by H. D. Gordon
After learning what Rook and Asha had gone through to get the spell from the Seers to free the Wolves of their magical collars, I knew that my girl had a knack for coming up with the wildest of plans, and then somehow pulling them off.
“What is it?” I asked. “What did Rukiya dearest point out?”
Bakari went to the other side of the hut and retrieved a tome from the old bookshelf there. He joined me where I stood at the round table and flipped to an earmarked page.
Looking down at the book, the diamond-shaped eyes of a Firedrake stared up at me.
Yarin sidled up to my other side, and the three of us stood peering down at the page. Bakari pointed to the faded text beside the picture and read aloud.
“In the ancient times,” the Angel said in his deep, rumbling voice, “Firedrakes were known to choose riders. It is unknown exactly why or how a Drake chose a rider, but many scholars have agreed that pureness of heart connects the limited accounts kept by the long lost Drake Riders. As there is no substance that burns hotter or faster than Drakefire, many a seeker have perished in their quest to be chosen by a Drake. The last of the known Drake Riders died in 670 BGW (before the Great War)… Warning to the reader: Those who seek the Firedrakes only to burn others always instead burn themselves.”
The silence in the hut held for a heartbeat. Then Yarin broke into a slow grin. “I don’t know about you boys, but I’ve always wanted to ride a Firedrake,” the normally stoic Halfbreed said.
I glanced back at the map on the other side of the table, where four wooden Wolf figurines surrounded a single Wolf in the center. A dark figurine of an armored soldier had been added in representation of the Valac, and was also faced toward the Midlands region of the Wolf realm.
“How will we convince the Drakes to help us?” I asked, and scoffed. “Better yet, how will we convince them not to eat us upon sight?”
Bakari’s grin matched Yarin’s, but I knew my comrades well enough to know that tension underlined the expression. We were all afraid, but there was no point in voicing it.
“Rook also had an idea about that,” Bakari said, and laid out a plan that was so like Rukiya dearest that I found myself smiling as well.
Smiling, despite the fact that it was utterly insane.
18
Nahari
The group was too large to move quickly or discreetly.
There were too many pups, too many elderly. They were sitting ducks. A glance over at Ozias and the tight set of his wide shoulders revealed that he knew it, too.
It was only a matter of time before a patrol of Hounds found them. They needed to get these people somewhere safe, but the realm was crawling with soldiers on the move, and the order to capture or kill any escaped slaves had apparently been given by the four remaining Pack Masters.
Nahari was beginning to think that perhaps there was no safe place, that no such thing existed.
Ozias had ordered all those that were now with them—which included a total of forty-eight pups and older Wolves—to shift into their Wolf form. Their senses would be stronger and they could move faster, fight better.
But the Hounds were also in their beast forms; their senses just as sharp, their numbers far more impressive.
Nahni and Norman stuck close by Nahari’s side as the sun sank below the western horizon ahead of them. The Rho Mountains were just visible in the distance, and Ozias seemed to think that they might be able to find a cave were they could camp out, hide while he went on to Dogshead to fight for their freedom.
By the time they reached the foot of the mountains, the sun had long set, and a chill wind had made her grateful for her thick fur coat. Nahari had spent the majority of her life in Bayrine, where the lights of the torches dimmed the stars, but out here, every speck was a brilliant addition to the onyx blanket of the heavens. She could not stop staring up, the beauty captivating even under the circumstances.
It was strange, because though they were running for their lives, Nahari could not remember a time in her life when she had felt so breathtakingly alive. She’d assumed she’d die as a slave. She’d never considered any other possibilities.
Ozias brought the party to a stop as his massive, dark form paused ahead, ears swiveling on his head. Nahari’s heartbeat kicked up in speed as she waited for whatever threat he was sensing to befall them. But after a tense moment, he continued his careful trek forward, and the rest of the Wolves they’d saved from the Slavers’ wagon followed.
They were fully within the shadow of the mountains, creeping along with ears perked and tails held low and still. Norman huddled within Nahari’s legs as Nahni slunk forward to join Ozias near the front. The girl had been sticking close to Ozias since what had happened with the Hounds.
Nahari had tried to bring it up, just once, but Nahni had only tucked her little chin and refused to acknowledge it. Since Nahari did not know what to say to a child who has been forced to claim the life of another just to survive, she’d let the subject drop.
But what the child had done would change her forever, and Nahari was sorry for it, but like many of the things she was sorry for, there was nothing to be done about it.
The Rho Mountain Range began in the Northeastern part of the Wolf realm and stretched across four of the five territories, all the way down to the Southern lands where the Sapphire Sea met the shore. Legends claimed that all kinds of creatures lived among the rock, but after two days of being on the constant run from Hound patrols, the entire group seemed ready to try their luck with the mountains.
“Stay here for a moment,” Ozias said, speaking into Nahari’s head and drawing her out of her thoughts. “I’m going to scout ahead.”
Nahari agreed, sending the order to the rest of the Wolves huddling within the shadows cast by the night and the enormous mountain at their side. As she watched Ozias slip away into the darkness, the silence that fell over the place made the fur on her back stand on end.
