Ancient Allies (The Malvers War Book 2)

by Tora Moon

  He blinked his eyes, holding back tears. No one except his mother, grandmother, and Chariel had ever cared for him. No one told him he was special and needed. And now this delicate healer touched his heart. He turned away from her.

  “You don’t need to be alone anymore, Blazel,” Faelyn said, softly touching his back. “There’s a pack waiting for you. Friends, too.”

  He looked over his shoulder at her. “So are you an oracle now, to know this?”

  “No. All I have to do is open my eyes. We would be that pack, if you’d let us in.”

  Deep in thought, he removed the saddle from the horse. The offer was tempting. He liked Faelyn and Rolstrun, and Maheli seemed like a good alpha. They had held out the hand of friendship, all he needed to do was take it. Then he heard Chariel’s voice in the back of his head, ‘hurry, hurry, hurry.’ Now wasn’t the time, but maybe someday he’d be able to accept the offer.

  He watched Rolstrun and his pack-mates race out of the fortress, then trudged back to the room he’d awoken in and laid on the cot. Talking to Maheli had him wondering if he’d accomplished what he was supposed to in the swamps, or in the time he spent in the Deep Mountains with the Phengriffs. He didn’t think he’d found anything that would save them all. Why was Chariel calling him back now? What was this madness? He dreamed of fire in the sky and the ground soaked in blood.

  After dinner, the guard-pack sat around the dining hall, needing company to ease the grief of losing a pack-mate during the afternoon battle. Maheli and a few others had drawn Blazel to lounge with them in front of the fire. His thoughts went back to his headlong dash across the Barrens and dodging fight after fight with the Malvers monsters.

  “Why don’t you go into the crater and destroy the monsters while they’re in the nest?” Blazel asked. “It would have to be much easier to kill them then instead of when they’re adults and are out in the Barrens.”

  “No one goes to the crater floor.” Rolstrun made a sign of protection. “There’s horror stories passed down from the first guard-packs. They went into the crater, not knowing any better. They took a huge fighting force, almost two hundred men and women, and fought for six lunadar. They only came up to the rim for supplies before going back down. They thought they could destroy the source responsible for the monsters. Of those two hundred, only an eighth returned.” Rolstrun shuddered.

  “Of those twenty-five,” Maheli continued, “none of the men could ever shapeshift again into their wolf or warrior forms. The women had been among the strongest Reds in the land, but when they returned they could work only the minor magics. Sadly, their magic never came back to strength.”

  “Any children they had after they returned were horribly deformed,” Faelyn said, picking up the story. “They were so malformed they had to be killed.”

  “Surely they didn’t kill infants?” Blazel interrupted, horrified.

  Faelyn nodded sadly. “If they didn’t, those who lived turned into monsters and attacked pack-mates. All twenty-five survivors died within five years.”

  “But that was a long time ago, wasn’t it? The magic causing the problems has probably dissipated by now.”

  “No, it hasn’t. It’s worse,” Bohandran answered. “Part of our job is to make sure no foolhardy youngsters try to reach the crater mound in the center. Every year we get a few who slip past and make it. They do it on a dare. Those who reach the bottom and survive to come up again lose the ability to shapeshift. Sometimes it’s temporary, other times it’s permanent, depending on how long they stayed. It’s always worse when they climb on the mound. So no, we don’t go to the crater floor.”

  Blazel started shaking.

  “Hey, what’s wrong, bro?” Rolstrun asked.

  “I’m so glad now I didn’t cross through the crater. I like being able to shapeshift too much to lose it.”

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t,” Faelyn concurred. “I don’t know if I could have healed you. The crater sickness is nasty.”

  The talk turned to other things. Blazel listened to the easy banter between the pack-mates. It reminded him of his time with Graak’s flight. At first he’d been shy and uneasy, but after a few chedans he’d relaxed into their acceptance and became part of the flight—and their teasing. He looked longingly at the pack sitting casually around the fire.

  Maybe he could be part of a pack like this one day. If what he saw was any indication of what the clan-pack was like, maybe he’d go to Strunland Keep and find Histrun when Chariel was done with him. He sat listening until Maheli sent everyone to bed, even him. An unusual feeling suffused his heart as he drifted to sleep.

