Chapter Nine

The Cursed Ones

I nudged Mikk into a swift trot, passing Kel’Ratan and Rygel, who eyed me sidelong, but didn’t speak.

 

Riding up behind Rufus, I bowed my head and hissed into Arianne’s shoulder.

“You’re pissed,” I muttered, my face lowered. “Scowl. Your retinue has deserted you. When the royals ride near, complain. You’re a princess used to being waited on hand and foot. Suddenly, you’ve no henchmen to guard your life.”

“Add in a little fear,” Kel’Ratan suggested.

“He’s right,” Rygel added. “Beg the soldiers to protect you. You’re Brutal’s cousin, after all.”

“You, there,” Arianne cried, waving at a band of purple-and-gold horsemen.

They rode past, spurring hard, saluting in quick deference.

None stopped, however.

“I’ll wager that lieutenant told them to leave us alone,” I said to my reins.

My reins didn’t answer but Kel’Ratan did. “You’re too smart for a slave.”

“Zhou retainers don’t necessarily put loyalty first and would truly seek the wealth offered by accosting innocent merchants,” Rygel added. “Who wouldn’t desert under these circumstances?”

“Dammit, I need help here,” Arianne called to yet another patrol.

These brave boys waved and bowed over their pommels, at the same time their leader demanded a token from a merchant wearing the crescent moon badge of the jewelers’ guild. The merchant, his mules stopped in their tracks, his pair of merc guards yawning into their fists, paid his ‘travel pass’ into the greedy palm of the patrol leader with a tight-lipped expression.

“Those boys pay heavy taxes into the High King’s treasury,” Rygel explained. “I’d be a trifle irritated, too, if forced to pay taxes twice.”

“What is it with folk these days?” Arianne fumed, riding past the stopped patrol. “I swear on Usa’a’mah’s altar those rogues will feel my ropes about their necks.”

A poor peddler, bent almost in half by the weight of the huge pack on his back, froze in horror as Arianne bore down on him at the trot. No doubt he heard her words, her threat, and knew she’d vent her royal wrath on his hapless body.

When Rufus passed him by with nothing but a derisive snort, the simple man gaped as the rest of us royal minions swept past him, our mounts kicking dirt and dung into his face. I glanced back over my shoulder, witnessing first-hand his anger, his closed-fisted rage. My hair streaming over my face, I watched him discover a derisive laugh for the royal princess whose retainers decamped for better pay.

“Let’s hope they laugh their asses off,” Rygel said, his voice muted. “If they’re laughing, they aren’t watching.”

“More laugh, less watch,” Arianne repeated. “Got it.”

The desert grew more and more crowded the closer we rode to Ararak. Wagon trains and caravans of horses and camels and any other beast that could carry or haul goods kicked up the offensive dust with feet and hooves. Sabbathians quarreled, while scantily clad Zhous and their white feathers drifted into and out of the tent city. I recognized folk from other nations: Jinns riding dusty mules, noses pierced with gold rings; Yuons strode among the vendors with whips tied to their belts. These people mingled with individuals dressed in costumes from Khalidian provinces I’d never seen before.

Dark-skinned men with high, colorful turbans wrapped around their heads, gold hoops in their ears and black beards flowing down their chests rode small, prancing horses. Half-naked women dressed in filmy silks wore slender delicate silver chains about their bellies and large gems in their navels chatted in a loose group as they walked toward Ararak.

I recognized no few Arcadians along the Route, riding horses or mules, talking and laughing, trading or buying. As the border lay a hundred or so leagues from Ararak, that shouldn’t come as a surprise.

“When we find a horse or mule trader,” Rygel said, scowling thunder over his shoulder as though berating me, “let me do the talking. As Her Highness’s steward, I’d be expected to do her trading for her.”

“You do know a good horse from the ass end of a donkey?” Kel’Ratan asked.

“If he needs help, I can give it,” Shardon said, his lips and jaw barely moving.

Rygel clearly didn’t know who needed his derisive snort more, Kel’Ratan or Shardon, and divided his irritation between them.

“I rode before I walked,” he replied coldly.

“That don’t mean –“

I giggled into my hair.

“Damn you,” Arianne called, her voice high and strident. “Come back here!”

The passing patrol either didn’t hear or pretended they didn’t, and kicked up more dust as they galloped past. As the entire vicinity roiled with dust and filth, none felt offended enough to curse them. No few Jinns, Sabbathians, Zhous, Khalidians paused to bow low as she passed, while many Arcadians merely stared openly.

A band of warriors wearing turbans and light scarves over the lower halves of their faces rode past in the opposite direction. Colorful cloaks fell from their shoulders to their heels, their robes flapping in the wind their loping horses created. Girt with scimitars, recurve bows and bristling quivers of arrows hanging from their pommels, they looked fierce and tough. Dark eyes over their scarves eyed us with disdain as they passed and vanished.

I recognized immediately who they were: desert tribesmen.

From behind my red-gold curtain, I noticed a few men, banded tightly together wearing outlandish clothes made of rough skins, watched us ride past. Their hair, long and dark, hung in tangled skeins past their shoulders. Their dark skin and slanted black eyes told me nothing of their origins. Since they wore hot leather in the desert, that suggested they originated in the northern parts of the world.

“Ja Mata,” Kel’Ratan muttered, his blue eyes glowing hot.

I started. Those men were the very barbarians whom Metavas invited in to raid and subdue Connacht. Raine’s enemies. My enemies.

I flicked a quick glance over my shoulder after we passed them, but they’d long since found something else to stare at. We were of no more consequence than anyone else.

Slavers drove long lines of slaves chained to one another, riding skinny horses and cracking their whips. If a slave stumbled and fell, the nearest slaver whipped him to his feet again. I grit my teeth in anger. The poor wretches appeared half-starved, open sores running with filth and infection. Once sold, these slaves may find masters who cared for them, but I knew kind owners were a rarity.

Trading began half a league from Ararak’s gates. Men haggled over goods there in the sand, many sitting behind blankets stretched before them, their products on display. No few sat on the ground behind low tables, cloths of cotton or light wool hung on posts shielded them from the worst of the sun. A few more prosperous traders actually owned shelters of wicker, bargaining and calling from inside decent shade.

Our pace slowed to a walk with both foot and animal traffic converging on us from both directions. Men, and no few women yelled, cried, shouted and haggled and conducted business at roughly the tops of their lungs. Khalidian patrols rode singly or in pairs or groups of three or four, eyeing the surging masses with disillusion.

Though people and animals pressed close to either side, Arianne never cringed or faltered. Kel’Ratan and Rygel rode to either side of her, their hands on their hilts, prepared for danger. My faithful Left and Right casually urged their mounts to either side of me as though by accident. Tor, the only one riding single, trotted his grey mare between Arianne in front and me in the rear after catching my eye and the jerk of my head.

“Take the next right, after the butcher,” Rygel advised to Arianne in a low voice.

“You there,” she called, waving at a band of four or five mercenaries, standing in the shade of a tent tavern made of coarse, brightly colored cloth. Beer mugs in their hands, their muted conversation halted as they glanced up, hearing her voice. “Are you fellows perchance seeking employment?”

By the quick shakes of their heads, self-conscious half-shrugs, they told me, if not Arianne, they lied. They wanted, needed a job, but they’d starve before hiring on to Brutal’s cousin. I daresay I couldn’t blame them. Those near to Brutal found death rather than prosperity.

Arianne altered her course to the right, bearing down on the butcher’s shop. Following Arianne, Ararak itself lay not directly in front of Mikk’s ears any longer, but now ahead on my left. A wood fence circled the town for as far as I could see, with Khalidian soldiers at the wide entrance. But if they inspected anyone coming or going, I never saw it. They lounged at their ease, chatting amiably.

Under my hair, I gazed with curiosity at the tent city, if I could call it that. Narrow dirt lanes divided the tents, which had been pitched in quite organized rows, to my surprise. Given the chaos of the place, I expected people to pitch tents wherever they pleased. Not all of them were white, of course. Most were of tans and browns or greys, while some had colors I couldn’t quite determine as to the layers of grit they carried.

The tent city and its chaos fell behind as the stock markets outside the wooden fences reared their ugly heads. As the foot and animal traffic cleared with the open terrain, Arianne pushed her horse into a trot, the rest of us trailing close behind her.

All around the outer spiked wooden fence lay corrals and beasts for as far as my eye could see. Men inspected horses’ teeth, examined legs, dickered with the sellers. Buyers purchased small cattle herds, former owners opening gates to allow their sold animals to be herded away. Camels brayed and spit. Men loaded patient, newly purchased mules with packs. In the distance, new herds available for sale approached the pens, kicking up the desert dust in great clouds.

Arianne led us down a wide avenue, livestock pens groaning with beasts bought and sold to either side. No few prospectors wandered up and down, eyeing possible purchases before moving on. Hawkers called to them, waving their arms in come-hither gestures. The Khalidian livestock market healthy and thriving, I surmised.

“I think I see a likely prospect,” Rygel said, his mouth over his shoulder.

With a subtle gesture, he guided Arianne toward a low-fenced corral of horses, their owner sitting cross-legged at a small table set up in the dusty dirt.

I eyed the beasts with disillusion. They ate wispy, moldy hay, brackish water filled a few buckets here and there. Their ribs showed nearly every bone, fleshless withers stuck up against the sky like blades. Their tails swished dispiritedly at the ever present flies, with little energy for much else. The horse trader looked up, at first with irritation, then with glee as Arianne and her diminished entourage bore down on him.

“Greetings, Your Highness,” the trader said, standing up to bow low over his table. “My name is Yelele of Zestret. How may I serve you?”

Yelele wasn’t a tall man, and from what I could see behind his dirty desert robes almost as emaciated as Brutal. Thin, lanky brown hair fell to his shoulders from under a turban that once might have been dark red, but now appeared washed-out and stained. His cheeks and chin sprouted sparse whiskers the same shade as his hair. He smiled with broken teeth, yet his lively brown eyes held a sharp intelligence and shrewdness. He knew his business, and certainly knew a sucker when he saw one. Rygel better be on his toes.

As instructed, Arianne acted the brainless, irritated twit. “I need horses,” she intoned loftily. “I must needs recruit more men. My own deserted me, the disloyal vermin.”

“I’m certain I have the noble steeds Her Royal Highness needs,” Yelele vowed, once more bowing low.

“Those fools think that my royal cousin pays more than I,” Arianne sniffed, wiping her lips with a silk kerchief. “They will learn soon enough the perils of their folly.”

“I’m certain – “

“On my horses, too,” Arianne went on, sniffing. “That’s horse theft, a hanging offense. I’ll hang them high, when I get my hands on those cowards. You can count on it.”

“I have – “

“Do you know the royal soldiers refused to help me?” she asked suddenly, her voice pitched high and fearful.

“I doubt –“

“I begged and pleaded with them, but they pretended not to notice me in my peril.”

