Catch a Wolf

by A. Katie Rose

  Before I could raise the obvious question, his magic hit me. Again I felt the cold change, the melting, the sensation of my body running, flowing together. Yet, it all happened so quickly, so smoothly. Before I could fully register it all, I knew somehow I was different. My wings felt lighter, swifter, my tail feathers narrower, my body sleeker. Once more I could turn on a pinfeather, dive steep and fast, climb faster.

  My hawk had returned.

  Only caution kept my hawk’s screech of triumph silent. Yet, my heart and soul soared.

  “Ravens have no reason to be here,” Rygel said, his own red-brown raptor climbing high toward the sun. “The hawk still needs to hunt.”

  “How will we hide?” I asked, peering down, my hawk’s vision so much sharper, keener, than my raven’s. “We have no trees with which to roost, as we did before.”

  “We’ll have to make do,” he replied, circling, gradually approaching the hilltop from the rear, the east. “There are enough snarled branches we can hide in. We need to be close enough to hear what they’re saying.”

  Yet, for the time being, Rygel kept us high, against the sun. I doubted anyone looking up could see us, two tiny dots amid the sun’s blinding rays. Our raptor’s vision enabled us to clearly see the entire hilltop and the army amassed upon it.

  Brutal’s banner flew before his huge, white pavilion, a snarling White Lion on its field of gold. His ever-loyal Synn’jhani in their white and gold uniforms stood their posts guarding it. They wound scarves over their faces, hiding all but their eyes under the white turbans on their heads. Snowy white, trimmed in gold, immaculate cloaks fell to their heels; loose breeches they tucked into high black boots. From where I flew, high overhead, their loyalty to that royal idiot looked as unquestioning as ever.

  White tents stood in military precision upon the broad hilltop and the surrounding area, rows upon rows of organized, mobile civilization. Horses stood, heads low and tails swishing against flies at long picket lines. Men, most in the purple and gold uniforms, but some not, tended to the valuable cavalry horses. Others with axes chopped at the offending downed trees, clearing more area for expansion; more tents, more horses, more army.

  I saw other men, not in uniform but in the homespun browns of peasants and serfs. These folks tended cookfires, mended saddles and harness, sharpened weapons, fletched arrows, shod horses, hauled firewood from the axes of the tree clearers. Waggoners drew their teams up, more men ready to offload their goods before sending them off to Soudan for more supplies. From high up, I observed the nonstop activity of a camp at war.

  Brutal’s war against us.

  Brutal himself sat at a table under a wide, flimsy pavilion, his royal skin shaded from the strong sunlight. His commanders stood at ease around and behind him, a tall man with the gold trappings of a general bent to his royal ear. Before him on the table lay a map marked by pins. Two officers bent over it, showing Brutal their concerns with calloused index fingers. He eyed their opinions with royal disdain while at the same time listened to the general’s advice. Brutal’s multi-tasking at its best.

  Snorting inwardly at the display, I recognized the crown of gold and precious jewels he wore upon his brow. I last saw that crown on Lionel’s head, the night of Brutal’s birthday celebration. Only a king who sat his throne by might rather than right would wear such on this occasion.

  I recognized Ja’Teel standing to Brutal’s right and slightly behind him. He wore all black, black breeches, tunic and a black cloak that fell to his spurs attached to a cavalry man’s high black boots. The scorpion tattoo marked him, even from this distance.

  “That’s him,” Rygel said, his tone grim and cold.

  “Isn’t all that black a bit…dramatic?” I asked.

  Rygel laughed. “That’s Ja’Teel for you. He’s playing his role of the dark wizard to the hilt.”

  “I’d think all that black would lead to heatstroke,” I muttered. “Doesn’t he have the sense—”

  “No,” Rygel answered shortly, “his ego is all he has. He can never hope to rival me in power, and he knows it. When we were young, he always sought to emulate me, to follow what I did, to achieve what I achieved, to be me. The fact that he never could still rankles. Now, as then, he’s very dangerous. Don’t ever, ever, underestimate him.”

  “Let’s hope he underestimates you,” I murmured.

  “He’s intelligent enough to not let that happen often,” Rygel replied, beginning a slow circle downwards. “He let me outsmart him at Brutal’s trap. He let his new position as Brutal’s pet, my replacement, overwhelm him. He won’t make that mistake again.”