  Belonging.

  Chapter 4

  An octar before dawn, Blazel unhappily walked to the stables with Rolstrun at his side. He’d just lost the argument with Maheli over whether to take a horse or not. He didn’t need a horse. His own feet, whether two or four, would get him where he was going just fine. She had finally ordered him, and he had grudgingly admitted he had a long journey ahead of him and a horse would get him north faster.

  Blazel expected a horse to be ready and waiting for him, but instead the horse-master met him at the stable door with four horses on lead lines.

  “Choose one of these,” the horse-master told him. “They be plains horses, caught and raised by the Haaslair Clan.”

  Blazel had heard about the odd speech pattern of the Haaslair Clan. Most of the horse masters were from that clan and those that weren’t adopted the mannerism. This one was no exception.

  “Alpha Maheli said you need to travel far and fast. These lovelies have stamina and speed to spare, not to mention being sweet tempered. They be the best available here. Any one of them will get you where you goin’ to. Go on, take a gander.”

  Blazel went to each horse and looked them over. They seemed to study him intently. He’d been taught to ride at the Sanctuary but had used his own feet or paws to travel since leaving the Sanctuary. He wasn’t any judge of horseflesh, good or bad. He was simply looking for a horse who liked him.

  “They won’t run from you in either your wolf or warrior forms. The Haaslair be right fine trainers of horses. Hear tell some of ‘em even shift to horse instead of wolf.” The horse-master was rightfully proud to have horses of this caliber. Not all clan-packs were fortunate enough to have Haaslair horses, and if these horses were evidence, the Strunland pack seemed to have an abundance of them.

  Blazel had turned away from the horses to face the horse-master as he talked. A clop sounded behind him and then he felt a gentle pressure as a chin was rested on his shoulder. He turned around to face a beautiful mare. She was a big bay, with a black mane, tail, and socks, and her fine black stripes were only visible close up. Her nose had a white blaze that looked vaguely like a lightning bolt.

  “Ah, good choice.” The horse-master sounded pleased. “She be Lighzel. She’s a fast one.” He ran a hand down her shoulder. “She has good heart and will carry you until she drops.” He turned to Blazel and shook a finger at him. “But don’t you go treatin’ her ill like that just ‘cuz she will.”

  Blazel shook his head fiercely. “No, sir, I won’t. I’ll treat her right. She’s a beauty.” He rubbed her muzzle and talked quietly to her as the other horses were led away.

  “She’s a good horse, bro,” Rolstrun told him. “I’ve ridden her a few times. She has a lovely, smooth gait.”

  “Come on, then,” the horse-master said. “Let’s get you geared up. Alpha wants you outta here by dawn.” The horse-master sauntered into the stable. Blazel picked up Lighzel’s lead line and followed him.

  The horse-master started pulling tack out and placing it on a stand next to a rail. He stopped when he noticed Blazel still standing with Lighzel’s lead in his hand. “Well, what you waitin’ for? Tie her up there and start gettin’ her tacked.”

  Blazel looked around for Rolstrun and panicked. He had disappeared. Only the horse-master and Blazel were in the stable. Now, there was no one he could copy.

 
; “Um, sir, I could use some help,” Blazel confessed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden.” The last time was over three years ago during his last visit to the Sanctuary. He didn’t want to put the tack on his new horse wrong—it could cause both of them problems if he did—and without Rolstrun here he didn’t know what to do.

  “No shame in admittin’ you need help, boy,” the horse-master said. “Shame comes from not askin’.”

  The horse-master showed him basic horse care. He had Blazel clean the frogs of Lighzel’s hooves of any dirt and small stones. “Don’t care how much of a hurry you be, you do this every day before you ride. Keep her from going lame.” Afterward, the horse-master demonstrated how to put on the various gear and then proceeded to pull it all off. He led Lighzel into a stall and took off her halter.

  “Now, you,” he directed. “Start from the beginning.”

