by Xenia Melzer
Sic’s whole body was wreathed in suspicion, but he remained silent. That was a positive sign, and Damon kept on talking. “You have free access to the chambers of all Emeris. I want you to bring me something from Casto’s belongings.”
Sic’s eyes widened in fear and a hint of anger. He understood better than anybody else in the Valley about the consequences of such actions since he served the strictest master of them all. “You want me to steal from the Angel of Death’s favorite? That’s not a favor, that’s madness! If you let go of me right now, I might forget that you made such a suggestion.”
Damon’s grip hardened. “Be careful who you threaten, you pitiful dog. You either do what I say, or your precious master dies.”
With a violent motion, Sic freed himself from Damon’s grip; his eyes were now alight with anger but also the first hints of worry. “You’re talking nonsense. Lord Noran is Emeris. He can’t die.”
Damon laughed. It was a sound so terrifying that Sic could feel the hair on his nape rise.
“How unbelievably stupid of you. The Emeris are protected from death by a human’s hand, so much is true, but I would use magic to end Noran’s life. There will be no way to save him.”
“Magic is forbidden in the Valley.”
“Do you think I care? You’re going to do what I say or Noran dies.”
Trembling, Sic clenched his jaw. “I don’t believe you. You’re lying. I’m going to leave now and tell my master about this.”
He turned away, but Damon grabbed his sleeve.
“I’m going to prove it. You don’t want to risk that I could be right, do you?”
Sic stopped, hesitating. He knew he should go straight to Noran and tell him everything, but the fear of losing him, of being responsible for his death, kept Sic back.
Damon saw his chance. As merciless as a hawk stooping on its prey, he seized Sic. “Come with me. I’m going to demonstrate my powers to you.”
Damon dragged Sic from the shed toward the huts. At a well, several slaves had gathered to draw water. Damon halted between two huts so that the women couldn’t see them.
“Do you see the brunette over there? The one who looks so young and vibrant?” Sic nodded, bemused. “Keep an eye on her.”
Frozen in terror, Sic heard Damon murmuring in a language he didn’t understand. The air surrounding the priest’s outstretched hand flickered for a moment, and then everything was like before.
The young woman at the well was laughing at some joke when her features suddenly froze. She grabbed her chest with a whimper; the bucket fell to the ground. The woman sank to her knees, her body seized by violent convulsions. She hit her head on the well. A strange shiver ran through her muscles and left her lying motionless.
Panic broke out among the other women. One started running toward the main hall, no doubt to get Lady Noemi.
Damon dragged Sic back into the shed. “Have you seen enough? You either do what I say or your precious master shares her fate.”
Sic stumbled against the wooden walls of the shed. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he kept his gaze down. All reason had died inside him; his mind was swamped with the fear of losing his master. He knew how wrong it was to let Damon blackmail him, but what choice did he have?
Losing Noran was the one thing he would never be able to endure. “What do you want me to do?”
Damon made a triumphant sound. Once he had won, he didn’t trouble himself with hiding his contempt. Manipulating Sic had been easier than he’d anticipated, and he had never been gracious in victory. “I already told you. You’ll bring me something that belongs to Casto. It has to be valuable, but he mustn’t miss it the next few days.”
“I’ll do what you want.”
Disdainfully Damon patted Sic’s cheek. “I had no doubt. Hurry, I want the thing by tomorrow noon. You come back here and deliver it to me then. After that, your master is safe.”
“Do I have your word?”
Damon’s face hardened. “Don’t challenge me, little doggie. Go and do what you’re told.”
With slumped shoulders, Sic hurried to escape from the horrible man. He knew very well that Damon hated Casto from the core of his heart and that he would use whatever Sic brought him to harm Casto. But Sic had no choice. The mere thought of Noran being hurt caused him physical pain. He would do whatever was necessary. Even if it meant betraying someone he really liked.