“Your –“

“I’ll tell the King, so I will,” Arianne said softly, her tone confiding. “He likes crucifixion. His Synn’jhani will rout the traitors and I’ll have satisfaction.”

“If Your Highness will –“

“My royal cousin and I are very close,” she said, her voice low, yet excited. “We played together as children. He loves me and will do anything for me.”

“I’m sure –“

“Anything at all,” Arianne said, her glorious eyes on the distant horizon, her voice soft. “And I mean, anything.”

Yelele gulped, beads of sweat dotting his formerly dry brow and upper lip. I grinned inwardly, suspecting Yelele of Zestret had wished this mad relation of the High King had gone anywhere but to his corrals.

“I can assure Your Highness –“

“Oh, this desert sun has given me a headache,” Arianne moaned, the back of her hand held dramatically to her brow, her eyes squinting. “Steward – oh, rat it – I forgot your name again. Do purchase some horses for me. I know this gentleman is honest.”

“How – “ Rygel began.

“He came highly recommended, fool. Get me those horses before I die of heat seizure. Didn’t I tell you how much I hate the desert? All that sun. Slave, attend.”

Arianne reined her stallion around, leaving Rygel to face the sweating trader with only Kel’Ratan at his shoulder. Corwyn also walked his horse behind her, the aging family retainer ready to assist her down from her mount. Once she stood on the ground, Tor also dismounted to hold not only her horse but Corwyn’s ugly roan. The roan’s ears informed Tor of his irritation, while Tor edged away from his teeth. Rufus could often be just as ugly, but his contentment with his new mistress gave him a whole new attitude. Tor held his bridle without concern for his life.

Around us, the trading continued, the sheer volume enough to give me a headache. At least I could peer under my ratty hair and look around without seeming to. Corwyn stood to my left and slightly behind me, his big body shielding me from many eyes.

With a silken fan Right – or maybe Left – dug up from somewhere, I cooled Arianne in its soft breeze while the other twin found and opened a sun umbrella. I waved the fan in her face, creating a soft breeze as the twins stood silent under the merciless sun, keeping her royal skin in the shade. Her back to the trader, Arianne smirked, pleased with herself.

“This is just too easy,” Arianne said under a low, breathy chuckle, brushing imaginary dust from her brocade.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I advised, my tone for her ears only. “Cockiness gets you killed.”

Arianne sniffed. “Party pooper.”

“Guilty as charged.”

I listened with rapt attention as Rygel began negotiations.

“My lady needs five animals,” Rygel said, his voice lofty and cold.

“Your Grace can see I have very fine horses to offer him,” Yelele replied, all but rubbing his hands together.

I hope that bugger knows what he was facing, I thought. But he probably doesn’t. I doubted anyone had taken advantage of Rygel since he’d learned to talk.

“All I see here are potential meals for my lady’s hounds,” Rygel snapped.

“Allow me to show you their quality,” Yelele answered smoothly, taking Rygel gently by the elbow. His other hand swept out in a wide invitation to step forward, toward the horses.

Together, out of my earshot, Rygel and the little man walked among the small herd, talking, inspecting, arguing. These won’t have the strength we need, I thought. What was Rygel thinking?

Surreptitiously, I glanced around at the other horses I saw nearby. Some were as bony as these, while more had some meat on their bones. Yet, upon closer inspection, the fat ones appeared to have more problems than the thinner ones. Open sores, bowed tendons, poorly cared for feet, narrow chests, dicey hocks were just the beginning. Another closer inspection of Rygel’s choices gave Rygel some credibility in my eyes after all. Perhaps Rygel did indeed know a good horse from the ass end of a donkey.

While these animals looked seriously underweight, I observed strong, straight legs, sound hooves, well rounded haunches and powerful shoulders. Hmmm. Decent enough horses, true, but where will we find the fodder to build up their strength?

Rygel and Yelele of Zestret walked back.

“I’ll give you ten coppers each,” Rygel was saying, his voice nasal and chilly.

“But, Your Grace,” Yelele replied miserably. “They are worth three times that: a silver crown at the very least.”

“Not when they’re so weak and poor they can’t carry a meal sack much less a saddle and man,” Rygel retorted. “They’re worth nothing but what their miserable hides can bring.”

“I cannot take less than a gold crown for all five,” the trader said.

“I’m embarrassed to be seen talking to you,” Rygel snapped, storming away.

“Your Grace, wait,” Yelele cried.

Trotting after the tall blonde wizard, he planted himself in Rygel’s path. Hands up, he spread his fingers out in a placating gesture. When Rygel made to step past, he said, “Your Grace, please, wait. Reconsider, I pray.”

Allowing himself to be persuaded to stop and think again, Rygel sighed as though seriously put upon. Drama queen, I thought. I grinned behind my hair, catching Arianne’s laughing eyes. Even Kel’Ratan forced a scowl at the trader to prevent an embarrassing smatter of masculine giggles from erupting.

“We be reasonable men, Your Grace,” he said, gesturing expansively. “These be fine beasts. Surely we can reach an accord?”

“I’ll not pay more than a silver half-crown for all five,” Rygel declared.

Misery etched the man’s features, as though he were about to weep. “You take food from the mouths of my children,” Yelele cried. “One gold crown and I throw in saddles and bridles for each.”

“My royal mistress will skin me alive should I agree to such,” Rygel snorted. “A half-silver for each and you still give us the gear.”

“Your Grace – “

“There must be reasonable men in this stink hole,” Rygel snapped, storming away.

“I agree,” Yelele cried. “I’ll take a half-silver for each and the gear. You are a very hard man, Your Grace. A very hard man.”

Rygel at least had the decency not to gloat. Gravely, he turned and offered the trader a slow dignified nod. “Her Highness’s guard captain and I will make our picks.”

“Of course.”

Yelele snapped his fingers at a pair of scrawny, waiting boys. One lad retrieved ropes and both followed the pair as they walked back amidst the small herd. When either Kel’Ratan or Rygel pointed at a horse, a boy tied a rope around its head, leading it in their wake. A half-hour or so later, the small group returned with the chosen five kicking up the annoying dust behind them. The unlucky horses returned to their miserable, moldy hay.

As though guided by a voice within, Arianne rose from her shade and her fan to glare imperiously at the poor trader. “I wish to inspect the equipment before I purchase,” she announced.

Yelele bowed. “I am at your service, Your Highness.

With Rygel and Kel’Ratan in tow, Yelele led Arianne toward a small three sided shed sun a few rods this side of his corrals. It sat like a forgotten dog under the fierce desert sun. Although the shed lay open on one side, the heat baking out of its interior stifled the senses. Hiding between the twins’ tall bodies, I watched Arianne enter the shed with all the bearing of queen entering her throne room. Like soldiers at parade rest, Rygel and Kel’Ratan stood to one side, heads up, hands behind their backs, eyes flat and unseeing. Yelele nervously shuffled his feet, beginning to speak, then snapping his jaws shut, only to once more try to talk.

The shed held a few tools like shovels and picks, but primarily held saddles. I recognized saddles from all the Khalidian provinces from Zhou to the far northern tribes. Leather and rope constructed bridles hung from the wooden walls on nails. Bits ranged from simple ring bits to the elaborate curbs that could break a horse’s jaw.

Arianne walked about, impervious to the heat and stench, eyeing the wares before her. She snapped her fingers.

Tiny as she was, the not so very tall Yelele still towered over her. He rounded his shoulders and hung his head as to appear smaller and less intimidating. I stifled a grin, as though Arianne were at all intimidated by him. Arianne pointed her tiny doll’s finger.

“I want five of those,” she said, her tone cold, unemotional.

Yelele eyed her choice sidelong. His jaw dropped. “But, Your Highness – “ he began, his tone halting.

Her huge grey-blue changed to a dark shale color, the color of anger. I swear I saw sparks fly from deep within their depths. Had she turned those eyes on me, I might have jumped as quickly as Yelele.

“I want those,” she intoned, her voice freezing the hot desert air.

“But of course, Your Highness,” Yelele agreed hastily, bowing low. “Boy, five saddles, immediately. Saddle Her Highnesses new mounts.”

“And five of those.” Her tiny hand swept over the bridles similar to our own.

“I am here only to serve.”

She regarded him with those chilly eyes, eyes suddenly very much like Raine’s. “I do hope so,” she murmured.

I didn’t see the boys obey. Arianne regally swept out behind them, Rygel and Corwyn at her shoulder, leaving Yelele to scratch his head. Eyeing Arianne’s departing backside, he leaned toward an impassive Kel’Ratan.

“Uh, Your Honor,” Yelele began, halting, his eyes on the disappearing princess. “Doesn’t she know she just bought pack saddles? For her soldiers?”

Kel’Ratan lifted one red brow. “Do you think I’m going to inform her of her error?” he asked blandly. “What do you take me for?”

Yelele bowed low, his lank hair all but scraping the dust. “I take you for a wise and intelligent man, Your Honor,” he replied hastily. “You are but a soldier of tremendous courage.”

Yelele’s eyes slid toward a now distant Arianne, watching as the lads saddled her new purchases, at the same time he said the word ‘courageous’. Rygel stood behind her, hands folded, murmuring in her ear.

“And don’t you forget it,” Kel’Ratan said.

He dug into his belt pouch, securing the trader’s agreed sums. He dropped the silver coins into Yelele’s greedy palm. He, too, eyed the imperious Arianne, new respect kindled in his blue eyes. I knew my cousin well. For him, respect for another didn’t come easy. For Kel’Ratan, treating Arianne with the same respect he gave my father, and on rare occasions, me, was nothing less than a grand event. I dropped my chin to my chest in an effort to not smile.

Kel’Ratan jerked his head, bidding Left, Right and me follow him. Leaving Yelele to count his money in privacy, Kel’Ratan led us back to our waiting horses. Up ahead, Tor held Rufus’s bridle while Rygel helped Arianne into her saddle. Corwyn mounted his own roan, and glanced back at me, his face inscrutable, as always.

Left and Right swung into their saddles, while I floundered about getting into my own. Mikk eyed me with resignation as I finally dropped my butt into my seat. Tuatha, who had fallen asleep while Rygel and Yelele dickered, woke with a yawn, sleepy blue eyes and a low whine of greeting. He courteously shifted to the front to give me room to settle myself before moving into his place in my lap.

One of the lads handed me the rope of a horse. Left and Right also received ropes, Tor included. I frowned. Once away from the tent city and suspicious eyes, I’d have someone else take it. Tor could barely handle one gentle horse, much less two.

The last boy stood confused, clearly uncertain as to who of the remaining people of rank should lead the last beast. Corwyn already led Rygel’s patient black gelding and Rygel’s rank was obviously too high. Arianne: impossible.

Kel’Ratan held out his hand and snapped his fingers. Gratefully, the boy dropped the rope in his hand and fled.

Mikk shifted his feet, blowing down his nose. Time to go, he said. Time’s wasting.

