by Lizzy Ford
With a look at the assassin who remained in the shadows rather than nearing the fire, Black Wolf pulled out the smallest of his knives and tossed it to the Hanover. It landed in the dirt beside her. Her gaze rose from the knife to him, and he motioned for her to take it then drew a line down his forearm.
Chases Deer hastily gathered her belongings, while Diving Eagle told her she was foolish for leaving.
The Hanover ignored them and sliced her arm, confirming the skinwalker’s suspicion most of her cuts were self-inflicted. Her eyes drifted closed, and her hunched shoulders dropped as blood appeared.
Who was the other person? He asked her telepathically.
Her eyes opened, and she gazed at him wordlessly.
Pain. He glanced at her arm. It’s a common trigger.
She covered her arm self-consciously. I did not know that, she replied, her voice clear. But … it makes sense.
Who was the other person? He asked again.
I do not know. She shook her head. I was more concerned about my father destroying everything.
From where I stood, you were both destroying everything.
The Hanover flinched and was quiet.
In one instance when you faced him, and you both used your power, the abyss swallowed everything, he mused. In the second, it did not, and the other person was there.
I saw him … it … but I have never seen it before, she replied. I could not even tell if it was human or a lump of clothing.
Black Wolf gazed into the fire. He would not have known either, if he had not recognized the energy.
Who was it? She asked, hearing the thought.
Not who. What, he said.
Diving Eagle knelt between them and gripped the Hanover’s forearm. He placed a cotton cloth on the wound and elevated it. Rather than melt as she usually did around him, the Hanover was staring at him in surprise, as if she had heard in Diving Eagle’s mind what Black Wolf had begun to believe when he heard Diving Eagle muttering about the girl whose heart infected others.
“Enough,” her guard dog said from the shadows.
Diving Eagle rose but left the cloth. He paced away to the edge of the circle of light around the fire and planted his hands on his hips.
The Hanover girl was watching him, puzzled.
“Why did you tell her to cut herself?” Rocky asked from his safe place in the darkness.
“It is not your concern,” Black Wolf answered.
“Because apparently, it is the only way I can read minds,” the Hanover said.
“Ah. So you two want to talk without the normal humans hearing,” Rocky said, amused. “For what it’s worth, I’ve got no dog in this fight. I’m here to protect you, Tiana. That’s it.”
“Maybe I want to protect you, too, Rocky,” she said softly. Her gaze was on Black Wolf.
You have no allies, Hanover. Black Wolf warned her with a glance at Rocky. You should not trust anyone.
She followed his gaze. She wrapped the cloak given to her by Diving Eagle around her shoulders and then curled up on her side by the fire.
Black Wolf required little sleep. Normally, he would prowl the night until the others were ready to leave again. But tonight, he was unsettled enough to want to stay near the fire, and the one little girl who could fight any monsters he was unable to.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Hauling a hundred and fifty pound, feral cat from the uppermost floor of the pyramid posed many challenges, but the worst was that Aveline seemed to be claustrophobic. Every ten steps Arthur took, he had to pause and pretend to shift his pack while hissing at her to stop thrashing inside the oversized rucksack. The pack could fit with a month’s worth of supplies, and no one would look at him twice for carrying it, unless it continued to move. Fortunately, pre-dawn, most of the wealthy were sleeping off their wine or waiting for their slaves to dress them.
Two steps before he managed to make it out of the pyramid, without being noticed by the slaves carrying food to their masters, Arthur’s balance was knocked askew. He stumbled backwards and caught himself against a wall.
“Aveline!” he snapped quietly. He was panting and sweating from the long journey from his apartment to the ground floor. “I told you! Be still for five more minutes!”
She gave another of her plaintive cries and pawed at the heavy canvas bag.
“Think your words,” he reminded her. He had met only one other creature that spoke into his mind – the spirit wolf – and guessed speaking telepathically was a learned trait, for it took Aveline effort and time to formulate her responses.
Hot, she said finally.
Arthur rested the pack on the ground and opened the drawstring tie at the top. He peered in. Her glowing eyes glared back at him. “Can you breathe better?” he asked.
She blinked twice for yes.
“We are four feet from the entrance. You need to be still, or no one will believe you’re a tent. Understood?” he asked.
Two more blinks.
Arthur drew a deep breath and hauled the pack onto his back once more. She squirmed, and he waited until she had gone still again before continuing out of the pyramid.
He straightened and strode towards the stables, willing her to be quiet long enough for him to get her situated on top of a horse. Arthur breathed in the cool morning air. The heavy rains from the night before had retreated into a steady drizzle. His boots stuck in the mud, and he made his way to the party of six awaiting him.
He slowed, observing the dress of the men who would accompany him. He knew their faces but not their names. They were, as promised by his uncle, the Hanover leader’s personal guard. If Arthur had not known the truth behind his father’s intention in sending them, he might have been pleased to see the best fighters in the city waiting to escort him.
One of the glanced toward him. He forced a smile and picked up his pace, not about to let any of them know he had any insight into their true purposes this morning.