THE SAME day, Sic went to Lord Renaldo’s chambers. Unfortunate coincidence had it that Lord Noran had just finished a repair for Lord Renaldo. With his heart beating loudly, Sic entered the room. He hoped Lord Renaldo was there so he would have an excuse to leave immediately, but Sic was alone. He placed the package on the table, then went into the room where Casto kept his things. Opening the trunk posed no problem since the keys were lying right next to it.
Sic’s eyes widened when he saw the riches in front of him. The Angel of Death was indeed a generous master. He only wondered why Casto never wore any of the treasures piled up so carelessly within. Sic doubted it was pure modesty that kept Casto from wearing the finery. The reason was probably Casto’s sheer stubbornness, which forbade him to accept even the smallest favor from Lord Renaldo.
Carefully, Sic dug into the trunk until he found a splendid golden cloak pin set with sapphires. Given how deeply this jewel was buried under the rest, Casto wouldn’t miss it anytime soon—should he even remember that he owned it.
With trembling hands, Sic hid the pin under his work coat, painfully aware that he was not only sinning against a friend but also against his master and his gods. He didn’t see another escape from his predicament other than doing exactly what the obnoxious Damon asked of him.
ON HIS way back to the smithy, Sic ran into Casto. “Hello, Sic! Noran keeping you busy?”
Sic’s bad conscience howled, and he couldn’t meet Casto’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Casto. I’m in a hurry.”
“Don’t fret it, Sic. I don’t want to cause you any trouble. We can talk some other time.”
Sic cringed. He hurried into the smithy, hoping he could find some peace there.
CASTO WATCHED Sic worriedly. He had come to like the apprentice smith. He hated how Sic had to suffer under his master, but he didn’t know how to help him either. Strictly speaking, Casto wasn’t even able to help himself, so it was futile pondering what he could do for others. Since that fateful night when he’d almost given himself away, he’d become more careful around Renaldo again, horrified at how close he’d been to telling the Barbarian everything and confessing his love to him.
How low had he stooped to long for those words from somebody like Renaldo?
Renaldo, too, had changed since that night. He’d stuck by his word and did everything to make Casto feel at home: showered him with expensive gifts, reined in his possessive streak as much as was possible for himself, and held back massively when it came to intercourse.
All of which led straight to the next problem: Casto loved getting physical. He sighed. At this rate, they’d never have a normal relationship.
To divert himself, Casto visited the library. After the disaster that had unfolded when he’d read Noran’s story, he’d hesitated to read the chronicles through to the end. But he was too curious to find out how Lady Noemi had found her way to the Pack to stop reading now.
In anticipation he opened the book at the page where he’d left off.
WITH CLOSED eyes, Noemi Amerasu listened to the steady rattle of the coach’s wheels carrying her through the night toward her destiny. Opposite her sat Mother Vana, a priestess of the Good Mother and her inquisitor, propped up with soft cushions.
She, too, had her eyes closed, thinking about the enormous amount of money the girl’s parents had paid to have her accused of practicing witchcraft without belonging to the Order of the Good Mother. They had been desperate to get rid of her, desperate enough to accept the girl’s death.
Vana smiled when she remembered the fear within the father of the girl and his second,
beautiful young wife. It was hard to tell if they were more terrified of the wrath of the Good Mother or the things the girl could do. Noemi was a snake witch, and a powerful one at that, and Vana would be the one to sacrifice her to the Good Mother.
Noemi Amerasu was probably the last of her kind, a relic from the times before the Good Mother came to Ana-Darasa. Back then, the healers had forged a pact with the snakes, a pact blessed by Ana-Isara and Ana-Aruna. In exchange for sharing their power of healing, the snakes were allowed to take up residence in the hearts of the healers. Such a double gift—witch and snake—would be rewarded greatly by the powerful goddess.
A muffled impact followed by a piercing scream tore both women from their musings. The horses whinnied in agitation and quickened their pace. Another impact sent the coach careening onto two wheels.