I stroked my hand down Mikk’s thick neck, under his mane, smiling. I know, love. Soon.

 

 

Under Rygel’s expert guidance, Arianne led her party out into open desert. The Khalidian highway system disappeared behind us, Ararak, the caravans and its ensuing chaos vanished into the dim distance. Ahead, to the northwest, sharp, jagged hills rose on the horizon, perhaps two days ride away. Greenery also replaced the grey and tan desert sand, offering hope we might get some decent feed into the pack animals.

Though I appreciated the lack of nasty dust in my nose, mouth and lungs, the open desert withheld its water and grazing like a greedy miser held little appeal. I may like my solitude, but I liked water for my horse even more.

Bereft of prying eyes, I nudged Mikk and my accompanying brown gelding into a lope to catch up to Rygel, Kel’Ratan and Corwyn. “How will my boys find us?” I asked.

As though they never before pondered that question, those three idiots eyed one another with shrugs and swift glances of worry. Only Left and Right continued on as though they knew quite well where they needed to go. I bit my tongue to halt a sharp tirade.

“I agree,” Arianne said, over her shoulder. “They don’t know jack. Good thing we’re along, eh?”

“Too right,” I gritted. “Men.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rygel protested as Kel’Ratan lifted both hands, palms up.

I rolled my eyes. “It means you’re idiots. Now shut up so we can work this out.”

“Contact Bar,” Arianne suggested. “Have him locate the wolves and perhaps direct them to us. In turn, they can lead your warriors toward us.”

“Consider it done.”

Kel’Ratan and Rygel, left out of the discussion, crossed their arms over their chests and sighed in unison.

The vast featureless desert also lay behind us. Now we rode through and among short rocky hills and sand dunes, ever shifting under the wind’s constant pressure. Our tracks disappeared almost as soon as we made them. Not even the Tongu hounds could track us over that constant shifting, our scent gone before it settled into the rocks or grit. Our trail went cold within an instant.

“Shardon informed their horses of where we are,” Rygel said. “If they listen to what their horses are telling them, they’ll find us with little trouble.”

“I hope so,” Kel’Ratan grumbled, scratching his cheek. “I don’t like our forces split like this. We’re dead if there’s trouble.”

I glanced past Arianne to Shardon’s liquid eyes behind his thick silver forelock. “Do you know how far away they are?”

“About an hour,” he replied. “Their horses are pulling strongly toward us, and haven’t reported their riders trying to stop them.”

“Are they all together?” Kel’Ratan asked.

Shardon lifted his head for a long moment, as though listening. “Witraz and Alun and the boys are together. Rannon is a few miles behind them, trying to catch them up. But they move slowly, their horses are carrying great loads.”

“Should we stop and wait?” Arianne asked.

“No,” Kel’Ratan said.

By the quick flash of guilt that crossed his face, he spoke more sharply than he intended. Arianne didn’t take offense, however, and merely shrugged.

“We keep going,” Kel’Ratan went on. “We dare not wait for even a moment.”

Corwyn eyed him curiously. “Why? There’s no one about, probably for miles. Who’s to know?”

Corwyn was right. We often paused to rest and water the horses, feed ourselves, hunt. What was so different this time? I peered at Kel’Ratan, baffled. His face appeared strained, his mouth under his thick red mustache as tight as a taut bowstring. The skin over his cheekbones looked drawn and ghostly pale. His blue eyes, always fierce, flicked all around as though he tried to look everywhere at once.

Kel’Ratan, the most confident and fearless of leaders, was afraid.

My hackles rose.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice rising.

“Gods!” Rygel suddenly cried, clapping his hands to his ears at the same moment Arianne’s voice erupted in a small shriek. Ice dropped into my belly. I knew what that meant.

“Wolves,” Arianne choked, her grey-blue eyes wide in fear. “Howling. In my head.”

“Warning us,” Kel’Ratan said grimly. “Something is going to happen. Something bad.”

“Bar?” I asked, calling aloud.

“What?”

“Where are you?”

“Up here.”

Shading my eyes, I looked up, scanning the blue upon blue cloudless sky. I saw nothing, nothing – There he was. He looked a dim black dot that drifted in a small circle, flying around and around, straight over my head.

“Where are the others?” I asked. “Can you see them?”

Bar hesitated. “Yes. There they are. They’re at a very slow trot, and still a few miles behind you.”

“Do you see anything else?”

“Like what?”

I blew out my breath, frustrated, worried. Corwyn drew his sword and reined his roan near Rufus. Tor’s bow slid into his hand, his arrow nocked. His huge brown eyes didn’t watch me at all. They searched the surrounding hills. Ah, he felt it, too.

Even Tuatha sat up, his ears as high as they could go, his hackles stiff at attention. He growled, low in his chest, a faint vibration I felt through my saddle.

Apprehension crept into my gut, spreading its evil fingers down every nerve ending. Nudging Mikk, I loped him to the top of the nearest hill and glanced carefully around. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The noon sun shone down, bright and hot. As far as I could see, nothing moved save the shifting sand. A reptile sunned itself on a rock nearby, its tongue flicking past its tiny muzzle. It paid no heed to the very large animals in its domain. Below it and to my right, a huge black spider, as big as my fist, walked on spindly, dignified legs, leaving tiny tracks in the sand. Ever present flies buzzed around the horses, their tails swishing constantly.

“Get back here, Ly’Tana,” Kel’Ratan ordered, an edge to his voice.

“Ly’Tana?” Bar prompted.

“Do you see anyone, anyone at all besides the boys?”

“No one. Not human anyway, for leagues. You left civilization behind you.”

“I don’t really call Ararak civilization,” I replied, my heart sinking. Sweat, previously drying before I felt it, trickled down from my neck onto my spine. A chill went with it. “If it’s not human, what do you see?”

“The wolves are paralleling you, to both sides,” Bar answered. “But even they are a few miles or so out.”

“Call them. Get them back here.”

“Ly’Tana,” Arianne said, her tone almost as hard as my cousin’s. “Come here this instant.”

I obeyed and wheeled Mikk, sending him down the hill, his quarters slung low. I plunged my hand into my tunic and grabbed a dagger, as my sword was buried deep in my pack. I rejoined them, once more within the shelter of the group. Arianne breathed deep in relief.

“What did Bar say?” Kel’Ratan demanded, sweat trickling down the side of his face to mingle in his red mustache.

“He sees only the wolves,” I answered. “They’re not far away. But I told him to call them in.”

“Good – “

Shardon’s head rose, his nostrils flaring as though seeking an elusive scent. Rygel yanked his sword from its scabbard, his amber eyes wide, his aristocratic lips skinned back from his teeth. Corwyn also drew his sword, his horse’s rump toward Arianne. His eyes roved the area, watching for trouble, but his blue eyes confused with his brows drawn down over his narrowed eyes.

Left and Right drew their daggers, dropping the ropes to the pack horses they led, and trotting their blacks up to flank me. I, too, dropped my lead rope, not wanting to get tangled up if things got ugly, my stomach in a knot. Even Mikk’s head whipped up, his ears flattened tight to his skull, his back arched as he danced on his toes. His tail lashed from side to side.

Silence fell with a thump. In a world where the wind constantly blew, shifting sand slid and moved with a faint but discernible hiss, dead quiet was a profound impossibility. Even the insect life that once buzzed in desert harmony suddenly shushed. Horses’ tails ceased flicking at flies that were no longer there. I glanced down. Dead flies dotted the light colored sand like small black pebbles. A scuttling scorpion near Mikk’s hoof suddenly collapsed and curled into a stiffly rounded ball.

The sun dimmed in its brightness.

Horror jumped down my throat.

“Lady have mercy,” Kel’Ratan whispered.

“What – “ Corwyn began.

Tuatha snarled at the same instant grey and tan hounds burst out from behind the desert hillocks a hundred rods away. Hounds!

The Shekinah Tongu had found us.

Tor’s bow sang as he snapped arrow after arrow at the leaping slathering hounds. One, two, three fell dead before the grey mare reared in panic. Tor’s next arrow flew wide as he fought to keep his seat. Before I drew another breath, the wiry-haired, roaring hounds raced under our horses’ feet, snapping, snarling, biting our mounts’ precious legs.

Mikk reared, screaming, his front hooves lashing out at a hound that leaped at his chest. The hound yelped shrilly as Mikk’s front hooves broke its shoulders and back, blood bursting from his gaping jaws. I seized Tuatha by his ruff at the same time I hurled Mikk into the midst of snarling mutts. Guiding him with my knees, I sent him, rearing and striking, lashing out with hooves and teeth. The remains of four, no five hounds, bloodied his legs.

Arianne screamed.

The Tongu assassins, scarred and tattooed and whispering, hissing curses rushed out from hiding behind their hounds. I hurled another knife into the throat of one at the same time Kel’Ratan lay about him with his sword. No few Tongu staggered away, missing hands, arms, or blinded by slashes across their faces. With the deadly skill of an accomplished warrior, Corwyn cut and stabbed from atop his rearing, plunging roan, slaying those Tongu who sought to drag him from his gelding.

“C’mere, you damn, vile filth,” Kel’Ratan snarled, his sword slashing across the eyes of a Tongu who sought with bare hands to drag him from his saddle. His bay reared, wheeling, catching yet another assassin on his shoulder, knocking him down. Deadly hooves danced on him, almost with glee, snapping ribs, spine, and crushed his fragile skull like a ceramic mug. “You want me? By goddess, you come and get me.”

Three Tongu accepted his challenge. In a tight knot, they lunged in, swinging their handy cudgels, aiming for his stallion’s legs. In a move that would have made Raine proud, Kel’Ratan spun his sword in his fist, twirling it until it rested behind his shoulder. In a savage backhanded blow, he cut through two of the three at their hairline. The third received only a glancing blow, but it was enough to make him stagger, lowering his club. The bay stallion tasted his own revenge and found it sweet. Huge front hooves crashed down onto the upright Tongu’s shoulders, breaking like sticks his shoulders and arms. If the man still lived, I’m certain he’d soon regret it.

Two more dropped dead from the hurled daggers of the twins. Saving their precious resources of knives, they used their black stallions as weapons, and hurled them into the faces of their enemies. With legs and hands, they urged their battle-trained horses to rear, to kick, to bite, to slay.

Tor was helpless. He had no sword, no dagger with which to fight. His bow hung, useless, from his hand. His mare plunged and kicked, eyes white and jaws foaming in panic. She hadn’t the battle training ours had and merely fought to save her life, not his. Her reins hung, swinging from her neck as he clung to the pommel with the other in his frantic attempt to stay on.

Mikk reared high, his front hooves flailing, his warcry high and fierce. My balance slipped a fraction, but it was Tuatha’s small body that proved my undoing. He crashed into me, sending us both headlong into the dust and sand. My breath rushed from my lungs. I rolled over to protect the helpless Tuatha, my knife in my hand. Above me, my faithful Mikk flailed about with hooves and teeth, biting into flesh and blood and bone, his huge hooves crashing into skulls and chests. A Tongu slipped past, rolling under his body, his face split into a triumphant grin. His knife poised to strike.

