Under the Wolf's Shadow

by A. Katie Rose

  I lifted my head. “No, sire,” I said, my voice quiet yet firm. I don’t know where the words came from, but I didn’t try to halt them. “Ananaya will live. She will live long and bring a new era, an era of life and hope and danger, to your people.”

  Even Raine cast a side-long, wary glance on me as Thunder and Silverruff growled low in their throats, staring hard in consternation. Busy with Rygel, Kel’Ratan and Little Bull hadn’t heard anything. In swift shock, I covered my mouth with my hands. I realized then that I wasn’t who’d spoken. The gods did.

  Bulvang cocked his head, sensing the truth of my words. Not them literally, believing me, but the source of them. That I had spoken the words just not of my heart, but with the voices of those divine beings who spoke through me.

  “I believe you, little girl,” Bulvang said, his green-gold eyes both hard and astonished at the same time. “Though I wish I didn’t.”

  Raine straightened his back, his eyes clearing as he tossed aside his black mane with a jerk of his head.

  “Majesty, please–I must tell you something.”

  Something in Raine’s tone alerted me. I leaned away from Raine’s bulk to peer up at him. “What happened out there?”

  “You imprinted her,” Bulvang said, peering down at us, his gaze guarded and hard. The Sacred Flame behind him cast the huge black dragon into deep shadow. Only his smoke, his flame and his gleaming green-gold eyes outlined his massive muzzle. “I knew it the moment you called her name.”

  “I know, Majesty, I’m so sorry,” Raine babbled, almost incoherent with pain and tiredness and the worry the dragons sought vengeance for this insult. “I didn’t mean to, I picked her up and she started to hatch, I didn’t know what to do and she just, you know, looked at me–”

  Bulvang’s talon, the length and width of a sword and twice as sharp touched his lips with the gentlest of gestures.

  Raine shut up immediately, his expression harried, convinced he’d be killed instantly. I knew he feared the king’s wrath would descend upon us, his companions. I smiled slightly, holding him upright, his arm across my shoulders. I suspected I knew Bulvang better than he.

  “Peace, little wolf,” Bulvang said, his tone quiet and amused. “You saved her life.”

  “But ‘twas I who placed her in danger to begin–”

  That deadly talon silenced him once more. “Who is to say this was not her destiny?” Bulvang asked, his voice soft. “We’ve no power, nor the right, to interpret our Mother’s will. Baby dragons imprint on their parent, but Ananaya has no real mother. The dragon who bore her knew she bred the next Keeper and left her to her destiny. The bond I feel she has with you is far stronger than that of a simple imprinting.”

  Bulvang turned his long neck to gaze at the crowd still ministering to the infant Ananaya: the newest Keeper of the Sacred Flame and dragon high priestess. “Jhet, damn your eyes . . . is she all right?”

  Jhet, nor anyone else in the crowd around the nest, answered him. Bulvang sighed deeply, flame spurting from his nostrils. “Bloody impudent child. Now where were we? Oh, yes, imprinting. While she should have imprinted on one of us, that bond wouldn’t be as powerful, nor as strange, as what she has with you. This goes beyond what we believe.”

  “Majesty–”

  Bulvang swiveled his head, amusement gleaming in his once-terrible eyes. “Just count me glad she hatched in your arms and not that dreadful, er, what was his name again?”

  “Ja’Teel,” I answered.

  “Ah, yes. Had she imprinted upon Ja’Teel, well, that’s a thought to cause nightmares. Did you kill him?”

  “Er, Rygel did, Majesty,” Raine stammered. “As a wolf. He tore out his throat.”

  “Just as he promised,” Bulvang declared, content.

  “Unfortunately,” Raine began, hesitant. “Brutal escaped, however.”

  With my free hand, I seized his face, forcing him to look at me. “Brutal was there? And he escaped?”

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized heavily. “It’s all my fault. I toyed with him when I should have killed him out of hand. Ja’Teel transported him to safety.”

  “That doesn’t sound too good,” Bulvang commented as I thought back to how I once toyed with Theodoric. I sighed. Me and Raine, we both liked to play with our prey.

  “There’s something else, Majesty,” Raine said, leaning heavily upon my love and shoulders. “When Ananaya fell from Ja’Teel’s arms and Rygel killed him, her shell cracked. She sucked up much of his life’s blood.”