  Spiraling down, we two hawks gradually closed the distance between Brutals’ massed purple and gold forces on the hilltop.

  “This might do the trick,” Rygel said, winging over the camp toward a snarled mass of downed trees, a huge tangle of oak, balsam, fir, pines, dogwood and elms, all jammed together by the storm. There were yet plenty of green leaves or thick needles, not yet yellow or decayed, throughout their gnarled branches. Their stout limbs provided enough cover for two small hawks to perch unseen and spy on the enemy.

  Settling onto a branch, hidden by foliage, I furled my wings and shook my feathers into place. A quick sidestep improved my view of the army massing below. Rygel picked a spot a few branches below and to my left. He, too, found a position where he could see clearly the activity yet remain hidden amongst the tree leaves, pine thickets and wrenched tree-limbs.

  This location, high above and north of Brutal’s hill, offered a wide view of the entire area. With ease, we observed Brutal and his officers, his encampment, his army, even the long line of supply wagons wending their way to and from Soudan. As hawks, we could see and hear everything going on down there. If I concentrated, my keen eyes brought all details to me in sharp relief. Given Brutal’s demanding presence and how men seldom looked up, I doubted we’d be discovered.

  “My spies inform me they are on the move now, Your Majesty,” said an officer, well-armed and appointed with the insignia of a major. “We must break camp and begin our hunt.”

  “We wait, Sangar,” Brutal replied, his familiar nasal voice filled with his usual irritation.

  “Pray tell, Your Majesty,” asked a colonel after clearing his throat nervously. “How will we catch them if they get too much of a head start? In all this mess, we cannot move much faster than they. We dare not allow them any time.”

  Brutal smiled. “We’ll track them down quite easily. Never fear. I’ll marry that bitch within the week.”

  Another plumed officer, a captain I think, hurried from behind the tents and dropped to his knee before Brutal’s chair. “Your Majesty, the Commander General has arrived.”

  “Ah, good,” Brutal said expansively, rising from his seat and stepping around his table. “On time, too. Most excellent. Bring him here.”

  “Your Majesty.”

  Rising, the captain bowed low and, ducking between the rows of silent Sins, disappeared behind the line of tents.

  “The Commander General, Your Majesty?” asked Major Sangar.

  Brutal eyed him. “Of the Shekinah Tongu.”

  “Ah, yes, Your Majesty.” Sangar bowed low. “Of course.”

  “With the help of his mutts, we can track my runaway bride and her Wolf wherever they go.”

  Sangar glanced to his left, his eyes bleak. I followed his gaze and almost squawked in surprise. Surrounded by Sins and regular army soldiers, a Tongu hunter stood silent, waiting. His black eyes glittered in the sunlight, yet he held his tongue shut tight behind his evil teeth. His lank hair fell in oily coils to his shoulders, and from what I could see of it, his clothing looked tattered and stained.

  “I’d bet my diamond earring,” Rygel said slowly. “That fellow was one who attacked us last night.”

  “I think I’ll refuse that wager.” I clicked my beak. “How could he have survived?”

  “I suspect we’re about to find out.”

  Royally escorted by a
column of twenty soldiers in purple and gold, a tall man in the familiar plain brown and grey homespun clothing of the Tongu strode forward. Pale blue eyes gleamed over a dark summer tan and a hawk-like nose. A head of ordinary blonde hair without the usual Tongu shaved skulls and snake tattoos hung in a loose braid down his back. The simple gold ring in his nose caught the sunlight and my attention. He seemed armed only with a long, double-edged dirk in a sheath at his belt. He had more, somewhere, I guessed.

  Unlike the cavalrymen around him, Tenzin’s long, muscular legs wore fine hose of dark brown and short leather boots with gilded spurs clasped to his heels. A light grey cloak of fine weave draped him from his shoulders those very spurs. The knife scar across his cheek did little to mar his handsomeness, but his thin lips lifted in a perpetual sneer succeeded in making him as ugly as a crone. He strode firmly among his guardians as though he walked into his own temple.

