In a Wolf's Eyes

by A. Katie Rose

  At length, his wings failed him and he plummeted. Straight down he fell, on his back, his wings cloaking him, upright from the force of the fall.

  “Nay!” I screamed.

  At the last instant, like the cat he half was, he turned feet downward. His huge wings snapped back, cupped the air, saved him from a deadly fall. A warm updraft caught him, gave him much needed lift, rescuing him from his death drop. Those soft yet powerful wings captured the air and braked his fall, his body dropping into the long thick grass rather than crashing, failing to break bones and crush vital organs. He lay still, either dead or unconscious, dust, grass, bits of broken feather drifting about him like a burst pillow.

  Still alive, the captain I shot struggled to his feet, my arrow punched through his armor into his shoulder. He snapped orders. Drawing their swords, the soldiers charged. Arrows launched from the cover of the trees fell among us. Not their longbows, I thought frantically, recurve bows like our own. Only those had the range necessary to target and kill us.

  Although none found their mark, a few came perilously close. One hissed through Mikk’s flying mane as he curvetted and plunged, eager for battle. Another struck the ground in front of us, missing his chest by a hairsbreadth, its baleful whistle cut off short. Mikk reared, fighting me for control. Then I realized: they weren’t shooting at us. They shot at our horses.

  I dropped three soldiers in quick succession with my bow. Kel’Ratan and the others killed as many each, but the enemy never wavered. The heavy cavalry continued its charge. Slaying yet another, fear knotted my gut. There were too many soldiers, too few of us.

  As though reading my thoughts, Kel’Ratan said, “Too many. We must flee.”

  “Nay,” I growled. “We must protect Bar. He’s alive.”

  “If we do, we all die.”

  Even as he spoke, soldiers surrounded Bar, arrows nocked and aimed, ready to shoot should he rise to his feet. Despair filled my heart as all hope of saving Bar died. I sat in my saddle, oblivious to Mikk still rearing, numb with grief, paying little heed to the arrows that hissed violently past me.

  “We ride now,” Kel’Ratan rumbled. “It’s Bar or us.”

  At that instant, he whacked the flat of his sword on Mikk’s rump. Mikk reared again, his front hooves pawing the air. Wheeling, he plunged forward to follow Kel’Ratan’s horse as my kinsman led the retreat. Topping a large hill, I looked back.

  I reined Mikk in sharply.

  Bar rose with a savage scream of rage, his immense wings sweeping dust, bits of grass and twigs into a swirling cloud. Federal troopers rode in a circle about him, spurring their mounts hard when the beasts tried to shy away from the huge griffin. Because I stood up high, I clearly saw Bar fight for his life and mine. Rearing back on his lion haunches, he set about with his razor talons. Five, no seven, troopers were caught in the wide sweep of his right foot, another eight or so ripped nearly in half when his left swept past going the other direction. Blood, entrails, limbs flew in all directions. Horses, too, caught in the rapid fire slashing were cut to ribbons. Screams, both human and equine, reached my ears.

  Mikk fought against my reins as he felt my need to ride down to Bar’s aid. Nevertheless, I held him and my rage in a firm grip. A full regiment of royals rode between us, their bows still shooting arrows uselessly. Around me, my warband watched with me, watched Bar rake about him with deadly accuracy.

  I lost count of the men he killed. Twenty, maybe more, fell under the deadliest talons ever wielded before the Federates stumbled back, out of range. How could they possibly think they can take him alive? I wanted to scream. None could get past his incredible speed and lethal claws. Yet, like us, Bar was hopelessly outnumbered. They had only to wear him down and take him when the arrows finally completed their work.

  His wings still whipped dust into a cloud, blinding his enemies. Maybe he could yet fly, I prayed, urging him to launch himself into the air. Come on, come on, Bar, you great lummox, fly. Fly. Damn you, fly.

  As though in answer, he drove his enemies back, leaving behind an untold number of dead, their blood soaking the ground. All four feet hard on the ground, he crouched, his wings sweeping up and back. Fly, you big, beautiful—

  A lone, incredibly brave, rider galloped in close, swinging a huge rope. Nay, not just a rope. A noose. Twirling it over his head, the man on the big roan horse spurred past Bar, just out of reach of Bar’s talons. The noose left his hand and sailed up. Up and up.

