by Tora Moon
The guard at the keep-house door saluted them as they slipped in, his blue wristband sliding up his forearm. Histrun blew out a breath of air, relieved his plans were falling into place. But as he readied for bed, a sense of foreboding hounded him. He was determined only one man would return from the monster battle alive, but would it be him? He believed the Goddess was on his side and wanted him to enact justice for all the wrongs Mendehan had committed. But would it be enough to overcome whatever evil was infecting Mendehan?
That night he made love to Zehala passionately, almost desperately, as if it were their last night together. He held her tightly, wanting to infuse his essence into her soul so she would remember him—just in case he was wrong and it wasn’t him who walked off the battlefield.
* * *
The next morning, Histrun’s nerves jangled as he dressed. He hadn’t been nervous about a monster battle since he was a young man. But this one would be different. After the janacks and brechas were taken care of, Histrun had another monster to deal with. In all his years as an alpha, first as Strunland’s Keep Alpha, and then as Strunlair Clan Alpha, he’d put down a dozen or so rogues, but never someone in a position of authority like Mendehan. No one had abused their power in such a way since the Great War. The Alpha Competitions were designed to weed out those who had any such tendencies. Histrun would have never suspected even Mendehan to flaunt their laws so blatantly. He’d always been a stickler for tradition.
Histrun paced the room, waiting for Zehala to finish getting dressed. He clenched and unclenched his fists, then swung his arms back and forth across his chest. When that didn’t help release his trepidation, he shook out his hands. The trouble he’d seen, and Mendehan’s open threats last night, meant they had to remove him immediately. They couldn’t wait for the others to arrive. As much as Histrun would like to turn the responsibility for exacting justice to someone in the Dehanlair Clan, he knew they didn’t have time.
It was up to him to stop Mendehan. He knew he was skirting the laws by not officially challenging Mendehan, but this way he wouldn’t end up as Dehanlair’s Clan Alpha.
Finally, Zehala stepped into the room, her damp hair pulled into a tight braid. She stopped in front of him and took his hands in hers. “Easy, love. Don’t get yourself so worked up you second-guess yourself. This has to be done, and you’re the only one available to do it.”
He gathered her in his arms and held her close, breathing in her fresh scent. He felt his nerves immediately begin to calm. “What would I do without you? You keep me sane. Be careful today.”
“You too. I don’t trust Mendehan. I’m afraid he’ll try something underhanded.”
“I expect him to try. But I trust you and our people to watch my back. You’re my secret weapon. You care about me. Mendehan has lost that. His goons will be out for themselves.”
“Just be careful, my love.” Zehala raised onto her toes and kissed him.
He took her face in his hands, discovered moisture on her cheeks, and deepened the kiss. The foreboding he had felt the night before slammed into him, weakening his knees. Please Goddess, let me return to her. Help me defeat Mendehan.
Histrun finally pulled away. Before they left the room, he kissed her again. “Goddess, how I love you.”
“And I you. Come back to me, my love.”
Hand-in-hand, they left the keep-house and walked to the dining hall. The full room quieted when they entered. Both his and Tedehan’s platoons stood up and bowed to him. The dozen or so Dehanlair field workers still eating didn’t stand, but instead tipped their heads slightly. One furtively looked around the room, then lifted his sleeve quickly, showing Histrun his blue wristband, then nodded meaningfully at the others at his table. A flush of pleasure washed over him to see so many willing to stand up for their rights. On the other side of the room, the Black Guards glared at him.
As he sat down at the table next to Naila and Leistral, Helvia, the head cook herself, brought out a tray of food and served him.
“All is ready,” she whispered as she leaned forward to place a bowl of thick porridge in front of him. Several slices of juicy pears were arranged artfully on top of it.
“Thank you.” He gripped her forearm. His stomach clenched as his nerves assailed him again, but he forced himself to eat the cereal. He’d need all of his strength for the fight to come. He’d just finished spooning up the last bite when an alarm clanged—a band of monsters had been sighted. Benches scraped across the stone floor as people pushed to their feet.
“It sounds like a big one,” Norvela said. “Are you sure you don’t want us to go with you?”
