Senya tried to sit. She blinked as a horse appeared over her, snow and dirt showering from iron-shod hooves as he went up on his hind legs, his front legs promising crushing peace. She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable…
But it never came. Instead, the forest to the right exploded out in a shower of scattered snow and snapping branches, as a mass of grey fur and jagged teeth burst from the tree line. The beast collided with the rearing horse and they disappeared together into the underbrush to the left, a tangle of flailing limbs and bloody fur.
Back along the trail, the bowman drew rein, horror in his eyes. For a moment they sat frozen, staring at each other; Senya on her backside, the bowman in his saddle.
Then a second horror erupted from the trees to the bowman's flank, causing his mount to rear up in terror. The bowman fought for control, dropping his bow and clinging desperately to the reins. But the horse was done, his eyes rolling with fear.
The newly arrived beast stood on two legs, hunched shoulders thick with fur. He lashed out at the bowman and swept him from the saddle in a flash of silver and crimson. The man vanished into the undergrowth, broken and lifeless.
Senya stifled a scream as the bushes closest to her, into which the first rider had disappeared, peeled apart and a wolf's head slowly emerged. The beast was all grey, save for a streak of white fur running through his left eye - white itself, where the other was black as coal.
Senya watched awestruck as the great beast padded towards her, mouth slick with blood, eyes as cold as any killers. Yet the fear drained away the moment she saw those eyes, for she knew the wolf… and the beast he travelled with.
'Scar,' the other one called out gruffly. 'Leave her be, boy.'
The wolf whimpered a little, but he sat back on his haunches and watched Senya closely, his mismatched eyes unflinching. Senya turned away from him, and found the second beast striding towards them. Only it was not a beast at all, just a man garbed in the thick hide of a bear, giant head drawn up like a hood. Senya groaned. Fooled by a pelt. What would father say to that?
He was a hulking giant of a man too, wielding an axe almost as big as he was, the blade oozing with gore. All told, he needed the costume about as much as the wolf needed a sword.
With a twinkle in his eye as he met Senya's gaze, he let the bear's head fall clear and revealed his own mass of scraggly grey hair, complete with a forked beard that ran down to his chest. He smiled warmly, revealing the elongated canines of the Valor, and any doubts Senya had vanished in an instant.
It was him. It was the Grey Wolf.
'Mikilov,' she muttered, trying to rise.
He caught her by the shoulder and shoved her back down. 'Stay there, girl. We'll deal with that arrow first.'
He knelt beside Senya and inspected the damage, moving her this way and that, trying to get a better angle on where the arrow had pierced the flesh. Senya winced and grunted as he probed, her face twisting in pain when he wiggled the arrow about. She felt the arrow’s shaft brush against the bone more than once, and had to bite her lip against the bolt of pain it sent searing through her.
'Not bad,' said the Grey Wolf, slapping Senya on the back. 'It’s close to the bone, but the shaft has gone clean through and there's no sign of internal bleeding.' He took hold of Senya's shoulder again and leaned in closer. 'Best you ready yourself now…'
'Ready myself for wha—'
Senya bit her tongue as Mikilov gripped the arrow in both hands and snapped it off at the fletching end, sending another bolt of agony coursing through her shoulder.
Before Senya could complain, Mikilov pushed the remaining arrow through the wound and yanked it clear on the other side. This time the pain was too much. Senya shoved the old warrior away from her and screamed.
'Stop your whining,' said Mikilov, slapping her hands away. 'It's done now.'
'You bastard!'
Mikilov grunted. 'There's worse to come. Here…' Drawing a flask from the bag at his side, Mikilov pulled the stopper clear and thrust it out to Senya. 'Drink!'
Senya took down a mouthful… and sprayed it out in disgust. The spirit burned her throat like fire, the aftertaste sharp and bitter. With Senya distracted, Mikilov doused the wounded shoulder with spirit and Senya cried out again as another fire of pain lit her shoulder. She scrabbled away from him, but the Grey Wolf grasped her by the good shoulder and held her firm.
'Get off me, you bastard!'
'Aye, girl, I'm a swine. But the wound's clean now. May as well let me stitch you up so we can get on our way.'
