Edgelanders (Serpent of Time)

by Jennifer Melzer

  Logren clapped him on the shoulder, a friendly smile flashing his teeth through the frigid red hairs of his beard and braided mustache. “Trust me, we are much safer out in the open where we can keep a close watch on the borders of our camp as we set up. Once the protective barrier goes up, nothing will penetrate its walls and watching the rabid, angry monsters spend the dark hours of the night trying to break through provides the men with much needed entertainment after a long day of travel.”

  “Well then, what can I do to help?”

  “Nothing,” he withdrew his arm and followed the blur of armored men and women rushing past them to set up a large, painted leather tent. “My men are well-seasoned and this routine could be performed in their sleep. Find a place by one of the fires and warm the chill from your bones. There will be food soon enough.”

  It was a friendly enough smile, but Vilnjar made no mistakes in thinking the fact that he had once been closer to Logren than he was to his own brother would earn him any special favor. His long lost childhood companion made it more than clear that for the time being he was a prisoner, not a guest, and there was no way to make himself comfortable among people who only reluctantly removed his restraints when they established their camp site.

  Logren quickly returned his attention to his duties, leaving Vilnjar feeling all but utterly useless. He was so used to being a part of the core in his own community, used to being in the know, that being in the dark about what was going on around him was nearly impossible to stomach.

  Looking across the camp again, he saw Finn skulk away from Lorelei and Logren’s mage with a scowl so bitter he could only imagine what tensions his brother had wrought now. He started toward him, then changed his mind. The last thing he wanted to do was further encourage Finn’s childish behavior by drawing attention to it. If the girl was his mate, he’d have to figure her out on his own, no matter how much the process hurt him in the end. And it was going to hurt, especially in light of the things Logren said the night before. Being Finn’s mate was her choice; if she chose not to accept him she could walk away with no harm done, but Finn would never get over her. He’d spent the rest of his life pining and aching for someone who’d rejected him. He’d be utterly miserable.

  He’d never understood the mating bond, especially where it concerned the half-blooded. The mate bond between his mother and father had been established when they were very young, younger than most, and so he’d never had any interest in other women while he was off raiding. Rognar had either never found his mate, or he’d ignored the painful punishment breaking his bonds to her would bring to his body and soul because the man had spread enough of his seed across Vennakrand that Lorelei and Logren were probably only two soldiers in an army of offspring he’d fathered.

  His first instinct was to protect his brother the way he always did, but protecting him from a broken heart was nothing like trying to spare him from his own exile. As much as that realization pained him, Vilnjar had more important things to protect Finn from—like himself.

  He crouched near a fire a few yards away from where Lorelei took a seat after Finn skulked away to sulk by himself on the other side of the camp. Chewing his lip between quiet mutterings and glaring across the rising flames at the mage, he looked almost feral as he hid behind the straight black locks of his own hair. Brendolowyn seemed to have gotten under Finn’s skin almost as much as the object of his desire, leaving behind a blistering jealousy that wouldn’t be easily overcome, especially if he didn’t pull his foot out of his mouth and smooth things over with her.

  He didn’t even want to imagine what foolish notions were circulating through his brother’s thoughts, but if Finn decided Brendolowyn was a threat, which he seemed dangerously close to concluding judging from the look on his face, challenging the mage would be a mistake grievous enough to get him killed. Mages didn’t fight fair, at least not fair under the same terms the U’lfer considered fair, but Finn wouldn’t care. He’d die trying to make a point, and at the moment the only point he seemed to give a damn about making was that Lorelei belonged to him.

  Viln hated the idea of getting any more deeply entangled in the affairs of his brother’s heart, but protecting Finn from himself was going to mean keeping him away from the mage until Lorelei figured out where her heart was.

  Turning his gaze toward her, she seemed to be making herself comfortable among their rescuers, cozying up to Logren, sharing a few laughs with the magic-user. When the mage finally left her alone, he waited a few minutes to see if Finn would resume his place and try to apologize, but his stubborn brother chose to brood and cast heartbroken looks across the fire at her instead.

  After realizing there wasn’t going to be a return to secret jokes and laughter any time soon Vilnjar started toward her. He justified the decision by telling himself there was no time like the present to get to know the so-called savior of his people a little better. Besides, she’d spent enough time cozying up to Logren on the journey that perhaps she knew more about where they were headed and what they might actually expect when they reached Dunvarak.

  “You should be taking advantage of this down time to practice the techniques Finn taught you.”

  She shot from her contemplation like an arrow, a startled look on her face when she turned to see he’d taken a seat beside her. Two soldiers walked past them and Vilnjar followed the blur of their armor until they joined with Logren on the other side of the camp.

  “You never know who you might need to protect yourself from.”

  At the mere mention of his brother, all the muscles in her face tightened, her smile immediately disappearing. She was much too young for his tastes, but even wearing a scowl he could easily see what attracted his brother to her. She had a soft face, delicate features and the most intense eyes, which she turned upward, the long, dark lashes folding in over the amber orbs when she squinted and pinched her lips together.

