by SM Reine
Hrolf motioned that they should follow them. He did not engage anyone in conversation. He brought them to the room and spoke quiet words to the courtier waiting outside. The man looked over at the group and then nodded, going inside the doors. He emerged and said, “If you will follow me.”
Aein looked up at Finn for his support. Already his disposition had changed. He had stepped back into his role as a commander, and the mirth and lust for living she so admired had been tamped down to solemn duty. He placed his hand upon the small of her back and guided her into the room.
It was a large room, but not cavernous. It was built for utility, not pretense. The windows were slits, the better to defend. The walls were not covered in elegant tapestries that could catch fire. This was a king used to the realities of those after his throne, and he did not choose niceties over the cost of his safety.
Aein and Finn each fell to one knee. Those behind them did the same.
“Rise,” said King Haidra. His skin was dark, but his beard and hair were white. He had the strange blue eyes of his daughter. He was dressed in long indigo robes, but Aein could tell by the way he moved that beneath the billowing fabric, he wore the armor of a soldier. “Tell me the tale of what brings you here today.”
And so Aein told him from beginning to end everything that had happened. She told him of the feast, of the betrayal, of those final moments in his daughter’s company. She told him of the search for a cure, the discovery of it, and those who were now at her side. “But the worst, my liege, is that I believe your daughter is still alive.”
The tears that were in the king’s face were replaced with stone coldness. “How is that the worst?”
“She has fallen prey to this curse,” said Aein. “She is being held by Lord Arnkell and will be among the werewolves who attack you.”
King Haidra stood and began to pace. “How shall I know her?” he asked.
Aein shook her head. “You shall not. And if the silver harness is removed from her, she will become a beast so wild, you will not have any choice but to destroy her.”
King Haidra’s head lowered in a bow as he considered the cost which Aein was describing. He finally nodded in acceptance. “No matter the pain it brings me, my duty is to my people.” He then turned to Aein and Finn. “But if there is any way you find you can save her. Any way at all…”
Aein lowered her head. “I swear I shall do it.”
“It is all I can ask. She is my only daughter.” He then turned to address the group. “How does one defeat a pack of werewolves?”
“They cannot be felled through normal means,” said Finn.
“They may only be killed by dismemberment,” Aein added. “Or…” And this was where she paused. She did not want this information to be used against her own people. She did not want their one weakness to be exploited. She looked at the scar which ran down Finn’s face.
“Or…?” asked King Haidra again.
“Or with silver,” she stated.
He nodded. “Silver. I shall speak to my blacksmith immediately. We shall melt down every last treasure in my store if it means taking down this threat.”
Though she knew that the worst was yet to come, for a moment, Aein felt a rush of relief. Someone else was taking charge. Someone else was going to ensure they were safe. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and let the rest of the world continue its spin.
King Haidra continued. “This battle may be met at any time. I shall arrange for your sleeping quarters. Food. Drink.” He looked at the wolves and sniffed. “Bath. Our hospitality is yours.”
But even the promise of a warm bed did not stop the strange sadness Aein felt as Finn followed the king out of the room, leaving her alone with her wolves. He glanced over his shoulder, hesitating as his blue eyes locked with her brown ones. But he continued on. She saw that as much as it pained him, he could not invite her along.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aein had never slept so well in her entire life. The room was sparse. Just a bed, a table, and some hooks which held her filthy garments until the washerwoman woke up and could take them. But to her, it was finer than any royal bedchamber.
Her eyes opened in the morning as a hip bath was brought into her room. She climbed out of bed as the three men filled it with jugs of water, stretching as she looked out the window. The sun was just beginning to rise. Her forty wolves would now be people, she thought, and her eight, including Finn, would have changed. She wondered where he slept that night and if his comrades were glad to see him. She wondered what they would think when they realized their commander had shifted.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the men who had hauled in the tub stepped out the door and closed it behind them. Aein reluctantly pulled off the shift which had been loaned to her. It was soft. It did not crack with sweat and grime, it did not reek of horse or dog. It was merely a white shift, taken for granted by anyone who wore such a thing. It was finer to her, though, than any gown of silk.
The water was so hot, she had to ease herself into it inch by inch. Her skin felt boiled. The water became black with all the dirt. And she felt lovely.
She grabbed a towel they had left for her on her bed, wrapping it around herself and vigorously drying herself off. She slid the simple shift back on and lay down on the bed. The straw mattress poked through the stiff sheets into her skin. What glory!
She heard a knock at the door. She lifted herself up onto her elbow. “Come in?” she invited.
The door opened and Lars stepped through. He was freshly shaved and his filthy clothing had been replaced. His red hair was cut short again. His demeanor had changed, too, as if suddenly to be back in civilization reminded him of who he was, that he was no longer trapped in the swamp. There was a spring to his step. A light in his eyes.
He turned his back as soon as he saw her state. She chided him. “Lars, we have spent all that time on the road together. I am sure there is nothing here that you have not seen before.” He still was not at ease, so she stood and took the robe which had been left for her and covered herself up. “There. My modesty is protected.”
