“We need weapons, Vlk. Something better than our eating daggers.” Laagi’s whisper came out calm, if a bit clipped. “Maksu? See if you can find something for us.”
Vlk looked at Laagi, then at Maksu, nodding. He kept his voice low, but above Laagi’s whisper. Loud whispers were often easier to hear and locate than soft speech—a truth taught him by years of playing Haunted Forest. “He’s right. Ve need something better—something longer if you can find it. But be as soft as you can. Ve don’t vant whoever’s outside to know ve’re here.”
Maksu nodded, his expression serious. He moved toward the table, then toward the back of the tent. He hissed an odd little whispered ooooh that squeaked near its middle.
Vlk and Laagi had moved to opposite corners of the tent’s front. Now they both looked back just in time to see Maksu slip through an opening. Vlk caught a glimpse of stairs down and relaxed. He glanced toward Laagi, who wore an expression of confused concern, offering him a nod. Laagi shrugged one shoulder as if to say so be it, and the pair went back to listening.
There were voices, then an odd scream that froze his blood. Given Laagi’s face, he’d been just as frightened by it. The sound came toward them… then kept going toward the southeast.
Both boys breathed a visible sigh of relief, then smiled at one another.
You see? Ve might’ve been friends if you and your father hadn’t…
His thoughts were cut off by more voices. A dog barked, making him think of Štít. He hoped she and her master… but that led him to thoughts of Pavel and Andrej. Hells, were any of them even alive? And hadn’t they all come back to tend to Andrej’s wounded father?
Maksu reappeared. He held two arming swords, one in each hand, the flats of their blades laid over his shoulders. His face was a comical mask of near-ceremonial seriousness and childish pride. He’d found exactly what the older boys had asked for, and he knew it.
Vlk beamed at him, nodding. He stepped to meet the smaller boy, taking one of the swords and marveling at its weight. Maksu had grown stronger. This weapon was manageable, but far too long and heavy for everyday use. He looked at the intricate work of the pommel—a metal heater in miniature, as thick as both of his thumbs, bearing an etching of the count’s arms.
“These aren’t real,” Laagi whispered.
“Real enough.” Vlk stepped back and swung his borrowed weapon around, testing its balance. It would do, at least for a short fight.
“No, I mean, it’s not for fighting. It’s to show, not to sharpen.” Laagi slid his hand up the naked blade, gripping it tight. He pulled his hand away, showing Vlk his undamaged palm. “They’re sword-shaped cudgels, not swords. Hit, don’t slice.”
Vlk looked at his own blade and saw Laagi was right. That was disappointing, but it was better than nothing.
It’ll be like vielding practice svords. Heavy practice svords, but still. He nodded, then took up position again near the front corner.
Maksu walked back to stand behind the table. It was a good thought, putting the obstacle between him and whoever might charge into the tent. He’d made it about halfway when it happened.
Slender, golden fingers snaked into the tent at somewhere near Vlk’s eye level. They wrapped around the lip of the canvas flap and pulled it outward. Then a second hand—this one pale and pink—reached forward and pushed aside the fur that kept the cold at bay, sliding it along on its hooks.
Vlk made ready, nodding at Laagi who was doing the same.
A bark preceded a furry black face and a broad mass of red fur.
“Štít?” Vlk couldn’t help himself. He dropped his sword and laughed. “Štít!”
Laagi looked at him uncertainly—doubly so when Andrej stepped in, calling Vlk’s name in delighted surprise. If his expression at the sight of hound and human showed uncertainty, his reaction upon the gnoerkish woman’s entry was nothing short of awe.
Vlk understood why. She was breathtaking. Tall, with a face of deepest gold and eyes of mid-day blue, she was at once fair and fell in equal measure. Her trousers were dun colored, and her beaked boots and long shirt were of a red so weathered as to be almost brown. At first glance, he thought she wore a hood of dark blue silk, which was strange and distracting to look upon. With a jolt, he realized he was seeing the ordinary magic of her hair.
Breathtaking? That was underselling it. He found himself staring, uncertain how to look at her. What he did know was that doing so made his face grow hot. He would have been wary, save that she’d come in with Andrej.
And that led his mind back to his friend. Vlk forced himself to turn away, stepping over to put a hand on Andrej’s shoulder.
“You’re alive! I vasn’t sure vhere you and the others vent. Vhen you veren’t here, I feared…”
But Andrej’s happy smile had shattered as his eyes fell on Edmund’s body. He stepped past Vlk, not noticing Laagi or Maksu at all. As if it were against his will, he dropped to his knees beside the count and simply stared.
“You’re Vlk.” The gnoerkish woman’s voice was a scratched song of restrained emotion. She turned to Laagi for a beat and spoke in her own tongue. “Nqel, geklg. Erld sngsh. Erld nak, awka nqel.”
