The Wolf's Mate: A Tale of the Holtlands, Book 2

by R. F. Long

  Ylandra stopped at his side and said something, a sharp tone which made him stiffen and start forward again.

  Jeren would have followed again, but something tugged at her chest. Something deep inside her, like a wire. She banked south and sped back over the foothills, over the camp. A light twinkling in the distance drew her on, something approaching across the mountain’s pass, coming from the Holtlands, something bright, terribly bright.

  “Come back,” Indarin whispered, his voice no more than a ripple on the breeze which held her aloft.

  Jeren jolted back into her own body and released her breath in a gasp. “I was…I was flying…”

  An unexpected laugh rippled through his voice. “Yes, it can feel like that. Especially if your owl was trying to be of help. There’s more to you than Sh’istra’Phail, Jeren. Perhaps you should be with the Seers after all. At the very least there is something of a Shaman about you. But we were not meant to be exploring afar, but within, remember?”

  “Yes, but—Indarin, there are people coming. Coming across the mountains.”

  “People?”

  She swallowed hard on a suddenly aching throat. “Holters.”

  The Wolf's Mate: A Tale of the Holtlands, Book 2

  Chapter Five

  The owl moved like a spirit, a blur of light in the morning’s sky. Shan came to a halt and followed her with his gaze. So beautiful, so elegant in every movement, so like Jeren. His heart tugged deep in his chest, longing to return to her. His guiding light.

  “Are you going to stand there all day staring?” Ylandra snapped.

  Her irritation had been growing all day like a barb in his side, and yet by not responding he deliberately made it worse. It was both petty and beneath him, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to care. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner he could get back to the sect, and Jeren.

  They found the settlement deserted. Shan waited by the central fire-pit while Ylandra checked hut after hut. Nothing. He knew it already. There was a stillness to the air, as if the world was in mourning for the Fey’na who had lived here. All gone, and the Sh’istra’Phail who should have guarded them vanished too. The whole place had been stripped of life.

  “No sign of struggle though,” Ylandra said. “Just gone.”

  Shan nodded but didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.

  They started northeast again and he spotted the trail when they cleared the next rise. The grass had been trampled down, a long line which snaked towards the northern mountains. With his heart thundering, he followed it, aware of Ylandra in tow, but ignoring her.

  “There,” she said sharply, and he followed her pointing hand eastwards. A rocky gully dropped away from them. Carrion birds circled overhead and Shan muttered under his breath. It was inevitable. Still, he wished with all his heart that it could be otherwise.

  The dead had been pitched down there, mostly Sh’istra’Phail, but some of their more peaceable brothers and sisters lay alongside them, for despite all protestations, who would not fight when a child was threatened? Fey’na children were rare and precious, a gift from the gods to be protected and treasured. But there were no children in the gully. Some of the broken figures were ancient, but none were young. All were torn and tortured, ripped apart or beaten to a pulp. Their blank eyes stared skywards at the black birds and the clouds.

  Ylandra staggered back, turned and dropped to her knees to vomit.

  Shan just waited, studying the area, trying to draw every clue out of the landscape. Finally, the Sect Mother got to her feet once more, wiping her pale face and trying desperately to look like it had never happened.

  “They took the survivors that way.” He nodded northeast, to the bleak hills shrouded in black clouds. “No more than fifty.”

  “And the Fell?”

  “Twice that. We should fetch reinforcements.”

  She stared into the distance, her jaw firming, her brow furrowing. “We could lose them,” she said at last. “There isn’t time.”

  “Ylandra, if a hundred walk with their captives now, there will be more waiting at the end of the march.”

  “There isn’t time.” Her voice was suddenly very cold. “My decision is made, Shan.”

  “So two of us will attack a full swarm of Fell and rescue their captives.” He kept his tone as even and unruffled as possible. This was madness. More than madness. Did she think to prove something by this mission? Or to get them both killed?

