Under the Wolf's Shadow

by A. Katie Rose

  His hand left my neck to tilt my chin up, meeting his amused grey eyes. “Isn’t a marriage proposal my job?”

  I ducked my head, jerking away from his hand. I found Ghost’s fur most fascinating. “You meet the criteria,” I said. “But I know my father. He’ll never permit us to marry.”

  “I suppose then you’ll have to marry the kid,” Raine sighed. “Since Brutal is so obviously not your type.”

  I laughed, raising my face to his. “Would you marry a six year old?”

  “Not unless she were as beautiful–”

  Raine kissed my lips.

  “–as courageous–”

  He kissed my right eye.

  “–as fiery–”

  He kissed my left eye.

  “–as you.”

  His lips firmly entwined with mine, his tongue teased me until I felt hot, my blood boiling. Needing to peel out of these hot furs like a snake must shed its scales, I withheld my pants. My arms crept about his neck, tightening his grip on my lips. My hands filled themselves with his hair, tangled and unable to let go. My father’s will–well, let him try to keep me from this man. Nephrotiti, let him try.

  Distantly, I heard Shardon’s low voice. “Come on, Tashira, let’s leave them to their privacy.”

  “Privacy, smivacy, I want to watch.”

  “Move, damn you.”

  At the sound of their voices, Raine lifted his face from mine and smiled down at me. His eyes danced. “Then I might.”

  “Cradle robber,” I laughed, half-gasping, pressing my face against his bristled cheek. His huge arms caged me between them and his broad chest, capturing me as easily as he might a mouse in his wolf jaws.

  I heard hoof beats as Tashira and Shardon trotted away. Ghost and Darkhan melted away without my noticing. That left Bar to stand his lonely watch over us. When I glanced up, I found he’d averted his head politely, and absently watched as Kel’Ratan, Corwyn and my boys broke camp.

  Raine grinned down at me, muzzling my nose with his. As though he had the Tarbane insight, and knew the doubts of my heart, he said. “Leave the future to its own devices. The powers that be love you. Trust in them.”

  Attack of the Dead

  Chapter 13

  “Surely they’ve given up,” Ly’Tana said, adding more wood to the blazing fire.

  With Tuatha on my lap, I idly watched as the wolves split into four packs and leave camp to hunt, each pack trotting away in a different direction. Only Silverruff and Thunder remained behind, not hungry. Dusk fell, the sun’s last rays shot up from behind the tall peaks and lightened the purpling sky. Setting Tuatha on an elk skin, I rose to help Kel’Ratan and Corwyn set up our shelters.

  “You don’t want to be thinking that way, Princess,” Rygel said from where he groomed Shardon, Tashira and Rufus. “Brutal will never give up.”

  “Nor will Ja’Teel,” I said, unrolling one of the huge hide tents. “He found me barely a week ago.”

  “So how can he track us?” she went on doggedly. “How can either of them find us in this mountain wilderness?”

  Arianne dug dead wood from the snow and lugged it to the growing pile. Ly’Tana finished feeding one fire before beginning a new one. We’d need at least three conflagrations tended all night to keep Bar warm. He stood beside the first one, preening his left wing and shivering.

  Rygel, Witraz, Alun and Rannon stripped the horses and mules of their tack and gear, curried their hides, inspected legs and hooves for injuries, then set them to grazing on the thin mountain grass. Left and Right unpacked the baggage into piles: food in one, bedrolls in another, the tents in yet a third. While Yuras stood watch, Tor and Yuri began the enormous task of feeding us all.

  “They may not find us,” Rygel admitted, sending Rufus to graze with a slap to his rump. “But that doesn’t mean they’ve given up. We must remain cautious.”

  “Papa?” Tuatha asked, trotting toward me. “Something smells nasty.”

  Hauling on a guy rope that lifted one side of a tent, I asked absently, “What do you think it is?”

  Corwyn and Kel’Ratan pulled on their respective ropes and the bundle of thick hides expanded into a warm, snug shelter. Tying off the ropes, we, as one man, knelt to pound the stakes into the frozen ground.

  “Something dead. Rotten.”

  “Maybe a rodent or bird died nearby.”

  “Not likely,” Rygel said from across the camp. “A frozen corpse gives off very little odor.”