  It settled neatly about Bar’s feathered neck.

  His horse, leaping under the bite of the spur, charged out of range, taking up the rope’s slack. Bar’s scream of fury was choked off short. His body jolted sharply sideways, off balance, from the weight of the big horse on the other end of the rope.

  However, he could still escape. He chased after the man and horse, roaring, the rope slack once again. Just as quickly, the horse and rider danced out of reach of his talons.

  A second horseman charged in out of nowhere, a second noose rising high to catch Bar’s neck. That rider spurred hard in the opposite direction. Caught between the two horsemen, the two choking nooses, Bar was hauled up short. How did they swing those ropes so accurately?

  I didn’t know I spoke aloud until Kel’Ratan answered me grimly. “Yuonese horned y’bex drovers.”

  “Yuonese what?”

  “Horned y’bexes. Similar to a dragon, but without wings and not as smart. Like cattle, they are raised for food and their hides. The Yuons rope their huge y’bex bulls in this fashion. Their horses are trained to keep the ropes tight.”

  Bloody hell. I clenched my fists, wishing I had Brutal within my grasp. With a single rope, I could find some very creative ways of killing him.

  As though with one mind, the riders pulled Bar both forward and yet to either side, keeping him on all four feet. Unable to pull back and rear up, Bar could not raise his foot to claw and possibly sever the ropes binding him. Yet, still he tried. His breath choked off, Bar leaned back against the ropes as far as he could, straining against the combined strength of two big horses. His right foot rose, talon out, reaching for the closest rope—

  A third rope sailed in, closing tight about his right front leg, pulled taut. Immediately, the y’bex drover spurred hard to Bar’s left, pulling his shoulder out from under him. His lion hind legs scrabbled in the dirt, claws raking deep furrows as Bar fought to keep his feet under him, to prevent his body from falling to the ground. If he went down—I bit off the thought, tears of fury and grief standing in my eyes.

  All my frantic hopes of Bar freeing himself and flying to safety died when the two horsemen who owned his neck suddenly revered direction. As one, they rode hard to Bar’s right, his right leg still pulled hard to his left side. The combined weight of the horses pulling his body to the side and no leg there to hold him up, Bar went down at last.

  Slammed into the ground, his wings flapping, he still fought to get up. One brave drover dismounted his horse, venturing close, on foot. With a shorter rope, he expertly swung it over Bar’s open beak. Yanking it tight, Bar’s beak snapped shut, ending the threat of Bar yet killing someone within range of his deadly eagle’s head.

  It took less than a minute for them to tie Bar’s front legs together. His mouth tied shut, his legs tied, Bar sank down into the long grass. His proud lion tail, once thrashing in his fury, now lay limp and lifeless. I could not see his eyes, hidden by the grass and the distance. I guessed he shut them against the sight of his enemies taking him.

  My heart cried aloud, but my voice remained silent. I could cry no tears, speak no curses, slay no enemy. I could only sit, helpless, watching with dull fury pounding my temples as my enemies captured my faithful friend. A huge wagon drawn by a team of six draft horses pulled up and the troops and their Yuon allies set to work. From the moment I saw the troops emerge from the forest to the instant Bar fell captive took less than four minutes.

  My eyes held rapt, I paid no heed to the regiment of troopers who still marc
hed, closing the distance. In those four minutes, they had advanced into deadly bow range. I might have sat there, too numb with grief to move, when they shot my horse out from under me and captured me as well. Fortunately, Kel’Ratan took his attention away from Bar and noticed the royals had advanced perilously close.

  “Let’s go.”

  He wheeled his bay, his hand firm on Mikk’s bridle brought me with him. Only then did my dread fascination for Bar’s fate loose itself at last. Kicking Mikk into a run, I rode hard, my band surrounding me in a protective ring.

  Shouts of dismay and anger reached us then faded away as our lighter and faster mounts carried us out of danger. A few arrows flew harmlessly past, striking the earth with their sharp points down. Then we galloped down the other side of the hill, putting solid mother earth between our enemies and us.

