by Meg Caddy
Breathe in, find a hold. Breathe out, lower yourself.
My blood pounded, steady and regular.
At one point I slipped. Stones rained down from my footholds and my hands dragged along the rock, searching for something to grip. I slid until I was level with Hemanlok. I caught a rock that jutted out and looked to him, my heart racing. He snorted, face turned away.
‘That’s one way of getting down,’ he remarked wryly as he went on. ‘Just miss all your grips until you either kill yourself or reach the bottom. Novel approach, brat. Might wanna try it out some other time, though. We got other things to think about.’
I said nothing for the rest of the descent, but I felt warm to my core. As far as Hemanlok was concerned I was as Rogue as I had ever been.
We reached the ground some time later, Hemanlok unruffled as ever, me sweating and flushed in the face. We hiked around the rock, heading south. The day was growing warm in spite of the snow, and the sun was high. I rubbed my aching eyes. Hemanlok stopped in the shadow of an escarpment. I looked at him expectantly.
‘What now?’
‘We regroup and plan,’ Hemanlok said.
‘Regroup with whom? What about Wolf? Melana?’
‘Trust me,’ he said. The conversation had ended. His lips curled into a smirk. I settled my hands on my hips, feigning indifference as I leaned with him against the rock. It was our old game of pretend. I knew we were waiting for something. It would come, and it would come soon. I just had to trust.
It was only a few moments before a familiar scent drew near. I pushed off from the wall, staring at Hemanlok. His teeth flashed into one of his rare smiles and he nodded. I took a few hesitant steps forward, looking over the expanse of cliffs and mountains about us. The scent was drawing closer, mingling with sweat and dust. Behind one of those ridges, someone was searching for us.
Then Lowell darted out from behind a ridge, flung his arms about me. My arms locked about his shoulders. We were both talking at the same time over one another; half-broken, disjointed phrases that said nothing and everything.
I reached out to wipe the tears from his cheeks just as he did the same to mine.
Hemanlok, never one for emotional display, cut through what Lowell was about to say.
‘No time, brats. Much as I love hearing how wonderful it is to be alive, we gotta get a move on.’
‘Where are the others?’ I asked, but he was already on the move, striding along the rocky ground as if it were the tunnel leading to the Den.
‘Getting together the army,’ he said. ‘We march now. You and Wolf are to go in and find the prisoners. Get the weak and wounded out. Bring the rest in to fight.’
We followed our boss along pathways, winding about tall rock faces. Caerwyn loomed over us. For so long, I had borne that shadow upon my shoulders.
We halted by a corner, peering around. The entrance to Caerwyn stood in plain view; surrounded by pillars and stone workings. Ten guards paced the edges, clad in their red and black. Across from us, about a corner on the other side, I could make out a shadowy figure.
‘Melana,’ Hemanlok muttered. I drew in a sharp breath. It was my mother, hips swaying as she moved over to the guards. I watched, transfixed. The guards raised their weapons at her, but she spread her hands wide, showing she was unarmed. Her voice was low when she spoke, and did not carry far. Hemanlok must have heard what she said, however, for his eyebrows shot up and his lip curled.
‘Hell,’ he muttered.
‘What is it?’ Lowell asked. ‘What is she doing?’
‘What Melana does best,’ Hemanlok responded. ‘Manipulating and seducing. This won’t take long.’
We watched as Melana reached the soldiers. She said something else to them and after a moment they both laughed. I had seen this game played out many times. She could have achieved the whole thing with just a word, but like a cat she enjoyed the play. The physical contact, which she craved.
She pressed her lips to one man’s neck. He stiffened, then went slack in her embrace. She turned to the other and repeated the gesture. The man sank to his knees and fell on his face.
The remaining guards started towards her, but Hemanlok was already there. Fast. Lethal. Moving with impossible speed for a man of his size. The soldiers he killed did not have time to draw a breath before they were on the ground. We stayed back. I watched in silence as the Assassin worked. Lowell lowered his eyes. Muttered a prayer. Hemanlok turned back to us and sheathed his blades. His face was fixed in a rare grin. I had forgotten the pure pleasure he took from killing.
