by Tora Moon
All the monsters were dead except the strange janack, and everyone focused their attention on it. The Red still rode the janack near its head as it bucked and thrashed. The warriors and Reds on the ground leaped to avoid its flying tentacles.
Out of the corner of his eye, Blazel saw a brecha rise from under a dead janack and race due north. Blazel waited to see if one of the fighters would see the renegade brecha, but its spiny back disappeared in the distance. Blazel swore. Histrun had trained him too well to allow the brecha to escape. Even one brecha reaching populated areas could be devastating. Still swearing, Blazel shifted to his warrior form, forcing himself to change more quickly than he ever had before. A howl of pain escaped his lips.
Then he was shifted, and without looking around, he hurtled after the brecha.
He caught up to it in a few strides and swerved to avoid the sharp spines spewing from its back. Usually they used their spines to drive prey toward the janacks, but the only janack remaining was the strange one. Was the brecha trying to drive him back to it?
Everything about this nest was crazy. He heard the explosion and felt a small tremor race across the ground, but kept running.
Past the brecha.
He skidded to a halt and quickly turned. The monster stood on its hind legs, its head weaving side to side. Blazel didn’t stop to wonder what was wrong with it. He leaped, his claws dripping venom, and slashed across its back, severing the remaining spines. It turned and swiped where Blazel had been. Another warrior barreled into it, jaws ripping into its neck. Blazel glimpsed red and yellow fur.
The two warriors circled the brecha, taking turns rushing in and slicing it with claws or teeth. Putrid green ichor dripped from its multiple wounds. A noisome odor wafted off it making Blazel gag, and reminding him of the malignant magic pools he’d encountered in the swamps. The other warrior made one last slash across the brecha’s neck, and it finally staggered and dropped dead. Ichor drenched the ground.
The other warrior immediately turned from the brecha and circled Blazel with a low snarl. His claws were still stretched in front of him, ready to attack. Neither of them shifted out of warrior form.
“Who you? Not our pack.” The warrior drew a deep breath. “Not any pack here.”
“No, I not,” Blazel agreed. No one was very articulate in their warrior form. It was a struggle to get words past elongated jaws. “Traveling. Sanctuary.”
The warrior drew closer, still menacing. “Not alpha. Why go Sanctuary?”
Blazel shook his head. He didn’t have time for these games. “My business.”
“No pack smell. Not alpha. Business at Sanctuary,” the warrior murmured, more to himself than to Blazel. “Ha!” His claws twitched together, almost like he was trying to snap his fingers. “I know who you.”
Now Blazel snarled and started circling too. This could end in trouble. The clan-packs didn’t like men who didn’t belong to a pack. They believed all lone wolves were dangerous rogues without any control. None could understand his desire to be alone.
“Blazel,” the warrior snapped, a grin stretching his muzzle.
Blazel was startled to hear his name. He growled, crouching into an attack stance.
“No need,” the warrior said and thumped his chest. “Know Histrun.”
Blazel relaxed slightly. If this warrior knew Histrun, then maybe this pack wouldn’t kill him outright.
“No more talk. Hard,” the warrior grimaced.
Blazel nodded in agreement.
The warrior lifted his head and howled, “Maheli!”
A few moments later the Red who had climbed on the strange janack jogged into view. “Rolstrun,” she said as she shook her head and slugged the warrior’s shoulder, “only you would chase a brecha and end up with another warrior.” She looked at the corpse. “Whew! It stinks. Did you have to shred it like that?”
Although it seemed a rhetorical question, both warriors nodded their heads.
Maheli laughed. She touched her glowing helbraught to the mess and ignited it; the flames hungrily lapped at the ichor until all of it was consumed.
“So, boyo, who are you?”
“Blazel,” he answered. He couldn’t help it. She had the aura of an alpha around her.
“Ahh. . .” she sounded like she knew who he was. “Come on, you can tell us your story at the fortress. Let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps. No life, except the boyos and the monsters. Sometimes even a fly would be a nice change.” She laughed as she slapped Rolstrun on the back, then jogged off.
