Way of The WOlf: The Northlanders Book I

by Shelby Morgan

  His lavender eyes glowed in the moonlight. "I have seen the moons cycle more than two thousand times, M'Lady."

  More than a century and a half. And to the best of her knowledge in all that he had never taken a wife. Never had a family. Never known a place to call home.

  "Are your kind immortal, Shammall?"

  If he thought it odd that she should ask such questions here and now, he did not ask. "No, M'Lady. We are long lived, but nothing lives forever except the Earth Mother herself."

  Evalayna sighed. "Ye have always been good to me, Shammall. Ye alone have stood by me unwaveringly. If it were within my power, I would give ye thy freedom now. As it is not, I can only promise ye when I have the power to do so, I shall return what is rightfully thine."

  "It is the way of my kind to serve, M'Lady, and it was I who chose you and your house."

  "Ye will no' leave me, then? Wish ye no' for freedom?"

  Shammall raised one eyebrow quizzically. "What would I do with my freedom, Lady? You are my life."

  Evalayna closed her eyes, resting her forehead for a moment against the small bundle Shammall carried. "And when I am gone? What then?"

  "I shall serve Tranorva as I have you, M'Lady." His arms tightened protectively around the child. "She is my destiny."

  Chapter One

  Tranorva took a long swallow from her mug of ale. She surveyed the debauchery around her with growing disgust. The camp had fallen into a sea of chaos and disorder… but what did it matter? There was nothing left to kill. No castles to lay siege to, no enemies to conquer. No more battles to be fought. She would move the men out in the morning, early, too early for most to offer her authority any resistance. The Humans would return to their world. She and her Northlanders would make one last sweep of the plains, routing out the few Orcs who had escaped, and then…

  And then nothing. The war was over. For her, there would be no more wars. No more wars, no more battles, no more marching with the men, no more feeling the heft of her broad-bladed axe as it sang through the heart of her enemies. She was destined for another field; she had been since the day she was born. Bile rose in her throat till she thought she might gag. Every woman made sacrifices, but this, this was too much. To be condemned to live amidst the world of politics, for naught else but a twist of fate at her birth…

  Mother hadn't even had the nerve to tell Tranorva to her face. Instead Mother had sent Shammall, the pet Mage she favored so much, to Tranorva before they left home, warning her to expect changes. Once the Orc Wars were over, Tranorva's time would begin.

  Shammall. How Tranorva despised that damnable Elf. Sometimes she thought Mother kept him around just for his lithe, athletic good looks. Shammall was certainly easy on the eyes, if you liked that type. Beautiful, in a very male sort of way. He had incredible long golden blonde hair that never seemed to get tangled or out of place. Tranorva wanted to tie it in knots while he slept just to be spiteful. Shammall was everything Tranorva was not–graceful and sophisticated and polished and a master of politics.

  Politics. Well, Tranorva had a few useful talents of her own. She had been born to lead an army to battle. It was what she was good at. What she lived for. Why should that change now? Lady Evalayna was still in the height of her power. There was no reason for her to step down. There was no reason for Mother to saddle Tranorva with such a weight of responsibility–especially one she was totally unsuited for.

  Tranorva took another long pull from her mug. Anger always brought heat to her blood. She needed a man. She needed to work off her frustrations in a bout of good, healthy sex. But not just any man would be up to the task. She didn't want a weakling who would cower before her. Most men were too afraid of her to do more than murmur their apologies. She wanted a man who would meet her as her equal, and more. She wanted… an image came to mind. She wanted Seanen Lindall. The man who'd emerged from the shadows today to toss the bloody head of the Orc King into the midst of her men, turning the tide of battle for them.

  Funny. She'd never really seen him before. He shouldn't have escaped her notice. He was taller than most and built like a battering ram. He swung those swords of his like they were extensions of his hands. Perhaps–perhaps she had underestimated him.

  Seanen had walked among her troops tonight, the conquering hero. Spattered in blood and wearing armor none had seen for decades, he looked perfect–all hard angles and broad expanses of muscle and power. It was the power Tranorva admired the most. She would send for him. She would send an orderly with an invitation to come to her tent. By the gods, if this one proved to be passionless she would turn her attention to women. She wasn't sure she could take another disappointment.