Melana, one hand resting on her hip, beckoned to us. We hurried forward and the rest of the Own came from the other side, rushing to the door, where Melana handed Lowell a knife. I came last, eyeing my mother. She handed me two daggers for myself. Before I could move on, she caught my shoulder and pushed my staff into my hand. Grudging gratitude swept over me as I gripped my weapon, though I did not know how she got hold of it. I nodded to her, and her words stopped me before I could proceed.
‘It is good.’
‘What is?’ I lifted my chin, surprised to find her mirroring the action.
‘That you are alive.’ She paused, then nodded. ‘Yes. It is… good.’
‘I am glad you feel that way.’ A respectful silence settled between us before I released her from it. ‘Come on. We have to go.’
‘As do I.’ She stepped away from me. ‘I have my people to prepare.’ She wriggled her shoulders, tipped her head back, and smiled as darkness crept from the walls. It wrapped about her body, hugging her for a moment before sucking her into the darkness. I shuddered and turned away. Had to trust her to return when we needed her.
We congregated in an alcove, coming together to hear Hemanlok’s low commands. ‘Brat, Wolf, you need to go through and find survivors. Bring anyone you can. Meet at the courtyard within the hour. If you can be there sooner, do what you want, but stay out of sight. Wait for the signal before you come into the courtyard for combat.’
‘What’s the signal, boss?’
‘When things start blowing up,’ Hemanlok grinned.
‘Are the souther-waer coming?’ Lowell demanded.
‘On their way,’ Hemanlok said. ‘They found more recruits. We can’t wait for them, though. Things are already moving, and Leldh knows it. We can’t give him a chance to reinforce his position. By now, he’ll know of the army. He’ll be amassing his own people.’ He drew himself upright. ‘Go. Now. We’re counting on you.’
I could hear, in the distance, the sound of drumming feet and orders being shouted down the ranks. Ours or Leldh’s, I could not tell. There could be no delay. I had made the deal with Melana. I had to be the one to kill Leldh. And with the Ultimo-folk slain – My fault! my mind screamed – we needed the prisoners to help us.
I took Lowell’s hand, and we left Hemanlok. We slipped through the gate and past the courtyard, into the halls of Caerwyn itself. The stairs coiled about the building like a serpent, long and narrow. The way was lit with candles, less frequent as we approached the cells. If there was a breakout, Daeman did not want the prisoners to be able to see where they were going. Lowell stayed close. His scent kept me grounded, kept me from forgetting who I was. Held Kaebha at bay.
This time, we met no one in the corridors. Leldh’s soldiers had all been called onto the walls. I knew they would be readying vats of oil and siege-weapons. I tried not to think on it. I tried not to imagine the people of Luthan being burnt and bombarded.
We stopped by the cells, the stink, I could tell, hitting Lowell with physical force. I worked the lock on the door that led to the row of cells. It was a simple mechanism; Cooper had once shown me how to get around it. Clicks echoed down the hall as locks snapped open and I gave a grim smile. Something good could come of me yet. I pushed the door open, stepped onto the row. A simple pathway between the lives of the damned and the destroyed.
The prisoners cowered back. Sometimes, as many as two score people were crammed into ea
ch of the small, squalid cells. It was as easy to die of suffocation as anything else.
I was suddenly mute. How could I speak to these people? These people. I had helped to imprison some of them; I had tortured some of them.
Lowell stepped forward, calm and steady. Level when my own mind was in turmoil.
‘We are here to help you,’ he said, ‘but there is a battle still to be won, and we cannot do it alone. If you are able to fight, please come to the front of the cell.’
For a while, there was no movement. Then some of them started shuffling to the front of their cells. Most of them were disabled in some fashion; missing fingers or limbs. But they were willing to fight.
Lowell rested a hand on my shoulder. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘I will find the other waer, and meet you out there.’
I kissed him. ‘Be safe,’ I said as I left him.