Although on the surface it seemed an invitation, Blazel heard the command in it. Since Maheli wasn’t his alpha he could ignore it, but instead he shrugged and followed her. She held out the lure of company after so long alone in the swamps. Rolstrun loped to his side, a grin on his face and his tongue hanging out like a young wolf.
As they walked over a small rise, Blazel could see the fighting-pack waiting just beyond where they had battled with the monsters. The brecha hadn’t traveled far before Blazel and Rolstrun stopped it.
“He’s okay,” Maheli said to the others. “He’s the one Histrun told us about.”
The others regarded him warily. A few growled.
“Enough!” Maheli snapped. “I vouch for him. No arguments.” The ones who had growled lowered their heads in submission. “Good. Let’s go.” Maheli strode off.
The rest followed her. A few had injuries taken during the fight, but none looked serious. Blazel and his companion brought up the rear. They hadn’t walked far before Blazel saw two men and a woman holding numerous horses. Maheli and the other five Reds greeted the horse handlers. When the breeze shifted, blowing the monster stench on the warrior’s fur toward them, the horses shivered and blew nervous snorts. Maheli threw a container of water to the men, and as soon as they had washed the worst ichor stains off themselves, they all shifted back to human, even Blazel. He swayed on his feet. Rolstrun’s strong hands caught him before he fell.
“You okay, buddy?” he asked.
Before Blazel could answer, Maheli walked over to him. “Boyo, you look awful. Who’s chasing you?”
“No one,” he answered, his voice gruff. He took a quick swallow of water, and when he continued his voice was stronger. “I need to get to the Sanctuary, fast.”
“Where did you come from? You’re a long way from any safe place.”
“I’m traveling from the southern swamps.”
Maheli tapped her helbraught staff against her thigh. “Hmm. The swamps, huh? Must be some story. Come on. You’re not going anywhere until you get a hot meal and some rest. You could use some time out of the Barrens’ nasty air, too.”
Blazel wasn’t quite sure if it was good luck or bad that he’d run into the bossy, nosy Alpha Maheli. He should turn his back on her offer of friendship and continue on his way toward Chariel. Instead, he followed Rolstrun to the horses. Everyone mounted up, except Blazel. There wasn’t a horse for him.
“Alpha, he can ride with me,” a woman said. She was the one who had stayed with the horses during the fight.
Blazel was startled to see she was a Brown, a strong one judging from her chestnut-brown hair. He’d never heard of Browns going into battles with the Malvers monsters. This clan-pack must be different to let their skilled healer this close to the monsters.
“You sure, Faelyn?”
Faelyn nodded. “When he passes out, I can do some healing for him while we ride.” She looked at Blazel with her deep blue-green eyes. “You really have pushed hard.”
“I won’t pass out,” he ground out.
“Sure you will,” she said with certainty, and smiled.
Faelyn lifted her foot off the stirrup so he could mount the horse and sit behind her. When he tried to put his hands on the saddle pommel, the healer tucked them around her waist.
“Lean on me, Blazel. I’m strong.”
Her hands gently cradled his. He felt healing energy spread through him. Without meaning to, he leaned
against her back and laid his head on her shoulder.
Damn, he thought as he passed out.
Chapter 3
Blazel woke with a start. A gentle hand soothed his forehead.
“Shh . . . you’re safe.” He recognized the healer from the battle. “I’m Faelyn. You’re in the eastern fortress. We’re from Strunland Keep.”
Blazel stretched. All the aches and pains he’d acquired over the past three chedan were gone. “How long?” he croaked, his voice not used to talking. He hadn’t seen another person in over a year.
“Last night and most of this morning.”
“It feels longer.” He felt like he’d slept for days, not one night.
She patted his hand. “I do good work. Here.” She handed him a mug.
His hands trembled when he took it. He hadn’t eaten much in his grueling run across the Barrens. Nothing tasted right with Barrens grit for seasoning. He lifted the mug, smelled it—a spicy taevo—took a sip, and groaned with pleasure. “I haven’t had good taevo for over nine lunadar.”
