In a Wolf's Eyes

by A. Katie Rose

  The grounds were large, but only half the size of the main fighting arena. Above us, the stars wheeled in their courses, telling me we had but a few hours until dawn. The training area, oblong in shape, consisted of a loose dirt floor and a low wood railing surrounding it. A dirt walkway trailed its way all around the outside with a few doors shut against my view of what may be inside the rooms. I saw no soldiers or guards on duty, only torches burning to light the form lying within the wood fence.

  My heart lurched in my chest, then began to pound in long thick strokes. In an instant, I forgot all the petty squabbles, the clicking beak meant to irritate me, all the times he made me want to pluck every feather from his head and use them for writing letters. All I could remember was how much I loved him. Tears sprang and rolled down my cheeks, but I failed to care.

  Bar lay half on his haunches and chest, half on his side, feathered neck outstretched uncomfortably on the dirt. His right foreleg stuck out sideways from his body; a clumsy bandage covered his shoulder. Another concealed a wound on his belly, blood staining its pristine whiteness. Eyes shut, his wings drooped to the floor, only the tip of his tail flicked periodically to show me he still lived.

  “Gods above and below!”

  I wasn’t sure if Wolf’s half-hushed comment was a curse or a prayer, but I didn’t wait to find out. Vaulting the short rail, I ran to Bar’s side and fell to my knees. I wanted to wrap my arms as far around his neck as I could, but dared not shift him. I might cause him pain and that would just about slay me where I stood.

  At my light touch on his head, his yellow eyes opened and rolled upward to peer at me. A hoarse chirp greeted me, an obvious effort on his part, and just as obvious a reassurance. I wanted to speak, to say anything, however stupid or senseless, but if I opened my mouth, I would bawl like an infant. I rubbed his ear. That much I could do without causing him pain. Or crying.

  I heard the others fan out around the two of us, but I paid them scant attention. I ran my fingers lightly past his ear and down his feathered neck, rubbing, trying to reassure without using my voice. My fingers caught on something, bent against something hard and cold amid the mixture of brown hair and white feathers.

  An iron collar.

  I stiffened in anger, fingering the collar, discovering the length of chain that bound Bar to the earth with the stout links and a peg driven deep into the arena floor. Brutal took no chances with his hostage. Had Bar recovered and gained enough strength to fly, the collar and chain held him fast. In addition, should we somehow survive the trap outside, we still could not escape with Bar. Brutal planned well. A brief image of my taking off the top of Brutal’s head and stirring his brains with a spoon crossed my thoughts.

  Control yourself, I ordered silently. Plotting revenge against Brutal for this insult did no one, least of all Bar, any good. Get him free, get him healed and go home. That alone was vengeance enough.

  “He’s a big beastie.”

  Wolf spoke from behind me. Rapidly I blinked the tears away, swiped my cheeks, drawing a deep breath to regain some semblance of control. Yet, my fury had not died as much as I thought. My reply erupted with a sharpness I did not intend.

  “Don’t talk about him as though he weren’t here and listening,” I replied, my voice ragged.

  “He can understand us?”

  “Of course,” I snapped. I got to my feet. “Bar, ignore him. He’s a lout.”

  Bar raised his head a fraction, rolling his eyes toward the big gladiator, his beak opening to answer me with a short testy hiss.

  To my surprise, Wolf stepped forward and bowed, a smile quirking his handsome lips. “Bar, forgive me. I am unacquainted with your kind, for there are none in my land. The Princess brought us here to help. My brother will heal you, if you would permit him to approach.”

  I gaped. Someone chuckled, probably Rygel, from behind me. Bar lifted his head further to better inspect Wolf, his eyes widening in quiet astonishment. Then his head fell back and he groaned low in his chest. I went to him, cradling his massive head in my arms as best I could.

  “Rygel.” Wolf’s soft voice bespoke a command even I might have obeyed.

  “I know, I know.”

  Rygel knelt at Bar’s shoulder, gently peeling away the bandage. The wound looked ugly, dried blood and tissue caking the sandy fur around it. I averted my eyes hastily, as I knew I would bawl if I looked much longer, and thanked the Lady the arrows had been withdrawn. As Rygel’s gentle fingers probed the wound, I watched Kel’Ratan set my boys around the perimeter of the arena. Wolf stood to one side, a position from where he could see both most of the building and Rygel at work.

