by Olive Creed
Torrin stumbled back, grabbing onto her saddle for support and taking a deep breath. “Yes, I... I’m fine. Ylda, correct? Go tell the wolves to surround them and on my signal, we’ll... attack.”
She nodded, tilting her head and stepping forward to lick his cheek. “Don’t worry, ii ken. We will keep you safe.”
He choked out a ‘thank you’, trying not to breathe the dirty, musky smell of wolf and definitely not think about what she might have eaten before licking him.
The bushes rustled a little as she disappeared on her mission, leaving him alone and overwhelmed with the knowledge of what had to be done.
“I can’t do this,” he whispered to nobody in particular, sinking down to hug his knees to his chest. He couldn’t kill anyone. Couldn’t feel their hot blood gush over his hands and watch the life fade from their eyes.
His vision blurred, a sharp lump in his throat. Screams echoed in his ears, the ground vibrating as bodies and rocks from the catapults thudded to the ground.
“Mi ken.”
Torrin snapped his gaze from his boots to the trialla, chest heaving as he tried and failed to control his breathing.
“Wrong what is? In fear you look.”
He managed a tight chuckle, shaking his head and burying his hands in his hair. Of course she wouldn’t know what panic was.
He could not afford to panic. Not now. He had to keep his head in the game.
“Where are the wolves?” he asked after a moment. “I need to see them.”
She nodded, trotting off. A moment later, Aklin returned. “You sent for me.”
“Don’t,” Torrin swallowed, mouth and throat impossibly dry, “don’t kill them. Scare them, drive them out, but don’t kill them.”
For several minutes, the giant wolf simply stared at him. Then he stepped forward. “You are being a fool,” he growled, sending cold shivers down Torrin’s spine. “The wolf kills their enemy before it can kill them. You are merely toying with them.”
“They’re not animals.” Torrin stood on shaking legs, lifting his chin. “We’re people. We think and act differently than animals—”
“Some are different.” Aklin stepped close enough he invaded Torrin’s space, forcing him back a little. “You are a King. An Alpha. You fight to protect your land and your people. You are like me. But you are a fool as you do not do your job.”
Torrin took a shallow, shaky breath, forcing back tears. “I’m not murdering those men.”
He couldn't see them killed. Not now.
Aklin huffed, flicking his ears. “I will say it again. You are a fool and we are fools to work with you. A good Alpha or King kills his enemy before the enemy kills his own.”
“Then why are you helping me, if you don’t agree with me?”
“Because as Alpha, it is my job to protect my pack.” Aklin stepped forward, looking down at Torrin. “I will heed your word now, because we are in your land. But if they cross into my land, I will feed them to our young. And if you stop me, I will kill you.” Aklin bared his fangs in a snarl. “But we are wasting time. Let us simply chase the enemy from this territory.”
Torrin exhaled slowly when the wolf turned away, hitting him with his tail. What could he do to stop Aklin? The wolf could snap him in half with one bite! What chance did little him have?
All he knew was he could not watch as someone else died. And if that killed him, well, so be it.
The Shadows were eating and talking amongst themselves when he crouched beside Ylda, watching them.
“They have strange defenses,” Ylda said quietly.
“Those are bows and arrows.” Torrin scanned over the group. There was Cyprian and two other Elyndians—one older and with a gun.
Great.
“Is there any way you can distract them while I go in and grab the weapons?” If the Shadows were unarmed, the wolves wouldn’t perceive them as a threat. Hopefully.
Ylda scratched at her side. “I can see. Though I don’t think I could lure them away from their pack.”
Torrin shook his head, scrubbing sweaty palms on his trousers. “These are men, they don’t work like prey. They wouldn't chase you.” He bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. “None of them have their weapons on them right now. If a few of you suddenly bounded into their camp, then left, that might draw their attention enough for me to sneak in and steal their weapons.”
Ylda bobbed her head and trotted off.
Torrin eased around the camp as quietly as he could. It took much too long for his liking, but at least he got there undetected.
At least, he thought he had.