The taevo bush didn’t grow in the humid swamps, and he’d only drank water or an herbal concoction he brewed mostly from mint, which grew in abundance and disguised the less palatable flavors of the other herbs.
“How long have you been in the swamps? No, don’t answer that. Maheli will be mad if you tell me before she gets to hear the tale. She loves a good story, so no bare-bones recitation. Come to think of it, we could all use a good story. We’ve been here half a lunadar, but it feels longer.”
Faelyn replaced the mug of taevo with a bowl of rich broth with bits of meat and vegetables. Blazel drooled. After the first bite, he shoveled it in his mouth as quickly as he could. Low growls of pleasure escaped him. He hadn’t eaten anything this good in a long time. He had forgotten the joys of well-seasoned and cooked food.
Faelyn laughed and he glanced up at the sound. The smile on her face was kind. “You must have a good story. My cooking isn’t that good. Now, Teledon ke-Strunlair, on the other hand, has a strong Green Talent. Anything he cooks tastes sublime. I’ll let you finish while I let Maheli know you’re awake.”
Before he could tell her thanks, she was gone. He liked her. For some reason she reminded him of Chariel. During the biannual Alpha Competitions at the Sanctuary, he’d met the young men of the various alphas’ parties—Rolstrun may have even been one of those young men—and had polite conversations, but none of them ever stayed long enough for a friendship to develop. He liked the men who had come to teach him, like Histrun, but they were mentors. Chariel was the only close friend he had ever had.
Blazel finished the soup and was still famished. He saw another bowl on the table next to him and replaced his empty bowl with the full one. This one he ate more slowly, savoring the deliciousness. He’d been eating his own cooking for a very long time and it was a treat to eat the cooking of someone who had a flair for food.
Finished eating, he looked around. The room was sparsely furnished with plain but well-made furniture. The bed he was on, a table with a chair next to it, and a trunk for possessions were all utilitarian. The stone walls were sheadash. Its properties repelled the Malvers monsters. His backpack sat on top of the trunk. The thick leather was still sound but showed signs of hard use. Stains of various colors made it difficult to tell what color it had been originally. The pack looked half-empty.
Blazel swore as he jumped from the bed. Someone had gone through his pack. He had just opened it when the door swung open.
“No worries, boyo, we took the clothes to clean them for you,” Maheli said from the door. “Didn’t survive the cleaning though. Nothing left but rags.”
Maheli leaned against the door frame. Her head nearly touched the top. Her lean, compact build showed her strength. Small scars on her hands and arms attested to her numerous fights with the Malvers monsters. She wore her fiery-red hair short, a few tight curls framing her face. Her light-green eyes tipped up slightly at the corners in her pale, creamy face.
Faelyn walked in, pushing past Maheli, holding a bundle. “Here’s some clean clothes. They should fit.”
Blazel took the bundle and saw that the clothes were new, not someone’s cast offs. “Thanks!”
“We only bring a few spares with us,” Faelyn told him. “For more, we’ll have to scrounge from the men.”
“Any chance I can get some leathers like the Reds wear?” Blazel took a chance in asking. Men wore tough woven trousers, not the durable leather made for the Reds since they had their warrior pelts to protect them from the monster’s ichor. Continuing, he explained, “The way I travel and the things I run into, they sure would come in handy. Besides, they’d last a lot longer than these.”
Maheli stared at him. “I don’t know …”
He held out his hand and said hopefully, “I am a Red.” A small flame danced on his hand.
“Wow!” Rolstrun said, striding into the room. “That is so cool. I can’t do that.”
Blazel knew very few males had strong enough Talent to do much with any type of magic. The other types of magic were easier to work than fire magic, and those with other Talents could use them for such things as cooking, like the man with Green talent. But fire magic seemed to take more Talent to work even small spells, such as the one Blazel used now, and most men’s Talent were too weak. The Supreme had allowed him to stay in the Sanctuary after he’d turned five only because he had strong Red Talent for a male—and because he had some Gray Talent—making him an unusual male. Being outcasts had drawn him and Chariel together as children.
