by Xenia Melzer
The amber eyes stared at him without the faintest trace of emotion. When the Wolf of War finally spoke, it was in calm tones.
“When I discovered my Echend’dim in the brothel, tortured to death twice, I killed everybody who had been present, no matter if they even knew about his existence. The mere fact that they were there was enough for me to subject them to my revenge. So as you can see, I do not make a habit of sparing the innocent. Those who get in my way pay the price. You put your filthy hands on what is mine. How can you expect me to show any lenience?”
“I’m not asking for myself. I’m asking for somebody important to me.”
“She’s not your daughter, is she? That would at least explain your behavior.”
“No, she’s not. She’s the daughter of a woman I only met once and briefly, if you understand. But she reminds me of another girl and another mother. So I’m begging you.”
Suddenly, the face of the Wolf of War was only half a hand from Da’Ryen’s.
“You have nothing to offer, nothing to trade. All you can do is beg. It must be an unpleasant memory, one you think of as a mistake.”
Da’Ryen shuddered. It was as if the warlord was able to see right through him, as if his soul was bared in front of his merciless predator stare.
“Not only a mistake, but a sin. And the memory is not just unpleasant. Part of it is so sweet, it chills me to the bone. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever asked for anything from anybody. It’s the first time I’m reducing myself to begging. I’m doing it for her, so please show mercy.”
The Wolf of War looked at his brother, who only shrugged. He seemed to have nothing to say. Canubis contemplated his options for a moment and decided to test the man’s resolve. Until now, the thug had managed to impress him with his determination, so he would get his chance.
“Let’s say I do let her go. What will become of her without protection? Doing this would be even crueler than killing her. So if I grant your wish, I’ll have to keep her until she’s old enough to look after herself. Why would I do this?”
“What do you want from me?”
A quick smile flashed across the warrior’s features.
“You’re no fool. If I’m going to take her in, somebody has to earn her keep. And the only one fit to take on this task is you.”
“So you’re going to spare my life but turn me into a slave?”
“Certainly not. That’s an honor you don’t deserve. You’re going to be something else, something a lot worse. Everybody in the Pack is protected by our rules—everybody except for the traitors. They are the lowest-ranked slaves, those who do the truly vicious jobs and are subjected to the whims of all our members. Normally, they don’t last long. The human body can endure only so much until it breaks. But you will have to persevere to ensure Nya’s well-being. That’s the deal you get. Take it or leave it, it’s up to you.”
Da’Ryen shivered. He had never anticipated to be able to plead his case to the Wolf of War, let alone have him grant his request. If slavery was the price he had to pay, he would accept it gladly.
“I thank you, Lord Canubis. You’re very generous.”
There was a cold glint in the eyes of the powerful man. It lacked amusement, showing the unrelenting, hideous nature of the god.
“I’m a cruel bastard, making you live like this when you could have died so easily, but you and I, we have a deal. I’m going to hold up my end as long as you do the same with yours. Borog, you heard us. Get Nya out of here. For tonight, bring her to Frankus and explain matters to him. Then you can come back and introduce our new slave to his duties.”
Borog bowed and left. So did the divine brothers. Once they were gone, Da’Ryen sagged in his chains. He didn’t know where this new, unexpected path would lead him, but he was still grateful, for he sensed that he had been given a second chance.
“DON’T LOOK at me like that. I just thought it could be amusing.”
“I’m not looking at all. I’d never dare.” Mockery tinged every syllable coming from Renaldo’s mouth. “You never cease to surprise me, brother, and I’ve known you for quite some time now. I guess it’s useless to ask you why?”
The Wolf of War sighed. Through their connection as brothers and gods, which was growing stronger every day since the Mothers had left Ana-Darasa, he could feel that Renaldo already knew the answer, that he would have done the same for the same reasons. Making him say it was just the Angel of Death’s twisted way of getting back at him for the jibe about Casto.
“Drop it, Renaldo. I’m not in the mood. Besides, I know you can sense it as well as I do. This one’s journey isn’t finished yet. And only a year ago, neither you nor I would have granted him anything, because we wouldn’t have known. Sometimes those new powers are unnerving.”
Turning serious all of a sudden, Renaldo took his brother’s hand. They were both feeling it, the steady pressure of pure power pouring into them, filling them up until they thought their frames would crack. The world that had once seemed to them like a gigantic playfield was shrinking as they watched, losing significance in the face of their new responsibilities and possibilities. It was still their home, something they would protect no matter what, but it was hard to maintain focus when their entire beings were overwhelmed by everything. If this was how the Mothers felt all the time, Renaldo was inclined to forgive them quite a lot of grudges he had accumulated over the centuries. Being swamped by all those impressions, seeing things that were not really there, that were still to come or could happen if things were different—it was hard to stay rooted in reality. Without their hearts, it would be impossible. Canubis had the advantage here; his relationship with Noemi was stable, and he could fully rely on her. Casto, on the other hand, was like quicksand. At one moment he was a pillar of support thanks to his amazing empathic talent; the next he used the same ability to fight his mate with everything he had. Always being thrown off-balance was beginning to take its toll on the Angel of Death. As much as he loved Casto’s unpredictable, stubborn nature, there were times when he had to force himself not to subjugate the king with force. The knowledge that doing so would destroy everything they had built between them didn’t improve the warrior’s mood.
