My hand numb and my shoulder on fire, I gained a few inches, then a foot, then a serious rod of firm, if still quivering earth. Hitching my lower body sideways, I caught hold of the cave’s rim with my right foot. Digging in deep, I thrust my body forward -
– and fell, sprawling, in an undignified heap at Feria’s feet.
Releasing my wrist, she backed away, furling her wings. She squawked a weary question: was I all right?
“I’ll let you know,” I replied, panting, lying on my side. The agony of my fall, Chovani’s torment, shunted into the background as Feria and I fought to escape, woke and flamed down my back and legs. My face and flank, burning anew and bleeding, screamed with the voice I refused to allow. I bit back a groan.
The ground continued to shake and tremble, heaving like my belly at the thought of that witch slaying and eating nine wolf infants. The trees about us shivered as great fissures broke among them, hurtling rocks and loose dirt into the air. A shattering roar split the tense silence.
“Well done, but keep moving. Her wrath isn’t finished.”
“Isn’t she dead?”
“Don’t be foolish, boy. Run like hell.”
Scrambling to all four paws, I bolted, turning my head back over my shoulder. “Feria!” I howled. “Fly, fly!”
At my sudden and swift departure, Feria screamed and launched herself skyward. She mounted the wind, rising higher and higher, catching one of those wonderful, life-giving updrafts. Those mighty wings swept her up and past me, her beak angling down, her green eyes confused. She cut sideways to avoid slamming into a very tall pine, then swung back to wing low, just over me.
At least she’s safe up there, I thought, running as hard as I could with my face and back half screeching as loud as Feria in one of her snits. Behind my leaping paws, the deep fissures breaking the earth apart followed at the speed of a galloping horse. Pines, firs, scrub oak, boulders, chipmunks, rabbits, those few deer I blew past before they might bolt, fell into the widening caverns below. A scavenging black bear yowled like a cat as it tumbled headlong into the dark depths.
Fire belched upward, licking the still living trees, setting alight the thorny bushes, deep green pine, firs, and late blossoms of dogwood and wild roses.
“Up the mountain. Hurry.”
Heeding Darius’ terse advice, I galloped up the eastern side of the mountain where the pigs, so very long ago, dined on acorns. Loose rocks tumbled out from behind my flying paws. Feria winged low over my head, calling, asking questions as I galloped up and up. I sailed over chunks of broken granite, dodged scrub trees, scuttled under the rocky overhang where Feria said the pigs feasted. With my back and legs praying for mercy, I ran on, ever up, scattering birds, deer and elk, and perhaps those very hogs Feria craved, before me. The crest loomed just ahead, nothing less than solid granite boulders, broken with stunted trees growing bravely amid them. I floundered up and through them, forced to a leaping walk, jumping from one huge boulder to another, climbing ever higher. Circling overhead, Feria called to me, but I ignored her for the moment.
The mountain’s roots were deep, deep enough to withstand Chovani’s temper tantrum. The mountain shivered, yet stood massive and unconcerned as the earthquake tried in vain to bring it to its mighty knees. Pausing, panting, I risked a glance behind and down.
The red-hot, flaming fissures ceased at the mountain’s base. Their smoldering fires set alight dry thickets and downed deadwood. Green pine and lone stunted scrub oak denied the flames their meal, though they smoked aplenty. None but a few dead trees truly burned, while the rest endured the insult with equanimity.
Like the fingers of a hand spread wide, the cracks in the earth reached the mountain, seeking its heart. The mountain, unburnable, stood fast, unimpressed. Chovani, if it were indeed the witch’s power and not simple chance, waved the white flag of defeat.
I watched from high above, the red-orange glow burning dully within the steep fissures. As though cooled by an unseen river, they faded at once and vanished. ‘Twas as though the hand of someone unseen had splashed water on them, drowning their fury. Smoke and steam vented upward, and I heard a faint hissing from far below.
“You’re safe now.”
I collapsed on the rocks, gasping for breath, under the bright sunlight of midafternoon. “Gods, I hope so.”
