Prince Wolf

by A. Katie Rose

  “We ran into some old friends,” I said, trying to find a smile for them.

  “Tongu?” Rannon asked, also jumping down. He immediately went to his Shadow, still lying down. He raised a lupine grin and wagged his tail as Rannon stroked his head and ears.

  “Yes,” Kel’Ratan answered. “They found us somehow.”

  Alun stared around at the dead hounds and assassins, lifting his face to gaze at the numerous corpses scattered all over the area. “How could we have missed this?” he murmured.

  Yuri and Yuras, with exclamations of concern, dropped lightly from their horses and ran to Warrior Dog and Scatters Them.

  “Sorry, but we started the party without you,” I said with a grin. “You boys are way too slow for words.”

  At their dismay, I found energy enough to find a laugh.

  “Come on,” Kel’Ratan growled. “You can help patch the wounded. I doubt there’s a one of us unscathed.”

  Yuri and Yuras, Rannon, and a worried Witraz left their wolves to unburden their mounts. Dumping their loads to the ground, their relieved mounts shook themselves, rattling gear and raising dust. Fetching kits from saddlebags, they strode firmly toward our injured. I set to calling out instructions.

  “Yuri, Yuras and Witraz, you start doctoring the horses. They’ve all been mauled. Rannon, take care of Corwyn, will you? Alun, see to Kel’Ratan.”

  “I’m fine,” he snapped. “I don’t need a bloody nurse.”

  I eyed the numerous cuts and bites, the blood that was his amongst the blood that wasn’t and quirked a brow. “Sit down and let him bind you up. Or I’ll call Nahar.”

  Though injured, Nahar stumbled to his feet as though answering a summons and limped to Kel’Ratan with hackles half-raised. Though I wondered who might win, Kel’Ratan gulped, his eyes on his wolf. Clearly, he remembered how easily Nahar obeyed my commands. I reckoned he didn’t care much for a rematch. Nodding shortly, he sat down. Nahar sat beside him, his tail sweeping from side to side as Alun dropped to his side, medical kit in hand.

  “Shardon, can you call in the missing pack horses?”

  “I have already,” he answered calmly, walking slowly toward me. “But one desperately needs your help.”

  “What?” I asked. “Where?”

  “Over there.”

  Shardon, moving slowly, limping, with me staggering at his side, led me to the brown gelding I led from Ararak. During that short time, I learned to like this skinny, bull-headed gelding. Though he continually tried to bite me, I gave him much needed affection. Perhaps I was the only human whoever did so. I rubbed his head, and he liked to butt my knee to ask for more attention.

  Tor followed at my shoulder, Kip beside him and his grey mare’s reins in his fist. As though glued to my back, Mikk followed as well. Bar glided past my head to land and furl his wings near the brown lump in the sand.

  “He’s in bad shape,” he said, both his vocal chirp and voice in my head coinciding oddly.

  The gelding lay not far from the site of the battle. Badly bitten by hounds, his left front leg broken, he’d long given up the fight to rise. His glistening eyes rolled towards me as I walked to him, his head lifting enough to look at me. Pain-induced sweat trickled down his bony face and wet his neck. My heart lurched in my chest to see him, bloody, broken, in terrible pain.

  “He didn’t run with the others,” Shardon said, his voice soft. “He tried to remain by you. Only when the hounds attacked him did he flee. In so doing, he broke his leg.”

  Kneeling, I rubbed my hand over his ears and his face, his head dropping to the sand once more. “Oh, gods, I don’t want to do this,” I murmured, my heart aching.

  “You must,” Shardon said, his own eyes moist as he gazed down at the wretched gelding.

  Tor unwrapped my bow, quiver and sword from Mikk’s saddle. Without speaking, he placed my griffin sword’s hilt in my hand.

  “Maybe Rygel can – “

  “Rygel can’t,” Shardon said. “This beast has no wish to live. Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

  “Gods above and below,” I muttered, tears all but blinding me. “May his soul be reborn into a better life than the one he had here.”

  “Remember, you’re doing him a kindness.”

  I placed the sword’s tip behind his shoulder, just above his heart. “May you rest in peace, dear one.”

