But Alto wasn’t a knight. He wasn’t a noble. He was just a common man and little better to her than a servant, even if she wished otherwise. Patrina sighed. Did she wish otherwise? She kept letting herself be carried away around him, even though she knew such a thing should never be. She shook her head and saw Alto looking at her, one eyebrow raised in confusion.
The door to the hut opened, sparing her from embarrassment. They turned and saw Tyrus standing in the doorway. "Elgar will speak with you; he’s our chief."
They filed in and waited for the last of the gathered Snowbear hunters to step inside and shut the door behind them. Elgar stared at them from his wood and bone chair. He frowned before speaking. "You threaten the arrangements I’ve made and then you ask me for a boon such as this?" The Snowbear chief slammed his fist against his thigh as he spoke. "Take them to the northern coast; if they survive the cold, the wolves will have them."
"Wait!" Alto cried out. "You don’t understand! Do you know what you made a deal with?"
The chief stood up from his chair and walked up to Alto. The two men stood face to face until Elgar smashed his fist into Alto’s face and knocked him to the ground. Patrina bit her lip to keep herself from crying out, but it didn’t halt the sharp intake of breath through her nose.
Alto struggled to force himself back to his feet, trying to use his broken and useless hands. Patrina stepped beside him before she could think better of it. She helped him find his balance and climb back to his feet. By the time he’d risen, Elgar had turned away.
"Give them to the men in the mountains."
"I want the girl."
Elgar spun and glared at Garrick. "I heard she bested you."
"She tricked me."
Elgar laughed. "That’s because she’s a woman. That’s what they do."
Patrina scowled but found she was ignored. That was the other thing she’d heard of the northern savages; they valued their women but treated them as prized possessions to be won from one another in contests or battles.
Garrick frowned and opened his mouth but Alto interrupted him. "Elgar, what do you think all these men are coming for? How many has it been? Two hundred? Three hundred? More?"
Elgar turned and saw Alto standing. His eyes narrowed but he stood his ground instead of pounding the young man back to the floor. "A hundred of your men are no match for the Snowbear clan."
"No? What about a thousand goblins? A few hundred mountain trolls and just as many ogres? Mountain wolves and the saints know what else? Do you know who’s in charge of these men?"
"You seem to know an awful lot. How is that? Deserter?"
"I killed Barador, the man who led the siege against Highpeak," Alto said.
"I don’t care about your Kingdom," Elgar spat.
"And the Kingdom cares little for you," Alto said. "But neither the king nor the duke sent me. I’m here because my father has a farm south of the mountains and he was hurt by goblins sent raiding. With the help of my friends, we stopped them, for a time, but we think they want to try again. They captured Jarl Teorfyr’s daughter and then me. They’re massing armies to try again! And why would they be happy with the northern reaches of the Kingdom? Will you be servants to these creatures? Will you do their bidding or will they come for you next?"
"We’re no man’s slave!"
"The creature behind this plotting is no man," Alto stated. He turned and looked at all of them. Patrina gave him an encouraging nod to go on. He turned back to Elgar and said, "Their leader is a dragon named Sarya."
Everyone in the chief’s hut fell silent for the span of several breaths. Finally a man wearing a leather thong about his neck with countless animal teeth hanging from it spoke. "You have seen this?"
"One of my companions was hiding while Sarya spoke to Barador."
"Is this true? Are you who he says you are?" Elgar said to Patrina.
Patrina thrust her chin up before saying, "I am Lady Patrina, daughter of Teorfyr, Jarl of Holgasford. And yes, a companion of ours, a friend of mine for many years, overheard the conversation he speaks of."
He cursed and turned to Garrick. "She does have fire," he admitted. "But you cannot have her."
Garrick scowled. "Heal the warrior then and send them on their way. I will go with them and bring word back."
"It’s no simple thing you speak of!" the man wearing the necklace said. "The meat is frozen and dead. There is danger in asking for such a boon; it’s no mere mending of split flesh."