“Very few males can do that,” Maheli echoed his thoughts. She stepped away from the door.
Blazel thought he detected a hint of admiration in her voice. He had expected scorn.
Maheli reached out to touch the gray streak in his hair, now in a tight coil, then she said under her breath, “Hmmm … maybe, just maybe ...” Still holding the lock of hair, she chuckled. “Depends on your story, boyo.”
“Um, Blazel,” Rolstrun said, “no offense, bro, but you need to bathe!”
“Can’t disagree with you there.”
“Rolstrun will show you to the bathing room,” Faelyn said, explaining Rolstrun’s presence.
“When you’re done, he’ll bring you to me,” Maheli added. “Then, boyo, it’s story time. Your story.”
The two women left the room. Without their strong presence, the room felt larger.
“Come on, man, let’s get you to the bathing room,” Rolstrun said and strode out the door.
Blazel gripped the bundle of clothing to his chest and followed.
* * *
Blazel listened with interest to Rolstrun’s running commentary as they walked through the fortress about the building, but tuned him out when he talked about the people. He didn’t want to know about them; they would never be friends.
The corridors were narrow and winding. The few open doors Blazel saw led into small rooms similar to the one he’d just left. Rolstrun took him down steep steps that wound deeper into the keep. Every surface was lined with sheadash stone, even here deep in the keep’s bowels.
Rolstrun stopped at a large door, and Blazel took a step back up the stairs so he wouldn’t trample his guide.
“This is the bathing room, bro. One of my favorite rooms in the keep.” Rolstrun threw open the door. “It’s warm!”
“Wow! I’ve never been in a bathing room like this before.” Blazel clamped his mouth shut, sure his comment made him sound like a rustic. The Sanctuary had a big bathing room, but it was reserved for the priestesses. He’d had to make due with a bucket of hot water in a corner of the kitchen. Even though the men’s ward for the visiting males had a bathing room, he hadn’t had access to it.
Rolstrun looked at him critically for a moment and then walked into the room. He wore a cheery smile. “No worries, bro. I’ll show you around. I could use a bath too. You can put your things here.”
Following Rolstrun’s example, Blazel put his new, clean
clothes on the wooden bench.
Rolstrun turned back to the large, open room and pointed to several deep tubs made from a fragrant redwood and filled with steaming water. “Those are for soaking. There’s a spell on the water to keep it hot. We don’t get any Blues here, but the men with Blue Talent work with the Reds to maintain the spell. We get plenty of Reds,” he laughed. “We’re really lucky that Faelyn came with us this time. She may be a Brown, but she’s a pretty strong Blue too. She and Maheli work well together. We never run out of hot water. Hey!” He put a restraining hand on Blazel to keep him from dipping his dirty hand in the warm water. “You can’t get in those until you’re clean. Faelyn would skin our hides getting in there dirty.”
Rolstrun picked up two small buckets and handed one to Blazel. “These are for cleaning.” He took his to a spigot on a smaller tub and turned a knob. Hot water filled the bucket. He pointed to Blazel. “Now yours.”
After Blazel filled his bucket, Rolstrun led him to an area with stools, cloths, brushes, and several pots filled with thick, white soap. Blazel inhaled the clean, fresh scent.
Rolstrun put the water bucket down by a stool, then stripped off his clothes. He grabbed a cloth and dunked it into the water and proceeded to wet his body down. Then he dipped a small soft-bristled brush into a pot of soap, which he used to lather his body.
Blazel watched for a moment. He’d been bathing alone outdoors and in streams for most of his life. He’d never bathed with anyone else before. Rolstrun didn’t seem to mind.
“Aren’t you washing?” Rolstrun’s eyebrows were furrowed. “Do you need help?”
“No,” Blazel mumbled and quickly turned his back to take off his clothes—and to hide his blush. Then the thought of being truly clean overcame his bashfulness. The hot water felt wonderful, and the soap was pure luxury. He’d always used a harsh lye soap. He’d never had a bath like this before. “What about my hair?”