Noemi tried holding on to the cushion of her seat as well as she could manage, but the chains that tied her to the floor didn’t allow much movement. Mother Vana clung to the door handle, berating the coach driver in her unpleasant, high-pitched voice.
They stopped. The coach swayed for a moment like a drunk trying to find his balance. When it finally stood still, absolute silence ensued. The door was yanked open brutally.
A man with countless braids on his head peeped inside. When he laid eyes on the two women, he grinned. “You were right, Aegid. This is a coach of the Good Mother’s followers.”
Saying that, he grabbed Mother Vana and dragged her into the darkness. The high, enraged screaming was music to Noemi’s ears, although normally she didn’t make a habit of being vindictive. However, the woman had taken immense pleasure from telling her in sordid detail the things that would happen to her before she found her death as a sacrifice for the Good Mother. Noemi’s pity was very limited in this case.
The braided warrior reappeared and moved to grab Noemi when he noted the chains. Frowning, he turned away again. “They’re transporting a prisoner here.”
“Let me see.”
That voice was full of calm authority. The braided one obeyed immediately, a sure sign that the man entering the coach held great power. Noemi only glanced briefly at a harmonious face bordered by pitch-black hair and dominated by imperious, amber-colored eyes before she lowered her head in humility. Under no circumstances did she want to anger the man. He emitted a strong aura of power and dominance, and she felt the irrational urge to kneel in front of him.
When he started talking to her, his voice was surprisingly gentle. “Don’t be afraid. I’m going to open the chains now so that you can leave the coach.”
“You’re very kind, lord, but I’m afraid I don’t know where Mother Vana keeps the keys.”
Soft laughter spilled through the coach. “I don’t need keys.”
A jangle and the chain fell to the ground, broken into pieces. Noemi was so bewildered that she stared directly into the man’s face. “How did you do that?”
His sensuous mouth smiled subtly. “One of my many talents.”
He sounded so salacious that Noemi felt her cheeks redden. “Please forgive me, lord.”
“Never mind. Give me your hand. It’s dark and slippery out here.”
She followed the warrior out of the coach and froze. Illuminated by the flickering torchlight, Mother Vana lay in the mud, her throat slit so violently that her spine was visible. The trunk with the blood money Noemi’s father had paid to get rid of her stood next to the dead priestess.
The braided warrior approached Noemi and her escort. His teeth were white, in stark contrast to his dark skin. He sounded more amused than threatening. “Just what did you do to piss the Good Mother off?”
Noemi didn’t look up. Her hand was still entwined with the black-haired warrior, and she felt kind of safe. “I was accused of practicing witchcraft. Mother Vana took me with her to have me tested.”
“Seems like somebody wanted you dead. Those hyenas know no mercy.”
“Enough, Kalad. You and the others can share the booty. I’ll take this one with me.”
The warrior bowed to his leader in mockery. “As you wish, my lord Canubis.”
“Sometimes you really get on my nerves, do you know that?”
Although his words sounded harsh, Noemi could hear the amusement in the man’s voice. When she’d heard his name, her heart stopped for a moment. Even secluded in the tower where she’d spent her past six years, she had heard about the famous Lord Canubis, leader of the most powerful army of mercenaries on Ana-Darasa.
She knew her fate then and steeled herself against the pain she would experience soon. A man like Lord Canubis certainly wouldn’t take a woman with him just to wine and dine her.
INSIDE THE tent of the famous Wolf of War, Noemi stood lost while her new owner rummaged through his trunks to find something for her to wear. He finally gave up.
“You’re too small. I can’t find anything that could fit you.”
For a moment he seemed to stare into thin air, and then he returned his attention to her, a satisfied expression on his face.
“The problem will be solved. Sit down, and tell me your name and how you ended up in the clutches of the Good Mother.”
Shyly, Noemi looked up at the powerful man. She wondered how much she should tell him. It certainly wasn’t a good idea to be caught lying, but the divine brothers’ opinions about magic were well known. Should he find out that she was indeed a witch, her fate was sealed. It was a thin line she had to tread.