Cyprian stared at Torrin, partially hidden in the brush and trees. What was he doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to be going to Gashir?
Stupid. Absolutely stupid. He was going to get—
Before he could finish that thought, a giant she-wolf jumped into their clamp, tail wagging and tongue hanging out.
Zell screamed as she bowled over him, snatching their rabbit off the spit and racing back to the trees.
Cyprian sat frozen, hands on his daggers, before glancing around for Fury. She and their other dragons had gone to find their own food.
“Did that just happen?” Zell asked a little shakily.
“Did you see the size of that thing?” Dawsyn got up, walking over to the treeline and peering into the woods. “I’ve never seen a wolf that size!”
“Anatheman.” Gannon stood, picking up his rifle. “There’ll be more of them. Better—”
A twig snapped.
Gannon swung around, whipping up his rifle to fire at the same time a brown wolf slammed into him, biting the rifle barrel and shaking his head.
Cyprian jumped to his feet, moving to stand by Peter.
A roar vibrated his bones. He whirled around in time to see men scatter as an iina jumped into their midst. The beast landed and spun, his claws gouging trenches in the dirt and ripping up roots. “You can’t outran me,” he snarled.
Zell pulled out his sword. “How are you talking?!”
Cyprian almost rolled his eyes. Trust Zell to focus on what was important.
“Now’s not the time for that.” Dawsyn pulled out his knife. “Remember what Corynth said.”
An arrow sliced his thigh. He screamed, dropping to the ground.
One of their dragons shrieked from inside the forest, followed by yelps from wolves. Cyprian prayed Fury wouldn’t get caught in the fight.
The iina lunged, shoving the shoulder spikes towards Cyprian’s stomach. He leaped to the side, the tip of the spike grazing across his hip. Peter ran in and stabbed at a swiping paw with his knife. The drake roared in pain, turning and headbutting Peter square in the chest. His body flew backwards, crashing against a tree.
Cyprian watched, horrified, as he fell to the ground in a pile of limbs.
Torrin charged into the camp, holding a sword. “Sangre, stop!”
Gannon finally rolled free of the wolf, leveling his rifle at his chest. “It’s the Elyndian king!”
Torrin dove to the side as he fired. Gannon screamed as the she-wolf from earlier took the man to the ground, her powerful jaws locked on one of his arms. Zell screamed as he narrowly avoided the iina, calling for his dragon.
Cyprian tackled Torrin, rolling them away from the chaos. “Run,” he hissed before scrambling up.
Torrin jumped to his feet, bolting and tripping over tree roots. Hands grabbed at his clothes and arms. He lashed out with his sword and heard someone yelp. His body twisted and he almost fell, then bounced off a tree and broke free, running as fast as his legs could go and crashing through the brush. Low-hanging limbs tore his clothing, yanked clumps of hair out, sliced into his bare skin. He kept going until the ground disappeared and water wrapped around him.
He came up spluttering, wading through the waist deep stream to a clump of boulders on the other side. Torrin huddled against them, letting the heat reflecting off them warm him from the cold dousing.
Where was the trialla?
The wolves? Sangre? He couldn’t hear anything, the forest now eerily silent.
He held his breath, easing over to the edge of the boulder to peer around it. Nothing. A light breeze blew, making him shiver.
A hand clamped over his mouth, stifling his shriek. “Can’t s-stop. Keep going. I’ll, I’ll cover your t-tracks.”
A gun went off just on the other side of the creek. The high-pitched whine of a bullet ricocheting off the boulder currently sheltering Torrin and Cyprian threatened to pierce Torrin’s ears. “I saw you run after that useless king.” The voice was a curious mixture of an Elyndian accent and Kyrnian drawl. “You’d better bring out his body, else this bullet finds you.”
Dread curdled his stomach and made a cold sweat break out over his skin. Aklin’s words echoed inside his head.
A good king kills the enemy before the enemy kills his own.
He should have ordered them to kill the Shadows. No matter how much it turned his stomach or made him want to scream. Because of his stupidity, selfishness, and fear, Cyprian was in danger of being killed.
What kind of king behaved that way?
