The fox pawed the ground and trotted in a circle, and then, in one bold movement, she transformed. Her face changed, and she grew, tall, lean, hard. Her foxlike face remained, somehow mortal and foxlike at the same time. She had a heart-shaped face just like the fox with smooth skin as pale as the winter snow. Eyes as blue-gray as a cloudless day and full lips, red as polished rubies. She stood a foot shorter than him, with white hair trailing down her back to her waist. Her hands rested on her hips, showing off her full beauty, as calm and perfect as the morning after a winter storm.
Tor Lir swallowed hard as he gazed upon her nakedness, heart pounding with lust as she posed for him. Ever so slowly she turned, showing off her lean curves, the swell of her small breasts, the curve of her stomach and the plump roundness of her hips. Once her back was to him, she bent over the bed and picked up the fur cloak.
An ache stirred in his lower abdomen, and his eyes narrowed, yet he did not avert them from the position of her lovely bottom as she bent over, showing him a clear view of what hid between her legs. She faced him again as she tossed the white fur over her shoulders. It cascaded around her back, and when she pulled the hood over her face, Tor Lir saw it resembled a fox, complete with pointed ears and dead eyes, glaring at him.
Her gray eyes scanned his body in an entirely lewd way, as though she wished he were naked too. Taking a step closer to him, she lifted a hand, her long fingers tiptoeing across her chest to play with her breasts, rolling a nipple between two fingers. When she spoke, her voice was as gentle as the falling snow. “Want to play?”
Tor Lir knew his eyes were hooded with a blatant lust he could not hide. It had been too long since he’d held a female and tasted her delights. His thoughts flickered back to the Jesnidrains of Shimla, his first conquest, and the irritation that followed. This was different. There was no time for dalliances because he needed to return to his companions. “I am tempted. But I am in the middle of something.”
An eyebrow half raised and her fingers dropped away from her nipple. “A quest?”
He tore his gaze away from her breast and met her gaze. “Aye. They invited me to Stronghold. Do you know it?”
Her eyes darkened, and he saw a flash of something. Anger?
“Ah.” She licked her ruby lips. “Stronghold. The Therian stole it. From us.”
Tor Lir studied her face. He should have been alarmed and yet he was drawn to her. “Stolen. Us.” He repeated her words. “You are an enemy of the Therian?”
Her lips curled, and she wound a strand of thin hair around her pale white fingers. “You are a friend of the Therian?”
He smirked. “Friend is too strong of a word. My presence was requested, but I have not decided.”
She bared her teeth, only a quick flash he took to be a grin. Lying back on the bed her fingers moved across the furs, rubbing them back and forth, slowly, sensually. She spread her legs and peered between them at him. “Oh?” Her voice was high and sweet. “Maybe I can invite you to change your mind.”
“And join you?” He tried to keep his gaze on her face, but it slid down to the dark spot between her legs.
He should turn his back on her and run before she entrapped him in her web, but going back to the Therian meant he had to face the things he did not want to consider. Again, he recalled his shadow—dark and diabolical—and the white tentacles of the Truth Tellers. Their words were seared into his soul like a brand. He waved his hand in front of his face to bat away the thoughts and turned back to his delicious companion. She offered the sweet fruit of her body and it would be easy to give in, easy to bask in a pleasure he’d long denied himself. And for what? Hava? No. She was pure. Innocent. Mortal. She wanted him, yet he kept her at a distance because she was too good for him. He could not corrupt her with pleasures of the flesh. Thoughts of Citrine rose and fell as the lady rubbed her legs together.
“What do you offer?” he asked, a smile curling around his lips.
She arched her back and her breasts bounced. Her voice was husky when she spoke next. “What do you want?”
Tor Lir scratched his head. “I admit, it has been a long time since I’ve enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh, but you must know, there are people I care about with the Therian.”
She shrugged her white shoulders and shook her hair back. “Who cares about them? I never asked you to care, I only asked you to enjoy the moment with me.”
He tried to frown, but his mouth would not turn that way. “It is a terrible idea.”