“I am Noemi Amerasu. My father is the leader of Amman. It’s just a small city you’ve probably never heard of. My mother died shortly after giving birth to me, and about eight years ago, he got himself a new wife. We never got along well. She wasn’t able to drive me out of the city entirely—my ancestry offered some protection, after all—but she managed to isolate me from the court. A few weeks ago, Mother Vana came into the city, and my stepmother must have sensed her chance. I was accused of being a witch, and for the payment of a certain amount of gold, Mother Vana agreed to take me to a shrine of the Good Mother and test me.”
“That’s a death sentence.”
“I know. To be honest, I’m quite relieved you ambushed the coach, my lord.”
“That’s the first time somebody gave me thanks for a raid.” Canubis grinned broadly. “I like you, Noemi.”
His friendly words encouraged Noemi to express her greatest fear. “I’m still a virgin, my lord. Are you going to hurt me?”
Canubis’s amber eyes lit up in hunger, and Noemi feared she’d just dug her own grave, when the powerful warrior gently touched her cheek.
“You mustn’t be afraid. Nobody in this camp will touch you unless you give your express permission.” When he saw her confused expression, he continued. “This is the Pack. We follow strict rules, sweet one. We serve the Holy Mothers, and they abhor nothing so much as forced sex. Regarding the bed, you’re absolutely free. You can choose whoever you want, and nobody is allowed to force you. Not even me.”
“Is that true?”
“I do not lie!”
Ashamed, she lowered her head. “Please forgive me, Master. I didn’t mean to be insolent.”
“Don’t worry. It was a long day for you. Now go to rest. Everything else, we’ll talk about tomorrow. Or sometime soon, since we’re in the middle of conquering a city.”
A wolfish grin accompanied those words as if a campaign was some sort of holiday. For the Wolf of War, it probably was.
With a sense of unease, Noemi lay down in the place she’d been shown. Although she was at the heart of the most feared army in the world, in the tent of the leader of that army, she slept deeply and soundly.
For reasons she wasn’t able to comprehend yet, Noemi felt safe in the presence of the mighty Wolf of War.
THE NEXT day, Canubis left the tent right after sunrise, decked in full battle armor. For some time, Noemi sat there, bored. Then she got up and decided to look around the camp. So long as she didn’t try to flee, she was free to move about as she pleased,
a concession she was determined to enjoy. In the distance she could hear the sounds of battle, and the thought of all these pointlessly wasted lives made her sad.
In one of the biggest tents, she found the infirmary where the healers were busy. Noemi was just about to move on since it was none of her business, but her natural kindness shortened her stride. People were suffering there; it was her duty to help them, although it might endanger her. Not without a certain feeling of doom did she enter the tent. The mixed smells of blood, herbs, and, above all, pain were like old acquaintances from the time when she had undergone training as a healer, before she was locked up in the tower. The woman who raised Noemi in place of her mother had realized her talent and her connection with the snake, and she saw to it that Noemi started training at twelve. Even while she was locked away, the kind woman had brought her books about the healing arts so that she could complete her studies.
Two mercenaries were just carrying in one of their comrades, whose right leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. Automatically switching into healer mode, Noemi beckoned them over. The man was still conscious, which was surprising given the severity of his wound. With ease of practice, she cut away the clothing to reveal the entire laceration. After she had assessed the severity of the damage, she turned to one of the shelves to her left, selected a vial and gave the man a potion to make him sleep. It took her some time to cleanse out all the bone splinters and the dirt, then she used her power to heal the bone and close the wound enough to prevent it from reopening. The snake, her soul’s companion from the day she was born, eagerly helped. Shaa-Azar, the snake, was also glad that they could finally follow their calling again.
After Noemi had taken care of that warrior, the next one was already sitting on her table, and before she knew it, the line of wounded fighters before her became as long as those of the other healers.