  I shut my eyes and my teeth. I couldn’t look at him as I shoved my blade into his beating heart. That blade, sharp enough to cut a drifting feather in twain, severed his life. I didn’t open my eyes to see that precious life leave his brown eyes. I didn’t want to hear his breath exhale and not draw another.

  I did anyhow.

  Yanking my sword from his corpse, I stumbled away, blinded by my tears. If it hadn’t been for Tor supporting me, I might have fallen to the sand and wept uncontrollably. I heard Mikk and Shardon walking side by side behind me, felt Bar’s warm presence in my mind, but could find comfort in none. What was one insignificant gelding compared to all the life taken this day? That one insignificant gelding hadn’t asked to be born into cruelty. The Tongu assassins had chosen their fate, and that of their hellhounds.

  I paused a moment, breathing deep, clearing my head. “Tor?”

  “Your Highness?”

  “Are you hurt, lad?”

  “No, Your Highness. A few bruises, that’s all.”

  “Then care for your mare. She saved your life this day.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “After that, help care for the rest of the horses.”

  He bowed low. Taking his mare in hand, he obeyed me.

  Blinking, I turned to Shardon and unbuckled the straps of his saddle.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Rygel is busy,” I said. “I’m caring for your wounds in his place.”

  “But q– “

  I glared at him. “Shut up. I may not be able to enforce your compliance, but I know a griffin and some wolves who can.”

  Bar stepped forward, clicking his beak, his huge wings half-furled. His black-tipped tail lashed from side to side. Thunder, Digger and Silverruff trotted up, with revived energy. With waving tails, and grinning jaws, they circled him around. Shardon eyed them from under the red-silver fall of his mane, his liquid eyes amused.

  “I reckon I can’t do for myself,” he said.

  I took a moment to sweep his thick forelock from his eyes and rub his face. “Do you miss Tashira?”

  “What? That thick-witted, insufferable, braying backside of a mule?”

  Laughing, I pressed my brow to his. “I miss him, too.”

  “You’re a sap.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  With a final caress between his laughing eyes, I stepped past his shoulder. I unbuckled the girth, allowing it to fall. “I have some salve in my saddlebags –“

  “Don’t unsaddle me yet.”

  My hands ceased, confused. My mouth opened to question him. Shardon held his head high, his ears perked, with his huge brown eyes fastened on something in the distance. At the same instant, Silverruff growled. I glanced down. The wolves stood at full alert, hackles high, tails stiff, as they stared into the distance. I lifted my head.

  Horsemen filled the top of the high plateau about a mile away, toward the west. I guessed more than a hundred of them, as I scanned them from one end to the other. They sat their horses, silent, unthreatening, and gazed down, into our midst. From this distance I saw little in the way of clothing or banners. Nothing that informed me of who they were. Not Tongu, nor was it Brutal’s Feds.

  “Tighten the girth,” Shardon said, almost absently.

  I obeyed, ducking my head and swiftly buckling it back about his barrel.

  “Kel’Ratan,” I called as I did so.

  “What?”

  “We’ve company.”

  “Again?”

  Behind me, my boys cursed and ceased their activities. Kel’Ratan and Corwyn scrambled to their feet. Tor had half un
saddled his grey, and changed his tack to once more to tighten his tired, sweating mare’s girth.

  “Mount up,” I called over my shoulder, my eyes not leaving the long line of horsemen.

  “Get up on me,” Shardon ordered.

  I didn’t hesitate. Seizing a handful of his bloody mane, I vaulting into Rygel’s saddle. I glanced back. Witraz, Rannon, Alun, Yuri and Yuras quickly swung into their saddles, drawing swords and nocking bows. Nudging their mounts into a swift trot, they flanked me, three on my right and two to my left.

  Bar screeched, leaping into the air. His colossal wings beat the wind into submission, creating a small blinding windstorm of sand and dust before his altitude calmed the tempest. He circled higher, his eagle’s voice sounding his challenge to the newcomers. If they didn’t know we had a griffin amongst us, they surely did now.

  What of Rygel and Arianne? Rygel knelt over the still body of Darkhan, oblivious to this new threat. Arianne brushed her hair from her face to see better, her huge eyes darkening as she took in the strangers.