“Don’t look so miserable. It’s going to be fine.” Canubis patted his brother’s back in an attempt to cheer him up. A grateful smile was his reward.
“I know. Or better, I hope. Let’s drink some more, since there’s no one waiting for me in my chambers.”
“You sound like an old man, brother.”
“Still younger than you, though.”
Bickering like two old women, the divine brothers returned to the warmth of their chambers.
3. PREDATORS
THE NEXT morning dawned with splendid glory. Some last wisps of autumn fog dispersed in the brilliant light of the rising sun, making the dew on the ground sparkle like the stars in a clear night sky. It was, depending on one’s point of view, either the best or worst kind of day for an execution.
Not only the convicts were dreading what was to come. In his chambers, Sic was sitting gloomily at the table, staring holes into the walls. As an Emeris, it was his duty to be present when the gods carried out punishment against those who had dared to oppose them. As a former slave and convict himself, Sic could think of a hundred things he would rather be doing. Like running through the Valley naked, or cleaning out the pits all by himself. Unfortunately he wasn’t given a choice in this matter. All he could do was try to make the best of it.
Two strong arms snaked around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace. Instantly relaxed, Sic snuggled closer to the warm, bulky chest behind him. Noran placed a gentle kiss on his lover’s scalp.
“Don’t worry so much, my precious. I’ll be there with you. You’re not alone.”
“I know. It brings back bad memories, though. Memories I had hoped we could leave behind us once and for all.”
“Perhaps it’s not as bad a thing as you fear. It can also make
us stronger. Deepen our bond. You said it yourself—we’ve already hit rock bottom. It can only get better from now on.”
Sic kissed his former owner deeply. Even though he had always seen more in the grumpy master smith than everybody else, he would have never dared to imagine how caring Noran could be. It made him feel pampered and loved, and it gave him the strength to face the events of the day.
“I wonder how you always find the right words to cheer me up.”
Noran lifted Sic up, a lascivious glint on his face. “I have more to offer than just mere words. Do you want to find out later?”
Giggling like a child, Sic threw his arms around the master smith’s neck. “Yes. Yes, I do!”
DARAN WAS standing in front of a mirror, trying to decide what he should wear. Given how messy killing the sisters was going to be, it was best to choose something simple and old. Only his overbearing lovers wouldn’t allow it.
“On a day like this, you have to wear your finest.”
Both of them had been very definite. Daran’s protests about the stupidity of ruining such expensive clothes had fallen on deaf ears.
“Never mind the clothes. We can always buy you new, even better ones. This is about appearances, about your place in the Pack. You’re Canubis’s first Echend’dim, and you’re claiming this position by taking your revenge on the sisters. You absolutely can’t go there in anything but the finest getup.”
Taken aback by their fierceness, Daran had given in and put on his best leather trousers, a shirt woven from the finest linen and dyed in the dark green hue that was the desert brothers’ color, his knee-high boots with the white rabbit fur lining, and a jerkin made of silk with a most intricate pattern embroidered at the seams. As usual, his hair hung down his back in one long, thick braid.
Now Kalad and Aegid stepped forward, offering him a dagger they had chosen just for him. The blade was about a span and a hand long, slightly curved, and shimmering in the morning light like a pool of spring water. It was also razor-sharp. The hilt was made from black wood hardened in fire. Golden inlays followed the grain of the wood, making it look as if it were a living thing. At the base, an emerald the size of a walnut nested like a very expensive egg. The weapon was perfectly balanced, a beautiful instrument of death.
“You already know where to strike, so we won’t be lecturing you about how to kill this scum. This little something is a token of our love. Wield it well, that’s all we’re asking.”
Kalad was grinning broadly. He was in an exceptionally good mood this morning. Given what they had been doing the entire night, and that he would be able to get his revenge today, it wasn’t really a surprise.
Daran looked into his lovers’ eager faces, unable to voice the emotions brewing inside him. Now that his decision was finalized, he couldn’t help but have second thoughts. The first Echend’dim clenched his teeth. No going back now. He had already chosen his path.
FOR THE tenth time that morning, Da’Ryen reached for the iron shackle around his neck, trying to move the collar into a more comfortable position. Experience from the previous day told him how useless the attempt was, since comfort wasn’t something a traitor in the Pack had any familiarity with. Borog, the captain of the prison guard, had closed the symbol of his new subservient life around his throat right after he had taken Nya out of the dungeons. There had been something akin to pity in the man’s eyes, which still puzzled Da’Ryen. As fierce as they might appear, the members of the Pack did seem to have the occasional soft spot. What other explanation was there for him being still alive?
He shifted on his feet. Like every other inhabitant of the Valley, he had to be present for the execution. The place he had been led to was at the far end of the little arena, opposite the small canopy where the seats for the divine brothers and their Emeris had been set up. Slowly the ranks were starting to fill with people of all ages, chatting amiably as if this was not about punishment but a pleasant pastime. If it hadn’t been for the tense atmosphere overshadowing it all, Da’Ryen wouldn’t have believed that he had walked into a den of predators. It was vexing how contradictory the members of the Pack were, and it also explained a lot about the stories he had heard. None of them managed to come even close to the truth.