  “You’re still angry with him, and with good reason. The things he said were unconscionable, but you have to understand…”

  “I don’t have to understand anything,” she cut him off. “He made it very clear how he felt about my tainted blood.”

  “I don’t think he was referring specifically to your blood when he said the things he did. The U’lfer have a long history of shunning the half-blood children of long-forgotten raiders, especially after the War of Silence. They’ve never thought of them as our people, and they were very rarely welcomed among us, even before the War of Silence. Your father and several of his most loyal men tried to change that, but he had so many other causes that one must have gotten lost in the middle of his war.”

  “And I thought the lack of hospitality I met in Drekne was just because I crossed your precious border. Now I know better.”

  “That was part of the reason,” he nodded. “But once they discovered your true identity, that you were one of Rognar’s wayward children, their prejudice got the best of them.”

  “You think?” She smirked and turned her head into the wind, the rippling invisible fingers of it trailing through the waves of her hair. “It’s all kinds of funny when I consider how much lament your people seem to have about being nearly extinct. The U’lfer treated me like I was a contagious disease, but these so-called half-breeds went out of their way to find and welcome me among them.”

  “So did Finn, Lorelei. He risked everything to protect you, knowing our people wouldn’t welcome you. The remarks he made about the blood were an old prejudice. Not one he learned from me, but…”

  “So now he’s sending you to make excuses for him?” Leaning back in disbelief, her gloved hands stretched out beside her and she started to push herself up from the ground.

  “I’m not making excuses for him, Lorelei. I just… After we were imprisoned within our own borders all ties with the outside world were cut off and those not of the blood were never counted among the survivors of that dark time. The few who lived among us were lost or killed, and as far as I know none have made an
y attempt to reconnect with their roots over the years. Which is an awful thing, considering how obviously compatible the U’lfer are with the outside world. How many of your kind are out there.”

  “My kind,” she muttered those words. “Just a week ago I didn’t even realize I fit so nicely into my own special category.”

  “You thought you were only human, but isn’t that a category unto itself?”

  Her features softened, the scowl fading from her mouth as she lowered her head and murmured, “I suppose it is.”

  “So much has changed in the last few days, Lorelei. Just as you need time to adjust to all the things you’ve learned, so will I. And Finn will too.”

  “I thought you weren’t here to make excuses for him.”

  “I’m not,” he sighed and glanced over at his brother. He was doing exactly what he’d told himself he didn’t want to do: getting involved in Finn’s love life. “I just… the two of you were getting on so well together, and right now the three of us could benefit from banding together. I’d hate to see the friendship you were building…”

  Vilnjar never got to finish that sentence because one of the tents at Finn’s back wrenched free from its stakes with a thunderous tear, the tanned leather construction flying into the air before catching on the wind and jerking wildly toward the fire. A body followed, tangled in a flailing blur of black robes and accompanied by the most awful roaring sound Viln had ever heard in his life.

  “Troll!” someone bellowed, the warning driving the well-oiled machine of Logren’s camp into a frenzy of panicked souls rushing into action.

  On instinct, Viln dove left to grasp onto the trailing leather of Lorelei’s falling cloak when she jolted upright and began rushing into the chaos. Her cloak puddled in the snow beside him, a handful still gripped in his clenched fingers.

  “Damn it!” he cursed under his breath. “Don’t go getting yourself killed!” he called after her, but she didn’t hear a word he’d said. She was already weaving through the bodies and dropping to her knees beside the mage to make sure he was all right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The splintering crack of wood startled Finn from the bitter stew of his own thoughts just in time for him to catch first glimpse at a dream come true. He’d been cursing that stupid mage’s thoughtful entrance into Finn’s pathetic attempt an apology and imagining all the many ways he’d like to tear him apart limb from limb when a flurry of black robes soared through the camp.

  The gods really did answer prayers.

  The elf’s long arms flailed as he tried to keep his wits about him long enough to command the magic within to drive back the attacking beast before he hit the ground. Shocks of lightning surged from the tips of Bren’s fingers, crackling vibrantly through the encampment and barely grazing the crude armor of the savage beast stomping in after him. The troll threw back its ugly head and let loose the most hideous sound Finn ever heard, showing off a mouthful of brown-stained, crooked and broken teeth.

  Bren tucked into himself instinctively, landing with a thud and skidding through the soft, melting snow leading up to the fire. Finn reacted, though he was sure he would later regret saving the mage. His quick reflexes grabbed a handful of robes, jerking Bren to a halt just inches from the flames. Wet snow spray sizzled and hissed into the pit, dousing half the flames and sending up a silver cloud of steam through the burning leather tent that landed in the pit just seconds before. The evaporated water gusted in the wind and rained back on Finn, dousing his clothes and soaking him to the bone.

  He barely noticed. From the corner of his eye he caught the sight of Lorelei scrambling to her feet and rushing toward the scene. She knelt down beside Bren just as the troll stomped into the camp, swinging the club in its grip through the first line of soldiers racing in to drive it back.