  No. That was unfair. She was a Sect Mother and she had to protect her people. That was her solemn vow, her duty. She was a formidable warrior, tracker and leader. She had to know how dangerous this was. But time was indeed against them. Time and the nature of their enemies. She knew what she was doing and full accepted the risk. The role of Sect Mother was to protect her people.

  And his duty was to protect her. Even now. Even as she walked away from him into an impossible situation. They could get help, he knew that. But it would take a day to get there, raise the alarm, and get back. Even if the trail had not gone cold, how many of them would have died? Peaceable Fey’na, men, women, children. How many would the Fell’na have used, sacrificed, drained, slaughtered…

  Given the option, could he honestly say he would act in any other manner himself?

  When Ylandra strode forward, following the trail of devastation, Shan steeled himself for what lay ahead and followed her.

  By midafternoon the ground had become rocky and the trail died away. Even Ylandra’s tracking abilities failed them. As they moved up the rugged incline, Shan caught an unexpected smell drifting on the air. He signalled Ylandra who slowed the pace, her eyes studying the rocks and undergrowth, watching for the inconsistent shadow that might betray a Fell’na in hiding, but there was nothing.

  Two small figures cowered in the rocks above them when Ylandra passed beneath. With the mood she was in, Shan thought it better not to draw attention to human children hidden nearby, especially as she did not appear to have seen them at all.

  Then again, their guardians could not be far away.

  “Ylandra,” he called, intending to tell her quietly and she turned, scowling.

  With a howl, a blur of limbs hurled itself towards them, a stout branch flying at his head. Shan dodged the blow with ease and his attacker swung on, overbalancing. Shan stepped aside as the human boy fell, sprawling at his feet. But no sooner was he down than he was up again, the branch held out before him, its whole length trembling, conveying the anger and fear of the one wielding it.

  “Jerryl, Pern, run!” the boy shouted, his eyes never wavering from Shan’s bemused face.

  Instead, small rocks rained down on them, ill-thrown and ineffective.

  “No, I said run.”

  Cursing, Ylandra seized the youth by the scruff of the neck and kicked his feet from under him. He dropped, the branch falling from his startled hands, and the next minute she had a knife at his throat. Not the Sect Knife. That would be too great an honour, or so she would see it. A knife, Shan thought, was still a knife.

  “Tell them to stop,” she growled.

  “Jerryl, Pern,” the boy called, his voice shaking. “Run!”

  Another rock shot towards them, this time on target for Ylandra’s head. Shan snapped out his hand and caught it, but not before another struck her hand and the knife went flying. But she didn’t let go of their attacker.

  In a voice which betrayed more rage than annoyance, she called out again. “I don’t need a blade to snap his neck, little ones. Show yourselves.”

  “No!” The boy redoubled his struggles, but there was no escaping Ylandra. She held him like a rat in a trap.

  “Shan, go and get them.”

  He looked up to the rocky outcrop. “No need. They’ll come down. Let the boy go.”

  “What?”

  “Let him go. You’re frightening them, hurting their friend.”

  With a muttered curse, she dropped the boy. Barely fourteen summers, if Shan was any judge. Just a bo
y on the cusp of manhood, pushed over the edge too soon. He scrambled up and faced Shan, terrified, but angry and determined. Like a kitten spitting and hissing his anger, yet still a warrior defending his own. Shan studied his face, the firm jaw, the calculation in his hard eyes. There was pain and rage, and the need to lash out, to fight, to kill.

  Jeren had once screamed it to the heavens “I wanted to kill him. I needed to kill him.” The very words Shan had used standing over his sister’s broken body. This boy only had to give the same cry and he would be Sh’istra’Phail too. The truth of it was already apparent in his all-too-human features. Just like Jeren.

  “I’ll do it myself,” Ylandra hissed.

  “No,” the boy snapped. “They’re just children.”

  “And so are you,” said Shan, not quite finished with his assessment. “We mean you no harm. Will you ask them to come down?”

  “Why? So you can drag them back to their torment with your shadowy brethren? I don’t think so.”

  Shan’s eyelids narrowed. “You think us Fell’na?”

  “Is he blind?” Ylandra asked.