  Blazel went into the stall and put on Lighzel’s halter. “Come on, sweet girl.” He led her out and began to put on her tack. As he did he remembered the horse lessons he’d had as boy, and the necessary steps came back to him. He had a moment of panic when he picked up several additional pieces he didn’t recall using at the Sanctuary.

  “It’s barding, boy,” the horse-master explained. “It be used when we cross other provinces than our home one.”

  At the horse-master’s direction, he put the extra tack on Lighzel as well. Colorful barding straps with decorations ran across her rump and attached to a fitted chest piece. A long blanket draped past her belly that had symbols embroidered along the bottom sat over the saddle pad. All of it was in a beautiful rose and a turquoise blue. After it was all on, he remembered seeing similar getup on the visiting Posairs’ horses when they arrived at the biannual gatherings held at the Sanctuary.

  “Good job, lad,” the horse-master told him. Then he walked away before Blazel could thank him or ask him about the barding.

  “Don’t mind him,” Rolstrun said, “he’s always like that.”

  Blazel jumped. He’d been so engrossed in readying his new horse that he hadn’t heard Rolstrun come in.

  “Here’s your supplies and backpack.” Rolstrun held a set of saddlebags stuffed full and Blazel’s old pack.

  Blazel glanced inside the saddlebags to find they held food, travel utensils, a small medical kit, grooming tools, and another shirt, and he thought he saw an oilcloth for shelter at the bottom of one bag. He was stunned at the amount and quality of supplies. He’d be able to easily reach the plains and beyond before needing to resupply. He opened his backpack to ensure his dried herbs and plant specimens were safe and noticed someone had removed the last of his dried swamp rat. He wasn’t sure if the travel bars they gave him were a good substitute.

  “Oh, and this.” Rolstrun lifted a bedroll off his back and handed it to Blazel, along with a map.

  The map showed all the territories he would travel through in his northern journey, and marked on it were all the known nest sites and safe-house locations. It would allow him to travel in relative safety. He studied the map for a moment and discovered the Barrens, as he suspected, had only a few shelters a great distance apart. If they couldn’t reach one, he and Lighzel would have to make due with whatever they could find.

  “Thanks! This will be a great help. I haven’t seen a map like this before.” Blazel settled the saddlebags and bedroll behind Lighzel’s saddle, fastening them on tightly. He picked up her reins and led her out of the stable, with Rolstrun pacing beside him. To his surprise, Maheli and Faelyn were waiting for him outside. The first rays of dawn streaked across the sky. Faelyn held a bundle in her arms.

  “Thank you, Maheli,” Blazel said with a small bow. “The gifts were generous.”

  “No thanks necessary, boyo, and we’re not done yet. We have one more gift for you.” She leaned in and said in a low voice, “Mind you, Bohandran had fits about it.” She gestured Faelyn forward, took the bundle from her, and gave it to Blazel.

  He opened it and stood stunned, gaping and sputtering.

  Maheli laughed. “Boyo, a Red needs the proper leathers. Go change, the sun’s arising.”

  Blazel handed Rolstrun Lighzel’s reins and ran into the stable. A few moments later he returned dressed in the supple red leathers, which fit perfectly and moved as though they were a second skin.

  “My, you’re a pretty sight in those, boyo,” Maheli commented. “When you get to the Sanctuary, tell the Supreme about what we’ve been fighting. Between the increase in nests and the new monster, we’re barely holding on. We need more help.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Blazel promised.

  He was in for another shock as first Faelyn then Rolstrun, hugged him and wished him safe travels.

  Maheli grabbed him in an embrace and said in his ear, “You’re a good kid, boyo. Look us up at Strunland Keep. We need someone like you in our pack.” She released him and stepped back before he could say anything.

  “Up you go,” Maheli ordered him. “Oh, you needn’t worry about being seen by the other guard-packs. You’re wearing our colors.” She indicated the barding. “They’ll think you’re one of us and won’t bother you. Safe travels, boyo. I hope to see you again one day!”

  He climbed into the saddle, less graceful than he wished. In a daze, he kicked Lighzel into a trot and headed out of the fortress. They’ve accepted me as one of their own, he realized. Otherwise they wouldn’t have given me the barding and the leathers.

  Blazel felt strange as he left the crater fortress. For the first time, he left the company of Posairs feeling like he was leaving friends behind.