  “Yuri,” I snapped. “You and Yuras guard them. You too, Little Bull.”

  Little Bull whined, clearly wanting to join his brothers in the forthcoming battle. Torn in half, he knew he needed to protect his friend, but he still wanted to fight. In the end, he obeyed my command, realizing his duty lay with guarding Rygel. I wanted more to stay with them, but dared not leave any more behind. I’d need every man and wolf.

  “Tuatha,” I snapped, as the pup also trotted awkwardly towards me.

  He glanced up, his blue eyes wide.

  “You stay here. Help Little Bull guard Rygel and Arianne.”

  He turned back, whining over his shoulder, but obedient.

  Shardon started forward before I asked it of him, advancing at the trot. Silverruff, Digger and Thunder loped to either side. Mikk also cantered, just outside my protective wolf ring, loose, his reins on his neck.

  I should order him to stay behind, I thought. He had no business fighting for me again, as tired and hurt as he was. That determined set to his ears and the brightness in his eyes told me to shut my teeth. I did.

  Kel’Ratan, cursing, loped his bay to catch us up, Nahar on his right flank. Tor and Kip joined us, Tor nocking an arrow into his bowstring. Perhaps he thought to take down his second man this day. Behind us, Corwyn, and the twins, along with their wolves, trotted in a loose circle behind my advance guard.

  The line of horsemen on the ridge stirred into life. A dozen or so riders left the group to gallop downhill, off the high plateau. The hot desert wind whipped their banners into sharp snaps, the sound carried easily across the distance. Fighting the loose soil, their mounts’ hindquarters slung low, and raised a storm of dust. Whoever they were, they were consummate horsemen.

  A shallow but steep ravine opened up between our two forces. A wise general would order the attack, seize the uphill advantage. Our bows might easily take them out before they climbed halfway up the embankment. Their commander would also know this. He still ventured into a dicey situation, one that may yet kill him. I wondered why.

  “Hold,” I ordered. “No one shoots unless I do.”

  Shardon halted, as did Kel’Ratan and the others. Bar still circled lazily overhead, making his presence known, yet unthreatening. If these gentlemen wanted to pick a fight, they’d fight an uphill battle. These lads were neither careless nor stupid. They knew what they rode into.

  “Bows to the fore.”

  Swords slid into sheaths and arrows nocked into bowstrings.

  “Wolves to the flanks.”

  Wolves melted from beneath the legs of our mounts and took up positions to the extreme left and right of us. If it came to a pitched battle, they could close in on the enemies’ flanks and prevent them from harassing ours.

  The horsemen galloped up to the opposite edge of the ravine and halted there, silent. Their single line faced my single line. Why didn’t they attack? By now, they knew of our weakness, our injuries and if they pressed the issue, their pals in reserve faced an easy mop up.

  Tribesmen, I thought, recognizing them. Dusty turbans covered their heads from the fierce desert sun. Long colorful sashes strapped unsheathed curved scimitars and long thin daggers to their waists. Short recurve horsebows, much like our own, lay strapped to their backs, with bristling quivers of arrows hanging from their horses’ saddles. Thin scarves of linen wound across the lower half of their faces, revealing only their fierce, dark eyes.

  Their horses were a smallish, thin, fine-skinned breed I’d never seen before. They had small bones and short backs, and wide intelligent dark brown eyes. Sturdy horses, born and bred to the desert, they obviously were capable of surviving on short rations and little water. Accustomed as they were to the heat and dry sand, I’d no doubt they’d give our own beasts a run for their money. I gambled they’d be as loyal to their masters as our own.

  I waited, patient, as one man advanced ahead of his brethren. Their leader. He walked his horse into my territorial bubble, fearless. Though he knew he’d overreached his bounds, he reined in and sat quiet. His dark eyes swept over the furry guardians of our flanks, took in our blood, and accepted Shardon at face-value.

  “How is it you command wolves?” he demanded, his accent thick but easily understood.

  “I don’t command them,” I replied, my voice as cold as his. “They’re our friends and allies.”

  “And a griffin. What do you do with a griffin?”

  “He’s my friend. What’s it to you?”