I slashed his throat with my knife and twisted out of his arm’s reach. Choking on his own blood, he sought to stab me yet again. I rolled, away from his reaching blade, my left arm around Tuatha, and kept his small furry body close to mine. Scrambling, using my legs as pistons, I dove toward a short pile of rocks. My back now semi-protected and Mikk still fighting with fatal hooves and teeth, I watched as the Tongu quickly bled to death, his hissing breath stilled at last.

I thrust Tuatha behind me, between the rocks and my body. There, none could harm him unless I myself died in the battle. I was reasonably safe, at least for the moment. I watched the battle even if I couldn’t aid my companions by very much. I grit my teeth in anger. My bow and sword were wrapped and strapped onto Mikk’s saddle. Why hadn’t I gotten them out once we left Ararak behind?

I threw the knife in my hand. It buried itself in the ribcage of a dog that leaped onto the ugly roan’s rump, seeking Corwyn’s vulnerable back. The roan bucked at the same instant, kicking backward at yet another that sought to hamstring him. Two sets of knives hurled from the twins plunged into the necks of two more Tongu. Staggering, hissing they fell. They tried in vain to yank the knives from their gushing throats. Down on the ground, they gasped their last breaths, choking on their own blood.

Yet, ten, a dozen, assassins and hounds took the places of the dead and injured, hurling themselves at the horses, snapping, cursing, swinging swords and cudgels. Kel’Ratan, his bloodied blade high, kicked his stallion into the thick of them. He lay about him with skill and courage, killing three as his bay reared and plunged, killing two hounds and crippling a third. I threw my dagger into the lower back of a Tongu who sought to pull Kel’Ratan from his saddle.

Rufus, screaming, slashed and bit down, killed two assassins who tried to seize Arianne. Unable to fight, she clung to her saddle like a limpet, her wild black hair cascading around her. Corwyn, ever her protector, protected her back, laying about him with his sword. Two more Tongu went down under his slashing blade as his roan stomped a slavering mutt into the sand.

Rygel and Shardon, working as a team, killed five, no six, hunters and as many snarling, biting dogs. Shardon’s silver coat dripped dark red gore. Slicked with blood, Rygel’s arm slashed left and right, cutting Tongu throats, reaching hands from arms.

Something caught my eye, drew it away from the battle. The small hairs on my arms, my neck, stood on end. Ice cold shivered down my back. I swallowed hard, heard the dry click of my throat as it caught on saliva that had dried to dust in my mouth.

In that instant I wanted nothing more than to crawl under the rocks at my back, taking small Tuatha with me. Perhaps then, only then, I might be safe.

For hell itself had vomited up its worst nightmare.

A black shadow loomed over the short hillocks to the southeast a thousand rods away. An inky black mass, shaped like a colossal serpent, appearing solid yet it shifted restlessly like a dense, thick fog. Sometimes I glimpsed the distant desert through it, like through a heavy glass. Sunlight seemed to be drawn into it, swallowed, consumed, only to belch it back out in a stinking cloud. Yellow eyes, huge elongated cat’s eyes with slitted pupils, glared. My heart quailed under its hate, under its pure evil. What in the name of heaven and earth was that?

A daemon.

Where that name, that concept came from, I’d no clue. I knew it for truth.

Wide sweeping wings emerged from behind it, snagging the last life from the sun above. Under them, birthed by them, Tongu assassins sprang, tattooed and cursing. At their side, hounds galloped, snarling, fangs bared, ready to maim and kill.

“Ly’Tana!”

An avenging angel swooped down from above.

With a shrill scream of rage, Bar hit the approaching Tongu from the side. His talons slashed, ripping through human and hound flesh as though through thin butter. Blood fountained high as his front talons sought slashed both Tongu and canine flesh. His beak snapped bones, ripped heads from necks. His tail whipped to the side, knocking men to the ground. The sheer fury of his wings whipped sand and grit into the eyes and sensitive nostrils of his enemies.

Taken by surprise, the Tongu and their hound allies fell back, shielding their eyes from the onslaught of wind and sand. They couldn’t see through the blinding sandstorm Bar’s wings produced. He used that advantage, pouncing like a cat onto a frightened mouse, his lion hind legs digging into the sand for purchase as he lunged after a Tongu who felt that flight was the better course of action. His wings cast the desert into shadow as he tore the head off the Tongu’s neck, leaving red blood to spill into the dusty sand.

A dozen or so Tongu gathered together in a bunch, like frightened sheep, back to back, swords and clubs to the outside. This was a defensive measure that might have worked had they faced any enemy save a furious griffin and mounted warriors. Screeching his rage, Bar banked up and around, bloody talons to the fore. Directly into the swords and cudgels he struck, raking his left talons across the faces of his enemies, his right sweeping across the other way, slashing with wicked speed and precision. His wings blasted the poor Tongu with a storm of grit and dust, adding to the madness and chaos. I almost felt sorry for the idiots. They thought to harm me and get away with it? What a riot.

As if directed by one mind, my faithful twins kicked their horses into attack mode, directly at the center of the confused, blinded and bloody Tongu. Corwyn wheeled his roan, cursing his fury, his bloody sword held high. Like one creature, Corwyn and roan struck hard at the Tongu’s left flank, crushing and slashing anything that stood in his way. Kel’Ratan galloped out of the storm, the wind and flying sand behind him, throwing all of the combined weight of stallion and man against the right flank of the Tongu.

Beneath their combined onslaught, the Tongu fell back, stumbling over the dead and dying. Their hounds yelped shrilly, and dodged out from beneath hard hooves, slashing swords and deadly flying talons. The small knot of men with clubs and swords melted into the sand, unable to protect themselves from the sound and fury of men on horseback and the ire of my griffin bodyguard. Men and hounds died or fled, in panic.

Protecting Arianne and me from the several Tongu still unfought, Shardon reared and lashed out with all his Tarbane strength. Hound and Tongu skulls didn’t just break under his kicks or his bites, but were instead pulverized. One kick alone could slay a hound or assassin with its deadly blow. His accuracy was breathtaking to behold. Rygel lay about him with his blade, his amber eyes squinted with anger and hate. Spittle slicked his thinned lips. Those Tongu who melted out of the path of the initial charge concentrated their forces on him. Their hands sought him, reaching for him, aiming to drag him from his saddle. They’d slay him, and slake the desert sand with his blood.

Magic, Rygel! I tried to scream. Use your bloody magic.

If he heard me, he gave no sign. Yet, his sword swung without effect as he shut his eyes. His empty left hand rose –

Nothing happened.

The Tongu stumbled over the bodies of the dead men and hounds. Despite their heavy losses, their numbers increased. Where were they hiding? More huge dogs hurled themselves from behind dunes and hills, foam dripping from their jaws. Tongu knives and swords slashed and swung at us, at our horses. We repelled them, time and again, yet more surged forward to be kicked or trampled, killed or mortally wounded. Kel’Ratan, Corwyn and the twins backed off, forming their own protective knot against the new hordes that arrived as if by magic. Protecting each other’s backs with swords and rearing horses, they fought on, to the last.

Rygel tried again. His bloody sword raised, pointed at the onrushing Tongu. I waited for the impact –

Nothing happened.

Bar flew up, out of the roaring chaos, diving down again, his eagle’s maw wide and bloody. His bared talons bared dripped gore. Rearing onto his powerful, lion hind legs, he reached out, almost casually, with extended eagle’s talons. His colossal wings still whipped up the dry dusty sand into his enemies’ faces. Each taloned foot crushed a Tongu within their clutches. A third died as his savage beak ripped him in half. A single hound sought to slide behind him and hamstring him. Bar’s speed in spinning not only took my breath away but also that stupid mutt’s life.

Arianne’s scream tore my eyes away from my griffin, my heart in my mouth. Several Tongu slipped behind Rygel and Shardon, seeking to seize her into their embrace. She they needed alive. They thought to seize her before Rygel and Shardon could wheel and protect her.

Her reins forgotten, Arianne hung desperately onto the pommel of her saddle as Rufus lay about him with deadly hooves and teeth. How had I doubted he ever softened into equine mush? Ears flat to his skull, he kicked a Tongu full in the chest with both hind hooves, only to spin and crush the skull of yet another in his powerful jaws. Hands reached to pull her from her saddle, but the flashy bay’s body swung hard around, knocking them flat. His deadly hooves stomped their bodies into the bloody dust. Why did ever I worry about him? His edges were as sharp as ever.

Tuatha’s savage snarl warned me in time. A Tongu crept up behind me, over the top of the rocks that sheltered me. He raised the heavy net in his hands. I whipped about and threw my dagger in the same movement. Gagging on the knife in his throat, he collapsed backward, out of my sight, his net caught upon the rocks.

I see, I thought. Both of us, Arianne and me, they needed to catch alive and unharmed. They wished to bring me to Brutal, as decreed by their contract. They thought their triumph but a mere moment away.

I itched to throw myself into the battle. How could I, Ly’Tana, stand by and let my boys fight while I stood and gaped like a blooming idiot? Tuatha. Only Tuatha stopped me in my tracks. I dared not leave him even for a moment. A single bite from one of those hounds and Tuatha was one dead pup. I could throw myself on Mikk’s back and, like the twins, use him as my weapon. I might even free up my sword. Yet, I knew what that meant. It meant leaving Tuatha alone and without defense.

I bit my lip and groaned. Yet, I couldn’t set him up before me, my attention diverted, for risk I’d be taken from behind. I bit my lip, my willpower torn asunder. I want to fight, but I can’t leave him!

It felt to me that hours had gone by, but in reality I knew that but a mere five, perhaps six minutes had passed since the first hound appeared. The battle raged on, the desert sand soaking up spilled blood, thirsty for more.

Yet as many as we killed, still more snarling hounds and hissing assassins took their places. Only bloody black legs and blood-flecked foam on bared teeth saved the now unarmed Left and Right as their stallions still fought for the lives of their riders. Shardon still lay about him with silver legs splashed with blood, Rygel’s clothes and sword dripping red with gore. Tor’s mare bolted in mindless panic, bearing a helpless Tor out of the chaos and deadly madness, perhaps saving his life. No Tongu or hound gave chase. Corwyn’s roan, once fearless in attitude and battle, now fought in the hope of breaking free and bolting on the heels of the grey mare. Keeping Corwyn alive was but an afterthought.

Of our pack horses, I saw no sign.

Mikk still fought for my life. Above me, he reared and plunged, loose, free to bolt if he wanted to save his own skin. Behind him, I, and Tuatha, lay safe from those who sought my life. None, not human, not canine, got past his slashing hooves, his bloody teeth, nor his undying loyalty, to harm me. The thirsty sand drank deep of the blood spilled under the deadly rain of his vengeance.