  * * *

  Blazel set out from the fortress at a fast trot. Lighzel’s smooth gait made her a pleasure to ride. He’d been riding for over an octar when ahead of them the black sand glittered with the sun bouncing off a large glass patch. Before, while running in his wolf form, he hadn’t been able to see the glass patches before running through it and had ended up with shredded paws. Now, he was higher, he could see it. He wasn’t sure if Lighzel would be hurt crossing it, but the size of it told him it would be measures out of his way to go around it. He slowed Lighzel, guided her carefully across the sand-glass, and once they were through reined her to a stop.

  He tried to climb down off his horse, but stopped as his rear and thighs screamed in pain. It would take a few days for his body to acclimate to riding a horse. Finally, he managed to slide out of the saddle and hung onto Lighzel’s side. She turned her head to look at him and snorted, as if asking him what he was doing.

  When he could move, he checked Lighzel’s feet for damage; there wasn’t any. He limped back to inspect the sand-glass and found her heavy hooves had pulverized the glass into fine dust. He nodded in satisfaction. Now he knew she wouldn’t get hurt, he could travel much faster across the glass fields.

  He drank from the water container and then poured some into a dish he’d found in his saddlebags for Lighzel. Her care was now his responsibility. He marveled at the new experience of someone else depending on him. When she was finished drinking, he gritted his teeth, hauled himself back into the saddle, and urged her forward.

  After a while his long-ago riding lessons started coming back to him. He settled more comfortably into the saddle, then urged Lighzel into a trot and then a canter. The ground flew under her hooves. She slowed when a jumble of petrified wood blocked their way. Had Blazel been in his wolf form, he’d have just leaped from boulder to boulder to get over the pile. He nudged Lighzel into an opening between two large rocks and followed a path that threaded through the maze of petrified wood.

  When they exited the jumble, Blazel heard the unmistakable sounds of a battle with the monsters. He scanned the area until he saw the plumes of Barrens dust kicked up by the fight. It was far enough away he didn’t have to worry about getting caught up in it, although he had to fight his horse to go away from the fight.

  Blazel remembered the horse-master’s warning and pulled Lighzel back into a walk once the battle was far behi
nd them. He didn’t want to wind-blow his horse on the first day. He fell into a pattern of walking, trotting, cantering, and stopping every few octars to rest. Each time he stopped, he was a little less saddle sore.

  He angled his route to stop at the one shelter the map indicated in this quadrant, used by the guard-packs on their way to and from the crater. The sun was setting when they arrived. He snugged Lighzel into a stall and stumbled into the small building. He ate a travel bar before falling exhausted onto a cot, which was almost as welcomed as the relief of being out of the dust.

  The next day followed the same pattern until that afternoon. Suddenly, Lighzel started dancing, refusing to go forward. Her eyes were white with fear. Blazel breathed deeply, trying to scent what his horse did. All he could smell was Barrens dust—a lot of it. He regarded the horizon and saw a wall of black dust, fifty feet high or more, barreling toward him. He jabbed his heels into Lighzel’s flanks. She jumped eagerly forward.

  They raced toward the only shelter around—a pile of petrified wood boulders. He yanked on her reins and leaped from her back when they reached them. He hurriedly rummaged through his saddlebags to find the oilcloth and a shirt. He tore the shirt into strips, then coaxed Lighzel to lie down by the rocks. Working quickly, he tied a strip over her eyes and another around her muzzle to protect her eyes and lungs from the damaging dust and glass particles in the windstorm. He fought the wind as he tucked the oilcloth around her, bits of glass cutting his hands and face as the wind hit. He slid under the oilcloth, curled against Lighzel, and pulled the oilcloth tight over them. Blazel used the last strips of the shirt to tie a mask over his own face.

  The wind howled and particles beat against the oilcloth. The afternoon light darkened. Blazel huddled next to Lighzel. At some point during the storm, he fell asleep. He still wasn’t recovered from his ordeal crossing the first portion of the Barrens or living in the swamps. Much later, Lighzel’s snort woke him as she tried to stand up and alerted him that the storm had stopped.