The general chaos of people quickly leaving the dining hall gave them a measure of privacy. “No,” Histrun said, “we’ll be fine. Your job is too important. Get the children out of the crèche and into the temple. Release the fighting-packs, and let them help you subdue any Black Guards Mendehan leaves in the keep. He won’t take them all with him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tedehan gave him a salute. “Stay safe, sir.”
“You too.” Histrun returned the salute.
Even more chaos filled the courtyard as horses were brought out from the stables, allowing Norvela’s platoon to quickly ease away. The horse-master led Telen to Histrun already saddled. The horse danced in place and reared, sensing Histrun’s nerves.
“Easy, boy!” Histrun called as he took the reins from the horse-master with a quick, “Thanks.” Then he concentrated on soothing his horse. Once Telen had calmed down, Histrun checked the saddle girth and other buckles. He doubted the horse-master would do anything to hurt a horse, but it didn’t hurt to double-check the fit. Zehala made the same checks to Kylara’s saddle. Soon their fighting-pack gathered nearby, standing by their horses’ heads, ready to mount. Histrun surveyed the courtyard. Besides his thirty-five fighting-pack members, another forty men—all dressed in black—stood waiting for Mendehan. Histrun’s eyebrows furrowed.
“What is he thinking?” He murmured to Zehala. “Where are their Reds?” Even before the fighting method he and Zehala had developed that used the Red’s Talents more effectively, the Reds had always been an integral part of battling the monsters.
Zehala raised on her tiptoes to look around her. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, then as she settled back down, dread crossed her face. “How can they expect to destroy the monsters without any Reds? I don’t like this, Histrun. Salloreen sent a message that this is a huge nest—six janacks and at least thirty brechas. Our eight Reds will be hard-pressed to contain all the monsters, and protect you.”
“Just do your best,” Histrun said, patting her shoulder. His hand trembled slightly as he wondered if he’d made a mistake in challenging Mendehan to a monster battle. He’d been thinking the nest would be a normal sized one, with only one or two janacks. But with six—six!—he and the warriors would be busy enough killing the monsters and trying to stay alive, he doubted he’d have time to fight Mendehan too. His plans depended on Mendehan not returning from this battle alive. Perhaps he should reconsider and have Norvela and Tedehan join them. He shook his head. They were needed here, to free the children and rescue the fighters. The seventy-five people in the courtyard should be enough to tackle the monsters.
They continued to wait for Mendehan to show up to lead the group to the fight. Histrun fidgeted, alternating slapping the end of Telen’s reins in his hands and pacing in a tight circle. If they didn’t leave soon, the monsters would leave the nest, making it more difficult to fight and to contain them. Just as he growled a “Let’s go,” Mendehan sashayed from the keep-house to his horse and stepped into the saddle.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he said. “Let’s go kill some monsters!” He jabbed his heels into his horse’s side and struck its flanks with a whip. The horse reared slightly before leaping into a gallop. The fighters scrambled onto their horses to follow him, while the guards scurried to throw open the gate before Mendehan barreled into it.
Chapter
9
Histrun swore under his breath as he climbed into the saddle and urged Telen into a gallop. If Mendehan had intended to put Histrun off-balance, his efforts were misplaced. This only made Histrun even more determined to put down the rogue.
Even with the quick pace, by the time they arrived at the nest site, all the monsters were trundling away in different directions. Histrun swore again as he leaped off his horse, condemning Mendehan to burn a long time in the Crone’s fires for waiting so long to leave the keep. There hadn’t been time or any safe place set up to leave the horses during the battle.
“That Crone-cursed imbecile! Maheli, Andriel, Dorstrun, you’re in charge of keeping the horses safe. I’m not allowing Telen and Kylara to be monster bait.”
The young people shouted, “Yes, sir!” and quickly gathered as many reins as they could. They drew the horses toward a copse of trees that would provide some protection from the monsters. The Strunlair horses they hadn’t grabbed followed them, but the others milled around in terror. Maheli and Andriel then began building a fire-ring around them while Dorstrun tried herding the Dehanlair horses toward the others, with mixed success. One horse—Histrun thought it was Mendehan’s—squealed in terror and bolted. A long tentacle snatched it up, and dragged it to the janack’s waiting maw. Histrun turned away in time to see the last horse enter the make-shift corral, and Maheli close the fire-ring behind it.