  With that thought, Tranorva tossed her empty mug into her satchel and made her way carefully to her pavilion. Her orderly was there, ready to help her strip out of her soiled leather undertunic. She used the washbasin her orderly had provided to clean the worst of the battle grime from her face and arms. The orderly combed out her hair and would have plaited the mass into a thick, heavy braid for the night, but Tranorva ushered him off with a wave of her wrist. "Leave it down for now. I have an errand for ye."

  "As you wish, M'Lady."

  "Go and find Seanen, of the House of Lindall. Tell him I request his personal report."

  The orderly paled, glancing tentatively toward the flap of the tent, but not moving.

  "What ails thee? Go!"

  "It's just that–M'Lady, I know Lord Lindall is not–available."

  Tranorva mused over the words, playing with them like a cat with a rodent. "Lord Seanen is unavailable? He's a Lord, now, is he? My, my. And why is he unavailable?"

  The orderly trembled visibly, looking anywhere but into her eyes. "Lord Lind–Seanen has retired for the night, M'Lady, to the pavilion of Ambassador Yarwyn, with orders that they are not to be disturbed."

  Tranorva felt her mouth knotting into a frown. So. That was the way of things. This had all been arranged from the beginning. Tranorva didn't need to ask how, or by whom. Mother was clever, Tranorva owed her that. With Ambassador Yarwyn's help she'd used the Orc Wars to restore Lord Lindall's place in society. It all came down to politics. The fact that a thousand Orcs and a few hundred of Tranorva's own men had given their lives to accomplish Mother's political goals was, in the end, of no real consequence. The Orcs needed to die anyway, and soldiers knew well their fate.

  Tranorva turned her attention back to the orderly. He might have made a good stand-in for the night had she not known he was terrified of her. He was young, and strong, and a fine hand with a sword. Attractive enough when he didn't know she was watching him. Fear, however, was hardly an inspiring emotion to elicit in a lover.

  Tranorva waved her hand in dismissal. "Off with you. I suggest you retire early. We move out at first light."

  * * * * *

  Élandine hadn't been invited to the reception for the returning heroes–that came as no surprise. He hadn't expected any acknowledgment of his role in the Orc king's defeat. There were no accolades here for a job well done, not in his line of work. When the mission was over, his latest persona would simply fade away… All part of the job.

  Something was different this time, though. Too many of those involved in this last little war considered him a villain, and might have still, even had they known all the inner workings of House Lochinvar. And so he was still held prisoner, bound and locked in a tiny stone room high in the great Lord Mâkakao's west tower. Soon, he promised himself, Lady Evalayna would have need of his special services again. She would find him, the prisoner would "escape," and he would be on his way.

  Somewhere else, someone else, whoever, whatever, she needed him to be.

  Élandine stared out the tiny slit of a window. The air was still fresh with the smell of spring. The bright colors of freedom taunted him. He would have pulled back, turned away from this reminder of his failure, but a flash of movement caught his eye. The Elvin Ranger, Yarwyn, appeared, breaking the trance of the scene, slippin
g quickly through the maze of the gardens. She was almost out of range. Still, he could feel her sorrow, and he envied her even that emotion. For a moment, just a moment, he'd become her, long enough to feel… Long enough to know what he'd missed in his life.

  He knew he'd never be the same man again.

  Yarwyn disappeared through the servants' gate. Élandine felt the void in his mind where she'd been like a hollow ache of longing. He steeled himself against such thoughts. There was no place in his life for that kind of weakness. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if this was all there was ever to be. Shouldn't there be something more, even for one such as him?

  Yarwyn's mate Seanen interrupted Élandine's thoughts. The tall Northlander all but ran through the orchard, following Yarwyn's trail. Soon they were back together, their energies combined until Élandine could not tell one from another. The strength of their lusts shook him with a force that nearly wrenched his soul from him. He knew what they were feeling now, understood it ever since he'd become Yarwyn's twin for those few moments. He had never thought himself capable of feeling such overwhelming emotions.