  “Fair, Fell, you’re all the same. You’ll kill us all, given half a chance, and burn the Holts too.”

  A Holter. Shan shook his head. What was a Holter—no, a Holter’s child doing here?

  “Your friends aren’t running. They won’t leave you. We are not Fell’na. I swear it. We will not harm you.”

  The boy rubbed his neck and glared at Ylandra.

  “You attacked us first,” she said.

  “I believe your people call this a parlay.” Shan gave a curt bow, a gesture of respect which he hoped might win a little trust and ease the tension. “I am Shan’ith Al-Fallion. What is your name?”

  The boy shifted from one foot to the other and glanced up at the rocky outcrop. “Devyn Roh, of River Holt,” he said eventually. “And they are my brother and sister, Pern and Jerryl.” Two children emerged, too young for Shan to be able to tell their age for sure. Seven, eight? He couldn’t tell with Holters. They scrambled down to Devyn’s side and he pulled them close, his arms wrapping about their tiny bodies.

  “Rohs?” He remembered Jeren’s love for Mina, her guardian and only friend. Also a Roh. “Are you kin to Mina Roh?”

  “She was my mother’s sister.” Devyn’s eyes shifted warily. “She…she’s dead. She died when Jeren of River Holt… You’re him, aren’t you? Her Fair One?” Hope exploded in his eyes. “Is she here? Is Lady Jeren here?”

  “No, but she’s near.”

  “Take us to her.” His voice shook, but his eyes blazed.

  “Impossible,” said Ylandra. “We have our own mission. And Shan is forbidden to be with her. You will have to make your own way.”

  “Ylandra, they are children.”

  “And the children of our own people, Fey’na children, are in mortal danger. Would you have me leave them to their fate for three humans? Three Holters? You’d choose her kind over your own even in this?”

  “The Fell have your children, it’s true,” Devyn interrupted, heedless of her rage. He didn’t know it. How could he know that such spite and vengeance was something to be feared above all else? “But they also have my whole family, every generation.”

  “What?” Shan exclaimed. “How is that possible?”

  Devyn’s face darkened and took on that stony look. His rage and pain were great indeed. Shan knew the expression and the tone too well, had borne both many times. “Gilliad of River Holt. That’s how.”

  “But your line are his servants. Jeren told me—”

  “No more. He blamed us, said we helped her, and would betray him with the intention of putting her on the throne. So he made a pact with the Fell and they came and took us away. Here. Into the darkness.”

  One of the little ones sobbed and Devyn pressed both closer against him.

  “And how did you escape?” Ylandra asked bitterly. “Why you and not my people?”

  “Your people?” Devyn scowled at her again. “Your people didn’t even try. They sat in the dark and bemoaned their lot. Two of my uncles and my older sister gave their lives that the three of us might get out. Your people did nothing.”

  Nor would they, Shan realised. Not if the Sh’istra’Phail were all dead. The Fey’na didn’t know how to fight, for theirs was a way of peace. But his respect for the Holters just grew even greater.

  Not so with Ylandra, who was gazing at three innocent children as if they were animals.

  “It was a great feat, to escape the hives of the Fell,” Shan said, keeping his voice even and calm. “And your family died nobly to aid you.” Respect had to be given when due, didn’t his Sect Mother understand even that much?

  Slightly mollified, Devyn kept his attention fixed on Shan. Their hierarchy was different. He didn’t even realise that Ylandra was in charge and that was making her even angrier.

  “Where is the hive?” she asked. “How do we get inside?”

  Devyn turned to face her. “Are you mad?”

  “Our mission is to find it, free the captives and kill the Fell’na.”

  “Two of you?” His flat tone spoke of disbelief.

  Shan gave a mirthless laugh which had the boy swivelling his head back at once. “Did your family never tell you Felan’s tales?”

  “Yes, but they’re…he was…it’s just stories.”

  “Aren’t children supposed to believe in stories?” Ylandra asked, pacing now, impatient.

  “I believe,” the smallest one piped up. Jerryl. “Mama told me. She told me every night. I want her to tell me again, Devyn.”