A sudden hush alerted Da’Ryen. The divine brothers made their entry, accompanied by the Emeris. Since he had already met the Wolf of War and the Angel of Death, Da’Ryen’s eyes only skimmed over them. Instead, they stopped at the stunning blond walking next to Lord Renaldo. Of course there were stories about the wild, stubborn, and, above all, breathtaking mate of the fearsome warlord. Only two years ago, King Castolus had been officially recognized as the heart of the Angel of Death, and the tales about him had already taken on the quality of legends. Apparently, none of the rumors did him justice.
The divine brothers were the very definition of the word “intimidating,” and even the Emeris seemed to be wary of them. It was nothing obvious, only small gestures that nevertheless revealed how feared the warlords were even among their own—except for the blond with the mesmerizing eyes of the sky. If anything, he seemed annoyed about being there, and when the Angel of Death tried to put his hand on the small of Castolus’s back, the king shooed him away like a troublesome insect. To Da’Ryen’s utter surprise, the Angel of Death let it happen without rebuking the young man. Instead he retreated a step to give his mate more breathing space.
Those who had witnessed the little scene reacted quite differently. The Wolf of War appeared to be torn between amusement and anger; his heart, the famed Lady Noemi Amerasu, simply rolled her eyes; while the plain-looking young warrior who was guarded by a giant of a man was clearly terrified. Unfazed by the set of different reactions he had just triggered, the most fascinating person Da’Ryen had ever seen sat down on his high chair with the frozen, impenetrable mask of a true king.
The other members of this exclusive group followed his example, and it was only now that Da’Ryen realized there were two of them missing. Before he could ponder this observation, the Wolf of War nodded slightly, and the convicts were brought in. It was a rather sad track as far as Da’Ryen was concerned. There had never been any love lost between him and Ma’Duk or their fellow warriors from the Hot Heart, not to mention the other thugs who had been drawn to their unlawful union. Yet it still hurt to see those men he had shared the past six years with walk into the arena like oxen on the way to the butcher. Behind his former comrades followed Elgir and two men Da’Ryen didn’t recognize. The defiant look in their eyes couldn’t belie the fear they were radiating like a fire would heat. The rear of the procession was taken by two haggard-looking females whose quick, darting glances and awkward movements only served to enhance the madness surrounding them.
Poles had been rammed into the ground in the middle of the arena. They were in two rows, with an additional five a few feet to the right, closer to the canopy where the gods were seated. The highwaymen were chained in the rows while Elgir, the two strange men, and the females were tied to the remaining five poles. The silence in the arena was deafening; not even a whisper could be heard. Just when Da’Ryen started wondering how long this surreal situation would prevail, the wolves made their entry. Sleek, powerful bodies covered by silky gray fur paraded into the circle like lethal shadows, fully aware of the impact they were making. These powerful predators had inspired almost as many stories as their masters, most of them rich with blood and gore.
Behind the pack followed two desert warriors with a third one between. Da’Ryen startled when he recognized the man he and Ma’Duk had killed. Without the grime of battle staining him, he looked even more appealing. And seeing how the two warriors were hovering around him confirmed his high status. All of a sudden, Da’Ryen felt grateful for having let the young man go. Facing the wrath of the desert men was definitely something he could do without.
The smaller one stepped forward, his countless braids shaking with every move he made. His lively brown eyes were glued to Elgir and the two men w
ith him. It wasn’t a friendly stare. He made a careless bow in the direction of the divine brothers, clearly focused on his victims.
“Lord Aegid and I thank you for leaving the punishment of these three men to us.”
The Wolf of War nodded gracefully, the expression in his amber eyes impossible to read. Lord Kalad turned to the convicts, addressing them directly.
“You laid your hands on what is most precious to us. You dared to sully what is solely ours. There exists no punishment that can make you pay sufficiently for the sacrilege you have committed. Nevertheless, my desert brother and I are going to make you suffer as much as possible. We will introduce you to the worst nightmare you can imagine.”
When he had spoken, the other desert warrior, a giant of a man, stepped next to him. Even though he hadn’t spoken a word yet, he was more intimidating than his brother-in-arms. Shuddering, Da’Ryen recognized some of the tattoos on Lord Aegid’s skin. He had seen them before, on the scrolls kept by his tribe. There was a legend about a man born to the tribe with hair and eyes of the moon, chosen to be a messenger to the spirit world. Da’Ryen had never believed in these tales, thinking they sounded too exaggerated to be true. But now the proof was right in front of him, shattering his tribe’s entire system of belief. After they had injected their prayers into the skin of the messenger with blunt tools made of bone, he had been driven into the desert to die there. Everything good that had happened to the tribe since then had been attributed to this sacrifice, the first and only human one his people had ever made. Apparently the spirits had never received those prayers, since their bearer was still up and about. Only with this thought did Da’Ryen realize how old Lord Aegid had to be. The implications of this insight made him shiver.