Could the fight have turned in our favor? Flinging my hair from my eyes, Shardon had none near him to kill, nor did Corwyn’s exhausted gelding. Kel’Ratan’s sword split the skull of only one Tongu that thought bravery alone won battles, his stallion on all four feet and blowing hard. Mikk, too, took the chance to snort and rest a moment. Bar screeched and banked around, circling, ready, but didn’t charge the hesitant Tongu.

The hissing Tongu and their shadowed hounds couldn’t fight past the deadly teeth and hooves of our mounts. They hung back hissing as they offered and discarded plans to take us down. Hounds slunk, whining, out of danger, ducking behind their master’s booted legs. Surely they wouldn’t call a time-out and retreat, perhaps to fight another day? Yet that very hope rose in my heart.

The black serpent-shadow roared. Wings that put Bar’s to shame unfurled from its back. Yellow eyes sparked red fire. Rising, it uncoiled from itself, rearing high, calling to its worshippers. It prepared to fight, and demanded its followers follow. Like a horn, it sounded the charge, offering heart where heart was needed.

Tongu, who wanted nothing more than to flee, suddenly turned. Hounds, racing away from our horses’ sharp hooves and Bar’s fury, turned around. Their fangs skinned back from white fangs. Where I thought the tide had turned in our favor, it now shifted into the Tongu’s. The enemy advanced under the call of its leader, its focus sharpened, its determination filled. In battle array, the enemy closed ranks and advanced.

Bar dropped from the sky between their advance and me. He whipped and screamed, turning this way and that, his talons cutting anything they touched into red ribbons. Many Tongu and hounds, outnumbering us by five to one, raced past him to engage us once more.

Deep within my mind, I heard a horrid snarling. Maybe that goddess-awful daemon got into my head and gloated. No, wait, I thought, my head cocked. That snarling sounded familiar. Raine? Is that you?

From two sides, wolves hit the battle broadside.

I ran out from behind my rock shelter, slashing a Tongu that came for me, gloating, across his unprotected belly. Not waiting to see him stagger about, trying to hold in his spilling entrails, I lunged for another Tongu who stupidly kept his back to me. While he watched the wolves attack in astonishment, I cut his throat for him.

That’ll teach you to stand and gawk, I thought with glee. Yet, I couldn’t help but stand and gawk myself. The sight amazed even me, and here I thought I’d seen everything.

I gaped, my chest tight, as a furry tan and grey and silver wave charged, bristling, over sand dunes and hillocks, ears flat, teeth bared, hackles raised. Though they ran at top speed, I still recognized them.

Digger, snarling bitterly, lit into a hound that clung to Mikk’s right flank. He took it down, his fangs buried deep into its throat. The hound died, hind legs kicking helplessly. Leaping up and over his kill, Digger lunged for a Tongu who saw him coming and tried fruitlessly to run. Digger’s full weight brought him to earth, where powerful jaws snapped his neck, just behind his thick skull.

I wheeled, raising my knife at the sound of thrashing and a low cry from behind me. Thunder took down a Tongu who sought to creep up on me, rope in hand, while I watched the battle, bemused. Thunder all but covered the man’s body with his own, dwarfing the assassin. Pumping purple, his heart’s blood gushed from the Tongu’s scarred throat.

Silverruff howled, calling all to his cause and lit into a Tongu who crept up behind a now rapidly tiring Mikk. That bad boy stood no chance, for Silverruff outweighed by half, and his powerful jaws crushed the man’s bald skull.

With Thunder effectively protecting my back, I looked around, safe for the moment, amazed. Savage killers from birth, the wolves made mincemeat of the slavering, drooling mutts. Those well-trained hunters stood no chance against the merciless jaws of the wolves they once descended from. Trackers rather than true killers, the Tongu hounds were trained to slay helpless human victims. Fighting wolves with greater jaw strength, speed and sheer viciousness was quite beyond their training and experience. Several mutts bolted for the rocks, tails between their legs, yelping in fear and terror.

Darkhan, his rage high and voiceless, careened into several hounds that threatened Rufus and his beloved Arianne. The hounds, hit from the side and behind by a force and fury greater than their own, rolled over and over in the sand, helpless. With a speed that belied his huge size, Darkhan ripped their throats in swift efficiency. A few dogs tried to flee his wrath as he ripped open their fellows, but he was quicker than they. As they fled he not only brought them down, but also two Tongu who rushed to rescue their stricken mutts.

Little Bull leaped high and fast, taking down both an assassin and a mutt that threatened Shardon’s right flank in a ruthless leap, killing both with sharp efficiency. Shardon wheeled around, front hooves high, stamping the life out of a Tongu who had hidden himself behind a desert rock and thought he could bludgeon Rygel from the rear.

Thunder deserted me to chase after a Tongu who dared attempt to hit me on the head with his cudgel. If he succeeded in knocking me unconscious, I was ready and available to take captive. The luckless assassin died under Thunder’s huge jaws, screaming as much as his maimed throat allowed him.

Shadow raced to my side, slaying a hound that crept to my unprotected rear, breaking its neck with one crushing bite. I had no time to thank him before he lit into a Tongu with yet another silly net. That brave idiot died with Shadow’s fangs biting deep into his vulnerable temples. I’d no idea a human skull could crack like an oyster. The man’s brains spurted out from his jaws like so much pudding, coating me with oily, grey-matter. I winced in disgust, brushing brain from my clothes. Yuck, I thought. How nasty is that?

Dire and Lightfoot, fast and clean, clamped down on the throats of the Tongu who thought they could pull Left and Right from their saddles. Spinning, the black stallions raced beside their wolf allies. They stamped, slashed, and cut down the Tongu who tried to escape. As far as I saw, none did. Black stallions and wolves did their work well.

Nahar leaped from almost a sitting position, taking a hound that crept up to attack at Kel’Ratan’s flank. Kel’Ratan swerved, raising his sword, only to lower it again as his pal Nahar killed the beast. His jaws bloody from his kill, Nahar grinned up at my cousin, his fangs dripping red, laughing.

Unable to help himself, Kel’Ratan grinned back and saluted him, fist to chest. Together, they loped side by side, cutting down stray Tongu or hounds, whichever lay in their collective path of destruction.

I stamped, furious. I wanted to be in there, fighting alongside my boys. Mikk, still leaping and wheeling, offered no opportunity for me to vault aboard. Ordering him to stand still, to allow me to mount, only increased the threat to him, and to Tuatha. With an effort, I quelled the urge to shout a command for him to cease and allow me up. I glanced behind me.

Tuatha, that wicked hell-child, still snarled, a furry black spot of white fangs and blue eyes filled with hate. Thus far he obeyed me, and remained sheltered under the rocks. No hound or Tongu seemed to pay the slightest interest in him. Dare I leave him and join the battle?

No.

He was Raine’s adopted son, and if I was Raine’s mate, he was my son by default. My mother instinct surged. Never would I leave my son unprotected. Raine’s son.

My child.

Our son.

Quelling the urge to join the fight, I stayed put, my knife out, ready to kill or be killed. I could not, would not, risk harm might come to him by a stray hound or Tongu assassin. With my dying breath, I’d defend my firstborn child to the last.

Corwyn’s roan also wheeled, Corwyn’s sword raised high, as White Fang’s fangs ripped across the throat of an assassin who sought to stab Corwyn in the back. White Fang’s fangs dripped red with blood. I half-wondered, my brains not working properly, should we perhaps change his name to Red Fang?

Scatters Them scattered many hounds, chasing them across the desert sand as they fled in terror of his dripping jaws. Warrior Dog fulfilled his name by killing several dogs and at least three Tongu. Alun’s friend, Black Tongue, reddened his previous black tongue in the blood of a Tongu and a hound, red saliva dripping from his muzzle. Kip, frantic that he couldn’t find Tor, ripped and killed anything he that stood before him. At least three Tongu and five dogs died in his search for his beloved street urchin.

Aboard a rearing plunging Shardon, Rygel raised his hands, both hands, again. Lightning stabbed from his pale, slender fingers toward the serpent-shadow still cast over the nearby hills. What had changed? Rygel’s magic hadn’t worked before. What made him think it would now?

Yet, it did.

His lightning hit. The shadow screamed.

More lightning flew from the blonde wizard’s power.

The shadow with evil serpent’s eyes howled.

Yellow irises with that reptilian vertical pupil squinted shut in pain. A dark mouth filled with fangs opened in a hideous yawn.

Rygel, as merciless as ever, sent strike after lightning strike into the black abyss. The daemon seemed to absorb every strike into its body as though devouring it. Yet, each time it did so, its vast form diminished. It shrank. Its howls of agony increased.

Before me, the Tongue line wavered. Assassins faltered, lifted hands to protect exposed faces, their hissing throats stilled. Daggers and swords fell to the featureless sand, forgotten. Hounds halted mid-step, whining, heads down, tails caught between hind legs. With the source of their courage, strength and purpose now flailing about, helpless and under siege, they tasted fear. In a disorganized group, they backed away, their growling dogs crouched at their boots.

Under Rygel’s guidance, Shardon galloped toward it, more red-black than silver. His mane dripped blood. His white teeth pulverized an assassin who seized a sword and sought to cut his Tarbane left front leg out from under him. Tongu hounds fell from his flanks to be smashed into furry pulp under his hooves. With his head lowered to increase his speed, Shardon’s ears lay flat against his skull. His flowing mane dressed Rygel in living liquid quicksilver. His hooves hurled sand in a shock wave behind him. Magic light flashed from Rygel’s hands, striking the snake vomited up from hell.

Ahead, the monster recoiled, jerking, howling in agony.

When I first beheld the monster, the daemon, I swore it was a dark, oily mist, fluid, ever changing – a shadow. Yet, now, as the tide of battle changed, it now appeared solid, a black venomous serpent that owned substance and eyes and wings and mortality. Under Rygel’s onslaught, now it owned a mortal body that might be killed.

Bar, wings out to their fullest, front feet bloody and extended for battle, hit it from its left flank. Eagle talons raked it from head to shaking tail. His lion hind legs with razor-sharp claws slashed it down the side. Silverruff, Digger, Darkhan, Little Bull, Scatters Them and Thunder all hit it in a furry wave on its left flank. Bloodied fangs bit deep. The combined weight of perhaps half a dozen wolves bigger than yearling calves caused it to stagger sideways.

From its other flank, Warrior Dog, Black Tongue, Kip, Lightfoot, White Fang lunged into the fray. As one creature, they bit, slashed with their claws, hurled their hundreds of pounds of angry furry weight into its unprotected side. Staggering, it fell back from this new onslaught. Its huge maw widened.

I reckoned the beast couldn’t withstand the combined assault from magic, the air and the wolfish menace all at once. Kel’Ratan, Corwyn, the twins and even Tor, forcing his fearful mare into the fray, galloped to the forefront. Behind them, Arianne steered her gallant Rufus behind them, her glorious eyes dark with fury. Somewhere, she had gotten hold of a knife. She held it, like one born to battle, with it in her right hand.