All that ran through his mind in the space of seconds. Torrin felt the kid tense beside him. He reached out, grabbing his arm and pulling him further into the cluster of boulders. “Where’s that iina?” he muttered to nobody in particular. Lord, if You’re listening...
The boulders were beside several thick bushes. By crawling along on their stomachs, they were able to move along the ground to a stand of oaks undetected.
“And there doesn’t happen to be any of your friends in that group of Shadows trying to kill us, is there?” Torrin hissed in his ear.
Cyprian hesitated and shrugged, glancing over his shoulder. He yanked out both daggers, moving to stand between him and the trees.
Torrin raised his sword.
“Cyprian, what are you doing?” An Achian Shadow materialized in front of them. Torrin swallowed. He was trapped between two Shadows and a man with a gun. A dragon growled somewhere in the trees. Off in the distance, he heard the bone chilling scream of a dying dragon and prayed it wasn’t the trialla or Sangre.
“Turn him over, Cyprian.” The Achian’s expression was... desperate.
Torrin stood slowly, careful to keep his back pressed against the oak tree. “I’m not going with anyone.”
“You don’t have a choice in the matter, Elyndian.”
Cyprian swallowed. “I’m not, not, not turning him in, P-Peter. Please. Trust, trust me.”
Peter glanced between them, emotions warring on his face before he nodded. “Play along.”
Cyprian tackled him right as the Elyndian fired his rifle. Torrin jumped, scrambling to hide behind a bigger tree and tripping over a root. Cyprian jumped up and threw his dagger, a cry of pain reaching Torrin’s ears, then spun and kicked Peter in the head before he could get up. He grabbed Torrin’s arm and yanked him to his feet. Once again, Torrin fled through the dark forest.
“You can’t go back to the Shadows.”
Cyprian didn’t look at Torrin. They were holed up in an abandoned dragon den. They’d run until they hit another creek, then had traveled upstream for a few miles to slow the Shadows after them down. By the time they’d found the den, night was falling and they’d been more than ready for a break.
Torrin’s stomach rumbled, dust floating through the air tickling his nose. He shifted, stretching out his aching legs. “Are you okay?”
“He’s m-my father.”
Torrin blinked. “Pardon?”
Cyprian turned his way. For once, his walls were down, blue eyes just a little too wide as if he was pushing back tears. And instead of the cold killer trying to go straight, Torrin saw a young boy who had seen too much darkness in his life. A boy who was lonely but would die before admitting it.
“G-Gannon. He’s my, my father. And, and I could have k-killed him.”
Torrin hesitated. What in Elyndia could he say to that? He could only assume Gannon was the man with the gun, the man Cyprian had thrown a dagger at. “He... you didn’t have much of a choice,” he said softly.
He shook his head, black curls falling in front of his face. A bitter chuckle escaped him. “I wanted t-to kill him.”
Torrin wracked his brain for something to say, some words of wisdom or comfort. He sighed. Briley or Roscoe would have known what to say.
Cyprian crawled out of the den abruptly, shaking dirt out of his hair. “You’d better g-get moving if, if you want t-to make it, it to Lorn.”
Torrin crawled after him. “Lorn? Why would I want to go there?”
He rolled his eyes. “Closer. Only, only six m-miles away.”
Oh. He raked his hand through his hair. He needed to stay focused if he was going to succeed. “I take it we’re parting ways?”
He nodded, pointing down the way they came and resting his hand on the hilt of his dagger. His intentions were clear. Cyprian would stop anyone coming after him.
Or die trying.
Torrin stretched out his hand. “Thank you. And stay safe, alright?”
Cyprian hesitated a moment before clasping his hand.
“Go to Zaraya as soon as you can. You’ll be safe there.”
He rolled his eyes, gave an awkward wave, and ran off.
Torrin shook out his stiff legs and eased into an easy trot. He’d go to Lorn and find a horse. His conscience scratched at him. He had no means of paying for one. But Gashir was still several days out and he needed the horse...
A king never steals, let alone a Believer. He ignored the voice in his head saying that he hadn’t lived like a Believer lately. He would have to figure something else out.