Lowell
I will never forget the children we pulled from those cells. Skinny mites with large eyes and pale faces. Three of them had been born in the cells and had never been outside. There were nine children in total. They gathered against the back wall, eyeing me. In spite of my coaxing, they would not move.
The adults clumped together and watched me with haunted eyes. I tried to speak calmly, with authority.
‘We need someone who is able to take the children away from here, to safety.’
An old woman stepped from amongst them, raising a wrinkled hand. From the way the young ones rushed to her, it was evident she had been taking care of them. Eight of the children flocked about her. For a while, the last escaped my attention. He was a small, dark child and he lingered in the shadows. When I noticed him, he shrank away from the light. But I could see there was a set to his face. A familiar nose and pointed chin. Under the smell of grime and mould, there was a trace of family there; of nights by the hearth and days spent in the long, fresh grass.
I stared at the boy in shock. Before I could prevent it, a hoarse choke ripped itself from my mouth. The boy spun. Our gazes met and I took a step backwards. His face, previously obscured by the shadows, was a mess of scars. Burns. Some were still angry with an infection that had left one of his eyes cloudy with blindness. When he stretched a hand out, several of the fingers were missing, the rest of the hand malformed due to more burns still.
He was my little brother; a baby, and yet a child no more.
I came to crouch before him. There was no recognition there. When I reached out a hand he flinched back with a growl. The old woman spoke.
‘Dragged him outta a burning house, they did,’ she said in rough accents. She was not from the Valley, but sounded like she was one of the chipre-folk. ‘Barely got him out alive, poor mite. He’s turned in the head though. Never does naught but growls at people, he does. When they moved the others of his kind they left him behind by accident.’
I ran a hand over my face. My little brother. Our Kemp. And he was alive. My mind almost refused to comprehend it. For months, I had thought him perished. There had been almost no chance of getting him out of that house. My eyes were suddenly burning. It was hard to see through a blur of tears. I stretched my hands out to my brother. He snapped at me, trying to bite, but I pulled him into a gentle embrace before he could take off one of my fingers. He was rigid in my arms. Then he began to squirm.
‘You said “his kind”,’ I managed. ‘Where did they go?’
‘Dunno.’
I did not want to let him go, but he would not be safe with me. I had to send him away. I released him, and he hobbled away from me, hid behind the elderly woman.
‘Someone go with them,’ I said hoarsely. ‘Keep them safe.’ The old woman gathered the children close and led them down the hallway, flanked on either side by other adult prisoners. Kemp trailed a few feet behind them. He did not look back. My throat constricted. Kemp.
I forced myself to turn my attention away. There was a battle still to be fought. I would reclaim him after, and try to recover what had been lost.
The children and the old woman were followed by the many who were sick or injured, or had no fighting skill. They left us with almost two-score of people who were able to fight. There was no way of telling if the souther-waer would reach us in time, or if Luthan’s army would succeed unaided.
I gritted my teeth. We needed more. We needed my people.
‘Is there anyone else?’ I asked. ‘Anyone from the Gwydhan Valley? People with the dark hair and pale skin? And brown eyes?’ The people stared at me, mystified. Some shook their heads.
‘When they feed us, they take more food in there.’ A scraggly boy of perhaps seventeen spoke up. He pointed to a door. It led to a narrow, dark tunnel.
The tunnel was so thin we had to walk in single file with our elbows tucked in to our sides. I had to stoop; the ceiling was low, too low for an adult to walk through comfortably.
We came out into the open; another row of cells. It took some time for my eyes to adjust to the light. I stood blinking in the middle of the path between the tunnels. Then, as my eyes adjusted, a welcome sight greeted me.
Women, men and children gathered in the cells. Pale-skinned and dark-haired. Slender and small, with the scent of the waer. Kinsmen and women. Wolves. I was looking upon the remnants of my old life; and tattered and shredded though they were, they lived still. I ran to the locks and started to explain our situation. An excited buzz filled the cells. They had been hurt and frightened, but these were not the cowed prisoners we had seen in the other cells.
