my brother. And, as it happens, my brother wants to kill him, as well.”

  Rygel bowed his head as he paced, the light catching his golden hair into a circular nimbus, much like a halo. Yet I doubted any resemblance between him and a holy spirit was anything but coincidental. With his eyes lowered and his lips pursed, he looked like a mendicant priest pondering a weighty religious matter. An insane laugh reached my lips and hung there, quivering.

 
; “What can we do about this? Can’t have bloodshed.” His tongue clicked. “No, no, we mustn’t have that. Blood is so messy to clean up; ruins the carpet.”

  He paced slowly back and forth, his entire posture that of a man deep in thought or prayer. While I knew Rygel not at all, I knew very well when a man played to, literally, a captive audience. His sense of the drama no doubt had something to do with a sudden inane giggle that rose to my throat. Fortunately, I caught and stopped it before it could erupt and shame me. Yet, Rygel ceased his pacing and watched me, as though he knew I struggled with laughter.

  “Why can’t we all just get along?” he asked the room in general, his voice plaintive.

  Lady, stop him before I shame myself, I thought, feeling more hysterical giggles rising. My chest heaved with the effort of keeping me from braying like an overloaded packmule.

  “Well?” He wheeled on Kel’Ratan. “You want your griffin fetched from prison, a nasty sort of debacle, wouldn’t you agree? Not exactly like slipping a mouse into one’s pocket or stealing a horse. We should be properly repaid for our efforts. What do we want in return?”

  He quirked a brow at Wolf over my shoulder then smiled at me. “Well, Princess?”

  I found I could speak. Yet, speaking without braying with laughter was almost more than I could bear. I snorted, choked and finally managed a few hoarse words.

  “We promise to help you escape Khalid.”