Lars looked up, his cheeks flushed. He paused for a moment and then closed the door.
“Aein,” he started. But he did not finish. He raced to the bed and stopped her mouth with a kiss. His hands were hungry. His body reached for her as if he could not get enough. His passion was wild. He broke away, holding her face in his hands.
Aein felt pulled a million different directions at once. What had brought this on?
“It was you,” he said. “It was only the memory of you which kept me alive in the swamp. Did you think of me?”
And she had. The truth was, she had. His ghost had plagued her. “Every day,” she replied. But she didn’t know if she had been thinking of him in the way he wanted. “Every day I wondered if you were alive, but...”
“No. You came for me. You saved me. You risked everything. You brought me back to life after I thought that there was nothing waiting for me but madness and death.” He clutched her hands as he explained. “I need you, Aein. I need you, Aein, to stay alive. We swore ourselves to a tyrant, and after this, we are free to do anything. We could be free to become anything… together…”
Aein realized what he was asking. It was too much to process this early in the morning. She had not thought about what her life would look like after all of this. She looked at Lars. She loved him. She could love him. But what was he proposing? To go be hired swords? A team of mercenaries roaming the land together? And yet… what better option awaited her? To stay here forever and swear her service to a man who was not her lord. But what of Finn… what of him…
“Aein, you do not understand how terrible the shift is for me,” Lars confessed. “The only way I am able to stay sane is knowing I am beside you. Please. Please tell me when this is over you will not leave me to face this alone.”
“Never!” said Aein, mean
ing it with the depth of her heart. No matter how she felt, she would not abandon him again. She could not live with a lifetime of more memories of him alone and lost.
“We could marry…” he said, this time not looking at her.
Aein held up her hand, stopping him. It was all moving too quickly. “Let us survive the coming battle,” said Aein. “And I shall give you my answer then.”
She tried to ignore the defeat in Lars’s eyes by her answer, the flash of hurt upon his face. He bowed, kissing her fingertips
“I am not saying no,” she pleaded. “I just need time.”
But that was one thing she was not to have, for the sound of pounding feet suddenly echoed in the hall outside. Trumpets were blaring from the parapets. She sprang from the bed and opened the door.
“What is going on?” she asked a woman jogging down the hall in full armor.
“We are under attack,” came the reply.
Aein looked back at Lars. He nodded grimly and then pushed past her to his room.
Aein grabbed her filthy clothing from the pegs and jammed herself back inside her trousers. But as she dressed, her hand brushed upon her pocket. Inside was the remaining half of the berry, wrapped up in the square of fabric. Could this berry provide Lars with some relief? He had suffered more than anyone else. He had suffered longer than anyone else. He deserved it more than anyone else.
She sprinted off to his room and then realized that she was being followed by her pack. Had they been waiting outside her door? Taking her side was the large wolf with the silver scar.
“Good morning, Finn,” she said as she ran.
He gave a bark.
Aein paused to pound on Lars’s door. He was buckling his armor as best he could. Whatever moment they had was now gone. Aein shooed his hands away to help him and he returned the favor. But perhaps the moment had not passed for him completely, for he left his fingers lingered on her last buckle and said, “Once again, we needed one another to survive.”
She looked up into his soft, green eyes rimmed with red lashes. This man forgave her for abandoning him, forgave her for bringing this nightmare upon him, desired her despite it all. She pressed the cloth with the half berry inside. “Take this,” she said.
Before he could respond, the foundations of the fortress shook. Dust fell from the ceiling.
“So they have a catapult…” murmured Lars.
“It is like they were planning this for a long time,” remarked Aein.
Finn gave a bark, hurrying them to catch up. Aein and Lars followed him, running up to the top of the battlement. King Haidra stood, looking out upon the gathering forces surrounding his stronghold.
“You say my daughter is among them?” he asked, looking out upon a sea of werewolves. Their silver harnesses caught the light of the sun.
“Yes,” replied Aein.
“And you say that you can cure her?” he asked again.
She looked at him. “Not completely, but I can ease her suffering.”
He nodded. “So be it.” He turned to his archers. “Prepare!” he cried.
Aein walked over to join them on the battlement. Her own bow and arrow had been taken by Lord Arnkell when he raided her camp, but she grabbed the equipment available, ready to make do. She realized that the arrows had been tipped with silver. She swallowed, looking at Finn’s scars.
“Pull!” King Haidra cried.
The arrows took flight, striking the army.
“Prepare!” he cried again. And then “Pull!” Another volley flew, knocking down the next wave of soldiers.
Ladders were being placed against the battlement. King Haidra’s men kept busy knocking them over. Aein looked over the edge and fired upon the soldiers attempting to scale the walls. A hand pulled her back. King Haidra grabbed her shoulders and said, “Prepare your army.”
She motioned to her werewolves. “Attack any that come over the wall! Allow no one to make it past this post!”