She grinned and raised a finger, poised right over that place between her legs. “It is wicked. Don’t you want to be a part?”
He stood still. He knew as soon as he’d walked inside her home, the circle, there was no going back. It was his turn to shake his fist at fate and do as he desired. Pleasure first, and he would deal with the consequences—if any—afterward. “Who are you?”
“Don’t ruin this with words,” she purred. “Come to me. I saw you from the air and knew I wanted you.”
His fingers went to the buttons of his tunic. “I must go.”
A snarl burst from her lips. “Stay. Satisfy me.”
She arched her back and flipped onto her stomach, shaking her bottom at him. The tantalizing display of flesh, warm and smooth, in a setting of snow heightened his senses. Something dark rose in him, heady with passion. He dropped his fur, and it fell with a soft whisper into the snow.
He paused, knowing he should run. His companions were being shot out of the sky. Should he leave them and succumb to lust while they fought? Again, his thoughts flickered back to his shadow and the Truth Tellers. Why should they ordain his life? He would do as he desired. And so he unfastened his belt and strode toward the delicious stranger in an act of pure defiance.
9
Resilient
Redtail beat his wings furiously as they glided toward the snowy ground. Citrine squeezed hard with her legs and leaned forward, ready to roll off the Xctas as soon as they reached the ground. The arrow had lodged itself in Redtail’s wing, embedded among his thick feathers. A hoarse screech came out of Redtail’s throat. Citrine laid a comforting hand on his neck and considered what she’d say if he were one of her beasts. Nothing helpful came to mind as they circled toward a clump of trees and the howl of wolves filled the air.
A chorus struck as they neared the ground, and when Citrine deemed it was safe, she leaped off Redtail’s back, tucked her legs under her, and rolled into a nearby snowdrift. The thump of her landing blew all the air out of her body. Her breath tore gasps out of her throat, and her vision swam. As she struggled to regain her senses, her fingers grasped at soft snow and then for the knife at her waist. The snow bank offered a shallow hiding place. Scrambling to her knees, she peered out over the landscape. White met her eyes, strewn with gold and red feathers from Redtail’s wings. His body was gone. Had he managed to gain cover? Fir trees, heavy with green needles and snow, rose on her left, offering shelter, and to her right the cliffs jutted up, creating nooks and crannies for archers to hide in.
Citrine craned her neck to the sky, seeking a trace of Lord Nodin, Zilpha, and Hava. A moment later, a body dropped down beside her. Knife gripped tight in her hand, Citrine spun to face the intruder and breathed a sigh of relief. “Hava.”
“Are you hurt?” Hava drew one of her swords, her gaze shifting from Citrine to the forest of fir trees.
“Nay.” Citrine glanced at her knife, suddenly feeling inadequate. “Have you seen the others?”
Hava chewed her lip and eyed the sky. Her voice went small. “I saw Tor Lir fall. Do you think he’s alive?”
Citrine scowled. “He is surprisingly resilient.”
But Hava’s mind had already turned to other things. “Look.” She pointed with her sword, a frayed edge of worry coming to her tone. “I thought I heard wolves when I fell.”
Citrine followed the edge of Hava’s sword. Across the snowbank, creeping out of the trees came two-dozen gray and white wolves. Yellow eyes gleamed, and bushy
tails stroked the snow. They bared their teeth and growled at something beyond Citrine’s line of sight. She glanced to the right, and her heart stilled. Out of the snowy embankment, a handful of archers appeared. They were covered in gray and white furs, and they had dark skin and black hair. Ezincks. One by one, they raised their bows, aiming for the wolves. Others drew knives, some long, others curved, and moved forward, crouching, ready to take on the wolves.
Hava stiffened beside her, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What is this? A clan war?”
Citrine’s thoughts flickered back to Redtail’s words. You have many questions. It would spoil Lord Nodin’s surprise if I answered them all. Was this the surprise? But it did not add up. According to Redtail, the Therian and the Ezincks—the Tribe of Minas—had made peace. If the wolves were the Therian and the Ezincks were the Tribe of Minas, why were they attacking each other?