Now that the horses were safe, Histrun turned his attention to the battle. Zehala, Naila, and the remaining Reds raced around the marshy glade, trying to surround the monsters. A wall of fire burst into existence in the direction Naila had run, just in time to stop a janack and six brechas from escaping. Eidelstrun and five other warriors ran to attack them, while Lestrun led a second group of six warriors toward where Lorstriel blocked another janack and its attendant brechas from leaving.
On the nest site’s far east side, Kehali finished forming her section of the fire-ring to complete the circle, with Alixstrun and his team slamming into the now milling monsters. Chestrun and his team fought the janack and brechas blocked by Zehala’s section of the fire-ring. That left the last two janacks for Histrun and Mendehan.
“That one is mine!” Mendehan cried, pointing toward the largest janack. “You can have the little one. Ha, ha, ha, I win.”
Histrun shook his head. The challenge meant nothing to him. He boiled into his warrior form, and loped to meet the remaining janack. Until he’d destroyed it, he couldn’t deal with Mendehan. He needed to kill this janack quickly.
With that in mind, he jumped on a tentacle with a roar, slicing through it with one swipe. Another swipe sent a chunk of tentacle flying. A few milcrons later, Zehala joined him, slicing into the thick hide with her helbraught. Together they tore through another tentacle, then another, making the janack weave lopsidedly, and with each swipe of his claws, Histrun pumped more venom into it.
Zehala vaulted onto a tentacle and ran up it to the head. Balancing on the bucking monster, she drove her helbraught into its skull. Fire blazed, burning away its brain. As it collapsed, she leaped off, landing in a roll at his feet. Histrun helped her up, then turned toward Mendehan’s janack.
Mendehan danced in front of the janack’s head, waving his arms and yelling at it. Only a few hunks of tentacles were strewn around, and the janack didn’t act like any venom affected it. The janack snapped at him, and he leaped away, laughing. A tentacle whipped toward him, and he rolled away, not even trying to swipe it with his claws. Frowning at the strange behavior, Histrun ran toward the janack, Zehala on his heels.
Unexpectedly, a brecha bowled into Histrun, knocking him onto his back. Only his well-trained reflexes saved him as he raked his front claws across its snout while his back feet clawed its belly. Zehala stabbed it in the side, pulling her helbraught through the tough hide to open a long gash. It shuddered. Histrun heaved with his feet, trying to toss it off him before it crumpled on him, trapping him beneath it. Suddenly, the brecha’s body flew to the side, and Chestrun grinned down at him.
“Gotcha, sir,” Chestrun garbled. He switched to mind-speech. *All of my group’s monsters are dead. This one should have been taken care of by Mendehan’s men. But …* He shrugged.
As Histrun climbed to his feet, he quickly surveyed the battlefield. He sucked in a breath when he saw the number of bodies laying on the ground, many with brecha spines sticking out from their backs or with great, gaping holes from bites. He said a silent prayer when he realized all the bodies—which had, in death, reverted back to their natural forms—wore black uniforms. He shook his head at the waste of life. Those men had been bullies, not fighters. They shouldn’t have been out here without more experienced fighters guiding them.
A familiar yelp caught his attention. He whipped around, and his heart leaped into his throat. A tentacle wound around Zehala’s waist, lifting her into the air toward the janack’s waiting maw. She struggled, trying to hack at it with her weapon. It shook her violently, her head wobbling, and her helbraught dropped from her grasp. She yelled and threw a fireball at the beast.
Howling with rage, Histrun ran toward her. Naila beat him and plunged her helbraught into the tentacle, cursing. Histrun crouched, then jumped high enough so he could gouge the tentacle above where it gripped Zehala.
The tip of another tentacle snaked around Naila’s neck. Her eyes bugged as she gasped for air. Chestrun frantically tore into it, finally cutting through it. Naila grappled with the piece of tentacle still clenching her throat, shoving and squirming trying to remove it. Her face slowly turned purple and her fighting grew feeble, as it strangled her.