I could not, I would not, be left behind.

With Mikk, loose, on my right I ran forward. Something slid beside my ankle. I glanced down, raising my weapon. I dropped it again, in a hurry. Despite my command, to stay behind and remain safe, Tuatha bolted from his refuge. I grinned down as he glanced up. We shared perfect communion. Together, horse, whelp and me, we three, in perfect step, ran into battle.

A Tongu assassin spun out of the chaos, offering me a throat to cut. As he stumbled behind me, I slashed another across the eyes, effectively blinding him. Bar flew in out of nowhere, raking assassins and mutts into chopped meat. Kel’Ratan, with a hoarse shout, galloped out of the churning dust only to vanish into the thick, roiling cloud. Tuatha snarled a warning. Yet, the hound that crept up to my right flank yipped in panic and fled, its tail tucked. Perhaps it thought it faced a full-sized wolf rather than one smaller than it.

From the midst of the battle, Darkhan burst up and out.

Black, red, a killer of killers, he charged the daemon. His powerful legs flung sand and small rocks out behind him in sharp puffs. His massive shoulders stretching and bunching in his great effort to put on even more speed. What was he doing? Did he intend to take on the creature all alone?

Arianne screamed aloud in sudden pain, in wretched grief.

Leaping high, his jaws wide in a roar of rage, ears flat, Darkhan struck the daemon. Straight into its gaping maw he dove, his paws digging fissures into its flesh. Clawing, scraping, scrambling, biting, he forced his way in deeper and deeper until only his tail showed.

The daemon screamed. Not in rage or fury or challenge.

It screamed in raw panic. Its body writhed, squirming in agony.

I had no time to think of what could be happening to the wolf buried within the innards of a daemon. Our enemies, panic in their eyes, dropped weapons from hands. They bolted, skinning out from the dust cloud, their hounds at their sides. Away from us they fled, running as hard as they could. Rather than allow them to escape, we kicked all into higher gear. Those mounted dug heels into flanks. Those of us still afoot ignored the dust and noisome clouds of noxious dust and ran forward, slamming into bodies that could fall under the steel edge of a good knife or sharp fang.

There weren’t very many survivors left, perhaps a dozen or so. A few hounds, able to run faster than their assassins, topped the hills and vanished. Most remained loyally at their master’s sides and tried to protect them.

Sliding half-under the sword of a fear-blinded assassin who raised his sword to stab me, I slashed him across the mouth. He stumbled forward, his blade falling. Spinning behind him, I buried my dagger into the back of his neck. Leaving him to fall, I wheeled again, my dagger ready. No enemy threatened my rear. Mikk stood guard there, his ears flat and tail high, blowing in sharp pants. Still, he fought no one.

Our tide washed over the remaining, fleeing assassins. Kel’Ratan cut down his man with a backhanded slash to his neck, blood fountaining high. The Tongu staggered away, trying in vain to stem the gush of his life’s blood, and fell to the sand.

Silverruff, after killing a hound, leaped for another. That beast turned and fled, and somehow escaped Silverruff’s wrath. The fighting I expected, needed, wasn’t there. Corwyn, after burying his blade into the tattooed skull of an assassin, galloped out to the side, chasing a pair of Tongu who ran for their lives.

Tor and Kip galloped after still more hounds, who followed their fleeing masters in a mad dash into the desert. One Tongu assassin, seeing a mere boy chasing him, turned raising his stout cudgel. He grinned, his pale lips slicked back from his teeth. No doubt he thought Tor full of bravado but no skills, no training.

Tor bore down on him at a gallop, his reins on the grey’s neck, his bow raised, and his arrow nocked.

His bow whispered softly.

The Tongu’s head snapped back on his neck. He fell backward to the desert sand, Tor’s arrow punched through his left eye.

Must make a note, I thought, haphazard. Tor’s first kill. In our warrior society, a boy became a man, a warrior, when he slew his first enemy. Tor left his childhood behind him. He’s a boy no longer, but now a man.

With a shriek, Bar rose high and banked around, his wings sweeping wide and fast, his lion tail streaming out behind him. He swept after them, giving chase, his talons catching a fleeing Tongu across his neck. The Tongu’s body fell north, but his head flew south. Bar’s thirst for vengeance took longer to slake than most.

Shardon slowed his headlong gallop, Rygel’s sword lowering as the pair watched our enemies run from us. Breaking his gait, Shardon turned and trotted back toward me.

Silverruff, Thunder, Black Tongue, White Fang, Nahar and Little Bull also slowed their gallop, no longer willing to chase foes that refused to stand and fight. One by one they, too, turned, and loped back, tongues lolling.

I flung my hair from my face, watching the survivors run. Across the desert sand they fled, leaving behind the corpses of their brothers, and the ground soaked in blood. A hundred rods in all directions lay the still bodies of men and dogs. This wasn’t a fight. ‘Twas a bloodbath.

Where was the daemon?

I turned. Before my eyes, the damn thing continued to writhe and howl, twisting this way and that. Slowly it shrank, growing smaller and smaller. Folding in upon itself, its yellow cat’s eyes shut, its huge wings folded and vanished. Now more like a black blob in sharp contrast against the hot desert behind it, it reduced itself into yet half again. Now it looked more like a black saucer than a daemon escaped from hell itself.

Is that all? You’ve got to be kidding me.

Like its worshippers, it vanished.

In an eye blink, everything changed. The sun resumed its former brightness. The air I breathed felt clean of its former evil. I drew in a deep breath, scenting blood, horses, sweat and fur. I trod on sand and rocks I felt beneath my boots. Shadows fled under the bright sun of high noon. I heard within my ears the song of the wind, the shifting sand, and the buzz of irritating flies.

In a loose bunch, several wolves trotted around, noses to the ground, searching for any hidden enemies. Those injured men or dogs died quickly, mercifully. Corwyn and Kel’Ratan reined their horses about, slowing to a walk. Tor trotted his mare back with Kip bounding, bloody, alongside. Arianne sat her now quiet stallion, the knife still in her hand as she watched the last of the Tongu disappear over the horizon.

Oh, crap, I thought.

My hot, fighting blood, the adrenaline rush, left me all at once. I fell back, onto my butt, clasping a whining, anxious Tuatha to my chest. Above me, Mikk halted, his reins dangling to my neck, his sweat and blood dripping onto my already gory slaves’ clothes.

“Are we alive?” Tor asked, above me, his voice faint.

I glanced up.

He reined his lathered mare in beside me, his bow lax in his hand. Fear-sweat trickled down his temples. His brown hair plastered to his cheeks, his brown eyes stared wide and blank with shock. His grey mare, quiet now the threat of her life now vanquished, stood quiet but sweated as much as her master.

I grinned up at him. “I think you know the answer to that. Warrior.”

At my use of the title, Tor swung his full attention toward me, the blank leaving his expression as he focused sharply on my face.

I nodded. “Your first kill, warrior. You’ve rightly earned that honor and your manhood.”

“Warrior,” Tor breathed, unbelieving.

Trotting his bay up, Kel’Ratan swung down from his saddle. Leaving the sweating, dripping stallion to stand, his reins in his pommel, my cousin sat down beside me and took me, and Tuatha, into his brawny arms.

“Nephrotiti be praised,” he murmured, into my hair. “How did we survive?”

“Are you kidding?”

I aimed for brightness, for confidence. “With all of us, how’d they stand a chance?”

Kel’Ratan sat back, smiling faintly, and allowed me room enough to brush tangled hair from my face. “How indeed.”

Behind me, Bar settled to earth, furling huge wings across his back. “Are you all right?”

Singular and in pairs or threes, the wolves limped in, their tongues hanging to their knees. Panting, blood from gaping wounds on their faces, shoulders and necks they sat or lay down in a loose circle about Kel’Ratan, Tor and me. Scatters Them, Warrior Dog, Shadow, Joker, and Black Tongue lay down and licked with disinterest at their injuries. Silverruff and Thunder flopped on their sides at my feet. Tired almost unto death, I dislodged Tuatha to reach down and caress them.

“Hey, boys,” I murmured.

I looked around. “Where’s Digger?”

He emerged, hardly able to walk, from the rocks behind me. He raised enough energy to cheerfully lick my cheek before lying down. His breath came and went in harsh pants, one ear canted back while the other drooped. He’d been badly torn by wicked fangs.

Nahar, whining low, staggered on three feet to Kel’Ratan. For the first time, Kel’Ratan showed concern for his huge friend. His mustache bristled, yet his blue eyes burned with worry. Leaving me, he earnestly examined Nahar’s wounds, ignoring his own.

Left and Right walked their black and bloody stallions toward me, those poor horses unable to move much faster. As one, they lifted their feet over their pommels and slid down, dark eyes concerned over me. I flapped my hand tiredly.

“See to your horses and wolves,” I said, aching in every bone. “They saved our lives.”

Corwyn’s roan managed a limping trot, White Fang trailing far behind. Like the others, he hurt from numerous cuts and nasty bites from the hounds. Dire and Lightfoot, the last to come in, sat on their haunches as the twins stroked their ears.

Shardon, with Rygel still aboard and Little Bull at heel, trotted in. “They’re gone,” Rygel said, the only one of us who had the slightest energy left. “I looked around, but I didn’t see any sign of anything living.”

Sliding down from Shardon, he took a long moment to caress his silver friend’s face.

Corwyn and Tor dismounted their sweating horses, the grey mare blowing hard. Corwyn’s ugly roan, too tired to complain, allowed her close beside him. Kip, more lively than the others, swiped Tor’s face with his tongue and wagged his tail. Tor, his hand on his friend’s head, closely examined his mare’s legs for injuries. He thought of his horse first. A true sign of a Kel’Hallan warrior.

“Darkhan?” Arianne called, still aboard her horse. Her worried face turned this way and that. She nudged her tired stallion toward the hill the daemon stood upon, Rufus stepping daintily among the dead.

I sat up straighter. Where was he? I hadn’t seen him since he clawed his way down the serpent’s gullet. The daemon fled, or more hopefully, died. Did it take Darkhan with it?

“Darkhan!”

None moved as Darkhan limped toward Arianne at the same moment she leaped from her saddle. Her midnight hair spilling loose from the net I put it in so long ago, she stared at Darkhan in horror. He collapsed at her feet, his whines faint on the hot, still air. She knelt, instantly, beside the one who offered her the most. He offered nothing less than his courage, his devotion, his own life’s blood.

Tears spilled down over her pale cheeks as she gathered him into her lap, her glossy hair enveloping them both.

Darkhan whined, bleeding from nose, mouth, ears, flanks and so many cuts and bites on his body I lost count after I got to his shoulders. He took on the Tongu’s daemon-god alone, perhaps saving not just Arianne, but us all. His courage, his loyalty, his devotion carried him into a fight in which he stood no chance of winning.