Elgar walked up to Alto and stared into his eyes again. Rather than shy away from the expected blow, Alto met his gaze and asked, "Are you going to hit me again?"
Elgar smirked. "This will test your mettle, farmer. Succeed with Arcan and you earn your freedom."
"If I fail?"
Arcan chuckled. "Fail and you won’t need to worry about it."
"Do I get the girl then?" Garrick asked.
"Think you can beat her in a fight?" Elgar asked, inciting laughter amongst the gathered barbarians. When it quieted, he waved his hand, dismissing them. "Take them. Return when you have news."
Alto and Patrina were led out of the hut. Arcan walked ahead of them, taking them to another wood and stone hut with smoke rising from the chimney. He led them in, with Garrick following in behind them.
Arcan moved around in the hut and gathered a cup and some leaves. He stepped outside with an iron bucket and returned a moment later with it filled with snow. He winked at Alto and said, "Don’t worry, no yellow snow."
Alto turned to Patrina and she saw the frightened look he wore. He turned back to the healer as Arcan set the bucket over the fire in his hearth. The healer muttered a chant and ignored his guests while he stirred and prayed over the bucket of melting snow. Patrina saw Alto looking around the hut and took the opportunity to do the same. It reminded her of a less chaotic version of the lab of the troll shaman, Thork, they’d found under the Northern Divide. He’d called it Trolwerkz.
Arcan poured the steaming water into the cup and then crumpled up the leaves in his hand and tossed them in. He let them steep a few moments before he turned to Alto. "Drink this," the healer said and handed Alto the cup.
"Are those Razorberry leaves?" Patrina interrupted after noting the serrated edges of the dried leaves.
"Yes, now hurry," Arcan urged him.
"But they’re poisonous!" she protested.
"Only a little."
"Only a little?" Alto asked.
"You’re a big strapping young man; you can handle it," Arcan snapped. "Now hurry up and drink it all, before it cools."
Alto held up his hands and showed the shaman their mottled and broken appearance. Arcan sighed and turned to Patrina. "You do it then, hold it to his lips. I cannot; I must tend to the ritual communing with Saint Preth."
Patrina took it and looked at Alto. She shook her head slowly, urging him to not do it.
"I have to," Alto said. "It’s my only chance."
"You can live without your hands!" she hissed. She wasn’t sure what he’d do, but he’d be alive and maybe that was enough.
"Perhaps, but others may die. Make me drink it all."
Patrina nodded and blinked away the sudden moisture in her eyes. Alto tipped his head back and opened his mouth, waiting for her to administer the tea. She lifted it up slowly until it touched his lips. Then she tipped it up and held it steady while Alto swallowed the stream of steaming water and leaves.
She pulled the cup away and turned to set it down on the table. She heard Arcan chanting again but the sound seemed distant. She saw Alto turn his head to look at the healer but before he could find the barbarian priest, he dropped to the ground as though he’d been felled by a stone club to the head.
* * * *
Alto climbed to his feet and looked around. He couldn’t remember how he’d come to be in a snowdrift at the edge of a line of trees. He glanced down at himself and saw he was wearing white and gray animal furs. Wolf fur. He felt like he should remember something about
wolf fur, but beyond a sense of familiarity there was nothing.
He looked past the furs to the snow-covered ground beneath and around him. The remains of a thick branch lay on the snow. He knelt down and picked it up, his fingers squeezing around it and hefting it to test its balance. Alto stopped and stared at his hand. There was something about his hand that didn’t feel right. He twisted the club to study his hand and fingers, trying to figure it out.
The sound of wolves snarling and fighting distracted him. He looked up and out onto the snowy field ahead of him. Shapes moved across it, blurred by the wind that blew the powder up in gales and twists. He stared and tried to make sense of the shapes. From the sounds and their size, he knew they were wolves.
Alto turned away. Wolves were dangerous. He sought meat for his clan. Hunting another hunter wasn’t something he could remember hearing. He took a step back into the woods when a pain in his belly stopped him. He growled against it and glanced behind him onto the plains. A large shape was running from the wolves. They snarled and lunged at it but it kicked them away and ran on.