  I shivered under that flat draconic stare. Raine blanched, his already pale skin now white with blood loss, pain and shock. The amiable, easy-natured king vanished and an angry black dragon stood in his place. I instantly felt the switch from our jovial friend to the King of the Dragons who protected his people with a savage and merciless power.

  Bulvang lowered his muzzle, smoke pouring from his nostrils. If a dragon could glower, Bulvang glowered down at Raine, his reptilian eyes intent. “She what?”

  Raine gulped. “Whether she drank his blood or absorbed it, still in the shell Ananaya took in much of Ja’Teel’s life essence.”

  Whoa, time out, where did I hear that before?

  Raine stood beside me, half-conscious, in chains. The odor of green summer grass tickled my nostrils. Brutal’s voice, Ja’Teel’s voice, permeated my memory, muttering inside my head. The bright sunlight, muted by the magical covering to conceal our whereabouts from Bar, shone down at half-power. Arianne, her tiny body concealed by her hair, spoke of a vision like an oracle of the gods.

  “Nephrotiti be praised,” I murmured, awed.

  “What,” Raine asked at the same time Bulvang asked, “Who?”

  I came back to myself, blinking. Nabila, Maher, and Gadron, the king’s council members drew close, captivated by the conversation. Silverruff unattached himself to Raine’s hip to walk forward and stare hard as Thunder growled low in his throat. Little Bull hovered anxiously over an unconscious Rygel as Kel’Ratan tended to his many wounds with bandages and ointments, courteously provided by a small silver-grey dragon.

  A few more dragons inched closer, their reptilian eyes wide, encroaching upon the tails of their superiors. Many more circled over our heads, muzzles snaked downward between from legs as they, too, eavesdropped.

  I grinned up at Raine. “Don’t you remember?” I asked, feeling tears sting my eyes. “Arianne’s prophecy.”

  “Uh,” Raine began, frantically trying to follow my thoughts.

  “When Brutal captured us,” I went on. “In the meadow before Bar found us and the Tarbane galloped to our rescue. They hit you so hard . . . you were almost insensible–maybe you don’t remember.”

  “Um,” he replied, floundering, frantic.

  Clearly he didn’t remember. At that time, he was all but unconscious from the troopers’ strikes to his head, and on his feet because of their hands holding him up. I stroked my hand down his stubbled cheek, smiling up into his confused eyes. “Your sister is a prophet.”

  “Uh,” he muttered, eyeing me sidelong. “How so?”

  “She said, and I quote, “‘You will die under the fangs of a wolf. And in your death shall begin a new life and a new hope.’”

  Raine gaped. “Arianne said that?”

  “Who is Arianne?” asked a dragon circling low overhead.

  “My sister,” he replied absently.

  “She has the sight,” I explained. “Divine foresight.” I jerked my chin toward Raine. “They’re both descended from the wolf god, Darius.”

  Raine took my hand in his. “She really said that?”

  I laughed, snorting. “She did, my love. She predicted all of this that day.”

  Raine’s eyes glazed over slightly before clearing.

  I nudged his ribcage. “What did he say?”

  “Who?” Raine began before catching the humor in my eyes. He grinned sheepishly. “Darius. He said, ‘makes you stop and think, eh?’”

  “That it does.”
>
  We stood, hand in hand, as dragons chattered and flamed, the word rapidly spreading to those who hadn’t witnessed the grand event. Within minutes, I knew the entire hollow mountain knew the tale of how their Keeper’s future was once prophesied, imprinted by a werewolf and had partaken of the blood of magic.

  Bulvang, not quite as enthusiastic as his subjects, turned back to us. He sat down, his tail coiling about his feet as he furled his wings over his incredible shoulders. Smoke poured from his nostrils, all but concealing his face. Flames briefly lit his features amid the roiling, billowing clouds of steaming dark fog. “I don’t much like this, my friends. Dragons have no magic. We were never meant to have it.”

  “Until now.”

  Bulvang spun about, half-rising, wings unfurling as his huge spade tail lashing from side to side. “Jhet?”

  His son and heir stepped forward from the bellowing mist and the bright Sacred Flame flickering through it at his back. His forked tongue flicked the air from between his backward curving teeth as he stared down at us: we mere humans and simple wolves. His prey should he hunger for our blood. Yet, his tired eyes gleamed with laughter and triumph.