  I wanted to scream my rage, pain and grief. My warrior training held me silent, as it held all of us silent as we rode. Bar was more than my friend and my guardian. He was a warrior, like us all. Like any warrior, he fought battles at my side, protecting not just me but every one of us. Our code, Kel’Atanya’WA, forbade leaving a wounded warrior behind. To flee, allowing Bar’s capture by the enemy shamed me more than I thought my heart could bear.

  “Too clever,” I muttered.

  “What?” Kel’Ratan asked, looking over at me as he urged his horse to a faster pace.

  “Somehow, Brutal had someone, or something, watching us. He knew our plans. He knew them when we spoke them. Remember?”

  “By the Khassart wizard watching us?”

  “How else would he know where we were?”

  “He followed Bar to us, girl. He knew Bar would eventually come back. He can be easily seen, up high.”

  My eyes narrowed. I refused to buy into that explanation. It was too convenient, too pat, and I disliked and distrusted the obvious on general principles. There was something more at work here. I remembered the sensation of being watched only too well.

  “But not so easily followed,” I said. “Brutal made time to put down the riots and his brothers and hatch this plan to take Bar.”

  “Why Bar? Why not us?”

  “Brutal knows how to catch us,” I said bitterly. “To capture Bar would be his coup. He knows we will try to rescue him.”

  “Bar is dead,” Kel’Ratan replied, his face dark and grim. “They will kill him.”

  “Nay,” I snapped. “They took too much trouble to capture Bar alive.”

  “Brutal knows that to kill Bar would break your heart. He will kill Bar slowly, to make you suffer. Outside of us eight, he is your only protection. After he kills Bar, he can hunt us down and take you back.”

  “Then why not shoot him full of arrows when he’s down?” I snapped, whirling on him. “Brutal will keep Bar alive. Alive and well. For a dead hostage is a useless hostage.”

  “So Brutal spied on us, launched the attack to take Bar rather than us? You’re reaching, girl.”

  “He knew bloody well his troops couldn’t capture us,” I said. “But he knew his heavy cavalry would not have the speed or ability. Our horses are lighter, faster. He brought in recurve bows, the only bow that could take down a full-grown griffin from the air. Take him, then he would have the bait to draw us in. He has no need to chase us. We will come to him. He knows bloody well I would not leave Bar behind. When we go to retrieve Bar, his trap will close on us.”

  Brutal took the time out of crowning himself High King, healing himself, and quashing his brothers’ rebellion with time enough to set a troop of soldiers on us. He obtained recurve bows, recruited Yuons and hatched a deadly plan of attack. I almost admired him for its brilliance. Almost.

  “You’re right.” Kel’Ratan’s voice echoed my bitterness. “Too clever by half.”

  “And we will play his game,” I said softly, fingering my sword hilt.

  Kel’Ratan opened his mouth to speak. I turned on him with such a blazing savagery his horse sensed my rage and shied away from me.

  “We will get Bar back,” I said, my voice soft. “And I pray the Lady that Brutal tries to stop us. For then he will pay the price of his treachery in his own blood.”

  Chapter 7

  Tros

  “Bastard.”

  The menace hissed at me from across the room. I may sleep, but my instincts and hearing never do. The venom in that single word triggered alarms in every nerve ending, their shrieks loud and strident. Instantly, I rolled off the small bed onto the hard wooden planks of the floor.

  Something struck the bed I had been sleeping soundly in the moment before.

  Straw from the mattress exploded in all directions. Smoke curled around my nose and bits of straw and wood from the frame rained down on my prone body. I covered my head to protect it from another blast, waiting, knowing it would come. I made an easy target for whoever and whatever it was that destroyed the bed.

  Long moments passed in which naught happened.

  Fully awake and alert but unarmed, I peeked cautiously over the edge of what remained of my bed. Peering through the smoke and drifting feathers from my pillow, I saw Rygel near the doorway. He had not slept in our room the night before and still wore the stained gold tunic and tan breeches he had on yesterday. Rygel held out the empty tros vials toward me, his face twisted with hate, fury and agony. Empty, as I had dumped the contents in the privy before crawling onto the bed and falling asleep.