  I shrugged. With that tent completed, Corwyn unrolled another tent and we worked the second. Four more awaited construction, yet Left and Right had finished their task and set the bundled hides in regular places around the fires and unrolled them. Long before true darkness fell, we’d have camp set up completely.

  “I smell it, too,” Silverruff commented from his spot beside Bar’s fire.

  “What’s this?” Ly’Tana asked, frowning slightly. She tossed the last piece of wood onto the second pile that soon to set aflame. “Raine, would you mind?”

  Without even glancing at it, I sent my thoughts of fire into the pile, listening to the whoosh and crackle as living flame ate into the pile. I heard Bar step between them, and his sigh of relief.

  “I want to help, Papa.”

  “Tuatha and Silverruff smell something bad,” Rygel explained as I stepped back and all but tripped over my son. Cursing, I caught my balance and trod over him and not on him. “Didn’t I tell you not to do that?” I asked.

  “Sorry.” Tuatha’s ears flattened for just a moment before a glint of mischief lit his blue eyes. “I keep you on your toes, don’t I, Papa?”

  “If you feel the urge,” I said, trying not to grin at how well his language abilities had grown. “Help Arianne carry wood.”

  With more fluidity and grace than I’d have thought at his age, Tuatha loped toward her, his tail wagging. As big as a small shepherd, his leg bones had lengthened and sleek fur replaced his former puppy fuzz. No longer colored a dark grey, his jet black coat rippled beneath the dying sunlight. His ears still tipped over, however. I still easily held him with one hand, yet Arianne carried him only with difficulty.

  “What do they smell?” Ly’Tana asked, building her third fire.

  “Death,” Silverruff answered, his hackles rising. Thunder growled.

  I spun about, my head up, my hand on my sword. Now I caught the odor, too, a rank scent of not just death but of decay, of rot. As though a tomb had opened up and spilled its noxious cargo onto the open ground.

  “Get them close to the fires.”

  I didn’t pause to question Darius, but obeyed instantly. “To me,” I barked. “Here, now.”

  Dropping their current tasks, the Kel’Hallans ran toward me, their hands seizing bows, swords. Corwyn dashed toward Arianne and hurried her toward the fires, scattering her armload of wood. Yuras joined his brother and Tor, who nocked an arrow to his bow and stood outside the firelight, searching for an enemy to shoot.

  Ly’Tana whipped her sword from its sheath and edged her way toward Bar as Left and Right, blades bared, flanked her. With the Tarbane behind them, Rygel, Witraz, Rannon and Alun ran into the firelight, blades flashing. Bar rose to his feet, hissing, his tail lashing as he, too, caught the stench of death.

  The warriors ringed the camp, bows and swords facing outward, yet Silverruff and Thunder faced the south–the direction the foul odor emanated from. It grew stronger; its miasma filled my nostrils and made my eyes water in protest.

  “Tuatha,” I snapped, as my son trotted toward Ly’Tana. “Here.”

  Changing direction, his hackles up, Tuatha loped past the fires to crouch between my ankles, growling. Silverruff and Thunder retreated, flanking me, low whines mixed with their low snarling. Long sharp fangs gleamed in the muted light.

  “It comes from the south,” I said quickly.

  “What is it?” Ly’Tana asked, her tone cool and ready.

  “Death,” Silverruff answered. “Death that walks.”

/>   “Dead people,” Tashira said, his head high and his nostrils flared.

  “Dead people that walk?” I snapped, earning myself a quick glance from Ly’Tana and a bristled frown from Kel’Ratan.

  Rygel cursed fluently in his own tongue.

  “What?” I snarled. “My language, damn you.”

  “Ja’Teel’s work,” he replied, plowing his hands through his wheaten mane. His teeth flashed in the dim light as he grimaced. “He up and did it, that stinking bastard, he up and did it.”

  “Did what?” Ly’Tana all but screamed, echoing my own thoughts that hadn’t yet made their way to my tongue.

  Before he answered, shadows shambled out from beneath the trees a mere fifty rods away. As though they’d forgotten how to walk, a crowd of a dozen or so people stumbled and staggered, often tripping and falling to their knees. They walked in wide, faltering steps toward our camp.