Histrun couldn’t help both Zehala and Naila. Blinking away tears, he yelled at Chestrun to help Naila, then swiped furiously at the tentacle holding Zehala. A chunk flew off, then another. The janack shook her again, and he heard a ‘snap.’ Zehala’s cries suddenly quieted and her body hung limp. With renewed frenzy, Histrun scratched and tore and bit the tentacle, furiously pumping venom into it. He had to help Zehala. He had to save her.
Finally, with a spray of ichor, the tentacle dropped to the ground, still wrapped around Zehala’s motionless form. He raced toward her, but another tentacle slapped the ground in front of him, blocking his way. Howling, he tore through it, pumping as much venom as he could into the janack. The remaining tentacles moved sluggishly, and the janack finally crumbled in a heap.
Histrun fell to his knees next to Zehala. Her eyes stared unseeing at the heavens, a trickle of blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. He threw his head back and howled. It ended in a human cry of anguish as he shifted back to his natural form. He cradled her head in his lap, rocking back and forth, crooning, “No, no, no … she can’t be gone,” over and over.
“Mother …?” Naila croaked, crawling toward Histrun. When she saw Zehala’s lifeless eyes, she screamed, “Mother!” Great, deep coughs wracked her body, and tears flowed down her face as she bent over her mother’s body.
This shouldn’t have happened! This wasn’t supposed to happen! Histrun surged to his feet, his hands balled into fists. He spun around, searching for the filth called Mendehan. If he had been fighting properly rather than goading the janack, Zehala would still be alive. He found the object of his rage, back in his natural form and doing a jig around the dead janack’s head as if he had killed the large monster.
“Mendehan!” Histrun thundered.
Mendehan stopped, and turned just as Histrun barreled into him. Histrun’s fist landed squarely on the bridge of Mendehan’s nose, and blood and tears streamed down his face. He shook his head and threw a counter-punch, which Histrun easily blocked. Histrun threw his hips into a front kick to Mendehan’s chest, knocking him back several feet. He followed it up with a roundhouse kick to his head. Mendehan stepped back and, with a howl, shifted to his warrior form, swinging long claws at Histrun’s face. He growled at the cowardly display—alpha challenges were always done in natural forms, or in their wolf forms, never as warriors—as he sucked in
his chest and leaped out of the way, but not fast or far enough. His growl turned into a yip of pain as the tips of Mendehan’s claws slid across his chest.
He stepped in with a one-two punch to the side of his opponent’s jaw, then swept his leg behind Mendehan’s knees, knocking him off-balance. As the other man fell, Histrun wrapped an arm around his throat, the other hand on the side of his neck, and twisted. A loud snap sounded as he broke Mendehan’s neck.
He flung the body away from him and stumbled back to Zehala. Tears streamed down his face. He didn’t care. His bond-mate, the love of his life, was gone, killed to protect a foolish, sick man. If he could kill Mendehan again, he would.
Their fighting-pack had gathered around her body, but they parted to let him through. He had just enough presence of mind to notice Lestrun, Eidelstrun, and several other warriors were guarding the few surviving Black Guards.
Histrun gathered Zehala into his arms, cradling her head against his chest in a parody of all the times she had rested it there after they’d made love, and staggered away from the battlefield. Maheli met him before he’d gone far, leading his and Zehala’s horses. He couldn’t bear to see Zehala’s body draped over Kylara’s saddle, and instead awkwardly climbed into Telen’s saddle, still holding his love close. If he didn’t look too close, he could pretend she was just resting.
The rustle of grass and the creak of leather behind him told him his people had mounted their horses.
He urged Telen forward into a walk. If he didn’t hurry, he could continue to hold Zehala a little while longer, and pretend she was holding him back.
* * *
Histrun rode back to Dehanlair Keep in a daze. He had lost many friends and lovers to the monsters over the years, but none of them had held his heart like Zehala had. No one had made him feel so alive, so competent, or so loved. He felt lost. He kept hoping to hear her laughter at one of Naila’s jokes.