  At his hip, eyed with wonder and concern by the troopers, ambled a huge, short-haired black cat. Its golden eyes peered about with suspicion, its long tail lashing from side to side. Too much like Bar’s when irritated, I half-thought. Around its slender neck lay not quite a collar, but a short silver chain. Large and sleekly agile legs spoke not just of speed but of strength, cunning and a fierce, feline ferocity.

  I couldn’t force my eyes from it as the Tongu leader knelt before the High King.

  “What is that?” I asked, my wings half-furled as I leaned forward to see clearer.

  “A panther,” said Rygel. “From the dense jungles of Jinyang. South of Zhou.”

  “I want one,” I said, bemused. “Can you imagine?”

  “Princess, your will is my command,” Rygel said, amusement coloring his mental tone. “I’ll certainly acquire one for you.”

  “Lord Tenzin,” Brutal said, arming sweat from his cheek.

  Tenzin dipped his brow. “Your Majesty.”

  “Is that thing dangerous?” Brutal asked, his voice high as he eyed the panther sitting quietly beside her master. She returned his stare openly, her thick tail flicking lazily back and forth.

  “Shirel will not harm anyone unless I bid her,” the man replied quietly.

  “Very good,” Brutal replied with a thin smile. “Believe you me, if she gets out of control, my men will shoot her. Understood?”

  “Completely, Your Majesty.”

  “You may rise, my lord Tenzin,” Brutal said, with an airy wave of his hand. “Did you bring your hunters and their pups?”

  The Tongu Commander-General rose to his feet with the lithe grace of a skilled hunter. If he glanced toward his minion, waiting amid his guards, I didn’t see it. His panther sat, still watching Brutal, her head on a level with Tenzin’s waist. The officers, while at parade rest, couldn’t keep their eyes off her.

  “I did, Your Majesty,” Tenzin replied. “I have fifty hunters and as many hounds at your disposal.”

  “I’m pleased, then, my lord.”

  “May I offer my condolences on the loss of your friend, Your Majesty?” Tenzin asked politely. “I know how much His Holiness meant to you.”

  Brutal flipped a lazy hand, rising from his chair. “Ah, yes, well, he is with his master now. I have already appointed his replacement. A good man, that. He’ll remain steadfastly loyal to me, since I am the reason he now heads Usa’a’mah’s temple.”

  Tenzin didn’t speak with the mutilated throat his henchmen did, nor did he tattoo himself crazy. His hunting companion was a great cat, not a grizzled hound. Did their leaders not conform to the Tongu ways?

  “Last night, the leader didn’t hiss either,” Rygel observed.

  “I’m sure his worshippers will miss Theodoric,” Tenzin said, pious.

  Brutal smiled thinly. “I doubt it. Theodoric wasn’t very—nice.”

  Tenzin didn’t reply, but his eyes narrowed slightly as Brutal began to pace, back and forth, in front of him. I wondered if that bloody crown didn’t give him a headache with the intense heat and humidity after Usa’a’mah’s little storm. Runnels of sweat dripped from under the gold, turning Brutal’s already lank hair into a snarled oily mess. I swear I could almost smell his noxious perspiration.

  As he paced, his officers ceased watching the panther and watched their sovereign. Their spines stiffened. They knew something the Shekinah Tongu commander obviously did not.

  “While we’re on the subject of loyalty,” Brutal said, still pacing slowly and quite carefully not looking at his subject. “I have yours?”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  Now, Tenzin suspected he was in trouble. His eyes flicked among the massed soldiers and Sins as though calculating his survival if Brutal set them against him. Taking a chance I’d miss anything, I took my eyes off of the scene below me and sought to find the Tongu assassins hidden among the massed army. Perhaps they concealed themselves, waiting, for I didn’t see them. I doubted they were close enough to rescue their commander should Brutal unleash his army on the hapless man. He might take one or two with him, I suspected, but that wouldn’t faze Brutal’s forces.

  “Just what I want to hear,” Brutal exclaimed happily.

  He still wouldn’t look at Tenzin. Were I in Tenzin’s boots, I’d be feeling very nervous along about now.

  The Tongu hunter amid Brutal’s guards hadn’t moved, never blinked and as far as I could tell hadn’t even breathed once Tenzin rose from his knees. Yet, he sweated more than Brutal. His nasty coils of limp hair, beginning just above his ears, sagged under the weight of damp salt. His bare, tattooed skull gleamed under the light of the bright sun. Like tears, moisture trickled down from his temples, and he never twitched a muscle to wipe it away.