Yet, against all odds, he won.

Nestled against her tiny bosom, Darkhan bled, his tail thumping uselessly in the dusty sand. He raised his head enough to caress her salty tears with his tongue before the effort cost him too much. His head dropped, ears lax, his happy tail finally stilled. Only his gasping, death pants showed him still among the living.

Arianne found her voice.

“Gods, no,” she wept, gathering as much of his bulk as she could into her small arms. “This can’t be happening. Not him. Not my boy. Oh, gods, please, no.”

Rocking back and forth, she held him tight, tears streaming from her eyes in rivers. Moaning in heart-broken agony, she wept over the dying body of her wolf.

Dropping to my knees beside her, I stroked over Darkhan’s ears. His eyes opened briefly in acknowledgment, before closing again. As though the effort of keeping them open was too much for him. My own grief spilled over and tears mingled with the blood on my cheeks. I glanced up, my vision blurred, searching for Rygel.

In a loose circle about us, Silverruff, Digger, Nahar looked on, ears and tails down, whining with anxiety. The twins rested their hands on Dire and Lightfoot’s necks, their bloody faces still, dark eyes watching. Tor and Kip sat down at his mare’s feet, Tor, despite his new-found manhood, wept openly. Corwyn and White Fang stood beside them, Corwyn’s head bowed as though he prayed silently.

Kel’Ratan dropped to his knees, to further examine Darkhan’s bleeding body. “We can’t save him,” he muttered, his own eyes filled with sorrow.

“We must,” I cried. “Rygel! Dammit, get over here.”

Rygel pushed through the milling wolves, escorted by Little Bull. Shardon stood back, his great height enabling him to see all without needing to advance too close. Bar sat down beside him, his wings furled across his back.

Kel’Ratan moved away to allow Rygel room to drop to his knees beside Arianne. With his hand on my elbow, he courteously dragged me up with him.

“But – “ I began.

“You can’t help him,” Kel’Ratan said softly. “If Rygel can save him, he will. But we’ve many wounded to see to.”

Rygel rested his hands on Darkhan’s shoulders and head, under Arianne’s sweeping hair as she bowed in grief over his body.

“Please, Arianne,” Rygel said softly. “I must see what I’m doing.”

Arianne lifted her grief-stricken face, her river of hair retreating. Rygel probed the wounds on Darkhan’s neck.

In a move both swift and startling, Darkhan snarled and whipped his head up and back. His fangs bit deep into Rygel’s left hand.

Cursing, Rygel jerked back. “Damn you! I’m trying to save your life.”

Darkhan’s head collapsed back onto Arianne’s lap. He growled deep in his throat, a low rumble. I’d no idea what he said, but Arianne did. Shock etched across her pale face, widening her mouth into a bow.

Rygel did, too. He turned his face away, shutting his teeth. He closed his amber eyes tight against pain. Not from his hand, I didn’t think, but from a pain deep in his heart. I didn’t look around to see the other wolves’ reactions, but their combined growls and whines told me they didn’t like what he said either.

“What’d he say?” Kel’Ratan asked, bewildered.

“He wants to die,” Rygel answered, his face still averted. “He won’t permit me to heal him.”

Arianne screamed, her voice high and despairing. As though Rygel’s words were the first she heard.

“Darkhan!” she sobbed. “You mustn’t. Please don’t leave me, don’t go. Darkhan!”

He whined, his voice growing weaker. His tail lifted in a half-wag before flopping to the sand like a dead snake.

At my feet, Tuatha also whined. I should pick him up, I thought. But I stood frozen, my tears still falling, my heart numb.

“Perhaps its best,” Kel’Ratan whispered. His hand slid down my arm to clasp my own in a tight grip. “Maybe – “

“No!” I screamed. “Rygel, save him! I command you.”

“Princess – “ Rygel choked. “This is his choice.”

I stumbled my way across the sand, tripping over my own boots. I fell rather than knelt beside Rygel, falling against his strong shoulder. He pushed me upright, his amber eyes shut tight with grief.

“Darkhan,” I cried, crouching at his side. I put my hand on his ribcage, feeling his slow heartbeat. “You have much to live for. Don’t do this.”

His answering whine sounded feeble and weak. I didn’t know what it was he said, but I didn’t care. If I couldn’t convince him to want to live within a few minutes, he’d pass beyond our help.

“Damn you for a coward,” I snarled. “You’re a selfish, whining, worthless pup. You’d sentence her to a life without you. You’ll let her grieve when you can live and still give her happiness. You will find happiness, Darkhan. Remember what I told you? She’ll always love you and need you, even when you find your own mate.”

Darkhan didn’t answer. Under my hand his heart skipped a beat, then another. His pants subsided into slow draughts of air. His death waited, hovering close on hushed wings.

“The world is a better place with you in it,” I hissed, for his ears alone. “If you choose death, you’ll never see your sons and daughter playing under the sun. Those unborn children will never know a sire as courageous, as strong, as loving as you. Your mate waits, your loving, true life-partner, awaits you alone. Should you die now, she’ll find another who appreciates her sweet, caring soul. Because you’re a coward who chose an easy death over a hard and dangerous life, her mate will not be you.”

Under my hand, his ribs lifted slightly as he took in a long painful breath. I held my own. I think the entire world froze as we waited on Darkhan’s choice. What would he do? I bit my lip, frantic he’d slip away even before he had a chance to change his mind.

“I swear on all I hold holy, I speak the truth. Above all, boy, you know I do.”

His tail lifted once. He growled, low, under his breath.

Arianne choked on a sob. Rygel whipped around, fast, his hands once more on Darkhan’s neck and shoulders.

“What – “ I began, stunned.

“He’s chosen to live,” Rygel said tersely. “That is, if it isn’t too late.”

I staggered to my feet with the aid of Kel’Ratan’s firm grip. Stepping around Rygel, already dropped into his healing trance, I put my hand on Arianne’s hair. She glanced up, her white skin drenched beneath her tears. “He’ll be all right,” I said, my voice soft.

Her tremulous smile answered me before she bowed over her wolf once more.

Leaving Rygel to work his magic, I gestured for the others to move away and allow Rygel room. Kel’Ratan was right: we needed to see to our many wounded warriors.

At my signal, the wolves stood up and followed after Kel’Ratan and me. Without my bidding, Mikk walked wearily behind me, his breath still labored from the fight. Tuatha trotted clumsily at my ankle. I glanced back, Rygel’s head bowed over Darkhan’s very still body, his bloody hands splayed on Darkhan’s shoulder and head. Was I too late?

My aches and weariness, forgotten in the last few moments, hit me with a rush. I ached with every nerve ending. Every muscle seemed either torn in two or stretched completely out of place. My legs especially pained me. Glancing down at myself, I discovered I’d been bitten on both legs and my left arm had been sliced open by either a knife or a sword. All of them still bled, albeit slowly. A deep bruising on my lower right arm suggested I had also been hit with a cudgel. I didn’t remember receiving any of these wounds.

I went first to Tor. Gesturing for him to stand up, I looked him over. He obeyed, straightening his back and wiping the tear-stains from his eyes. Kip also stood. I knew I’d need to check him as well. He might have bites from the hounds under all that blood caking his coat.

Yet, before I began my examination, the sound of hooves thundering across the desert wheeled me around. I reached for a sword that wasn’t there.

“Easy,” Kel’Ratan soothed. “It’s them.”

Praise be, there were my boys, in at last. Witraz, Rannon, Alun, Yuri and Yuras trotted into view, their horses burdened with huge sacks of food, packs of the required clothing and all the necessary gear I sent them to obtain. Their wolf friends, Shadow, Warrior Dog, Black Tongue, Scatters Them, and Joker hadn’t the energy to greet them, but tried for a few tail wags.

My boys stared at us in horror.

“What the hell – “ Witraz began, lifting his leg over the pommel of his saddle and sliding down to the ground. Joker, whining, limped toward him, panting harshly. Witraz knelt in the dust, running his hands over the wolf’s body, finding the many bites and hurts.

“We ran into some old friends,” I said, trying to find a smile for them.

“Tongu?” Rannon asked, also jumping down. He immediately went to his Shadow, still lying down. He raised a lupine grin and wagged his tail as Rannon stroked his head and ears.

“Yes,” Kel’Ratan answered. “They found us somehow.”

Alun stared around at the dead hounds and assassins, lifting his face to gaze at the numerous corpses scattered all over the area. “How could we have missed this?” he murmured.

Yuri and Yuras, with exclamations of concern, dropped lightly from their horses and ran to Warrior Dog and Scatters Them.

“Sorry, but we started the party without you,” I said with a grin. “You boys are way too slow for words.”

At their dismay, I found energy enough to find a laugh.

“Come on,” Kel’Ratan growled. “You can help patch the wounded. I doubt there’s a one of us unscathed.”

Yuri and Yuras, Rannon, and a worried Witraz left their wolves to unburden their mounts. Dumping their loads to the ground, their relieved mounts shook themselves, rattling gear and raising dust. Fetching kits from saddlebags, they strode firmly toward our injured. I set to calling out instructions.

“Yuri, Yuras and Witraz, you start doctoring the horses. They’ve all been mauled. Rannon, take care of Corwyn, will you? Alun, see to Kel’Ratan.”

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “I don’t need a bloody nurse.”

I eyed the numerous cuts and bites, the blood that was his amongst the blood that wasn’t and quirked a brow. “Sit down and let him bind you up. Or I’ll call Nahar.”

Though injured, Nahar stumbled to his feet as though answering a summons and limped to Kel’Ratan with hackles half-raised. Though I wondered who might win, Kel’Ratan gulped, his eyes on his wolf. Clearly, he remembered how easily Nahar obeyed my commands. I reckoned he didn’t care much for a rematch. Nodding shortly, he sat down. Nahar sat beside him, his tail sweeping from side to side as Alun dropped to his side, medical kit in hand.

“Shardon, can you call in the missing pack horses?”

“I have already,” he answered calmly, walking slowly toward me. “But one desperately needs your help.”

“What?” I asked. “Where?”

“Over there.”

Shardon, moving slowly, limping, with me staggering at his side, led me to the brown gelding I led from Ararak. During that short time, I learned to like this skinny, bull-headed gelding. Though he continually tried to bite me, I gave him much needed affection. Perhaps I was the only human whoever did so. I rubbed his head, and he liked to butt my knee to ask for more attention.

Tor followed at my shoulder, Kip beside him and his grey mare’s reins in his fist. As though glued to my back, Mikk followed as well. Bar glided past my head to land and furl his wings near the brown lump in the sand.

“He’s in bad shape,” he said, both his vocal chirp and voice in my head coinciding oddly.