My father wants me dead. The thought had become no easier to bear despite the long night he spent in contemplation about how little he understood his father. It was humbling to think about his own insignificance to the man who raised him.
“Remember. Do not tip these men off,” he whispered to Aveline. “They are very dangerous. We will fair better with the help of my uncle’s men.”
Aveline head butted him impatiently through the canvas. Arthur stumbled and caught his balance.
“Need a hand?” one of his escorts asked.
“Too much wine and mud,” Arthur replied with a quick smile.
No one took any interest in the pack he was struggling to carry upright. The proud horse gifted to him by Chases Deer was saddled and prancing. He went to it, pausing to lean against it before deciding how best to hoist Aveline onto its back. Smelling the predator, the stallion tossed its head and moved away.
Arthur shushed it and lowered the pack. He rolled his shoulders back, patted the horse, and then hefted Aveline up behind the saddle. Securing her was a different matter. After several minutes of fumbling around, he managed to tie the canvas bag around the saddle and girth.
“Be still,” he whispered once more and patted her back. Aveline kicked at him in response, and he looked around quickly to make sure no one noticed.
“Ready?” an escort questioned.
Arthur’s pulse began to race. He was leaving the city, his home, for what could be the last time, if his uncle’s plan failed, or if his uncle left him to die among his father’s men.
“I am,” he said. Whether or not he was prepared, Arthur’s life was about to change. There was no going back to how things were, to his standing as heir, to the favor of his father.
Arthur mounted the stallion and set out with the men intending to murder him. He rode in the middle of the procession through the muddy streets and towards the edge of the city. Few people were out, and he let his eyes take in every detail he could of his surroundings, in case he never returned. His uncle had been banished; he ha
d to think this was a possibility for him as well.
Mentally, he reviewed where his weapons were placed and the order in which he would reach for them. They neared the edge of the city, and Arthur refocused his attention on what was coming. His eyes sought the first major impediment on their trail, visible beyond the layer of smoke surrounding the city. They would have to go around a hill, behind which they would be hidden from the city for several miles on the road leading to the forest.
That point was where his uncle indicated the staged Native attack would take place, and also where Arthur’s father’s men planned to slit his throat.
Sweating this time from anticipation, Arthur slid his feet out of the stirrups and shook out his arms. He tested his body to ensure it was ready to move when the right moment came, and he loosened the drawstring covering of Aveline’s canvas bag. Unwilling to alert those around him by speaking to her, he listened for any sounds she made that might indicate he had tied her too tightly to the horse. She was quiet, which he took to be a good sign after the arduous journey from the top of the pyramid to the stables.
With three men leading him and three behind, he began to calculate who would attack him first, when mayhem broke out. If the men followed standard training, the person directly behind Arthur – in his blind spot – would be the one who would be assigned to kill him. Unless … the three in front of him were far enough ahead to create an ambush when they rounded the hill and take him by surprise. After a split second of consideration, he decided the danger came from in front of him, not behind him.
None of them carried firearms that Arthur could see or smell, and no one had bows. This meant they were counting on discreet, close combat to execute him. Too far for anyone to hear him scream, they were likely counting on surprise and brute force to counter any attempts he could otherwise make at fighting back.
Efficient planning, as always. He could not help the twisting of his stomach when he realized his own father had carefully plotted his assassination. Did Edwin Hanover spare his son a moment of thought during the plan? Was he capable of regret?
Arthur steeled himself for the battle to come. It was not a time for emotion but for action. He tapped into his unnatural senses to identify where his uncle’s men were positioned.
His breath caught.
No one was present ahead of them, around the hill, or within miles.
Had his uncle somehow shielded his men? It was possible, for his uncle possessed unknown deformities, similar to every other Hanover. This idea eased some of Arthur’s concern without banishing it completely.
He began to review the discussion with Simon from the night before to identify any sign the man intended to betray him. If he meant to let Arthur die, would he have warned him about Edwin’s plan? Would he have met with him at all?
Arthur did not know enough about Simon Hanover to answer the questions popping up in his mind. As his thoughts raced, and he prepared his body to fight, he could not help thinking that, if his uncle was anything like his father, he would not care about sacrificing one life to further his goals.
Had Arthur’s life lost all value?
Not to me, he thought. He would not so easily dismiss his fate to become the leader his father was not. He glanced at the men in front of him.
The first one went around the hill.
Ducking his head, he spoke to the panther slung over the back of his horse. “Aveline, do you sense anyone other than those of us on this road?”
There was a pause, then a quiet, No.
What if Simon had betrayed him, too?
The second member of his escort went around the hill.
“If I die, find Tiana and protect her,” Arthur said and reached for a knife. “Do you understand?” He was among the best fighters in his father’s army, thanks to Warner. If his fate this day were to be murdered by his father’s men, he would kill as many of them as possible on his way to his death.
Arthur did not wait for Aveline to formulate her answer but spurred his horse onward. The stallion bolted forward, startling the escort directly in front of him. Arthur raced past him, around the hill, and almost smiled when he saw the two men who had dismounted and set up to ambush him.