  Jhet bobbed his great head in respect to his sire. “Ananaya will live,” he said, his tone quiet and subdued. “She’s warm, fed more than she can hold and sleeps the sleep only the very exhausted and very young can manage. In time, she’ll recover fully.”

  Bulvang bowed his head, breathing deep. Flame flickered from his muzzle. “Thank the Great Mother. That is great news indeed, my boy.”

  “That blood she took,” Jhet went on slowly, “may have saved her life.”

  Bulvang glared at his son. “What?”

  Jhet refused to cower beneath that royal gaze. “Without it,” he said, ponderously, “well, you can guess. She’d have died.”

  “Jhet,” Bulvang warned.

  “She needed the nourishment, Father,” Jhet said firmly. “I doubt she’d have the strength to survive despite Raine’s gallant efforts.”

  “Wait–did you just call me ‘Father’?”

  “Don’t let it go to your head, Bulvang.”

  “And?” Bulvang’s voice rose, threatening, on the upside of the question.

  “It is what it is, Bulvang,” Jhet replied simply. “She’s alive through arts unknown to us. She may have magic in her fists, or she may not. Yet, she’s alive because of this wee wolf here. Be grateful for once, you old bugger.”

  “How many times have I told you to call me ‘Father’?”

  “Too many, Bulvang.”

  “Disrespectful child.”

  I glanced beyond Jhet’s massive body toward the stone nest and the healers who yet hovered with anxiety over the infant Keeper. Though I couldn’t see, I did. Safe in her hot, stone nest, Ananaya drowsed, warm, well-fed and very tired after her ordeal. She hardly seemed the subject of such a new legend. She was just an overwrought dragon baby in need of tender care and a night’s sleep.

  “I want to see her,” Bulvang snapped, suddenly cranky.

  He turned about, his hugely heavy tail swinging high over our heads and he paced quickly toward the nest. Jhet walked at his side, talking in his ear, no doubt admonishing his sire to be quiet and not wake her.

  Raine’s legs, those treacherous limbs, collapsed and buckled. My shoulders, caught on his dreadful weight, dragged me down with him. I fell to my knees on the sharp rocks and bit off a sharp cry of pain. “Raine? Are you all right?”

  His body all but suffocating me, I pushed him off, rolling him onto his back. Silverruff whined in his ear as Thunder whined in mine. I waved them both off, impatient, needing space. They retreated, worried, still voicing their concern, but I ignored them.

  “Raine? What’s wrong?”

  “ –tired,” he mumbled, his eyes blank and staring. “So tired.”

  The wound in his shoulder broke open and oozed. I ‘d no doubt the injury on his back also bled afresh with all his activity. I can deal with this, I thought quickly. I’ve tended wounds before–

  I bit my lip. I didn’t have my healing kit with me.

  Half conscious, he struggled up, trying to rise. “Rygel–”

  “Lie still, dammit.”

  I held him down, leaning all my weight on his impressive shoulders. Silverruff’s sturdy paw and Maher’s talon helped me, their weight on his chest quite enough to hold him in place. “Kel’Ratan is with him,” I began, but I knew my words went unheard.

  He tried to rise again, but our combined strength held his body pinned to the stone. “Rygel–”

  “Your brother is being cared for,” Maher said, his tone soothing. “We’re not without our healing arts. Be in peace, Raine of Connacht. We will care for you as well. Sleep, gai-tan. We’re proud of you.”

  Raine slumped, his eyes rolling back in his head before his eyelids slid shut. His body relaxed, collapsing, falling limp on the hard stone. On a gust of breath, he dropped, either into sleep or into unconsciousness. Either way, I now breathed and pondered.

  Flinging my hair over my shoulders, I checked his pulse with my hand to his neck. Slow, rhythmic, healthy. I sighed. I could relax a fraction and start what healing aid I could.

  “All right,” I muttered, yanking his jacket up. “What do we have here?”

  Casting a quick glance forward, I found Kel’Ratan deeply immersed in tending Rygel’s wounds with the aid of that smallish silver dragon. As Kel’Ratan attended to Rygel’s numerous wounds, the dragon offered a leather bag from which he delved deep.