The gelding lay not far from the site of the battle. Badly bitten by hounds, his left front leg broken, he’d long given up the fight to rise. His glistening eyes rolled towards me as I walked to him, his head lifting enough to look at me. Pain-induced sweat trickled down his bony face and wet his neck. My heart lurched in my chest to see him, bloody, broken, in terrible pain.

“He didn’t run with the others,” Shardon said, his voice soft. “He tried to remain by you. Only when the hounds attacked him did he flee. In so doing, he broke his leg.”

Kneeling, I rubbed my hand over his ears and his face, his head dropping to the sand once more. “Oh, gods, I don’t want to do this,” I murmured, my heart aching.

“You must,” Shardon said, his own eyes moist as he gazed down at the wretched gelding.

Tor unwrapped my bow, quiver and sword from Mikk’s saddle. Without speaking, he placed my griffin sword’s hilt in my hand.

“Maybe Rygel can – “

“Rygel can’t,” Shardon said. “This beast has no wish to live. Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

“Gods above and below,” I muttered, tears all but blinding me. “May his soul be reborn into a better life than the one he had here.”

“Remember, you’re doing him a kindness.”

I placed the sword’s tip behind his shoulder, just above his heart. “May you rest in peace, dear one.”

I shut my eyes and my teeth. I couldn’t look at him as I shoved my blade into his beating heart. That blade, sharp enough to cut a drifting feather in twain, severed his life. I didn’t open my eyes to see that precious life leave his brown eyes. I didn’t want to hear his breath exhale and not draw another.

I did anyhow.

Yanking my sword from his corpse, I stumbled away, blinded by my tears. If it hadn’t been for Tor supporting me, I might have fallen to the sand and wept uncontrollably. I heard Mikk and Shardon walking side by side behind me, felt Bar’s warm presence in my mind, but could find comfort in none. What was one insignificant gelding compared to all the life taken this day? That one insignificant gelding hadn’t asked to be born into cruelty. The Tongu assassins had chosen their fate, and that of their hellhounds.

I paused a moment, breathing deep, clearing my head. “Tor?”

“Your Highness?”

“Are you hurt, lad?”

“No, Your Highness. A few bruises, that’s all.”

“Then care for your mare. She saved your life this day.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“After that, help care for the rest of the horses.”

He bowed low. Taking his mare in hand, he obeyed me.

Blinking, I turned to Shardon and unbuckled the straps of his saddle.

“What are you doing?”

“Rygel is busy,” I said. “I’m caring for your wounds in his place.”

“But q– “

I glared at him. “Shut up. I may not be able to enforce your compliance, but I know a griffin and some wolves who can.”

Bar stepped forward, clicking his beak, his huge wings half-furled. His black-tipped tail lashed from side to side. Thunder, Digger and Silverruff trotted up, with revived energy. With waving tails, and grinning jaws, they circled him around. Shardon eyed them from under the red-silver fall of his mane, his liquid eyes amused.

“I reckon I can’t do for myself,” he said.

I took a moment to sweep his thick forelock from his eyes and rub his face. “Do you miss Tashira?”

“What? That thick-witted, insufferable, braying backside of a mule?”

Laughing, I pressed my brow to his. “I miss him, too.”

“You’re a sap.”

“Look who’s talking.”

With a final caress between his laughing eyes, I stepped past his shoulder. I unbuckled the girth, allowing it to fall. “I have some salve in my saddlebags –“

“Don’t unsaddle me yet.”

My hands ceased, confused. My mouth opened to question him. Shardon held his head high, his ears perked, with his huge brown eyes fastened on something in the distance. At the same instant, Silverruff growled. I glanced down. The wolves stood at full alert, hackles high, tails stiff, as they stared into the distance. I lifted my head.

Horsemen filled the top of the high plateau about a mile away, toward the west. I guessed more than a hundred of them, as I scanned them from one end to the other. They sat their horses, silent, unthreatening, and gazed down, into our midst. From this distance I saw little in the way of clothing or banners. Nothing that informed me of who they were. Not Tongu, nor was it Brutal’s Feds.

“Tighten the girth,” Shardon said, almost absently.

I obeyed, ducking my head and swiftly buckling it back about his barrel.

“Kel’Ratan,” I called as I did so.

“What?”

“We’ve company.”

“Again?”

Behind me, my boys cursed and ceased their activities. Kel’Ratan and Corwyn scrambled to their feet. Tor had half unsaddled his grey, and changed his tack to once more to tighten his tired, sweating mare’s girth.

“Mount up,” I called over my shoulder, my eyes not leaving the long line of horsemen.

“Get up on me,” Shardon ordered.

I didn’t hesitate. Seizing a handful of his bloody mane, I vaulting into Rygel’s saddle. I glanced back. Witraz, Rannon, Alun, Yuri and Yuras quickly swung into their saddles, drawing swords and nocking bows. Nudging their mounts into a swift trot, they flanked me, three on my right and two to my left.

Bar screeched, leaping into the air. His colossal wings beat the wind into submission, creating a small blinding windstorm of sand and dust before his altitude calmed the tempest. He circled higher, his eagle’s voice sounding his challenge to the newcomers. If they didn’t know we had a griffin amongst us, they surely did now.

What of Rygel and Arianne? Rygel knelt over the still body of Darkhan, oblivious to this new threat. Arianne brushed her hair from her face to see better, her huge eyes darkening as she took in the strangers.

“Yuri,” I snapped. “You and Yuras guard them. You too, Little Bull.”

Little Bull whined, clearly wanting to join his brothers in the forthcoming battle. Torn in half, he knew he needed to protect his friend, but he still wanted to fight. In the end, he obeyed my command, realizing his duty lay with guarding Rygel. I wanted more to stay with them, but dared not leave any more behind. I’d need every man and wolf.

“Tuatha,” I snapped, as the pup also trotted awkwardly towards me.

He glanced up, his blue eyes wide.

“You stay here. Help Little Bull guard Rygel and Arianne.”

He turned back, whining over his shoulder, but obedient.

Shardon started forward before I asked it of him, advancing at the trot. Silverruff, Digger and Thunder loped to either side. Mikk also cantered, just outside my protective wolf ring, loose, his reins on his neck.

I should order him to stay behind, I thought. He had no business fighting for me again, as tired and hurt as he was. That determined set to his ears and the brightness in his eyes told me to shut my teeth. I did.

Kel’Ratan, cursing, loped his bay to catch us up, Nahar on his right flank. Tor and Kip joined us, Tor nocking an arrow into his bowstring. Perhaps he thought to take down his second man this day. Behind us, Corwyn, and the twins, along with their wolves, trotted in a loose circle behind my advance guard.

The line of horsemen on the ridge stirred into life. A dozen or so riders left the group to gallop downhill, off the high plateau. The hot desert wind whipped their banners into sharp snaps, the sound carried easily across the distance. Fighting the loose soil, their mounts’ hindquarters slung low, and raised a storm of dust. Whoever they were, they were consummate horsemen.

A shallow but steep ravine opened up between our two forces. A wise general would order the attack, seize the uphill advantage. Our bows might easily take them out before they climbed halfway up the embankment. Their commander would also know this. He still ventured into a dicey situation, one that may yet kill him. I wondered why.

“Hold,” I ordered. “No one shoots unless I do.”

Shardon halted, as did Kel’Ratan and the others. Bar still circled lazily overhead, making his presence known, yet unthreatening. If these gentlemen wanted to pick a fight, they’d fight an uphill battle. These lads were neither careless nor stupid. They knew what they rode into.

“Bows to the fore.”

Swords slid into sheaths and arrows nocked into bowstrings.

“Wolves to the flanks.”

Wolves melted from beneath the legs of our mounts and took up positions to the extreme left and right of us. If it came to a pitched battle, they could close in on the enemies’ flanks and prevent them from harassing ours.

The horsemen galloped up to the opposite edge of the ravine and halted there, silent. Their single line faced my single line. Why didn’t they attack? By now, they knew of our weakness, our injuries and if they pressed the issue, their pals in reserve faced an easy mop up.

Tribesmen, I thought, recognizing them. Dusty turbans covered their heads from the fierce desert sun. Long colorful sashes strapped unsheathed curved scimitars and long thin daggers to their waists. Short recurve horsebows, much like our own, lay strapped to their backs, with bristling quivers of arrows hanging from their horses’ saddles. Thin scarves of linen wound across the lower half of their faces, revealing only their fierce, dark eyes.

Their horses were a smallish, thin, fine-skinned breed I’d never seen before. They had small bones and short backs, and wide intelligent dark brown eyes. Sturdy horses, born and bred to the desert, they obviously were capable of surviving on short rations and little water. Accustomed as they were to the heat and dry sand, I’d no doubt they’d give our own beasts a run for their money. I gambled they’d be as loyal to their masters as our own.

I waited, patient, as one man advanced ahead of his brethren. Their leader. He walked his horse into my territorial bubble, fearless. Though he knew he’d overreached his bounds, he reined in and sat quiet. His dark eyes swept over the furry guardians of our flanks, took in our blood, and accepted Shardon at face-value.

“How is it you command wolves?” he demanded, his accent thick but easily understood.

“I don’t command them,” I replied, my voice as cold as his. “They’re our friends and allies.”

“And a griffin. What do you do with a griffin?”

“He’s my friend. What’s it to you?”

Bar screeched from above, flying low over the heads of the tribesmen. His huge shadow swept over and past, his long lion legs and lion tail trailing behind. Savage eagle beak angling down, his predatory eyes stared. His ploy worked, for the native desert men ducked, muttering, clutching weapons, watching him with fear and concern. Their horses shifted from foot to foot, heads tossing, nervous.

“It is rumored only one commands a griffin,” the man barked. “Are you she?”

I waited, patient, forcing him into the first move.

“Who are you, who dares to invade our lands with wolves and griffins and Tarbane?” the man demanded, his voice harsh and cold. “You fought the Cursed Ones and defeated them. How did you do this?”

Shardon stepped forward, ahead of the others, matching him.

“I am Ly’Tana of Kel’Halla,” I replied, modulating my voice to sound neither aggressive nor passive. “We were attacked by the Cursed Ones, as you call them, and defended ourselves. We seek to merely pass through your lands. We don’t wish to fight, nor do we wish to displace or disturb you.”

“Ly’Tana of Kel’Halla,” the leader repeated, as if to himself. His eyes widened as he glanced up once more toward Bar. “You are she. You are the High King’s escaped bride.”

I shrugged, unable to halt the half-smile that flitted across my face. “The one and only.”

The leader raised his hand. At first I thought he moved to command the men on the ridge, and braced myself for the attack.

He merely dropped his veil from his face, allowing it to hang from his turban to his shoulder. He appeared to be a man in his middle thirties, brown-skinned, eyes lined with years of squinting into the desert sun. He was also handsome in a rugged way, in my opinion. Not like Raine physically, but equaled him in confidence, charisma and leadership.

At my words, his black eyes narrowed. His brows lowered over his eyes. He scowled dangerously.

“The enemy of my enemy is not my friend.”