Cyprian wedged himself into a crook between a branch and trunk, watching the ground below. He’d covered their tracks all the way to the stream, then had climbed up a tree to ambush anyone following.
He just hoped Peter showed up soon and he could explain everything. He hadn’t kicked him hard enough to render him unconscious.
Several wolves passed by, following Torrin’s scent. Cyprian didn’t see the iina. He hoped it hadn’t been captured. The last thing Corynth needed was a powerful drake.
Morning came and still nobody had showed up. Cyprian slid down, taking care to hide his tracks as he disappeared into the trees.
Waking up to a wolf muzzle inches from his nose was probably one of the scariest moments of Torrin’s life. He jerked away with a dangerously high-pitched yelp, heart threatening to burst out of his chest.
Ylda gave a little wolfish grin. “You’re finally awake. Do you not hear and smell while asleep?”
It took him a moment to calm down enough to process her question. He yawned, stretching the kinks out of his back that came from sleeping on a few roots. “Not like you do.”
“How do you not get ambushed?”
“We usually sleep in houses that we can lock. Uh, really secure dens.”
She nodded, trotting around him to sniff the ground. “The trialla fled back to Zaraya. Aklin sent Dawn and Cloud to make sure your pack knew you were still safe. I’m here to help you get to Achia.”
“Thank—”
“You can probably ride on my back.” She nuzzled his ribs. “You can’t be harder to carry than a pup.”
Torrin chose to ignore that—he doubted a wolf was the kind to make jokes about his size—and stood. “Ride on your back... do you know where I am going?”
“No. Do you?”
He sighed, glancing around. He had a general idea. Unfortunately, his map had been in the saddlebags still on the trialla.
“Not exactly. But I suppose we must try our best to figure it out.”
Riding on the wolf was easier than he thought it was. Probably because there was so much long fur to hang onto and Ylda had a very easy gait.
He still didn’t know how he would get food, but... at least he had a ride, right? He just needed to take it one step at a time.
Gashir was a prosperous city spread out along the
shores of Achia. Hundreds of ships filled the harbor, flags ranging from countries far away, pirates, and a few Torrin didn’t recognize. Buildings—an equal mix of clay brick and timber—towered several stories over the streets, and he spied a few tents set up at the very top. He’d never seen a city so big before.
A city filled with people who could kill him just because their skin was a different color.
Torrin slid off Ylda, legs shaky and head spinning after four days of eating whatever edible plants he could find. None of the Achian towns they’d passed had let him stay long enough to ask about food. “Thank you for bringing me here. You should stay hidden.”
“I will. My pack is close by and I will be safe with them. We will come get you when you’re done.”
“Alright. I’ll try and meet you back here.” He stepped away from her, stumbling a little. He was past the point of his stomach growling. He shook his head to try and clear his vision—bad idea when a dizzy spell came over him and cold sweat broke out on his forehead as he headed down the streets. The Achians stared at him in disgust. A cluster of old ladies shouted something. His spoken Achian was rusty at best, but he was certain the language had been less than polite.
Torrin headed straight for the sheriff’s office. The man behind the desk was a rotund, middle-aged man with thinning gray hair. The Achian style of baggy pants and a loose-fitting tunic only served to make him look bigger. His partial smile didn’t mask the disgust in his eyes at seeing an Elyndian.
Torrin pasted on a friendly smile. “Good morning.”
“What I do for you?”
Torrin exhaled in relief. His Elyndian was broken, but at least he understood him. “Do you happen to know a man named Ace Pariah?”
He scowled. “Yes. No-good kid. Find...” he trailed off, searching for the right word. He got up and pointed out the window towards the docks.
“Thank you, sir.” Torrin caught himself just in time to keep from bowing and nodded instead, trying to ignore the black hovering around his vision. As he stepped outside and dodged a wagon loaded with stone, he reviewed everything Roscoe had told him of the traitor. Ace was a half-breed, enough Kyrnian blood in his veins to make him a powerful fighter. Typically decked out in pirate garb and around Torrin’s age.