Chirping, clicking her beak, Feria landed beside me and furled her wings. Stepping delicately closer, she peered down and nudged my shoulder with her beak. Her next chirp rose on a question: Is it over?
“Yes,” I groaned, hurting all with every nerve ending.
Feria hissed. I can’t understand you.
I sighed and changed clothes. The pain didn’t diminish one jot. Sitting up on the hard boulder, I clutched my arms over my aching ribs, my butt on the granite boulder screaming loud and clear. Blood dripped down my cheek, more pooling into my breeches from the flaming cut over my ribs and belly. My lower legs and ankles swelled under my boots, straining the hard leather. I dared not take them off, for I may not get them back on.
Sniffing, inquiring, Feria inspected me from my toes to my hair. She closely examined my face, her right talon flicking my hair away from my burn. Clicking her beak, she stroked her hand down my legs, a caress. Her green eyes glowed soft and concerned. She chirped: I’m worried about you.
I couldn’t help but raise a grin. “No worries, lass. Nothing broken.”
“You’ll have to heal yourself.”
“I know,” I breathed, swiping blood from my chin. “In time. Right now I just want to rest a bit.”
Feria crooned, her tone soothing and sweet, and I felt the last of my worries fall away. We were safe up here and Chovani, this time at least, tasted defeat yet again.
Grinning, I rubbed Feria’s face with love and affection. “How did you find me down there?”
She proceeded to tell me all about it, with chirps, hisses, clicks and short screeches, her language flying right over my head. I supposed she’d just told me she used not just her sight, but her keen hearing and sense of smell to locate me under what appeared to be solid ground. No doubt she tested it, and discovered no ground at all, but a natural sinkhole in the earth. She heard Chovani speak, knew she trapped me, and learned what the witch planned for my future.
The rest, they say, is history.
“I owe you one, my girl,” I said softly, my unburned cheek against hers.
Feria crooned again, her singsong voice lulling me toward sleep. I fought it off, not ready to succumb to its sweet temptations just yet. I had too many questions and too few answers.
I clasped my hand over her beak, stilling her. “Not now, baby girl. Later, all right?”
She huffed and nodded, pulling her beak from my grip.
“What do you need to know?”
“Will she try again?”
“I think not. She’s fully blind now. Your knife stroke crippled her. In time, she’ll heal, but nothing can replace her eyes or repair the damage to her leg. Greater yet, her powers that be are no doubt very disappointed in her.”
“She’s immortal then?”
“Not exactly. She can be killed, it’s just terribly difficult to accomplish it. If her masters lose interest in her, or if she fails them, she’ll no longer have their power to reinforce her own. When that time comes, she’s as human and mortal, as, er, you.”
“What the bleeding hell are witches?”
“Pay attention, there’ll be a quiz later.”
I sighed, biting off a choice expletive.
“Humans crave power, do they not?”
“I suppose.”
“Your pal Brutal seeks to dominate the world, becoming the most powerful man its ever known.”
“Get on with it. I’m bleeding.”
“Some align with evil forces. Chovani is an excellent example. She sells her soul to the highest bidder, gains the next best thing to immortality. With her new power, fueled by evil, she romps across the world bringing evil with her.”
“Influencing Metavas for instance?”
“Exactly. She commits evil wherever she can, yet seeks even more power from those who sold it to her. They may grant her demands, or they may call in their marker.”
“So evil wins?”
“Don’t be absurd. On the opposite end of the spectrum, there are witches who align themselves with good spirits. Again, they are but spirits in another dimension who love the world and seek to expand the good in it.”
I shut my eyes. “Angels?”
“Er, the term isn’t quite right, but might apply for this conversation. With the subtle power these witches are given, they strive to defeat evil.”
“Good witches, bad witches.”
“Indeed. There’s always a balance between good and evil. The Lords insist upon it.”
My energy level subsided at the same rate my pain rose.
I squinted into the sun. Late afternoon. Just enough time for Feria to hunt up some supper before cold dark set in. If she was lucky, she might obtain a pig or two.
“Go hunt,” I said, my voice thick. “While you’re gone I think I’ll see what I can do about Chovani’s little torments.”