  “I’ll show you the way,” Devyn said suddenly. “I’ll show you the way inside myself and everything, but you have to take us to Jeren.”

  “Afterwards,” Ylandra interrupted. “You can hide. Or we’ll tell you which way to go. But we are running out of time.”

  Shan didn’t like it, but what could he do to argue? Devyn agreed to Ylandra’s foolhardy plan and that was that. Though they tried not to show it, the three children were terrified at the prospect of going anywhere near the Fell’na hive. And yet they went.

  “You are the one she left with, aren’t you?” Devyn asked tentatively as they walked. He kept his voice low and calm. The other two never said a word, just gazed up at Shan with those bright blue eyes. When he didn’t answer, Devyn blushed. “Lady Jeren, I mean. They said you found her in the snow fields and saved her. You…you spirited her away from River Holt.”

  Shan raised an eyebrow. “Spirited her? No. She helped me escape. I was a prisoner there. My reward for saving her.” Not entirely true perhaps. Jeren was his reward. But he wondered what these Holters had told their children.

  “Mina tried to get her out and they killed her,” Devyn replied flatly. “But you were able to do it.”

  “Perhaps we did it together. Don’t underestimate Jeren.”

  “No.” Devyn looked away again and his voice calmed, a hint of pride edging back in. “No, you’re right. She’s True Blood, a Scion of Jern.”

  “What did Gilliad say?”

  “That she was a traitor. That we were all traitors. Then the shadows came and we tried to run but…” His voice died in his throat and he reached out for the smaller pair, pulling them closer again. “He said you took her and murdered people in your escape. There was talk of a wolf, a magical wolf, and Lady Jeren defying her brother, but that was just the guards. And any of them he caught running their mouths off…well, the stories didn’t last long.”

  “When did the Fell’na take you?”

  “Three weeks ago.”

  Only days after he and Jeren had fled. The Fell’na could travel through the shadows, pass between here and there in an instant. Given an Enchassa of enough power, such as the one he had already encountered, they could carry off the clan of Roh easily. Shan knew of a number of ceremonies which would summon them, but how could Gilliad have discovered them? Unless he had sworn himself to the same Dark God. But he wouldn’t, surely.
And yet Shan couldn’t dismiss the idea that, yes, given the opportunity for power and vengeance, Gilliad would do anything, anything at all, especially if it meant hurting Jeren. And destroying the family of her beloved friend…that would break her heart. Shan couldn’t tear his eyes off the three children. Filthy and malnourished, they were, yes, but to have survived that long in a hive, to have escaped…

  “They hid us,” said Jerryl suddenly, reminding him too keenly of Jeren with her narrow face and brown hair. “Our family. Kept us near the back, made sure we ate and tried to keep us safe. I don’t know how many they took instead of us.” They would have wanted the young first, of course. Better sacrifices, better feeding. Her cheeks were hollow, and her eyes huge. When she swallowed, her whole body moved with the effort. “If they see us…”

  Shan stopped abruptly and they fell still, watching him, one defiant knot of Holters, as determined as the rocks around them. Shan wondered what Ariah would make of them, or if Jeren would recognise them as the people from her home. It would break her heart to know what Gilliad had done, the pact Shan suspected he had made with the Fell’na. She loved her people. And he loved her. Hunkering down, he stretched his hands out to Jerryl’s. Her fingers were tiny but firm as they encircled his.

  “If they see us, if they come, you will run and you will hide. All three of you. No matter what happens. When all is quiet again, you will go southwest and you’ll find Jeren in a Sh’istra’Phail encampment. You won’t come back. You won’t try to help us. You will run and hide, and I will never let them near you. Understand?”

  She swallowed again, the same great effort of movement, and then nodded her head.

  He gave her hand the gentlest squeeze and caught Devyn’s eye. The boy seemed less a boy again. There was a light in those eyes, determined and all too adult. He would do exactly what Shan said, and protect the little ones, no matter what. For that Shan was grateful.

  “What is the hold up?” Ylandra called back from the bottom of the next incline.