  “Mako,” Maher called, his wings half-flared, “bring your kit, please. And water.”

  Bulvang’s retreat, with Jhet at his side, left only a few dragons about us. I glanced over, watching the royal pair hover over the stone nest and Ananaya’s slumbering body. They conversed in lowered tones, spade tails coiled around taloned feet as their subordinate dragons lifted into the air and vanished.

  I needed to bare Raine’s wounds, but his huge body proved almost too much for me. With Maher’s help, I rolled him onto his belly. A dragon dropped a heavy cloth in my lap. Smiling my thanks, I used it to cushion his head and face. I stripped him of his bloody jacket and tunic with my dagger, finding not just the shoulder wound but also a long gash across his ribs and back. Caked with half-dried blood, it appeared deep and angry, riddled with infection.

  “Glory,” I muttered. “That needs stitched.”

  “We never stitch our wounds,” Maher commented.

  I glanced over my shoulder at his huge muzzle a rod from my face. “What do you do, then?”

  Maher raised his head as a dark-red dragon dropped lightly to all four feet in front of my face. Its body neatly lay between me and Kel’Ratan as though wishing to separate us. Its expression seemed annoyed and at the same time insultingly superior. Crikey. It’s attitude raised in me a sharp irritation.

  Silverruff licked my cheek, murmuring something in a low growl. He soothed my annoyance, as he intended, and I turned back to Raine’s oozing wounds.

  “This is Mako,” Maher said by way of an introduction. “She’s one of our healers.”

  Mako dipped her muzzle in greeting. “I’m not used to working on humans,” she said, her talons holding out a leather bag.

  I accepted it. “What do I do?”

  She also held out a small bucket of steaming water. “Wash his wounds first,” she advised. “Then I’ll instruct you.”

  With the leather swath, I gently cleansed Raine’s gashes on his back and shoulder. Dried blood and nasty crud fell away under my ministrations. Fresh clean blood oozed from the horrid cuts, bright red and its coppery scent cloying.

  “Good,” Mako said, her talon indicating the bag. “Close his wounds and seal it with that.”

  I raised my head, suspicious. “What is it?”

  Maher lowered his head. “We don’t use needles as you humans do,” he answered, patient. “This will seal the lips of his wounds together and encourage healing.”

  A half-glance beh
ind Mako showed me Kel’Ratan applying a thick liquid to Rygel’s wounds in liberal amounts. Gadron’s muzzle over his shoulder advised him continually.

  I gestured toward the bag. “Very well.”

  “Are his wounds clean?”

  I peered, swiping once more with the hot swath. “I think so.”

  “Hold his wounds closed with one hand,” Mako suggested, peering down, “and apply the ointment with the other.”

  “After you’re done,” Maher said quickly, “clean your hands. Or they’ll be stuck together for days.”

  Obeying, I nipped my fingers down Raine’s long gash, smearing the grassy-smelling ointment down along the closed lips of the wound. With my other hand, I dipped liberally into the bag and smeared Mako’s medicinal along his deep cuts.

  In the chilly air, the remedy hardened, grew stiff, and seared the wound closed. I felt it stiffen on my fingers before I plunged them deep into the still warm water. Loosening, the curative fell from my fingers. Yet, it clasped the lips of Raine’s wounds together and formed a seal not unlike healthy scar tissue.

  “What is this?” I murmured, inhaling the aroma, feeling refreshed and encouraged. “Methinks I need the recipe.”

  “We don’t share with outsiders,” Mako began.

  Maher glowered, smoke pouring from his nostrils. His tight glare cast Mako into wilting subservience. She turned her head aside, muzzle down, her tail coiled tightly around her feet. No messing with the big dog, I half-thought, my surging glee drowned under a wave of sincere sympathy. I wouldn’t want those eyes staring down at me.

  Maher’s flame erupted briefly before dying out. “We’ve never shared with outsiders as we’ve never had outsiders visit,” he rumbled. “Or save our Keeper.”

  Under my hands, Raine’s breathing deepened as he dropped from unconsciousness into natural sleep. With his pain eased and Mako’s healing aid killing all evil in his wounds, there wasn’t much more I could do for him. I covered him with the cut remnants of his bloody jacket, though he’d not be cold so near the Sacred Flame before brushing my finger down his scarred cheek. Sleep well, my love.