Feria hissed, her ears flat.
“You worry too much. By the time you get back here, I’ll be sound asleep.”
Unwilling to leave me, but knowing she could do little to help, Feria paced slowly to the topmost granite boulder. A twisted tree the size of a tall rosebush brushed her massive shoulder as she spread her wings. She glanced back, peering under her white and brown feathers.
“I’m not hungry. Knock yourself out, girlfriend.”
She chirped a brief farewell.
Dropping off the boulder, she vanished from sight. I sighed, catching my breath on a sharp jab of pain over my back and ribs. Limping upright, I staggered a short length down, off the granite mountain top, to a huge pine tree whose branches started a rod or so up its trunk. The softer area under its thick, overhanging limbs offered a much nicer spot to rest and a shelter of sorts. I much preferred sleeping on dirt and pine needles than solid rock.
I wiped sluggish blood from my cheek. “The witch will die,” I said softly.
“One day.”
“Promise me.”
“My oath.”
“If you don’t, I will. Even if I have to come back from the grave.”
“When that happens, I’ll hold your coat.”
With night coming soon, and with it its bitter mountain cold, I changed into my wolf’s clothes. My pelt would protect me as I slept. I dropped into my trance, feeling my pain ebb, finding my calm center.
“Well, here goes nothing.”
Chapter Nine
The Cursed Ones
I nudged Mikk into a swift trot, passing Kel’Ratan and Rygel, who eyed me sidelong, but didn’t speak.
Riding up behind Rufus, I bowed my head and hissed into Arianne’s shoulder.
“You’re pissed,” I muttered, my face lowered. “Scowl. Your retinue has deserted you. When the royals ride near, complain. You’re a princess used to being waited on hand and foot. Suddenly, you’ve no henchmen to guard your life.”
“Add in a little fear,” Kel’Ratan suggested.
“He’s right,” Rygel added. “Beg the soldiers to protect you. You’re Brutal’s cousin, after all.”
“You, there,” Arianne cried, waving at a band of purple-and-gold horsemen.
They rode past, spurring hard, saluting in quick deference.
None stopped, however.
“I’ll wager that lieutenant told them to leave us alone,” I said to my reins.
My reins didn’t answer but Kel’Ratan did. “You’re too smart for a slave.”
“Zhou retainers don’t necessarily put loyalty first and would truly seek the wealth offered by accosting innocent merchants,” Rygel added. “Who wouldn’t desert under these circumstances?”
“Dammit, I need help here,” Arianne called to yet another patrol.
These brave boys waved and bowed over their pommels, at the same time their leader demanded a token from a merchant wearing the crescent moon badge of the jewelers’ guild. The merchant, his mules stopped in their tracks, his pair of merc guards yawning into their fists, paid his ‘travel pass’ into the greedy palm of the patrol leader with a tight-lipped expression.
“Those boys pay heavy taxes into the High King’s treasury,” Rygel explained. “I’d be a trifle irritated, too, if forced to pay taxes twice.”
“What is it with folk these days?” Arianne fumed, riding past the stopped patrol. “I swear on Usa’a’mah’s altar those rogues will feel my ropes about their necks.”
A poor peddler, bent almost in half by the weight of the huge pack on his back, froze in horror as Arianne bore down on him at the trot. No doubt he heard her words, her threat, and knew she’d vent her royal wrath on his hapless body.
When Rufus passed him by with nothing but a derisive snort, the simple man gaped as the rest of us royal minions swept past him, our mounts kicking dirt and dung into his face. I glanced back over my shoulder, witnessing first-hand his anger, his closed-fisted rage. My hair streaming over my face, I watched him discover a derisive laugh for the royal princess whose retainers decamped for better pay.
“Let’s hope they laugh their asses off,” Rygel said, his voice muted. “If they’re laughing, they aren’t watching.”
“More laugh, less watch,” Arianne repeated. “Got it.”