He tried to reply, but no words came out. At length, he gave up and just nodded. Satisfied, the woman turned her luminous blue dreamer’s lamps on Vlk once more.
“I am,” said he. He knew he should offer some form of respect—Lady, Mistress, Teta, or the like. And he’d have gladly done so if he knew which one to use.
“I’m pleased. You seem none the worse for wear.” She looked him up, then down, nodding. “I have hard news, but before I tell you my drift, you must answer me something. Where is—”
But Štít had begun to growl. She stepped forward with slow, measured movements. Her head was low, and her tail was slung high, bushed out behind her.
A blue blur caught Vlk’s eye as Maksu ran toward the rear of the tent. The red hound followed him, barking.
“No!” the woman shouted, racing after Štít. Vlk and Laagi joined her, crying for the beast to stop.
Boy and bolting hound plunged through the rear flap before any of them had crossed the room. Maksu was screaming. There was a loud thud, followed by the sound of something ceramic shattering, then more of the boy’s inarticulate cries … which were fading… fading…
They burst through the canvas, took only a beat to process the layout of their new surroundings, then bolted down the stairs as if their heads were on fire.
“Maksu! Maksu!”
But the boy was giggling now.
Vlk was the first to see him. He was on his back atop a rug, pinned between Štít’s massive paws. She was licking his face, her tail moving at a speed that turned it into a blur.
The woman dashed over. As soon as she came within arm’s reach, Štít sat back and looked at her as if to say, I’ve caught him. He’s all yours now.
“Og? Og!” Maksu was on his feet and in his mother’s arms before she’d finished the act of kneeling down beside him. He was shuddering—not with tears, but with utter, relieved delight.
Vlk grinned, thumping Laagi on his shoulder. The boy gave a sad smile, nodding as he turned to go. Štít stopped him with a bark, then nuzzled the top of her crimson head beneath his dim hand. The gnoerk boy didn’t seem able to stop himself. He turned, knelt down, and began petting the beast as if they were old friends.
Vlk turned to regard Maksu and his mother again and couldn’t help but smile. The pair were murmuring to one another in their own tongue. Each bore looks of as near to perfect contentment as he thought he’d ever seen.
Then Andrej was there, standing at the top of the stairs. He held a lit lantern—the one that looked as if it had come from the undertown.
“The rain’s started.”
Laagi—who was getting his face licked and resisting his every instinct to laugh, judging by the look of concentration on his face—asked Vlk’s question for him. “So?”
“The Shar… er, Keening.”
Vlk hadn’t the slightest idea what in all the hells that was, but Laagi seemed to.
“Then it’s time I go. My father will need me.”
“It’s too dangerous.” Andrej shook his head. “There’s something in the rain that’s… that’s bad.”
Laagi smiled, showing two tiny, yellowing lower tusks. “For you, yes. My father is the Storm Queen’s champion. I’ve nothing to fear from the King’s Keening.” He stood, walking to Lashjuk and Maksu. “Take care of your Og, nk. She’s too pretty to lose, and you won’t get another.”
Maksu grinned. “I will.” He paused, looked at his mother, then back to the gnoerk boy. “Laagi? You could stay with us… you and your Ng.”
The woman met Laagi’s eye and nodded. “I know you won’t—that your father won’t. You need to know that you can. Your Storm Queen and the devil Shepherd who stole my son are close kith if not kin. If you stay with them, you’ll be on the wrong side of the battlefield.”
Laagi’s smile softened. “All I know now is that my father needs me. I was in the Shadow Lands, Og—the Grey Lands, and the Shepherd brought me back. I can’t waste that gift.”
She nodded, laying a hand to Laagi’s cheek. He bore this—even bowed his head to lean into the touch. She passed a final word with him before sliding her hand away. “Laagi, erld lash Ng. Erld nak awka lak, de nak, lak, gush.”
He nodded. “Bruu og. Bruu.” He stopped at Vlk’s side, unable to resist scratching behind Štít’s ears as he did. “Vlk? I meant what I said. I’d gladly fight beside you. And if you won’t fight for me, I’ll do whatever I can to keep you as safe as I can. You’re strong, loyal, and honest. You aren’t like your father.”
Vlk grinned. “I’m nothing like my father. Vhen ve vin, I’ll do vhatever I can for you… vhich starts now. Štít has an itch I have to see to. If that gnoerk boy I vas fighting fled vhile I vas busy tending to the var hound…”
Laagi rolled his eyes, grinning as he headed off. Vlk did drop down to scratch at Štít’s back. He thought he heard Andrej and Laagi pass a quiet word between them, but he couldn’t be certain.
A moment later, and it didn’t matter.
“Her Excellency’s waiting. She’ll need what news we have.”
Maksu’s mother turned, lifting her son bodily. “Her Excellency?”
Andrej nodded. “Kastan. I’ll take you to her.”
With that, they all trooped into the undertown.