A high cry sounded.
Citrine startled as short, stout, fur-covered people rushed out of the snow. They waved axes in their hands, and although there were no more than twenty of them, ran as though they were an army of a hundred to face the wolves. The wolves continued to howl and pace in place. Waiting for an unknown signal.
A shout came from the air, and Lord Nodin circled down on an Xctas, next to the wolves. “With me,” he bellowed. He lifted a sword and pointed it at the fur-covered creatures.
Without hesitation, the wolves rushed toward the small army.
Citrine bit her lip in confusion and watched as snow flew through the air. Specks of white turned red. The wolves snarled and snapped. The fur-covered clan chopped and hacked. Meanwhile, Lord Nodin sat on the Xctas and watched with hodded eyes.
Why wasn’t he joining them? What was he waiting for?
Hava tugged on Citrine’s elbow. “Do you think those wolves are Therian?”
“They have to be, Lord Nodin just commanded them.”
“Who do you think the people are?”
Citrine recalled Redtail’s words. “Ezincks and mountain folk that oppose the Therian.”
Hava’s face went pale. “Should we help them?”
“And get killed?” Citrine pressed her lips together and grabbed Hava’s arm. “Nay, this is not our fight. We wait until they are done and then resume our journey to Stronghold.”
Hava frowned. “This doesn’t feel right.”
Citrine shrugged.
Hava went on. “But these are our friends. We shouldn’t let them down.”
Citrine’s eyebrow shot up. “Friends? I wouldn’t call the Therian friends. Don’t you remember how Lord Nodin treated us in Sanga Sang?”
Hava’s voice gentled. “I do. But we agreed to help him, help his people. Doesn’t that include fighting their battles with them?”
Citrine almost rolled her eyes. She did not have enough details nor motive to risk her life for a clan war. Instead, she concentrated on her beasts and opened a link of communication to ensure they were far from her.
“What are you thinking?” Hava asked, her fingers tapping impatiently on the hilt of her sword.
Citrine peered behind them and held up a finger. “Wait.”
She thought she saw a tiny figure high on a ledge, peering down at them. It appeared to be a female, perhaps a child, with long black braids flying in the wind. She held a spear in hand and watched the battle taking place, cold and expressionless. A ripple of fear shot down Citrine’s spine, and she shook herself, determined to get ahold of her senses. Fear was not something she was used to facing, although the unusual circumstance weighed on her more than she expected. She squeezed her knife and saw something dark rush toward them.
“Hava, get down!” she cried, diving flat on the ground.
A spray of snow went up, and she heard rather than saw the keening whistle of an arrow.
There was a cry, and then a strangled moan as the arrow sunk into the throat of a wolf.
Hava raised her head and brushed snow out of her face. “Where did that come from?”
“Behind us,” Citrine confirmed, scanning for more archers, but the snowy embankment did not reveal its secrets.
“We have to move,” Hava said, her voice low and filled with anxiety. “If we make for the trees, we will have shelter.”
“Aye, but. . .” Citrine trailed off and jerked her chin in the direction of the forest.
Between them and the firs were the wolves, the stout people, and the archers.
Hava rose and making for the snowdrift. “We can’t just sit here and let them shoot us; we have to do something.”
Citrine let out a groan of frustration. Did Lord Nodin lead them there only to be caught in an ambush? Surely this was not his doing, for he needed their help.Whispers of mistrust hummed around Citrine’s ears. She looked up at the cliffs once more, but the child with the black braids had disappeared.
Hava’s scream brought Citrine back to present action. Her ears attended to the clash of swords, the snarls of the wolves, the whistle of the arrows, and the chopping of axes, cleaving through ice, bone, and flesh. Hava had already left the safety of the snowdrift and swung her sword as a fur-covered person hurtled toward her. She ducked, but the blunt end of an ax slammed into her legs, knocking her flat on her back. She hurled snow at her assailant’s face and swung her sword.