  The warriors lowered their weapons in astonishment and confusion as what looked like ordinary people approached, albeit in a strange fashion, toward them. I stood in stunned surprise as the newcomers hardly noticed the high-altitude, winter chill through their half-rotted, plain clothing. ‘Twas as though their skins didn’t feel the cold bite at all.

  “This is so wrong,” Rygel cried, his voice filled with both loathing and outrage.

  “What are they?” Ly’Tana asked.

  “Ghouls.”

  “Rygel,” I warned. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  The small crowd stumbled closer, making no sound save the crunch of their bare feet in the thin snow. They carried no weapons and seemed at a loss as to what they were doing. Yet, their deep eyes held a blank sort of evil that glittered in the light of the failing sun. In the half-light, I counted seven adult men and women, their clothing tattered and streaming behind in their wake. Five children, ranging from a youth no older than Tor to a crawling infant with swaddling clothes streaming behind it.

  Loosing his arrow, Tor grunted in dismay as the shaft hissed through the foremost man’s chest. Its passage sent misty eddies through his clothing as though striking a cloud and sank, quivering, into an oak tree behind him.

  “Ja’Teel did this,” Rygel yelled. “Whatever the cost, they must not touch you.”

  “What?” I bellowed, aiming my sword at the leader advancing on me, his eyes silver disks in his dark and drawn face. Thin, lank hair hung to his shoulders, his fingernails inches long. I guessed he’d been in his grave at least a week.

  “Ja’Teel robbed a graveyard,” Rygel snapped.

  “If you don’t explain quickly,” Ly’Tana grated. “I’ll kill you myself.”

  “These people are dead,” Rygel said, his voice high and strained.

  “We know that, idiot,” Kel’Ratan bellowed. “Can they be killed again?”

  “No, they can’t. Stay away from them. Don’t touch them with your swords or your hands. All they need do is touch you, even through a weapon, and you’re as dead as they are.”

  “Tashira,” I yelled. “Take the horses and go. Don’t let them be killed.”

  “But–” he began. His dark head high, his eyes gleaming redly, Tashira danced on his toes, ready to battle beside me.

  “Run,” I demanded. “You can’t fight them. The ghouls aren’t interested in you or the horses. Do it.”

  He hesitated, Shardon already nipping the horses with his ears flat.

  “Do as I say. Go!”

  Tashira finally whirled, his mane streaming like a banner of black silk and followed his brother. They galloped away, down the small valley, taking the small herd of horses and mules with them. I heard what sounded like Mikk scream amid the neighs of the horses and the panicked braying of the mules.

  “Bar,” Ly’Tana screamed. “Aloft! Fly, you bugger.”

  Bar hissed in protest, his wings wide and his black-tipped lion tail lashing from side to side. Earthbound he remained, planting himself firmly between his royal mistress and the oncoming dead. Like Tashira, he tried to protest, to remain at her side.

  Ly’Tana smacked his shoulder. “Are you daft? You can’t protect me. You’re too damn big a target.”

  With a shriek, Bar leaped toward the dark sky, his wings whipping loose snow and chilly air into our faces. His immense wings beating up and down, he rose sluggishly at first then with each beat increased his grace. Even at dusk in the mountains, warm air still drifted up and Bar rose on their currents. Circling ever higher, Bar screeched, his raptor beak angling down from between his shoulders.

  “Stay up there,” Ly’Tana commanded before sheathing her sword. “Put up, all of you. Weapons are no good.”

  I picked up Tuatha. He couldn’t possibly run or dodge fast enough to evade these ghouls, yet I couldn’t carry him. I’d need both my hands. Raising him to my face, I smiled. “Want to fly, Tuatha?”

  His blue eyes wide, he licked his muzzle in apprehension. “Papa, what do you mean?”

  I lifted my face to Bar, circling low overhead. “Bar, take him with you. Keep him safe. Please?”

  “Papa, I really don’t–”

  Bar swooped in low over my head, his colossal wings beating the air into a whirlwind about me. I lifted my son high. With as much delicacy as he might pick a tender flower, Bar enclosed my child within the confines of those deadly talons.

  Clutching Tuatha close to his chest, Bar winged away, rising higher and higher. I half-expected Tuatha to scream in panic, but all I heard was “Not so high, please not so high.”

  “Raine!” Ly’Tana screamed. “Look out.”