  “Aye, here we go,” Rygel muttered, his fingers bloody. “Hold still, there’s a good chap.”

  As far as I could see Bar had not moved even a single feather, but Rygel’s muttered reassurances soothed my frazzled nerves. Beneath my arms, Bar inhaled a deep breath, as though also relaxing under Rygel’s ministrations.

  “What about this?” I asked, indicating the iron collar. “How do we get him out of it?”

  Rygel scowled slightly, as though annoyed at my interruption. He glanced at the collar glinting faintly in the torchlight and muttered under his breath. He made an almost negligent gesture with his hand. The sudden click of the lock was not enough of a warning for me to get my arms out of the way. Thus, the collar and its short length of chain dropped, clinking, into my lap, barking my knees. I winced.

  “Rygel.”

  Wolf’s quiet rumble admonished the wizard into a hasty apology and a retraction of the scowl.

  I absently rubbed Bar’s neck where the brutal iron had lain, once more astonished at Wolf’s power over the man. Perhaps my getting on Rygel’s right side, if he had one, would not be such a bad idea.

  “Do you heal people often?” I asked.

  Rygel paused long enough to shrug, shooting me a fleeting glance. “Sometimes.”

  “You have a heartening way about you. Something that comforts.”

  His muttered reply sounded caustic and rude, and in what I thought might have been another language. If my compliment affected him at all, he certainly refused to let me see. I stroked Bar’s ear and neck, wondering if I would ever win the wizard over. Did I really want to?

  “This should heal just fine,” he went on, his tone once more reflecting quiet assurance. He took his fingers from the wound and turned his attention to Bar’s belly injury.

  “Tsk.” He clicked his tongue at what lay beneath the bandage, but by my angle of sight, I could not see much. For which I felt grateful. Tears streamed down my face as it was, clearly seen by any of my warriors who might chance to look. Rygel’s quiet murmurs resumed, but I listened with only scant attention.

  I glanced around, noting with approval my warriors’ alert stance, Kel’Ratan’s readiness for trouble. Even Wolf’s eyes ceaselessly roved the arena, his hand tickling the hilt of his sword. Though he certainly heard all of what passed between Rygel and me, he never gave a sign.

  At long length, Rygel raised his bloody hands and caressed Bar’s fur over his ribs. “Rest now, laddie,” he murmured. “I’ll have you flying again in a blink.”

  Yet, for a long length, he continued his thoughtful strokes. Maybe he prayed to his gods. Could he have been gathering courage? I could not see his face, for he knelt half-turned from me. The firelight lit his fair head with a faint nimbus, like a strange and mystic aura.

  He shifted position slightly, making himself more comfortable on his knees, his face now facing forward. I almost started in shock. This man on his knees was not the cold bastard I had come to know. This Rygel appeared to be an individual I had no idea existed. This Rygel was kind, thoughtful of his patient’s well-being, his amber eyes wide and soft, his thin lips half-smiling. The mockery, the hatred of himself and others, the icy contempt all vanished under a new expression of confidence and compassion. His slender hands he smoothed over Bar’s fur were gentle, sensitive, caring.

  Struck by
a sudden insight, I wondered if perhaps this was the real Rygel, the one hidden beneath the pain and hatred and deep anger. Was he perhaps a man of selfless and noble spirit, a man who cared about the sick, the injured, the helpless? Was he, maybe, the good twin?

  Two twins, I thought, remembering an old tale. One good, one evil, who fought one another throughout time. Identical twins who warred within this one man: the evil twin, the hated and feared Brutal’s pet. The man who tortured Brutal’s prisoners with magic, who, men said, killed wantonly and enjoyed the killing. I saw, and experienced firsthand, the vengeful wizard who hated women and himself.

  Yet, the good twin, the healer, the wizard who offered compassion for an injured creature and brought comfort to those around him, sat before me now. His slender hands had healed Wolf’s arm within minutes and saved the slave’s life. His magic, his mercy, his kindness, would return health to Bar.

  Now I had seen both, twins good and evil, fighting each other for the upper hand. Which one would overcome?