Minutes passed.
Five. Then ten. Little Nahni had resumed her place between Nahari’s paws with her brother, but she was shifting and fidgeting, staring into the shadows with anxious anticipation.
When twenty minutes came and went, Nahni’s little voice spoke into Nahari’s head, the first time she’d heard it in days. A few times Nahari suspected that the child and Ozias were having conversations, and it would be a lie to say that his patience with the pup wasn’t endearing. It was a rather adorable contrast watching the two walk side by side, him enormous, dark, and scarred, and her tiny and fair-haired and innocent.
No, Nahari thought. Not innocent. That was stolen from her.
“Where is he?” Nahni asked.
“He’s coming,” Nahari told her. “Don’t worry.”
Ten more minutes passed. Nahni let out a low growl that made Nahari’s throat go dry.
“Something is wrong,” the child said. “Where is he?”
This time, Nahari did not reassure her. She felt it now, too. Low, rumbling growls sounded from the Wolves huddled behind her. They all felt it.
Nahari wanted to write it off as nerves, but as if just to spite her, at that very moment, a howl of absolute agony tore across the quiet night.
Nahari found herself bounding forward, her heart beating out of her chest.
The howl had come from Ozias.
She ran headfirst into utter chaos.
The irony scent of blood hung thick in the air, and the snarls and growls reminded her of the many nights she’d been ringside as the Dogs fought, tending to the whims of her master while he enjoyed watching the Wolves tear each other to shreds in the metal cage known as The Ring.
Torches lit the scene, but shadows ruled the night, and Nahari caught flashes of fur and fangs, whips and barred wagons. She spotted Ozias, his massive head lowered and teeth bared, fighting off two Hounds also in Wolf form.
But there were others, as well, people who were not Wolves.
A male the size of a mountain and covered in sleek black armor was tak
ing down the Hounds as if it were his favorite pastime. His movements were hypnotically graceful, his muscles laced with power. Hounds—both in their Wolf and mortal forms—attacked, but they were no match for his obvious honed skill.
The male warrior was not who drew her attention, however, but rather, the two Harpy females who swooped and fought from above. Nahari had never seen a Harpy in her life, but she was a child of the supernatural realms, and even slaves told stories about the other creatures with whom they shared the world.
The two Harpy females were just as fierce as the mysterious male, with wings that spanned at least twelve feet from tip to tip. Cobalt and scarlet feathers covered their heads, but their faces were more human in nature, with noses and lips rather than beaks, and eyes that glittered with mischief.
Each Harpy held two swords, with matching holsters strapped across their backs, and the Hounds could not get out of the way fast enough. As proof, the lifeless bodies of the Hounds already slain lay strewn along the mountain pass.
Four barred wagons full of slaves were filled to capacity, faces both furry and mortal staring out from inside as the battle raged beyond. Despite the strength of the warriors, the four wagons had clearly been heavily guarded, and Nahari didn’t think twice before jumping into help.
How could it be that just a few days prior, she’d been a cowering female who flinched at a raised voice?
This was a question for later.
She sailed into the fight without hesitation, years of abuse and degradation fueling her. Ozias looked more than happy to see her when she tackled one of the Hounds still engaging him, her powerful jaws clamping around the throat of the unsuspecting Wolf.
Blood filled her mouth as the Hound struggled to free himself, bucking and kicking, snarling and snapping. Around her, the Wolves howled and fought, the ones in the wagons shouting their encouragement.
Ozias took out the other Hound he’d been fighting and stared at Nahari for a couple of heartbeats through the chaos. His muzzle was coated in blood, and she could see that the Hounds had torn more patches of fur away in various places, had bitten him deeply enough to bleed. But life as a Dog had made him apparently highly resistant to the pain, as he was back in the battle a moment later.
Nahari thought maybe they would succeed in this fight they’d stumbled into, and as if the thought had summoned it, a patrol of Hounds rounded a large boulder on the opposite side of the pass. Nahari’s eyes widened and her heart dropped as she saw that there were nearly twenty of the bastards.
Too many. Way too many.
Ozias saw this, too, along with the other fighters.
“We have to open the wagons,” Nahari told Ozias, her words frantic in her own head.
She was shifting into her mortal form even before the thought was conveyed to his head. It was a risk, to be on two legs, without her fangs and thick fur coat, in the midst of the battle still raging around her, but there was no way around it. It was becoming increasingly apparent that before the end of this thing, everyone was going to have to fight for their freedom, and their only hope was in the strength of their numbers.
Alone, the Hounds and Pack Masters would easily round up the slaves and rebels, kill and cage them. They had the money, the resources, the power, and the systems of politics and economics designed to work in their favor. But if the common Wolves stuck together, they would crush the Pack Masters under the sheer force of their united numbers.
Nahari searched the bodies of the Hounds for a key to the large iron locks on the barred doors of the wagons as the battle raged on around her. A Hound leapt at her, but Ozias took him down before he could get close, and one of the magnificent Harpy females took down another.
Nahari’s hands shook as she searched the fourth body of a Hound, the scent of blood hanging thick in the air, the sensory stimulation of the moment blurring together.