Senya's struggle faded when she saw the genuine warmth in the Grey Wolf's violet eyes. Then her anger drained away. He was trying to help, that was all. 'Go on then,' she said softly, closing her eyes. 'Do your work.'
She offered no further resistance as Mikilov staunched the flow of blood, no complaints as he stitched the flesh back together, nor criticism as he dressed the wound. When he was done, she tested the work by rotating her arm back and forth, lifting it up over her head and stretching. The stitching pulled tight, but there was enough give to suggest she'd get some use out of it.
'Thank you, Grey Wolf.'
'Just call me Mikilov, girl. I've never liked that other name, makes it sound like I fly with the Crows.'
Mikilov set about searching the corpses of the fallen, looking for supplies or other useful trinkets. Such was the glory of survival out in the Whitelands, Senya guessed. She grimaced as the head of one dead man lolled to the side, his neck and face a bloody ruin where the wolf had mauled him.
Scar lay nearby, head resting on his paws. When he caught her looking at him, he licked his lips as though he knew what she was thinking. Senya shifted her gaze away from him, back to Mikilov. 'What are you doing out here?'
Mikilov shrugged. 'Scar got the scent.' The wolf's head rose at the sound of his name, almost regal like. 'May have been yours, may have been theirs. Don't suppose it matters now.'
Mikilov paused over a second body, scratching his beard thoughtfully. 'Speaking of Crows,' he muttered, gesturing at the necklace of grey feathers decorating the corpse. 'This far northwest of the river…' He shook his head. 'Makes no sense. What were they doing out here?'
'Same as me,' said Senya. 'Looking for food.'
Mikilov grunted. 'Velimir then. Is that where they found you? At the farm?'
'These, and six others. I tried to lead them away - all of them - but only these four took the bait.'
'A blessing from the Hunt then. Not sure we'd have fared so well against more of them. Where was Velimir when this was happening? Don't seem right he'd let you stand in his stead.'
Senya felt a sudden pang of guilt. 'I didn't leave him much choice. Knocked him out and stashed him away. He's a farmer, Mikilov. He's not meant to face men like this.'
'And you are?' Mikilov hawked and spat. 'You're just a girl. And you would have died out here, if not for me and the wolf.'
Senya's anger flared. 'Aye, but at least I would have died like a man, eh?'
Mikilov spread his hands. 'Young, is all I meant. You're just too damned young.' He moved to a fallen tree beside the trail and sank down to a seat with a heavy sigh. 'So, you knocked him out and tried to lure them away… six stayed, you say?'
'Five,' said Senya. 'I killed one of them.'
Mikilov groaned. 'Five with a need for vengeance… Velimir is dead then.'
Senya choked back a sob. 'You don't know that. I left him well hidden. They won't find him. They only wanted the bison…' Even as she said the words, she knew Mikilov had the truth of it.
'Of course they only wanted the bison. It's been a hard winter for all of us, Wolf and Crow.' Mikilov sighed, sitting there a picture of sadness. 'Probably a farmer was exactly what they needed, and not a hot-headed girl out to make a name for herself.'
'Don't you dare!' Senya surged forward, jabbing a finger into the big man's chest. 'Don't you blame me for this. You don't know who was there.'
'Then tell me.'
Se
nya hesitated, as though saying the name would conjure him from the air. 'The Wolfeater,' she hissed through gritted teeth. 'He was leading them. You tell me that's a man a farmer could talk to.'
Mikilov sucked his teeth and nodded thoughtfully. 'Aye, I can see why you might act first against a man like that. Not that it matters now. What's done is done. Best we head back to Haslova and let them know what's happened.'
'Haslova?' Senya shook her head. 'No. We've got to go back to Velimir. I'm not leaving him out here with them.'
'Girl,' Mikilov laid a gentle hand on Senya's shoulder, 'the old man is dead. You killed one of the Wolfeater's own. If you think they haven't torn that place apart by now, then you're a fool. They'll either be long gone or they'll be waiting for us. We don't win by going back there. Best we can do is head home and gather more men, then we'll go back out there and see if they left us any meat.'