The first door opened and my people rushed out. They crowded about us, speaking in the familiar accents I had so missed. I saw childhood playmates, old teachers and elders, respected members of our community.
We were a pack. It was something the Own had been able to imitate, but not to replicate. Nothing could capture the sense of a pack like the Valley waer could.
‘Two groups. Get into two groups. Those able to fight, and those who cannot.’
Lord Alwyn pushed his way to the front. He was beaten and battered, but there was strength in him still. I stood taller, and he reached a hand to clasp mine.
‘Well-met, Master Sencha,’ he said.
‘My lord.’
I addressed the two groups. ‘If you are unable to fight, go through the tunnels and take the stairs. Stay as quiet as you can. There are still soldiers throughout Caerwyn, though it is our hope that Luthan’s army has drawn them to the east side of the Keep. Lord Alwyn, I ask for you to choose five others and escort them safely out of Caerwyn. And then, when they are safe, return to fight.’
I outlined the rest of the route and we ascended through the tunnel. I was unaccustomed to my people being so unruly. They demanded answers from other prisoners, spoke with excitement of the battle, and pain at what they had loved and lost. The old decorum remained, but was charged by anger. It was a cry for justice, and to put ghosts to rest.
We raced down the stairs. By the time we were in the main section of the fortress, fallen soldiers marked the path. There was a dull sound that grew into a roar. The ground shook. I stumbled. Black, acrid clouds rose from beyond the wall. Blast-powder. I bared my teeth. Hemanlok. The walls had fallen. Our people were in.
Rubble was scattered across the floor and the dust made it difficult to breathe or see clearly. Some men screamed, trapped under large stones. We picked around those who implored us for aid. I forced myself to recall what they had done to us. I looked back to the waerwolves we had freed. They walked close together, shoulders high. One woman had Shifted already and her hackles rose with each step.
I focused on Lycaea. She was close, or her thoughts would not have been interleaved so strongly with mine. I tried to scent her out over the dust, but it was impossible. We increased our pace. Sounds of battle grew louder, and after a while the courtyard came into view. We shrank against the wall, hidden from view by the rise in the land and a set of barracks. Beyond the wall, battle raged. We could smell the dead and the dying. I peered around the corner. Almost turned to run. Me
n and woman struggled through the crush of combat. Blood. Screams. Someone fell and was trampled. Leldh’s soldiers tore through the ranks of the Luthanese, cutting them down.
Behind me, someone Shifted, and the blast of energy released stirred the air, lifting the hair on the back of my neck. I launched forward. The Shift was effortless. A snarl ripped from my throat, and the ground rushed past me. My paws were nearly skinned with the pace. My people joined me. Death was on the wind, in our voice, in our soul.
Blood. Sweat. Earth. The howl, the hunt. The waer plunged into the forces of the soldiers, an unstoppable river of fur and fang. There was an answering roar from the fighters in the courtyard. Waer formed a guard, charging forward in a pincer movement to cut into a row of soldiers. Steel shone in the sun and clashed. The attack was ferocious, the retaliation no less so.
I dived through the fray, desperate to find Lycaea. My nose was useless in detecting her, for the smells of battle pervaded every other scent. I relied instead on our soul-bond. In my Form, I was aware of the people clustering around me; my mind probed at each, skimming over them. I recognised some. Hywe, Donovan, neighbours from the Valley. Then, like a burst of light, a green, tightly controlled mind grazed against mine. I raced towards Lycaea, ducking between a waer and a soldier locked in combat. The soldier fell back, expecting me to join in attacking him, and the waer gained ground. I did not look back to see the outcome.
Lycaea was pitted against Cooper. I skidded to a stop, not wanting to distract her. Keeping close to the ground, I slunk around to crouch by a pillar, ready to intervene. She worked with precise, hard movements, her staff a blur as it thudded against the flat of Cooper’s blade. She was filthy, stained with sweat and blood and dust. It was a stark contrast to Cooper. He was clean, his uniform in order and his sword buzzing like a hornet.