  Brutal still paced and Tenzin watched him.

  “You know,” Brutal said comfortably, his hands settled at the small of his back. He reminded me of a schoolmaster lecturing his class. “The incompetence your people have shown is astounding.”

  Tenzin stiffened, his mouth opening in either protest or denial.

  Brutal wheeled about, as though knowing Tenzin was about to speak, his dead brown eyes on the wretched Tongu. Tenzin snapped his jaw shut. I heard the dry click in his throat across the distance.

  “Uh, oh,” Rygel commented. “Brutal ain’t happy. And when Brutal ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”

  “Pray tell me,” Brutal said softly, his hands coming together under his chin as though he truly implored the divine. “Tell me there is an excellent reason why your assassins ran my bride and her idiot henchmen into the Jefe Monastery on the eve of the storm of the century.”

  Tenzin flicked his eyes from Brutal to his assassin.

  “Oh, my yes,” Brutal said genially, turning his body slightly and following his gaze. “He spilled his guts. He told me everything while crawling on his belly, begging for my mercy.”

  “Might I inquire as to how he survived?” Tenzin asked politely, still watching his man. “Your Majesty?”

  “He found shelter under a fallen tree,” Brutal answered amiably, as though talking of a favorite dog. “After his brothers blew themselves up with their stunt with the naphtha, the others fled. The hail and the Kel’Hallans killed everyone else. Yet, he—“

  Brutal turned his head to stare once more at Tenzin with those dead eyes.

  “—he survived, against all odds. Is that not amazing or what?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Tenzin replied, his eyes still on his hunter. “Truly amazing.”

  “And fortuitous,” Brutal added with a benign smile. “Don’t forget fortuitous. Without his survival, I mightn’t have known how your assassins bargained for only the renegade Rygel.”

  Tenzin finally brought his pale eyes back to Brutal.

  Brutal began to pace again, albeit more slowly, walking ever closer to the unfortunate Commander.

  “Help me out here, Tenzin,” Brutal asked, his voice quiet and thoughtful. “Your people—” He gestured expansively toward the sweating Tongu. “—your people drove the Kel’Hallans inside a
stone monastery, a very strong building I must add, and negotiated to spare the lives of all if they merely sent Rygel out to be slaughtered like a sacrificial cow.”

  Brutal touched his fingers to his brow in obvious confusion as he paced. “Yet, I contracted with you—” His finger pointed at Tenzin while watching the ground at his feet. “—to bring me both women and the gladiator. The rest you could feed to your mutts should you so desire.”

  Brutal ceased his pacing and stood face to face with Tenzin. So close, I swear Brutal could have kissed him. Tenzin froze, scarcely breathing, when Brutal’s face stopped so close to his.

  “Would you care to explain how you have foresworn your own contract with me to pursue your blood oath against Rygel?” Brutal stepped back a step, and raised his right fist. “I think your explanation should come quickly. Or my soldiers will cut you down where you stand.”

  On a small hillock to the southeast of Brutal, a band of purple and gold archers rose from hiding. Their nocked and ready bows aimed razor-tipped arrows at the tall Tongu leader. As they were but twenty-five rods away from Tenzin, their shots could not possibly miss.

  “Blood oath?” I asked, glancing askance at Rygel.

  “An oath to never rest until I’m dead,” Rygel answered. “That’s why they’ve come out into the open. They would never, under any other circumstances, join up with anyone.”

  I returned my attention to the drama below us.

  “—explanation, Your Majesty,” Tenzin answered calmly.

  “Very good, very good,” Brutal said amiably, walking a short distance away. No doubt to make certain his own archers didn’t miss Tenzin and hit him, I thought sardonically. “Pray tell me, I’m all ears.”

  “Once they had Rygel,” Tenzin said after swallowing another dry click. “They were to keep the others inside and burn them out with naphtha.”

  “A very good plan, that,” Brutal replied. “Except one very tiny, but extremely important, problem.”

  He eyed Tenzin as a cat might watch a mouse. “You might have killed my bride and the heirs to the Connachti throne. Those very individuals whom I commanded you to take alive.”