Prince Wolf

by A. Katie Rose

“If we were concerned with safety,” Alun said, openly meeting my eyes, “we’d have never become warriors.”

  I grimaced, irritated. “What I meant was, don’t fight for what we can pay for. Fighting attracts attention. Paying for goods in this place doesn’t.”

  Murmurs of agreement rose, although my boys refused to meet my gaze. What did I do?

  “Where do they go, Rygel?” Kel’Ratan asked, putting the remainder of the gold away.

  Rygel frowned. “The horse, mule, camel and cattle traders are on the outside of the markets,” he answered slowly. “For obvious reasons. I’ve never been here before, but I’m going to guess that there’ll be quarters, sections, where items are traded. Gold and jewelry and gemstones will be in one area. Seamstresses, or other clothing vendors will work in yet another. Blacksmiths and armorers will have their own division. Food traders will be the furthest in. I apologize, but they’ll have to simply walk about until they find a vendor. It looks big from the outside, but once inside the place isn’t much larger than Brutal’s palace.”

  “That’s not so difficult,” Kel’Ratan murmured, nodding. “Very well, who volunteers for first watch?”

  “I’m not very tired,” Witraz said, standing up. “I’ll take first watch, if it please you, m’lord.”

  Kel’Ratan nodded. “Second watch?”

  “I volunteer.”

  No eye but stared in consternation and confusion when Rygel’s voice rose. Rygel? The watches were usually given to my boys, shared equally among them all. Rygel, though baseborn, was considered royalty. Royalty didn’t stand watch through the night like a common soldier. Even Arianne eyed him with anxiety, biting her lip as though wishing she could read his mind. As she could read anyone’s, why couldn’t she read his?

  As this meant my warriors got more sleep, I shrugged. “If he wants it,” was all I said.

  “I doubt I can sleep tonight,” Rygel said, by way of explanation. “And I can hold a watch as well as anyone.”

  My boys eyed one another with shrugs and half-nods, accepting Rygel’s offer. Kel’Ratan and Corwyn exchanged a long slow look. Arianne sighed, looking to her lover with wide, don’t-you-feel-sorry-for-me eyes.

  Witraz rose to his feet. Offering me a salute, he strode off into the darkness. Tor and the blonde brothers began their chores of cleaning up after supper. After a respectful half-bow to me, Rygel rolled into his blanket to get some rest before his watch.

  Arianne, pouting when Rygel didn’t pay her her much needed attention, slid into her own bed inside the tent. She must have been tired, after all, for I heard her light snores start almost immediately. Kel’Ratan yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, sought his own bed soon after. My boys, with the exception of Left and Right, rolled into their own pallets around the fire. Even Corwyn, after a discreet bow, lay down. Tor had already snuggled between Yuri and Yuras. Shardon, grazing on the thin desert foliage, walked into the firelight long enough to speak briefly.

  “Sleep well,” was all he said before vanishing into the darkness.

  I was the last to seek my rest.

  I hadn’t heard from Bar since his caustic insult this afternoon. “Bar?”

  “What?”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m sitting about a rod behind you.”

  I started, swiveling to stare into the darkness behind the dancing firelight. “How’d you – “

  “Oh, please,” he snapped. “I’m half cat. Don’t be obtuse.”

  “Bloody showoff,” I muttered, happy he was so close. No one, especially Rygel, needed to know he lay in hiding, within a length from me. I could sleep tonight, in comfort, in warmth and in absolute safety.

  “Have I told you – “

  “Right, right. I’m on notice. I get it already.”

  I kept my giggle behind my teeth and hopefully no one remained awake to see my happy smile. Tuatha did, however. He crawled from the tent where Arianne carried him, no doubt hoping he’d sleep with her this night. He sought my lap and gazed up at me with curious blue eyes. He didn’t ask questions, but settled into my arms as though planning to stay there forever.

  “Silverruff is here, too,” Bar commented.

  I stiffened. “What?”

  Bar’s voice hesitated, as though he counted. “Him, Thunder, Digger, that big one who hangs with Rannon – “

  “Shadow.”