At last, she found a ring of keys on one of the fallen Hounds. She shot up from her crouched position only to duck down again with lightning reflexes, causing the Wolf that had leapt at her to sail over her head.
He hadn’t even landed on his paws again before she was sprinting for the nearest wagon, keys in hand.
The Hound gave chase, the sound of his snarls and snapping jaws right on her heels.
She got close. So close.
But the patrol of Hounds that had joined the fray were quickly managing to sway the odds in their favor, and Nahari skidded to a stop as three Hounds—two in Wolf form and one in mortal—stepped into the path between her and the wagon.
The one in mortal form grinned wickedly, the leather handle of his whip gripped tightly enough that his knuckles stood out starkly white on his hand. No words were spoken. They simply attacked.
Nahari’s heart stalled in her chest as she realized she was nearly defenseless in this form. Still, the new found courage she’d gained over the last few days had her positioning the set of keys between her fingers, ready to gouge and defend.
Then, several Wolves appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. They rushed into the fray so quickly, fighting the Hounds, tackling the ones blocking her path, that it took her a few moments to realize who they were.
The rest of the party she and Ozias had been leading. Mostly the older Wolves and former working ladies, but they were fighting as if the whole world depended on it. And, in a way, Nahari supposed it did.
She was at the first of the wagons a heartbeat later, shoving keys into the lock. The second one she tried fit, and the lock sprang free. Nahari swung the door open, and Wolves came pouring out.
Nahari opened all four wagons, and in a voice that was so strong and sure that she hardly recognized it as her own, she told them all the same thing, walking among them in her naked mortal form as the chaos raged on around her.
“If you want your freedom,” Nahari said, “you must take it. We must shift, fight, and survive. And we must do it together.”
The patrol of Hounds went down quickly after the barred doors were opened, crushed under the combined force of the fighters and freed slaves.
19
Ozias
“What the hell do you mean you’ll only take the pups?” Ozias snapped. “What kind of bullshit is that?”
The Halfbreed warrior gave him a look of practiced patience. “We only have room for the pups at the moment,” he said. “Everyone else will be needed in Dogshead to fight the Pack Masters.”
When Ozias opened his mouth to protest, the Halfbreed continued on with forced civility. “Additionally, during these unsettled times, the children and pups are the only ones we can be absolutely positive are innocent, and as they are the future of the realm, we are putting them before everyone else.”
Nahari stood beside Ozias, having not said a word since the Halfbreed had told the group that there was indeed a safe place, but he would only take the pups. Ozias glanced at her now, but could not read her reaction. She was staring at the Halfbreed, as if trying to gauge from his appearance if he could be trusted.
“We’re not stealing them,” the Halfbreed said on a huffed breath. “We’ll take the pups who want to go.”
Ozias looked to the west, where Nahni and Norman were still in Wolf form. Norman was chasing some of the other pups around while Nahni watched from nearby, her head resting between her small paws.
Nahari’s voice was strong but soft when she finally weighed in. “Where will you take them?” she asked.
The way her amber eyes glittered with love as she looked at the pups who were not hers made something deep within Ozias stir, something he’d thought he’d lost long ago.
The Halfbreed approached Nahari slowly, and Ozias found himself shifting closer to the female without being really aware of it.
“My name is Yarik,” the Halfbreed said. “I am friends with Rukiya Moonborn, and while she and the others are in Dogshead, waging war against the Pack Masters, we are gathering all the pups we can and taking them to a safe location. I can’t tell you that safe location. The Alphas ha
ve spies everywhere.”
Yarik followed Nahari’s gaze to where Nahni and Norman were. “But it is your choice if you want them to go,” he added. “Though I’ll warn you, the Wolf realm is no place for children at the moment.”
With this, the Halfbreed gave a respectful nod and went to tell the others. Ozias watched as all the pups followed after Yarik, who seemed to have a naturally patient and positive demeanor that made the little ones gravitate to him.
“I’m not sure we can trust him,” Ozias said, sidling closer to Nahari, who had still not pulled her eyes away from the pups.
“I’m not sure we have a choice,” Nahari responded.
“Maybe we can convince them to take you, too,” he said. “This is cruel, to separate you, to force you to fight.”
Nahari was silent for several seconds. Then, she said, “No, he’s right. Removing the pups from the danger should be the first priority, and every Wolf who is capable of fighting should do so. It’s like I told the others, if we want our freedom, no one is going to hand it to us. We have to take it.” She glanced over at him, big amber eyes full of emotion. “Together,” she added.
When she slipped her small, soft hand into his large, scarred one, Ozias thought Nahari was perhaps the most beautiful female he’d ever laid eyes on. His fingers gave hers a gentle squeeze.
“Together,” he agreed.
The pups looked up as they approached. Nahni only lifted her head from her paws, but Norman brushed up against Nahari’s side. She crouched and took his furry face into her hands, speaking as gently as she could manage into his mind, broadcasting the thoughts to his sister and Ozias as well.
“The two of you are going with Mr. Yarik,” Nahari said. “He is going to take you and the other pups somewhere safe.”