Senya hesitated for just a moment. In her heart of hearts, she knew the old man was right and Velimir was dead. And it's all my fault…
'You do what you must,' she said, 'but I can't give up on him. Not until I see the body.' She turned on her heels and set off in search of Rhine, who had scuttled off to safety when the fighting began.
To her surprise, Senya found the wolf padding along beside her. And she knew the Grey Wolf would follow.
Chapter Four
The Pack Survives
They saw the fire long before they reached the valley of Velimir's farm. By then it was growing dark, the flames turning the night sky a burnt orange.
'No!' With a hiss, Senya kicked her horse into a gallop. Scar followed after her, ploughing through the snow with big, leaping strides.
Mikilov hesitated for a moment. He barely enjoyed riding at the best of times, let alone full tilt through heavy snow and growing gloom. Yet… the girl might need me. He glanced down at the big horse beneath him, claimed from one of the dead Basillians. Only the strongest mounts survived the Whitelands, and none were stronger than those bred by the tribes. There was some comfort in that, at least.
'Don't you fall,' he muttered, patting the horse on the neck. Then he dug his heels in and galloped on after Senya.
By the time they sighted the farmstead, flames were roaring through the thatched roof and black smoke billowed out into the darkening sky. Even the barn was ablaze, some fifty yards beyond the main house.
There was no sign of the Grey Crow, nor the bison, for whom all this chaos had been wrought. There was only the body, lying face down in the snow, no more than five strides from the farm's door. They had stripped him naked, dragged his body out into the open, where the scavengers would find him.
Senya's face twisted in anguish and she dragged back hard on the reins, her mount skidding to a halt. She gasped suddenly, violently, and let out a long, haunting moan. It was a sound like nothing Mikilov had ever heard, and he felt his heart breaking with it.
He drew rein beside the girl, watched her grief pouring out. What else could he do? There were no words of comfort to offer, no pretty lies about how everything would be alright. That was Velimir down there and they both knew it. Nor did it take the blood-stained snow beneath the body to tell them he was dead.
Long seconds passed, minutes maybe, then Senya eased her mount forward and Mikilov followed after her. Scar reached the body first, but he made no effort to investigate beyond that. Instead, he sat on his hind legs and waited patiently for the others to approach, as though paying his respects to the fallen man. Most likely he was, for, like Mikilov, the wolf had known Velimir from back in the old days, when they ranged the Valorian borderlands together, along with Finn and his ilk. Good days, thought Mikilov, a deep sadness settling on him. Days we might never see again…
Senya drew to a halt beside the wolf and swung down from the saddle, staggering towards the body.
'Let me do that,' said Mikilov, almost falling from the saddle himself in his efforts to intercept her.
But the girl ignored him. She sank to her knees beside the body, grabbed it by the shoulders, and heaved it over. Velimir's head lolled to one side, his dead eyes gazing up at the grey sky. His throat had been slashed open, the dried blood suggesting he had been dead for hours.
Senya's shoulders sagged and her head dropped low, but to Mikilov's surprise there were no tears, no wailing. Fit to cry himself, he could have dealt with that kind of grief, but this silent devastation was a different beast entirely…
He laid a hand on the girl's shoulder and joined her in looking down at Velimir's face. The dead man looked almost ghoulish in the light from the burning farm. The smooth, sliced flesh around the wound in his throat seemed to open and close in the flickering flames.
'He was a good man,' said Mikilov, his voice soft, not really knowing where to go from there. 'He was one of the old guard. They don't make them like that anymore.'
Senya met his gaze and nodded. 'You're the last of them,' she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. 'And I don't know what we do without you.'
Mikilov offered her a hand and hauled her to her feet. 'You'll do the same thing every generation does. You'll survive.'
Senya looked back at the burning farm house. A timber cracked and the roof caved in, flames in the belly of the fire roaring up into the night sky. The snow continued to fall, but to Mikilov it felt like ash just then.
'Is this my fault?' Senya asked in a quiet voice.
Mikilov cast a sidewards glance at her, carefully weighing his answer. What could he say that wouldn't break her? Basillians had never touched the farms surrounding Haslova, let alone gutted one so completely. The tribes depended on Haslova as a place to blood their youngsters, and the city depended on the farms to survive. Destroying them was mutually damaging. There had never been a reason for that to change… until Senya killed the Wolfeater's friend.