  He'd been a fool to think he could steal Yarwyn's form, even temporarily, in order to capture what he needed. He hadn't wanted to steal her identity, not permanently. He'd only wanted to know, to possess her powers long enough to understand. For those few stolen moments he'd seen what she saw, felt what she felt, known what it was to want, to need, to love, until the love itself consumed you, and you became so much more than what you were.

  The couple slipped away from him, leaving him alone again. He was only a thief, an interloper, a voyeur at a window. Élandine's nostrils flared as he sank to the cold stone floor. Emotions made a man weak. He would think on this no more.

  * * * * *

  The guards threw open the massive bound oak doors with a clang that had Élandine scrambling to his feet. Lady Evalayna Lochinvar strode into the room, temper simmering in her eyes. The guards hastened to scramble out of her way. She dismissed them with a wave of her hand. In her wake they stood staring blankly into space, unblinking, unmoving. Élandine wasn't even sure they remembered to breathe.

  "Thou hast been in my service a very long time, Élandine."

  Her voice held no warmth. Anger tinged Élandine's reasoning. Yarwyn. She was behind this. Élandine tried to swallow the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Lady Evalayna had always trusted him implicitly. "I would not have hurt Seanen."

  "Nay?"

  Élandine allowed his anger to show. A lesser mortal might have feared him, but not Lady Evalayna. She knew him too well. She knew what he was, and what he was capable of, but they'd always treated each other as equals. "Yarwyn tried to kill me. What was I supposed to do?"

  "According to Lady Lindall, ye had intentions toward Lord Seanen. Had I been there, I might have killed ye myself."

  He rolled his eyes. "That? She would hold that against me? I was but maintaining my disguise," he growled. "You know me better than that. Seanen is hardly my type. Had I been seeking a lover I would have looked elsewhere–and for a female! But Élandine must do as the Dark Elves do. The Elves of Élandra have their own ways. Had I truly faced a Élandra Priestess and done otherwise I would have begged for my own death to come swiftly." His jaw clenched. "How was I to know Yarwyn had been sent on such a mission as this unschooled in the ways of the Élandra Priestesses?"

  Lady Evalayna arched one heavy black brow. "And what part of thy disguise was it that had ye in Lord Seanen's arms, impersonating the Lady herself?"

  He looked away, red heat staining his face. Embarrassment–yet another emotion that had previously eluded him. How could he make Lady Evalayna understand what he himself barely understood? Élandine turned back to the window, swallowing hard. "I–that was wrong. That was–I know not how to explain. When Yarwyn thought she had killed me, she came closer than she will ever know. With the last of my strength I cast the spell that preserved what life I clung to. Those two, they cared nothing for the broken being they left on the floor."

  Finally he turned back to face her. "You know that my magic often lends me the gifts of those around me. Yarwyn–she feels other people's emotions. Her gift opened my eyes. I lay on the floor at their feet, bloody and broken, and I mattered nothing to them. I was dying, and I was but an inconvenience to them. They had each other. That was all that mattered…"

  Pity tainted her voice. "So ye would have taken what ye could not find within yourself."

  The red stain on his cheeks deepened. He didn't want her pity. "It was a foolish thing, done without proper thought. I meant only for them to take me prisoner, that I might maintain my disguise. I didn't expect to–to feel so much. I have never had another's identity overwhelm me before."

  Lady Evalayna sighed deeply. "What am I to do with ye, Élandine? Or shall I call ye Shammall?"

  Élandine cursed himself for a fool. He needed Evalayna's trust. What's more he cared what this woman thought of him. The last of his pride crumbled. He slowly dropped to one knee before her. "Call me whatever you wish, M'Lady. I care not. I care only that I have failed in my mission, and that I have broken your trust. I beg your forgiveness."

  Her hand touched his shoulder. "Ye have been as a son to me these last few decades, Élandine. That bond cannot be broken by one foolish action. Still I fear ye have won no loyalty for thy service from Lord Lindall and his Lady, nor from my youngest daughter and her new husband. Perhaps it would be well if neither couple were to discover that Élandine and Shammall are one and the same."