  It had been a long time since he’d been so close to a troll, but he swallowed the dread of facing it and leaped into action. Swiping his arm out for the nearest object to serve as a weapon, the smoldering wooden tent pole snapped free from the burning tangles of leather it had once been bound to, the ridged edge where the wood broke making that rod as sharp as a spear. He didn’t think, but sized up his target with a quick scan before launching the pole just as the troll threw back its head again to blare a triumphant snarl at the staggering line of bodies it had just scattered to the winds.

  The pole soared through the camp, spiraling as it gained momentum and sinking through a crack in the beast’s helmet with a wet thunk as it pierced the troll’s eye.

  “Take that you ugly son of a bitch!”

  Its cry was like thunder, cracking through the howling wind and stoking its fury like a fire. Reaching up with meaty fingers, it tried to wrench the pole free, but when that didn’t work it snapped it off, the tip still embedded in its face. Black blood leaked from the wound, dripping off the edge of that broken helmet, rushing like a river down the front of its armor and staining the snow around him.

  Finn barely heard the commotion of panicked voices, even when Logren sprang to action and began barking commands for his men to pull themselves together and attack. Several of those men bolted past Finn, ramming into him with armored shoulders and shields as they ran brandishing their axes and swords, but it barely staggered him. They clashed into battle, the angry troll towering over them all and screaming rage as it wildly swung its clubbed weapon in a blind frenzy.

  “Finn!”

  The sound of his name startled him from the momentary shock of the events going on around him. He turned toward that voice just in time for Logren to launch a heavy warhammer for him to catch. He snapped into action, catching it one-handed and barely even noticing the strain of his muscles when its heavy weight shot shocks through his outstretched arm. The two men nodded at one another and then Finn dropped his other hand down the shaft. He charged into battle, weaving through the melee until he was within swinging distance.

  He arched the hammer from his left, cracking the blunt head across the troll’s arm and knocking the club from its grip. Disarmed, it stomped forward with a roar, the acrid stench of its hot breath blasting across Finn’s face. He jammed the shaft into its exposed ribs to stagger it backward, and then swung the heavy head of the hammer around again. Slamming into the troll’s chest, it dropped down to one knee and reached a large hand upward to grasp at the damp fabric of Finn’s tunic. Broken fingernails scraped across the skin of his chest as its grip clawed upward to his throat to squeeze. The fact that he could barely catch his breath only furthered his wrath.

  The troll lifted him off his feet and tossed him one-handed out of the fray. The beast within was already enraged. It had spent the entire day on edge, pacing the bitter confines of his soul, cursing silver and half-blooded elves and his own inability to guard his tongue more carefully. Rolling to a halt several feet away from the battle, the warhammer skittered across the snow. Scrambling to his hands and knees, Finn embraced his rage. Without silver to restrain him, there was nothing to stop the rage from overpowering him.

  He gave into the beast.

  The snarling wrath of his howl brought momentary stillness to the world around. Even the troll stopped in mid-toss, the armored man in his grip dangling and flailing overhead, the waves of his red hair dangling as he writhed and hacked to free himself from the troll’s hold.

  It was Logren.

  The wolf rose onto his hind legs and thrust his broad chest forward with a rasping growl, and then he charged through the tangle of recovering bodies to attack. Driving the troll to the ground with the force of his weight, Logren tumbled to the ground, rolling into a crouched position and watching the fight as he scrambled to retrieve the weapon he lost.

  Claws swinging, Finn tore through the troll’s mismatched, rusty armor and went straight for the throat. Teeth to neck, he burrowed his snout in deep and wrenched the flesh away with a vicious tear. Blood sprayed into his face, the scent driving him into an even deeper frenzy as the troll’s eyes widened. It gasped and gurgled,
its grip falling slack as the flare of life died away. Tottering on its unsteady feet, it brought a hand to its throat as Finn dropped away, back hunched, rising and falling with ragged, angry breath. It stared at him, eyes distant and glassy as the blood poured through its hand, and then he faltered, dropping backward with a heavy thud and clank of rattling armor.

  He didn’t know how long he stood triumphant over his prey, the scent of blood filling him with every breath, the harsh wind blowing through his fur. When a hand reached out to touch his arm, the animal within reacted on instinct—expecting another challenge.

  Spinning in the direction of that touch with a growl, Lorelei stumbled over her own feet to step away from him, her brilliant amber eyes wide with terror. The beast softened at the sight of his mate, tilting his head to look at her. They stood staring at one another, and he could feel the fear in her heartbeat. She had been afraid for him, scared of losing him when she reached out to touch him. He could almost make out the full throng of fretful thoughts circulating through her mind, but when he’d spun to face her with the fury still raging through his blood, her fear for him had turned to fear of him.

  Logren stepped in beside her and lowered his arm over her shoulder to pull her close to him. “Come on, Lorelei.” He began steering her from the scene, but she resisted at first, stumbling over her feet in order to stay near Finn. She only kept staring at him, trying to reach out to the beast within, or so it seemed.

  She glanced down at the torn fabric of what remained of his clothing. It hung from his body in tatters that could never be sewn back together and then turned her attention to Logren. “He will need clothes.”

  “I’ll see what I can find,” he nodded, leading her back to the camp. Several times she turned back over her shoulder, making eye contact with the seething wolf. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to know that even though he’d hurt her, she still cared.