  Wheeling, I found the ghoul leader reaching for me, his dead hand inches from my shoulder. His lifeless, silver eyes gleamed and the stench rolling off him reeked like a charnel house. I ducked and fell backward in the same instant. My shoulders hit the ground hard, my hips bucking up and over. Completing the roll, I gained my feet facing him, ready.

  If he felt anger that he missed, he didn’t show it. Like a mindless thing, he staggered toward the next closest target, Kel’Ratan. Cursing, Kel’Ratan twisted his body away, trotting out of reach. The ghoul sought his next victim, searching, walking, arms outstretched, grasping.

  The entire dead horde had engaged my people, reaching, questing, walking on stiff legs amidst the group of us. While they didn’t move exceptionally fast, the ghouls held enough speed to be challenging. I’d forgotten the infant. It crept within a foot or so of my leg without my noticing. I jumped out of its reach, my gorge rising, wishing I could kick the vile thing away.

  “How can we stop this?” Ly’Tana cried, spinning out of reach of a youth about Tor’s age. “Can’t we kill them?”

  “No,” Rygel replied grimly, dodging a woman determined to touch him, her silver eyes empty and flat. “They’re already dead.”

  Silverruff yelped, dashing away from the ruthless pursuit of a toddler, his ears flat and his hindquarters tucked.

  “Big Dog!” Thunder called. “What of the others? They could come back at any moment.”

  “They’re on their way,” Silverruff said grimly. “They know something is wrong.”

  Cupping my mouth, I sent out my ringing howl, my wolf voice cast up into the deep purple sky. “Stay away! Don’t come back until its safe. Stay away.”

  “Use your magic,” Corwyn gasped, hiding Arianne behind his broad back. “Kill them with your power.”

  “They’re impervious to magic–” Rygel began just as I sent a blast of fire at a man determined to walk a running Witraz into the ground. My flames lit his clothes, caught in his hair, ran down his back. I waited, hoping, ready to see the ghoul collapse to the ground and burn. Without even a hiccup, the ghoul still pursued Witraz with a chilling, single-minded intensity.

  My fire, as though running out of fuel, withered and died on his body. Little by little, the flames fell apart until not even smoke rose from his shoulders. His clothes, his hair, remained as foul and reeking as a newly opened grave.

  Despite his belief they couldn’t be stopped by magic, R
ygel sent liquid lightning into a woman in a red dress. Like a spurned lover, she pursued Alun with a terrifying devotion. I held my breath, hoping against hope his effort worked. The lightning passed through her without harm. Alun yelped, much as Silverruff had, and ducked away from her.

  I tried a freezing spell, willing them to stillness. I felt my magic bounce off them as though a rubber ball might bounce off stone cobbles. Rygel tried a spell to transport them away. Not a one of them vanished.

  “Maybe we should just run,” Witraz called, panting with exertion. “Get to the horses and ride hard.”

  “Won’t work,” Rygel said, ducking and rolling with sharp agility. “They have us now. We may ride, and they walk, yet they’ll stay right with us. We run now, yet they keep up.”

  With dawning horror, I realized the inevitable. The ghouls would never grow tired and would never give up. One by one, we’d succumb to exhaustion and be taken. No hiding in the nearby trees, no keeping them at bay until they grew bored and went away–no escape. Not this time.

  Despair filled my heart. Brutal won. He may not have me alive to set at the head of his invading army, but my death, and Arianne’s, would clear his path to Connacht. Ly’Tana, too, would die, leaving Kel’Halla without an heir.

  “Sorry, old lad,” I murmured. “I don’t think I’ll be making that appointment.”

  “Don’t give up.”

  I wanted to snarl at Darius for offering paltry false hope, but I was too busy dancing away from the infant. That bloody bugger latched onto me like a leech and refused to let go. No matter how quickly I jumped out of reach, it followed up almost as fast.

  “What are they?” Ly’Tana demanded, her hair swinging wide as she spun out of the arms of the youth. “Not just their name, but how did Ja’Teel create them?”

  “Through his dark necromancy,” Rygel replied bitterly, spinning yet again from the woman who appeared to be in love with him. Rygel did attract women, there was no doubt. “Under the teachings of the aika’ru’braud he’d know how to raise the dead and send them, as ghouls, to kill any target he wished.”