The desert grew more and more crowded the closer we rode to Ararak. Wagon trains and caravans of horses and camels and any other beast that could carry or haul goods kicked up the offensive dust with feet and hooves. Sabbathians quarreled, while scantily clad Zhous and their white feathers drifted into and out of the tent city. I recognized folk from other nations: Jinns riding dusty mules, noses pierced with gold rings; Yuons strode among the vendors with whips tied to their belts. These people mingled with individuals dressed in costumes from Khalidian provinces I’d never seen before.
Dark-skinned men with high, colorful turbans wrapped around their heads, gold hoops in their ears and black beards flowing down their chests rode small, prancing horses. Half-naked women dressed in filmy silks wore slender delicate silver chains about their bellies and large gems in their navels chatted in a loose group as they walked toward Ararak.
I recognized no few Arcadians along the Route, riding horses or mules, talking and laughing, trading or buying. As the border lay a hundred or so leagues from Ararak, that shouldn’t come as a surprise.
“When we find a horse or mule trader,” Rygel said, scowling thunder over his shoulder as though berating me, “let me do the talking. As Her Highness’s steward, I’d be expected to do her trading for her.”
“You do know a good horse from the ass end of a donkey?” Kel’Ratan asked.
“If he needs help, I can give it,” Shardon said, his lips and jaw barely moving.
Rygel clearly didn’t know who needed his derisive snort more, Kel’Ratan or Shardon, and divided his irritation between them.
“I rode before I walked,” he replied coldly.
“That don’t mean –“
I giggled into my hair.
“Damn you,” Arianne called, her voice high and strident. “Come back here!”
The passing patrol either didn’t hear or pretended they didn’t, and kicked up more dust as they galloped past. As the entire vicinity roiled with dust and filth, none felt offended enough to curse them. No few Jinns, Sabbathians, Zhous, Khalidians paused to bow low as she passed, while many Arcadians merely stared openly.
A band of warriors wearing turbans and light scarves over the lower halves of their faces rode past in the opposite direction. Colorful cloaks fell from their shoulders to their heels, their robes flapping in the wind their loping horses created. Girt with scimitars, recurve bows and bristling quivers of arrows hanging from their pommels, they looked fierce and tough. Dark eyes over their scarves eyed us with disdain as they pa
ssed and vanished.
I recognized immediately who they were: desert tribesmen.
From behind my red-gold curtain, I noticed a few men, banded tightly together wearing outlandish clothes made of rough skins, watched us ride past. Their hair, long and dark, hung in tangled skeins past their shoulders. Their dark skin and slanted black eyes told me nothing of their origins. Since they wore hot leather in the desert, that suggested they originated in the northern parts of the world.
“Ja Mata,” Kel’Ratan muttered, his blue eyes glowing hot.
I started. Those men were the very barbarians whom Metavas invited in to raid and subdue Connacht. Raine’s enemies. My enemies.
I flicked a quick glance over my shoulder after we passed them, but they’d long since found something else to stare at. We were of no more consequence than anyone else.
Slavers drove long lines of slaves chained to one another, riding skinny horses and cracking their whips. If a slave stumbled and fell, the nearest slaver whipped him to his feet again. I grit my teeth in anger. The poor wretches appeared half-starved, open sores running with filth and infection. Once sold, these slaves may find masters who cared for them, but I knew kind owners were a rarity.
Trading began half a league from Ararak’s gates. Men haggled over goods there in the sand, many sitting behind blankets stretched before them, their products on display. No few sat on the ground behind low tables, cloths of cotton or light wool hung on posts shielded them from the worst of the sun. A few more prosperous traders actually owned shelters of wicker, bargaining and calling from inside decent shade.
Our pace slowed to a walk with both foot and animal traffic converging on us from both directions. Men, and no few women yelled, cried, shouted and haggled and conducted business at roughly the tops of their lungs. Khalidian patrols rode singly or in pairs or groups of three or four, eyeing the surging masses with disillusion.
Though people and animals pressed close to either side, Arianne never cringed or faltered. Kel’Ratan and Rygel rode to either side of her, their hands on their hilts, prepared for danger. My faithful Left and Right casually urged their mounts to either side of me as though by accident. Tor, the only one riding single, trotted his grey mare between Arianne in front and me in the rear after catching my eye and the jerk of my head.
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