And yet the Wolfeater did come with a reputation all of his own. His name alone spoke of his hatred for the Valor. Was it any surprise the girl had struck first, knowing what she knew?
Mikilov looked up and found her watching him closely, her eyes pleading. 'No,' he said at last, 'it wasn't your fault. We all know who the Wolfeater is; the things he's done. You thought leading him away would give Velimir the best chance of survival, and you were probably right. Sadly, the Wolfeater failed to take the bait. You did the best you could, girl. Velimir would have asked no more.'
'Will you help me bury him?'
Mikilov pulled the girl into a hug. 'I'd be honoured,' he whispered.
✽✽✽
It was easier said than done, burying old Velimir. The snow was almost a foot deep when they started digging, the earth beneath it frozen solid, while most of Velimir's tools had been lost to the fire. It took Mikilov's mighty axe to break through the surface and churn it up enough for them to start shovelling.
It was hard work in the bitter cold, with a piercing chill funnelled into the valley from the north. The burning farmhouse gave them some heat, but the flames were dying now and it took the work itself to build a little sweat.
By the time they were done, the moon would have been riding high in the sky, if it weren't for the mask of unrelenting clouds rolling overhead. The snow continued too, drifting down in soft clumps that left a fresh dusting across the landscape. When Mikilov patted down the last shovel of earth, Velimir's grave was already lost beneath a white blanket.
Mikilov and Senya stood there for a spell in silence, lost in their own prayers as the fire crackled and popped behind them, the last of Velimir's home burning from the earth.
'Do you think he'll join the Great Hunt?' The girl's voice dragged Mikilov from the memories of a glorious past.
'What did you say?'
'With the way he died; defenceless, dagger across the throat. Do you think he'll have a place in the Great Hunt?'
Mikilov eyed her curiously. There was fear in her voice; true fear. 'Alright, girl, who are you? I dreaded asking, because it's not wise to make connections out here. But there's not many of our folk w
ho put stock in the old beliefs these days. What do you care what happens to Velimir in the afterlife?'
'Why would I not?' she replied. 'He's my uncle.'
'Ah,' said Mikilov, as the pieces fell into place. 'Finn's girl.' He saw it clear as day now. She had the same dark eyes and coal-black hair, the same air of arrogant surety. 'He was a good man, your father. Knew the Valor better than anyone alive. I was sorry to hear of his death.'
All at once Mikilov realised she might be asking for her father as much as her uncle. Finn, the famed scout and ranger, had died naked and humiliated at the hands of his lover's husband. Some even said he had wielded a half-stiff cock as though it were a sword…
Mikilov shook his head. Finn had brought that end on himself, but in all other aspects of his life, save perhaps being a husband and a father, Finn had been the best of the Valor. Second only to Velimir.
'It doesn't matter how he died,' he said after a moment. 'What matters is how he lived. Your uncle may have chosen a peaceful life these past few years, but he always had a warrior's heart. He'd seen his share of death, and dealt it too, before he answered the call of the land. You've seen what it's like out here… you think you don't need a warrior's heart for that too? When the time comes, Velimir will be front and centre among the riders of the Great Hunt. Side by side with his brother.'
The girl turned away, tears glistening in her eyes. That's good, thought Mikilov. Tears are healing. He left her to it then, alone with her grief and her memories. Mikilov crossed the farmyard and joined Scar near the smouldering ruins of the barn, where they had tethered their horses to a hitching rail and set up camp.
He looked back for a spell, watching the girl's forlorn shadow against the fading flames, still burning their way through the farmhouse. It was strange, Finn had never spoken of her. Mikilov had only suspected a child existed thanks to rumour and gossip, and even then he'd barely believed it. Finn had always seemed too wild and free spirited to be tied down by a wife and child. Yet he was a good man too, never afraid to step up when needed, not one to turn his back on his responsibilities. And it wasn't like the girl was simple either - she was keen and sharp-witted, with a fire in her belly to make any Valor proud. So why hide her?
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