  “Right. Nahar, Darkhan, and that idiot who likes Rygel –”

  “Little Bull.”

  “That’s him. They’re all scattered in the general vicinity. I’d say about ten rods from me, in a wide circle.”

  “What are they doing here?”

  “What do you think?”

  Protecting me, I thought, but didn’t voice.

  “Of course,” Bar continued, having heard my thoughts. “The others are around, keeping guard a little further out. Darkhan is at his wits end, though. I think he’s going a little mad.”

  Bar’s voice sounded odd, even to me. Halting, concerned even. As though he felt sorry for Darkhan, or perhaps he sympathized with the huge dark wolf.

  “Tell him – “

  “I can’t tell him a bloody thing.”

  Damn language barriers, I thought morosely.

  Bar couldn’t, but Tuatha could. I picked him up by his ribcage, gazing into his eyes. I shot a quick glance around to see if anyone feigned sleep but watched me covertly. As far as I could tell, most had already fallen into slumber, exhausted by the day’s events. Those that weren’t were drifting there quickly.

  “Baby,” I murmured, for his ears alone. “Talk to Darkhan. Tell him – “

  What to tell him? That the mate he adores is not for him? That he’s a wolf and she’s a woman? That as long as Rygel is around he stands no chance of winning her heart?

  “Tell him,” I said firmly, though quietly. “There is one who waits for him. One who waits while he yearns for what he cannot have. She abides with an enduring heart, waiting for him, him, that very ideal she has always dreamed of. She’ll give him sons and daughters and the abounding love he craves. She has patience enough for them both, for patience is love in masquerade. Tell him thus.”

  It all might have been too much for a whelp’s limited vocabulary. Maybe Tuatha had grown, too, in the time since Raine left us behind. He obeyed me. His blue eyes glazed slightly as he conversed silently with the distant Darkhan.

  “How do you know all that?” Bar demanded crossly. “Are you a seer now?”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied, but inwardly wondered where those words came from. “He’s a nice boy. And nice boys attract nice girls.”

  “Playing a bleeding heart matchmaker, are you?” Bar grumbled. “Don’t ever play mix and match with me, little girl.”

  I sniffed. “Like you could ever stop me.”

  “Hmmm,” Bar murmured.

  “What?”

  “Darkhan perked a bit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His ears came up. They’ve been down for hours, irritating me to no end, too.”

  “Maybe he’s found hope.”

  “Or maybe he’s discovered the hopelessness of loving a damn human.”

  “Have you?”

  I found Bar’s silence rather enjoyable.

  I snuggled with Tuatha into my warm bed, heated by fur and fire, drifting toward sleep with hope in my heart.

  Chapter Eight

  A Witch’s Vengeance

  “Pork?” I asked, unable to halt the whine in my voice. “Again?”

  Feria sighed and flapped her wings, her eyes flat. She chattered at me, a long diatribe of clicks, hisses, small shrieks and annoyed chirps all telling me what an ungrateful boor I am. She flew long and hard, searching out potential prey, worked her wings to the bone to bring me the news and all I did was complain. That we had had pig every day for the last five days never entered her feathered head. She loved pork. While we both ate well and regained some much needed weight, my cravings
took a decided turn toward anything but those nasty, squealing, hoary pigs.

  Fetching my own sigh, I held up my hand, halting the harangue. “Whatever. Tomorrow, I get to decide what we hunt. Agreed?”

  Hissing, she turned her head away, miffed.

  “Are you going to tell me where they are or must I guess?”

  Turning back, excited, she busily drew in the dirt, her talon flying over the ground. Peering over her shoulder, I glanced up occasionally, trying to interpret her map and compare it to the surrounding countryside. That nodule on the ground looks suspiciously like the mountain just to our east. If I understood her correctly, the family of seven she hungered for rooted for acorns halfway up the side of that mountain. Studying it for a moment, I suspected they were about a league away.

  I pointed with my finger. “They’re under that overhang?” I asked.

  Feria chirped an assent, her green eyes alight with greed.