  Rygel spoke again, in a voice so low I almost failed to catch the words. I wasn’t even sure if he spoke to me or to Bar. “All I ever wanted was to heal. I trained under the very best healers, learned all I could from them and ventured out, seeking even greater knowledge of the healing gifts. Bringing harm or pain or grief for no just cause goes against everything I once stood for. I was once an honorable man. Now all I have is a desire to atone for my sins.”

  I said naught. What did one say after a baring of his soul like that? I studied my fingernails.

  At last his calming strokes ended, but his hands remained on Bar’s ribcage, fingers splayed. Rygel bent his head, eyes closed, his breathing slowing, flowing into a strange cadence with Bar’s own breathing. My own quickened, both in fear and anticipation. Bar’s head sagged even further into my arms, his huge weight straining my every muscle. Stubbornly I held on, refusing to let him lie in the dirt, and prayed the Lady of us all that Rygel’s magic worked quickly.

  With some prayers, the answer is nay.

  Time dragged on slowly, too slowly. Both Rygel’s and Bar’s breathing grew even more sluggish, increasing my fear that both would die. Panic nibbled at my heart and I glanced up, searching for Wolf. Jolted, I found him just behind my right shoulder. He had moved closer, standing nearly on top of me, and I never heard or felt his movement. That bothered me a great deal, but I stifled the irritation. Few have been able to get within touching distance of me without my knowing, and none since my childhood. Until Wolf did.

  No doubt, he saw my fear in my eyes, for he smiled reassuringly and winked. No words, though, to disturb Rygel’s trance, I noticed. Despite the unnerving silence, his confidence raised my own. Resting my head atop Bar’s, I took a deep breath and let calm wash through me.

  Without warning, Rygel collapsed. One moment he knelt in the trance, or whatever magic held him in thrall, then the next he slumped headfirst into the dirt. At the same instant, Bar stirred in my arms. His head lifted in a long stretch of relieved pain, a long low hiss escaped his beak. He rose ponderously, albeit shakily, to his feet, colossal wings outstretched to their fullest for balance. New tears sprang to my eyes, tears of joy and relief to have him tower over me once more, to feel the backwash of his wings. I looked quickly at Bar’s shoulder and belly. Naught remained of the wounds that I could see. Only stains of dried blood marked where the arrows had struck. Dirt flew in swirls about me as Bar’s huge wings whipped the air. His tail lashed from side to side, a healthy sign of renewed vigor.

  Bar bent his huge head downward, chirping, to nudge my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around his head in a tight embrace, squeezing until a sharp squawk reminded me that I could still strangle him.

  The same instant Bar rose, Wolf dropped to his knees at Rygel’s side, drawing him into those brawny arms. “He’s exhausted.”

  “Is he conscious?” Kel’Ratan asked, having run the short distance to my side.

  Wolf lifted one of Rygel’s eyelids, examining his friend, his anxiety not quite hidden. “Nay. He’s out cold.”

  “How long till he wakes?”

  “Too long.”

  “We’ll have to carry him, then.”

  Bar took two steps and staggered sideways, his wings creating a minor dust storm while his talons clawed the dirt. I hastily scooted out of his way, suddenly fearing he might fall. Wings flapping for balance, Bar hissed in consternation. Using his tail as a rudder, he found his equilibrium. Walking in a circle about us, his steps evened out as he worked the residual weakness from his legs and wings.

  Unable to contain myself, I threw my arms about his neck, burying my face in the mixture of feathers and fur over his chest.

  “Thank you, O Blessed Lady,” I breathed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I will pray three times a day for this blessing.”

  “Thank her later,” Kel’Ratan muttered in my ear. “We’ve got trouble.”

  I looked past Bar’s massive shoulder in the direction my kinsman stared with narrowed eyes. Even Bar turned his head. Wolf twisted awkwardly, Rygel’s limp body still in his arms, following the direction of Kel’Ratan’s gaze.

  As we watched in dismay, a gladiator stumbled out of the room we had just traversed, yawning enormously with eyes still bleary from sleep. Twitching aside his loincloth, he faced the wall and began to urinate. Just wonderful, I thought crossly. Caught by a bloody slave with his pants down.