Leaning closer to the horse’s neck, he urged it forward at a dead run, towards the forest. His escorts began shouting at one another, and hoof beats pounded after him.
Burdened by the extra weight of Aveline, with hooves that sucked and stuck in the mud road, Arthur’s stallion could not exert the speed it had bringing Arthur home several days before. Arthur gave the horse its head and drew a short sword, preparing to fight the men who were quickly gaining on them.
The first drew abreast of him and stabbed at him with a long knife. Using his seat and legs to guide the horse, Arthur twisted and hacked at the man’s arm. The attacker cried out and fell back, clutching his nearly severed forearm, and was just as quickly replaced by another. This one landed a slash across Arthur’s bicep and another across the stallion’s rump before Arthur managed to lasso the man around the neck and yank him off his horse. He released the rope as soon as the man was down. With too much weight already impeding his stallion, he could not risk adding to it by dragging his escort to his death, no matter how much it was deserved.
With anger burning in his blood, and the calm focus of a seasoned warrior, Arthur hacked a third escort down and sent him tumbling over the back of his horse. Too engaged in the battle to his left, he failed to understand his danger until it was too late. Arthur saw the bulk of a large Shield member hurling toward him seconds before his attacker smashed into him.
Arthur’s stallion cried out as they were taken to the ground. Arthur hit hard and rolled away through the mud while his horse’s legs kicked helplessly in the air. Aveline was thrashing inside the canvas, destabilizing the horse’s attempts to stand.
The remaining two horsemen were wheeling their mounts to return to the battle, while the burly shield member who unseated Arthur climbed to his feet a yard away. Arthur snatched a knife from the sheath at his ankle and rolled onto his back to avoid the first downward slash from his attacker.
He clambered to his knees and scampered forward, acutely aware of the man poised to smash an axe into his head, but more concerned about Aveline and his horse. Arthur dived for the horse and slashed at the rope binding Aveline to the animal then staggered away when the axe grazed the side of his face.
Aveline was still trapped, though the rope was frayed.
Arthur glanced towards her then at the burly man in his path. He stretched his senses – and felt no one, aside from his enemies.
His uncle, like his father, had betrayed him. But was he really surprised to learn the brothers were more alike than either of them would ever admit?
In a moment of adrenaline and clarity, he could only wonder why he had considered trusting his uncle at all.
Arthur struck first and tackled the large Shield member to the ground. Lean and quick, he avoided the slow strikes of his attacker and managed to wrestle him into a hold. With his enemy’s shoulder and head smashed together, and his body firmly gripped between Arthur’s legs, he risked releasing one hand of the hold to reach for Aveline once more.
Arthur wriggled forward in the mud until he could reach the frayed rope holding the writhing canvas to the horse struggling to get up. His enemy broke through the half hold and wrenched away.
Arthur slashed desperately at the rope. His knife slid through it. Elated, he staggered through the mud to his feet and yanked the rope free from the saddle.
“Go, Aveline!” he cried and pushed her off the horse.
The stallion squealed unhappily and climbed to its feet while Aveline thrashed inside the canvas.
“It is over, Hanover!” shouted one of the escorts behind him.
Arthur breathed deeply to face the three Shield members waiting to murder him. With a glance at the surroundings, which were vacant of the help he expected, he shook his head ruefully. “You are righter than you kno
w,” he said with feeling. “It is over. All of it.” There were only three people in the world he could trust, his sister, Warner and Marshall, and all of them were in danger he did not have the ability to save them from, if he did not survive this mess.
Lowering himself into a fighting stance, he beckoned for his attackers to resume.
Two of them started forward, and Arthur prepared to take all three of them with him to his death.
Before the first could strike him, black fur and white fangs streaked in front of Arthur. Aveline smashed into the first man, tore out his throat with a growl and then grabbed the second man’s wrist and tore it open, too. She clawed at his chest and face. When the surprised attacker fell back, she slashed open his neck with her talons.
She did not stop at two but tackled the third. Seconds later, after a gurgled scream and many growls, the third man was dead, too.
Aveline spat the man’s blood out and turned to face Arthur. Blood marred her face and paws. She shook her head and lifted out of her attack pose.
Arthur lowered his weapons and straightened. He flung mud from his arms and wiped it off his face. “Not bad,” he said, impressed by her fast, efficient killing.
Where … others? She asked him and surveyed their surroundings.
“I have been wondering that myself,” he said. Arthur bent to retrieve his knives. “It should not come as a surprise that we have been betrayed by yet another Hanover.”
Aveline growled deep in her throat.
Arthur’s mind went to Simon. He felt no pain at the thought of this betrayal, only anger. “This may be a good thing,” he said, as much to himself as Aveline. “I know where I stand. I know what I need to do – and who my enemies really are.”
He gazed towards the city. If he returned, his father would have him killed. But where else did he go? To Chases Deer, who would welcome him only if he came with a wagon filled with money and goods? To the Diné who had tortured him and Marshall? He was a disowned heir without material support and lacking in allies. No one had any reason to help him.