  I sniffed the light, cold wind. That much was in our favor, the breeze brought their scent to us, not the other way around. That seemed the only benefit, however. Try as I might, I could not visualize our success this time. The mountainside held little tall, bushy vegetation, very few large boulders, and only sparse, stunted trees. Nothing that a wolf my size could hide behind. Our game would most certainly see us coming and be long gone before we got there.

  “I hope you also have a plan,” I said. “I’m tapped out.”

  Impatient, Feria erased her first design, and drew more lines and squiggles. The squiggles took on a suspicious likeness to the heavy line of juniper and pine trees that grew not on the mountain itself, but at its foot. Her talon traced a line from beyond the mountain to the rocky overhang. She drew another line from the rocks to the trees.

  Light dawned in my skull. ”You’ll drive them from the mountain, into the trees?”

  Feria squawked, a comment on my intelligence, I suspected.

  “Bite me,” I replied absently. Rubbing the back of my neck with my cold hand, I eyed the terrain. In order to hide my movement from the pigs’ elevated position, I’d have to slink south, circumvent the mountain by a wide margin, and hug low to the ground the entire way. This part of the country opened up for several miles around, with scrub oak, thin thorny bushes, stony soil and little cover. My black body might be seen from any distance.

  The thought crossed my mind to dissuade her, convince her that this was a losing proposition. Yet, her eager expression halted my words before I uttered them. Why do females always demand their males jump through hoops?

  “To prove you love them.”

  “This is your fault.”

  “How so?”

  “You made them like this.”

  “Wasn’t my idea. I cast my vote the other way.”

  “You’re useless,” I muttered.

  Feria hissed, affronted.

  “Not you, dear,” I said. “Him.”

  By now, Feria knew of my conversations with Darius. While she didn’t completely understand the connection or what Darius truly was, she at least knew I spoke to someone else. I’d long given up trying to explain it all. She just didn’t care enough to listen.

  “All right,” I sighed. “Off with you, then. Give me time to get into the trees.”

  Leaping into the air, Feria caught an updraft, her white and brown wings sweeping wide. As always, my irritation with her fled at the sight of her unparalleled grace and beauty, her front talons tucked under her shoulders, her black-tipped lion tail trailing in her wake. She shrieked a command down to me before sailing low over the ground and skirting the mountain.

  “What did she say?”

  “‘Don’t screw it up’, I’ll wager.”

  “Doubtless.”

  She took care not to fly directly over our quarry, and vanished behind the mountain. There, I knew she’d wait, circling high overhead, her keen eagle’s visions watching me from a long distance. Until I was in position.

  “Think she’ll let me pick tomorrow?” I asked as I changed clothes and loped eastward.

  “That’s a rather stupid question.”

  “I like to ask stupid questions now and again, discover if anyone is listening.”

  “I don’t have much choice.”

  “You can always get out of my head and leave me to my own devices.”

  “You’ll get into too much trouble.”

  Keeping my body as low to the ground as possible, I slunk from one thorny bush to another. If the hoary family happened to see me, they might see a wolf stalking prey away from them. Or so I hoped. I’d no way of knowing if they spotted me, much less if the pigs were still there. I supposed that if I made them nervous, Feria would allow them to see her, thus frightening them to flee the other way, toward me.

  The open, stony ground shifted noisily under my paws, grating rock against rock. Had my prey been closer, all was lost. Anything with reasonably sharp hearing knew something large encroached upon them. Thinking this adventure hadn’t had a snowball’s chance in hell of working –

  “Hell can be dreadfully cold if Calphalon wishes it.”

  – I trotted steadily on. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work, I thought philosophically, we can always try again tomorrow. I wasn’t very hungry anyway. The mountain to my left vanished behind the heavy forest of green pines, junipers, firs and the occasional elm and birch trees. Only the peak with its mixture of grey stone and white snow appeared above their thick tops.

  Out of sight of our quarry, I ceased my slink and broke into a lope. Feria, seeing me enter the woods, would begin her attack, driving the pig family into the shelter of the forest. I’d need to find a thicket to hide in.