  “Did you do this?”

  “Of course.”

  Big mistake, I thought, silently cursing my too-honest tongue. Rygel’s eyes flashed with pure hatred, narrowing to mere slits. He made no movement but I felt him gather himself. I do not know how I knew it, but I did. I threw my head back down to the floor just as another blast of heat flashed over and past me.

  The hearth exploded in fire, coals and burning wood chips. A coal landed on my back, sparking a blaze and setting my tunic afire. Burning, cursing, I rolled over, smothering the flames beneath my body.

  Rygel stood over me, smoke curling around him, the heat in his eyes radiating a fury hotter than the fire I just quenched.

  “You don’t deny it,” he grated from between clenched teeth. “Why don’t you deny it?”

  “That’s a bloody silly question.”

  I needed a tight leash on my runaway voice. Not just a leash, but a collar and a bloody muzzle.

  Without touching me, he lifted me and hurled me across the room. I crashed through a small table and slammed into the thick stone wall, landing in a painful heap. Fortunately for me, I hit with my shoulders and not my head, which knocked me breathless and senseless, but didn’t kill me. Amid the splinters and kindling I made of the table, I fought to get up.

  Note to self, I thought incoherently, one should never point out the obvious to an irritated wizard already high on tros. I simply must remember that for the future. If there was a future, that was.

  Through the dizziness and thick fall of hair over my eyes, I saw him come for me again. Tight bands tightened around my shoulders and chest, a crushing force I could not see. Agony flared through my ribs, shoulders, and back. I could not breathe. Struggling to draw anything resembling air, I sucked at naught. Looking up into his face, I saw nothing of the man I knew and liked there. A vengeful daemon abode there now, glittering yellow eyes blazing with hate, a thick wild mane of wheaten hair glowing with a faint nimbus. His lips had thinned to a fine white slash, foam flecking the corners.

  Rygel seized my tunic and lifted me. Not with his own strength, surely, for though Rygel was a strong man he could never hope to lift my great weight without his magic. He hoisted me with the ease a man might hoist a tankard of ale. Heaving me against the wall, he held me there. The invisible bands tightened still further, pain savaging my guts, squeezing the life from me. The irony almost made me laugh, had I the ability. To escape the wrath of the Federates to die at the hands of the man who liked me and called me friend.

  My fury, quiescent until that moment, rose along with my fig
hting instincts. I may not have breath, but I still had arms and fists. I brought both together in a swift slam to Rygel’s ears. I checked the impact, wanting only to make him cease, but not crush his skull. Sudden, sharp blows to the ears were exceedingly painful and I learned at an early age to strike ears whenever possible.

  As expected, Rygel yelped at the horrid torture, his hands releasing me and covering his newly agonized ears. His magic also broke, allowing me to inhale quickly, giving me another few moments of life. I slid toward the floor, but before I ducked away to escape, I slammed my fist into his left cheekbone. His tawny hair flew, his spittle left his lips and found a new home on the wall.

  I might have escaped intact had he not recovered from both blows faster than anyone I had ever encountered. I’m quite sure his head must have been ringing with temple bells, but he still managed to seize me once again in his magical grip. The pressure to my ribcage increased, and I found myself pinned high against the wall once more. My newly won breath vanished along with my rage.

  “Why?” he screamed. His voice, high and shrill, screeched like a hellcat’s. “Why would you do that?”

  How could I answer when I had no air to breathe? Black spots danced in front of my eyes. As when he saved my life, I felt cold, cold, as though Death herself stood at my shoulder. I shut my eyes, unwilling to stare him in the face as he murdered me. He must not want an answer very badly. He would kill me before getting his reply, I thought haphazardly.

  I could move my head. Resting it against the wall, I jerked my chin a tiny fraction. A tiny signal. I request permission to speak, sir. Whether in answer, or a last moment’s reprieve, the impossible bands around my chest loosened a small amount. The pain eased a fraction. A tiny trickle of air found its way into my lungs. I sucked down enough to sustain life for a few moments longer. Enough air to gasp a few words.

  “You. Freed me. Let me. Free. You.”