  As if sensing my irritation, the slave glanced over his shoulder, another huge yawn infusing his face. Then his jaw snapped shut in shock.

  Chapter 13

  Rain of Fire

  The one-eyed warrior, Witran, Witrull or whatever his name was, was already moving. Princess Ly’Tana’s men were well trained, I had to admit. With my prior warning not to harm any gladiator in mind, he raised his sword, hilt first. The gladiator still stared, openmouthed, unaware of the sword raised to strike him down. Witran aimed for the stunning, not killing, blow. I could not quarrel with that. I had recognized the gladiator the moment he stumbled out to urinate, but as he was a new recruit to our stable, I did not know his name.

  His fighting instincts warned him in time. The gladiator spun and dodged the descending hilt. With a hair-raising yell, the slave knocked aside the blow intended for him and bolted. Witran—or was it Witrull?—cursed and swung again, but the arena-trained gladiator evaded him again with lightning speed. Still yelling at the top of his lungs, the slave disappeared the way he had come.

  Startled shouts and exclamations and orders drifted down from outside the arena.

  Kel’Ratan swore violently. Slaves cursed fluently, but he used words even I wasn’t sure I knew the meaning of. “Now we’ve gone and put our feet in it,” he growled. “Get ready.”

  I rose, lifting Rygel’s dead weight in my arms. One of the Princess’s warriors ran to her, the one with the long strawberry-colored hair and the drooping mustache. He no doubt thought to protect her, his sword drawn. Shouted orders came down from above, along with the slither of steel drawn from leather sheaths. The soldiers watching for us outside knew we slipped past them and now moved to spring their trap.

  “Put up your blade and take him,” I snapped.

  The startled warrior obeyed me, sheathing his weapon, and took Rygel’s limp body from me. “Get him somewhere safe and guard him.”

  The man looked to Ly’Tana quickly. She nodded once, curtly, her own sword in her hand. The rest of her warriors surrounded her and the griffin. The griffin. We no longer had the luxury of escorting him through the tunnel.

  “Go,” I barked at the man with Rygel and drew my sword. Young and powerfully built, he carried the body of my blood brother with ease as he ran back toward the tunnel. I suspected the gladiators, now awake, would be reluctant to stop him or interfere. Nevertheless, to be certain, I also cast a quick prayer to the gods for Rygel’s safety.

  The griffin reared, wings wide and creating swirling columns of dust with his wings, screaming in fury. Those dagger-sharp t
alons and savage beak might rip a man to shreds, but he made a fine big target for the troops’ arrows. Nor were there enough of us to protect him as the soldiers streamed into the arena.

  Ly’Tana must have come to the same conclusion. Slapping the beast on the haunch, she cried, “Aloft! Go! I’ll meet you in the meadow!”

  With a powerful lunge, the griffin sprang for the air, huge wings clawing for height. Sluggishly he rose, forelegs tucked close to his body, neck stretched upward with effort. Another sweep of those huge wings took him far above my head. The dust from the windstorm he created swirled about us like a thick fog. Another heavy wingbeat brought him level with the arena rim. I saw a number of arrows shot upward as he drew above the high stands of the arena. I held my breath as they hissed past him, but as far as I could tell none touched him. Perhaps Ly’Tana’s goddess protected him, and, hopefully, us as well.

  Two more wingbeats took him safely out of sight and flight of the arrows, his raucous screech trailing behind him. The downdraft created a dust storm thick enough to momentarily hide both him and us from the arrows now loosed. The arrows missed their intended targets, although the Kel’Hallan return fire found marks in throats, hauberks and faces. Ten, a dozen, troops fell.

  I had time enough to count roughly thirty soldiers dressed in the royal purple and gold, their captain wearing a gold plume in his helmet, before they charged and engaged our blades. Still more streamed in from the street above.

  Before thinking the Princess could very probably handle herself in a fight, I thrust her behind me. An outraged squawk told me of my error, but I was too busy to apologize. Three came at me at once, steel raised high. Too high, for their own welfare, for I ducked low and swung my own sword at their unarmored legs. As their blades hissed over my head and clashed into one another in a steely tangle, I sliced deep into muscle, tendon and bone. Blood fountained high, splattering me and the Princess both with dark red.