Citrine’s fist clenched around her knife. She straightened her back and strode boldly around the snowdrift. An arrow sank into the snow, inches from her foot. Fear gripped her, and a gray wolf almost knocked her over as it leaped up and caught the throat of a fur-covered person.
The iron smell of warm blood assaulted her senses along with the sound of teeth sinking into flesh. Screams filled the air, high and low, full of pain and remorse. It was the noise, the ceaseless noise that forced Citrine into action. Anger settled deep in her bones, overriding her discomfort, and she ran to Hava’s aid.
Hava was on her knees, fighting the fur-covered person. Up close, Citrine saw it was a male with a thick beard and bright, intelligent eyes. A wave of familiarity came over her, and she paused, suddenly reluctant to plunge the knife into his back.
“Citrine, get down!” Hava shouted. She leaped to her feet and kicked out a foot, sending the male toppling. He was quick to regain his weapon, but instead of charging, he ran away.
Hava bowled into Citrine, knocking her flat just as another whine wailed through the air. Arrows. Citrine lay still, listening to the sounds of retreating, the cheering from perhaps the Therian while the Tribe of Minas and the fur-covered people disappeared back into the hills, using the cliffs to hide their retreat.
Hava rolled off her, allowing Citrine to climb to her feet and watch the retreat. A lone wind swept through the fir trees, almost stealing her breath away. Silence crept over the short-lived skirmish, leaving thudding hearts and red faces puffing out clouds of mist.
Citrine turned to Hava. “Come on. It’s over. . .”
Words faded into a muted shock.
Hava lay on the swell, her body twisted and her face white. Drops of blood dripped out of her lips, but it was the broken shaft of an arrow in the middle of her chest that made Citrine drop to her knees. Her mouth went dry, and her vision swam. “Hava!” she cried, pressing a hand against the blooming flower of red staining Hava’s shirt, tunic, and heavy furs.
Hava’s fingers moved feebly. Her red mouth moved, but blood, not words, came out.
“I’m sorry,” Citrine whispered, unsure what else to say.
She took Hava’s fingers in hers and sat with her as the lingering life faded out of her body, her eyes staring up at the cold, unfriendly sky. A deep sense of foreboding filled Citrine as she sat, numb. They hadn’t even arrived, and everything was already going wrong.
10
Chaos
Averl moved away from the cliffs and started up the path back home. Blood pulsed hot through her veins after what she’d just witnessed. It was not what she wanted, but she was only a child—it was not her choice. Whispers of darkness filled her ears
, and the humming in her belly would not go away. She glanced at her fingertips, surprised there was no white light pouring from them. Orenda. She still did not understand it, and yet she liked the idea that the spirit of the mountain blessed her and poured its power into her.
“Averl?” a female voice called. “What are you doing out here?”
“Agrella,” Averl mumbled, dropping her head, black braids bounding on her back. She’d been caught by one of the female warriors.
Agrella stood five and a half feet tall. She was thin and wiry with a bead in her nose and gold circles in her ears. She wore her shiny black hair in one long braid that fell just below her shoulders. In one hand she carried a spear and in the other a bow. Instead of fur she wore deerskin as her only protection against the elements. It was easier for warriors to fight in deerskin that followed the natural curves of their bodies instead of a heavy fur.
Agrella shook her head, but her hand landed gently on Averl’s shoulder. “You were supposed to stay safe, stay at home with your grandmother instead of watching us. It’s dangerous out here, even more so now.”
Averl shook her head stubbornly, knowing that Agrella would not punish her beyond a kind rebuke. “I couldn’t. I had to see what the strangers looked like. Did you see them? Will they leave now?”
Agrella’s lips thinned. “Nay, but I hope we frightened them enough for them to leave. A few of the Queen’s warriors went down even though we warned them not to get too close.”
Averl shuddered. The Queen. The Tribe of Minas had heeded grandmother’s warning and sought out the Queen, who was an enemy of the Therian. She’d come up with a plan in exchange for an alliance with the Tribe of Minas and together they’d set up an ambush to frighten off the strangers.
Legend of the Nameless One Boxset Page 42