Alto stopped to watch the game of life and death. Another wolf dashed through the snow from ahead of it, surprising his prey, and then he leapt and clamped his jaws on the four-legged victim’s neck. Alto squinted until he could make out more details. The hunted creature looked like a moose, save the antlers were different than he’d seen. The rack looked taller but more spindly and branch-like. Whatever the beast was, it soon fell under the clinging jaws of the wolf.
Alto felt a lurch in his stomach again. Out there was freshly fallen meat. He could take that back to his village and feed them all. Without thinking about it, he stumbled forward and was soon hiking through the snow as fast as he could.
The wolves continued to snarl and growl at each other. When he reached them, he saw the wolf that had killed their prey standing and snarling over the body. Alto could tell the wolf was old. He was scarred from many fights and had a look in his eyes that spoke of experience.
The four other wolves snarled and paced back and forth, each hungry and wanting the meat for themselves. Alto’s stomach growled at the sight. He wasn’t as savage as the wolves but his mouth watered at the thought of roasting the fallen beast.
He slowed and crept up behind one of the distracted wolves. His makeshift club rose and fell, dropping the wolf with no more than the sound of wood and bone cracking. The other three turned on him and snarled, and then moved to surround him instead of the elder wolf guarding the carcass.
Alto turned, keeping his eye on the wolves as they circled him. One rushed him without warning, lunging from his right. He spun and swung the branch, knocking the lunging wolf’s snapping jaws away. The hunter staggered under the impact of the wolf’s body but stayed upright.
Alto’s left arm was pulled away, pulling him around and away as a wolf tried to tear into him. The other wolf clamped its jaws onto his opposite leg and began to work its teeth through the furs he wore. Alto stumbled and fell back into the snow. He thrashed and rolled onto his right hip so he could deliver a punishing kick with his left leg. The wolf yelped and jumped back, giving him the chance to roll back and slam his fist into the remaining wolf’s side. He pounded twice on the wolf’s ribcage while it whipped its head back and forth and dug its teeth into his arm.
Alto felt the dislodged wolf return. The lupine predator snarled and tore at the furs he wore for warmth and protection on his back and shoulders. Knowing he was nearly out of time, Alto jammed his fingers into the thick fur around the throat of the wolf that was fastened on his arm. He formed a claw with his fingers and thumb and squeezed as hard as he could. The wolf fought on, tearing his flesh and causing hot blood to run down his arm. Alto wasn’t sure when the wolf let go and tried to get away but he clung to the beast and rolled on top to trap the creature until it stopped thrashing.
He rolled, forcing the wolf that had jumped on his back and was tearing at his fur shirt to scramble away. Before he could rise up, the wolf leapt upon him, snapping at his face and neck. Alto felt one of the wolf’s teeth drag along his cheek before he grabbed it with his hands and threw the beast off.
Alto rolled away and stumbled to his feet before the wolf returned, but only barely. The wolf slammed back into him and knocked him back a step. Alto pushed back and drove his knee into the wolf’s chest. Air and spittle burst out of the wolf’s mouth. It fell away from Alto and limped off through the snow, following the other wolf that he’d smacked aside with his club.
Alto stood gasping for air in the bitter cold field. He looked down to his hand and saw the blood dripping from his fingers. He tried to curl his fingers into a fist but found they wouldn’t obey him. Alto stared at it and felt plagued by a sense of familiarity. He felt a dreadful sense that was something right about his hand failing him.
A growl caused him to turn around. The elder wolf stood atop the carcass with his hackles raised and teeth bared. Alto knelt down and picked up his battered club and stared at the elder wolf. The hunter lowered his club and dropped it back to the snow.
"You keep that one; you earned it," Alto said. He turned to the two dead wolves and frowned. He shrugged and started toward them. "Not much meat, but we’ll make do."
"Why?"