  Élandine felt the first stirrings of hope in his breast. Forgiveness would not be without personal expense, but Lady Evalayna would not reveal his true identity. That must mean she still had need of him. Thank the gods. He raised his head, meeting her eyes at last. He held out his bound hands to her. "I live but to serve you, M'Lady…"

  She might simply have used the tiny ceremonial dagger she carried in her belt. Instead, in a show of power designed, perhaps, to remind him of just who she was, Lady Lochinvar passed her hands over his wrists. A shimmering of white fire surged from her fingertips, and his bonds disappeared as if they had never been. In a moment he had shifted, slipping into Shammall, the form of the Elvin Mage that he knew she preferred above all others. Lady Evalayna bent to kiss him gently on the forehead, her touch itself a blessing. He felt strength and healing radiate through his battered body. He breathed in deeply, shaking back his long blonde mane, reveling in momentary freedom.

  Lady Evalayna stood silent a moment, looking beyond him and that small stone room. "There is always a price, is their not, Shammall?"

  She looked older, somehow, and pained. He had not noticed the lines of strain about her eyes before. He'd been too concerned with his own affairs. "Aye, M'Lady," he managed, suddenly afraid for both of them.

  Evalayna moved to stare at the rising moon just visible through his slit of a window. Élandine scrambled back to his feet, moving to stand as close to her side as he dared. "What troubles you, M'Lady, and how can I be of service?"

  "Tis my daughter."

  Alarm filled his breast. "Cassadara? Has harm come to Cassadara?"

  Evalayna slowly shook her head. "Nay. 'Tis my firstborn. Tranorva, my Warrior-daughter has disappeared from my glass."

  Tranorva. Clouds passed before the moons, painting the night sky a dull blood red. Élandine took a deep breath as he regarded Lady Lochinvar. He needed a bath and a change of clothes and a night spent wrapped in a woman's arms enjoying emotions he understood. There was nothing like straight, uncomplicated sex to clear a man's head.

  Instead, he would escape now, tonight. Lady Evalayna had given him his freedom, but the price would be higher than he'd thought. Shifting back into the form of the smaller Dark Elf, he bowed low before his benefactress. "I will do everything in my power to restore Tranorva to you, Dear Lady. I will leave at once."

  "My prayers go with ye. May the goddess protect ye."

  Élandine had never had a favorite among the sev
en gods, but he figured he could use whatever blessings were available. He slipped through the open door, past the sentries staring slack-jawed into space, and ran down the stairs. He was nearly at the bottom when the commotion began. "What is the meaning of this!" Lady Evalayna proclaimed in her most outraged voice. "Ye have allowed the prisoner to escape!"

  Élandine could picture the astonishment on the guards' faces when they woke up to an empty room. "M'Lady, he was here when we opened the door! Surely you saw him, sitting right over there!"

  "I see no one but two incompetent fools."

  Élandine laughed to himself as he slipped away into the darkness. There were those who feared the night, but it would always be the friend of one such as him. And now he knew the secret of the servants' gate in the orchard…

  Chapter Two

  She was up with the dawn, dragging liquor-fogged heads to the water to personally revive her unit commanders. Within half an hour she had the men on their feet and the ox carts loaded. None of the men were in any shape for breakfast at the moment. Tranorva chewed contentedly on a hunk of dried venison as she marched beside her men. By noon the troops would be ready for their first repast of the day. By nightfall they would have covered thirty kilometers. She would set up her base camp at the edge of the Tundra. Tomorrow the units would begin scouting the vast, empty plains for signs of any Orcs who might have survived last week's battle. She could put off returning to Lochinvar for many days, possibly even weeks, before she was satisfied that the entire region was safe… Let tomorrow bring what it might. For the moment, at least, she was securely in charge of her world.

  * * * * *

  She could hear his footsteps getting closer. It was the dream again. Tranorva knew it was a dream, but she didn't try to wake up. Oh no. Waking up was the last thing she wanted. She'd had this dream before, each time more real than the last. Tonight, she promised herself as the steps came closer. Tonight would be the night she saw his face.