As soon as the words came out of her mouth, an enemy soldier stepped over. His shield was pierced by several arrows, but he swung it protectively against the snarling fangs and snapping teeth that waited to greet him.
It was then that there was a cry from the courtyard. Aein looked over. It was filled with the bodies of silver clad warriors and werewolves.
“They tunneled through,” whispered Aein. She turned to King Haidra. “They tunneled through,” she said again.
He was busy with the attackers. “GO!” he cried. “Stop them!
She gave a whistle and her entire herd led the charge. She lined up for shots and began taking them. The chaos of the battle around her was mighty. She needed to be able to protect herself. Arrows with fire were beginning to come over the battlement. She raced down the stairs, Finn loping by her side as Lars, sword in hand, took up the rear.
She reached the courtyard and it was a melee. She did not know who was winning or losing. The air was filled with the crash of metal against metal, the cries of valor being cut short, the horrible barking and snarling which she had grown too used to. A person might hold his own with a sword, but not against these rabid canines who knew only bloodlust.
“Go!” she commanded her pack and they fell into the battle, leaping upon the backs and grabbing at the throats of those around them. She hoped that their preserved intellect would be able to fight the berserker bloodlust. She only had eight wolves, though, she thought. Eight wolves against Lord Arnkell’s forty. If only he had attacked at night when her wild werewolves had turned with the moon…
Her heart broke as she fired, knowing that each wolf she struck down was someone from her own stronghold, someone who thought they were cursed, someone that she, herself, was responsible for transforming, even if it was unwittingly.
It was this moment of guilt and reflection which led to her distraction. And that was all the enemy needed.
She felt powerful jaws grip her arm and she cried out as she was drug away. Her wrist slammed against the wall with such force, it knocked the bow from her hand. Shooting pain went up her arm. She flung her free arm over her head to beat upon the face of the wolf that had gotten her. He shook her like a ragdoll and she felt the bone in her arm break as he flung her against a pillar. Blinding, white hot pain seared her mind. Nausea overwhelmed her. But the wolf did not stop. She tried to kick her legs out to catch the wall, to do anything to halt his course, but she was powerless.
And then she heard a growl from the other direction. She summoned the last of her strength to lift her head, to bravely look death in the face if it was coming for her.
But it was not death. It was a wolf with a scar across his chest where the silver ore had burned him. Finn. It was Finn.
And his eyes were dark with fury.
He made a flying leap and landed upon the wolf carrying her away. In an instant, they were nothing but a tumble of fur and fangs. Snarling they circled one another, Aein herself forgotten. She cradled her injured arm that hung uselessly at her side and scrambled away. Surely one of the doors in the hallway was open, she thought as she tried them all. She was unarmed. She was injured. She just needed somewhere to hide from the wolves until she could bind her arm. Weeping, she pulled one open…
…and found herself in the throne room with Lord Arnkell. Princess Gisla stood at his side and screamed to Aein, “HELP!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Princess Gisla lunged forward towards the open door, but Lord Arnkell grabbed the silver harness she wore and yanked her back.
“You…” Aein snarled.
Lord Arnkell barely glanced at her as he shoved Princess Gisla into her place, distain dripping from every word. “I see my dog brought you.”
“Stop this!” she cried.
He spread his arms wide. His silly yellow and green armor seemed so sad and vain. How had she ever seen him as anything but a madman?
“This could have been so easy,” he replied. “No one needed to have died. Why did you make this all so hard?”
&n
bsp; “You used me to destroy your own people,” Aein said, struggling to her feet.
“There will always be more people,” he shouted back at her. “There will always be more peasants breeding like rabbits looking for a leader to promise them the moon. You think that you are so special? You are disposable. You are nothing but a useless foot soldier who served her purpose and is now too stubborn to die.”
“Then kill me yourself,” said Aein, standing tall, even though her arm made her want to curl up into a ball and throw up. “Give me a sword and let us see how powerful you are. Put me in my place if you think I am nothing but the dust beneath your shoe.”
He laughed. “It would be a mercy killing.”
“After everything you have done to me? You owe me that much,” Aein spat.
He cocked his head. “You think I do?”
“I brought you those mushrooms, not knowing what they are. For better or for worse, whatever happens here today happened because of me. Consider it the payment I request for my services. Put me out of my misery.”
“But you see, you look upon those mushrooms as a weakness,” he explained. “The problem is that no one saw the gift as a strength. Why, with a little experimentation,” he casually brushed his finger against Princess Gisla’s dark cheek. She flinched away, “I learned that a person can become more powerful than ever imagined.”
And with that, he removed silver harness from Princess Gisla. Before Aein’s eyes, she began to shift.
“RUN!” Gisla cried to her, her face a twist of agony and apology. “RUN!” she shouted again.
And then she was no longer the princess, but a werewolf who did not need the sun or moon to change her. She was an animal. And Arnkell had set her upon Aein. As the werewolf flew at her, Arnkell spoke the final words, “Here is your mercy killing.”