Alto stopped and turned, confused at the voice. The wind died away, leaving stillness for the voice to carry. He saw only the wolf that stood atop the fallen animal. Its fur lay smooth and its lupine lips were relaxed.
"I must be mad," Alto muttered. He turned back away again and started to reach for the wolf he’d strangled.
"You are young and fit; why would you not take the caribou? I am old and slow, no match for a strong hunter."
Alto twisted around again to see only the wolf standing where the voice had come from. He glanced at the dead animal, studying it so he knew what a caribou looked like. He raised his eyes back to the wolf and wondered if he’d hit his head while fighting the wolves. "I didn’t kill the caribou; I killed these wolves. You killed the caribou; you earned it."
"The spoils of the hunt go to the strongest."
Alto shrugged. "I believe in keeping what you’ve fought for and what you’ve earned. There’s enough for both of us, even if yours is bound to taste better."
"This is not the way of the hunt."
"Maybe it should be," Alto challenged. "Anyhow, it’s my way. You want to fight—you come at me and I’ll fight you; otherwise, I’ve lost enough blood and my hand’s torn up pretty bad."
Alto raised his hand and stared at it again. Why was his hand not working? The wolf had bitten him on the arm, not the hand. He reached across and tried to pull the fur sleeve up but found the fingers on his right hand weren’t responding either. Alto stared at his hands while his heart began to beat so loudly and fast he could feel it in his chest. The fear he’d felt earlier returned. Was this real? Were his hands useless?
"You’re a wolf." Alto raised his eyes to the wolf and breathed the words out. "Wolves can’t talk. I’m not mad; I’m dreaming. My hands are frozen and dead. None of this is real."
The wolf stepped off the caribou and walked toward Alto. Each step kicked up snow that swirled around the beast and obscured it. Alto could see the shape shifting and growing as it approached him until the snow fell away to reveal a tall man wearing the pelts of many animals and adorned with a necklace full of animal teeth.
"Saint Preth?" Alto whispered.
"I am but a shadow," he said with the same voice the wolf had spoken with. "A reflection in the water."
"I came seeking to restore my hands so that I could fight for my people. I’m not of the Snowbear clan, but I believe my quest will save them from great evil as well," Alto said. He stared at the imposing man who came to a stop before him. "Um, should I kneel?"
The man’s smile did not reach his eyes as he asked, "Do you kneel?"
Alto frowned. "No, I guess I don’t," he said. "I’m respectful; I just don’t give my allegiance blindly."
"Confide
nce, strength, and skill are admirable. You risk arrogance," the avatar stated. "Go back to your people. Your heart is filled with courage and fairness. Take care that it is not your undoing."
Alto frowned. How could being just and fair cause him fault? Well, he’d nearly gotten in over his head several times now because of his insistence on doing the right thing, but he didn’t think the vision of the saint before him was warning him of that. He opened his mouth to respond but the snow burst up around him and the wind whipped it into a sudden maelstrom that sucked the breath from him. The blizzard became overwhelming, preventing him from seeing anything until he realized that it wasn’t just snow anymore. The whiteness took him and swallowed him up until he knew no more.
Chapter 18
Arguing voices roused Alto. He blinked his eyes as he heard Patrina say, "I am a lady of the Kelgryn! You will not think to treat me as cattle to be traded or won in a game of sport. That man in there has more courage and nobility than you will ever dream of! He risks his life to help three nations of people. What claim can you make that would compete?"
"A real man worries about his family first," Garrick’s voice responded. "Pity he’s not whole enough for me to challenge him. In these lands, strength and skill are what matter, not fine words and impossible promises."
"Impossible! You don’t know the first thing of impossible! You’re impossible, you oaf!"
Alto threw back the blanket made from bear fur and rolled to his feet. When they hit the cool dirt, he realized his boots had been removed. He flexed his toes and stared at them. They looked healthy and normal, although the cool ground chilled them. Alto grinned and pulled his hands up before his face. His fingers curled when he flexed them and they looked like he remembered them from before his run-in with the mercenary brothers.
Victim of Fate Page 15