  Crossing the last span of open, rocky ground, I suddenly stumbled, falling, as the earth tumbled out from under my feet. My brain flashed a rapid-fire ‘what the –?’ as my body cascaded into open space. Falling, my eyes caught flashes of rocks half-buried in the soil, tree roots bursting from the sides of – what? A cave? A tunnel? Too quickly for me to see clearly what I fell into, I dropped into swift darkness. Tumbling ass over ears, I tried to right myself to land on my feet, like a cat.

  I struck land’s end before I managed it. Striking the rocky bottom on my hindquarters and left side, my breath departed my lungs at a frightening speed. I failed to get it back. My head, fortunately for me, struck the hard soil last, after my body had absorbed most of the shock. Pain lanced up from my legs across my spine to my shoulders, but my brain, despite being rattled, remained intact. I hurt, but my thought processes still functioned.

  Gasping, trying in vain get regain my wind, I struggled upright. My legs worked, which meant none were broken despite the incredible pain. Bruised as hell, I thought, but thank all the gods there are I bent but didn’t bust.

  Like snakes whipping up from beneath the soil, thin cables burst up and out in tiny clouds of dirt, wrapping themselves around my legs. Dumped flat on my side again, still unable to breathe, I bared my fangs in a silent snarl as the cables grew in number and covered not just my legs, but my ribs, shoulders and hips, and lastly, my neck. Bound tight to the sharp rocks that dug unmercifully into my bones, I lifted only my muzzle and my tail.

  “Welcome, gai-tan,” boomed a voice behind me. “Welcome, welcome to my little trap.”

  “Chovani!”

  “Greetings, Darius. I’m so pleased you remember me.”

  “Chovani?” I choked out with the tiny amount of air left to me.

  A shadow limped into my view, a lit torch in its hand. Under the shivering light, the creature bent toward me. A woman, both slender and small, similar to Ly’Tana. Yet, unlike Ly’Tana, this woman’s hair, long and as wild as a pony’s tail, grew from scant parts of her head. Where her hair failed to thrive, bald patches of her skull gleamed dully under the dim light. Unlike Ly’Tana, who moved with the stealthy grace of a hunting cat, this woman stumped about as though unfamiliar with her own legs. Her face, once possibly attractive, if not beautiful, held little save massive scars. Her
right lip snagged upward in a perpetual snarl, while her left bowed downward in sorrow. Where her right eye once rested, a purple scar in the shape of a long slash crossed from her brow to her cheek. Proud flesh, purple-pink and bulging, boiled across her brow and cascaded down both cheeks. Only her nose, small, pointed and petite, remained intact and unmolested.

  The torch in her hand dropped closer as she bent toward me, her single brown eye lit with malicious glee. Her gown, or what I thought was her gown, appeared ratty, stained and torn as though she had worn nothing else for a dozen years. A scent, a nasty, decayed odor, like the door opening onto a charnel house, tickled my offended nose. My lungs relented a fraction, allowing me to breathe in her noxious aroma.

  “My, my, Darius,” she said. “What a fine son you have.”

  “What do you want, Chovani?”

  The shadow straightened. “My vengeance, silly wolf. What else?”

  “She can hear you?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Chovani and I go back many years.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Tell the boy who I am, my love.”

  “Chovani is a witch. I discovered she sacrificed nine whelps to her dark arts and I exacted my revenge.”

  Chovani traced the marks along her face with a slender finger. “You gave me these scars, Darius. I took months to heal.”

  “I should have killed you.”

  “Oh, yes indeed,” she cackled, her torch raised high as she peered down at me. “You should have. I felt your mercy at the last and I laughed at you. I used the last couple of centuries plotting my retribution: where can I hurt Darius hardest?”

  Taking a few mincing steps toward me, Chovani nudged me in the belly with her foot. “Just think, Darius,” she murmured. “Think of spending eternity in your prison, your folk gone from you. The souls of your people vanished –“ She snapped her fingers – “just like that. I wonder, can a god die from a broken heart?”

  “You’ll never destroy them or me!”

  In all the time he had spent in my head, never before had I heard Darius speak with anything save mild tones and humor. I heard now the snarl of rage, the bitter fury of a mighty force unchecked. Had Darius been free at this moment, no mercy on earth could save her tender throat from his fangs.