  Bar screeched from above, flying low over the heads of the tribesmen. His huge shadow swept over and past, his long lion legs and lion tail trailing behind. Savage eagle beak angling down, his predatory eyes stared. His ploy worked, for the native desert men ducked, muttering, clutching weapons, watching him with fear and concern. Their horses shifted from foot to foot, heads tossing, nervous.

  “It is rumored only one commands a griffin,” the man barked. “Are you she?”

  I waited, patient, forcing him into the first move.

  “Who are you, who dares to invade our lands with wolves and griffins and Tarbane?” the man demanded, his voice harsh and cold. “You fought the Cursed Ones and defeated them. How did you do this?”

  Shardon stepped forward, ahead of the others, matching him.

  “I am Ly’Tana of Kel’Halla,” I replied, modulating my voice to sound neither aggressive nor passive. “We were attacked by the Cursed Ones, as you call them, and defended ourselves. We seek to merely pass through your lands. We don’t wish to fight, nor do we wish to displace or disturb you.”

  “Ly’Tana of Kel’Halla,” the leader repeated, as if to himself. His eyes widened as he glanced up once more toward Bar. “You are she. You are the High King’s escaped bride.”

  I shrugged, unable to halt the half-smile that flitted across my face. “The one and only.”

  The leader raised his hand. At first I thought he moved to command the men on the ridge, and braced myself for the attack.

  He merely dropped his veil from his face, allowing it to hang from his turban to his shoulder. He appeared to be a man in his middle thirties, brown-skinned, eyes lined with years of squinting into the desert sun. He was also handsome in a rugged way, in my opinion. Not like Raine physically, but equaled him in confidence, charisma and leadership.

  At my words, his black eyes narrowed. His brows lowered over his eyes. He scowled dangerously.

  “The enemy of my enemy is not my friend.”

  Chapter Ten

  For the Love of Feria

  “You’re not so skinny anymore.”

  I lay down with a sigh, content. Between the abounding game and the excellent teamwork between Feria and myself, I filled my belly with as much as I could hold every day. Despite Feria’s love of pork, I did manage to convince her to hunt the occasional deer or elk. Yet, whatever we hunted, all fell to our combined skills. More than two weeks had passed since I agreed to have her along for a few days. Each d
ay that began, I vowed to send her home before nightfall. Each night fell with us snuggled together in some shelter or other, offering the other warmth and protection.

  After Chovani’s attack and defeat, we depended upon each other more and more. Like twin halves of the whole, we each found in the other complete trust, a pact that went beyond simple survival. We completed each other.

  We finally learned to communicate without actually needing our voices. The bitter mountain cold prevented me from changing into my human clothes, yet I found I needed to less and less. By utilizing using eyes, body language and Feria’s unique drawing skills, we understood one another tolerably well.

  “A few more good days of travel and we’ll be tackling those high peaks,” I muttered to myself as much as to Darius.

  Feria, though by now used to my conversations with what appeared to be myself, perked at the sound of my voice. When she observed I wasn’t speaking to her, she lay her head down once more on her front legs.

  “You’re going to need every ounce of strength you possess.”

  Night had fallen and so had the temperature. Our travels had now taken us quite high, and the night temperatures dropped into the killing range. We lay close to one another under the shelter of a fir tree, its lowest branches just brushing her head as she lay with her beak over her front legs. Her lion tail and its black-tufted tip, flicking back and forth, even in sleep, coiled about her haunches.

  I scooted closer to her for warmth through the long high altitude night, her wing draping me, as always. Shutting my eyes, I sought to drowse, teetering on the edge of a fuller, deeper, restful sleep.

  Until Darius’s voice intruded.

  “You’ll be keeping her with you, then.”

  Jolted, I woke. I scrambled to recall my scattered wits. “No,” I said. “You know how I feel about that.”

  “You’re so attached, I thought you’d changed your mind.”

  Before I could respond with an acid retort, his words hit home. I was attached to her. Not just attached, I was very attached to her. Deep down, I recognized all along what I’d been doing. Every day I swore to send her home, and every night still slept happily beside her. I not only enjoyed her company, her companionship, I didn’t want her to go.