Elspeth sighed dejectedly; she couldn’t change the past, and foolish wishes weren’t helping anyone. They had to get to Bailryn; back to Daric and Grady. Gods, she even thought she might be pleased to see Si’eth. Maybe she would be a guard, after all.
The Salrian poachers had not taken Gialyn’s recital any better than she had expected. Olg’s eyes seemed to widen at every sentence. Lud scratched at his neck, arms and chest, as though suddenly very uncomfortable. Fran, as usual, said nothing, but she could write a story by the pale look on his face.
“You fool, boy. Why didn’t you listen to your father?” Olg told Bre’ach. It seemed everyone had drawn the same conclusion.
Bre’ach didn’t try to explain – he’d probably spent the last few days asking himself the same question. “What’s done is done. I will find my father and fight by his side.”
Gialyn suddenly looked ill; his brow creased and his arms fell loose by his sides. “‘Find your father?’ Is that why we are going east, Bre’ach? Are we doing all this because your father will be in Bailryn? Seems to me, this journey was dangerous either way we travelled. Why didn’t we just go back to Albergeddy? Elspeth and I can do nothing in Bailryn, but we could have warned our families of the danger, had we travelled west instead.”
Elspeth clenched her fist around her bow; the realisation of what Bre’ach had done hit her like a bolt of lightning. “We could have gone west, Bre’ach. No, don’t talk. Listen. You said, two days ago, that you expected the way to be blocked. You knew the Kel’madden were in the valley! Yet you tried to persuade us that it would be safer travelling this way.
“You led us into danger so you can regain some honour? Is that the reason you are risking our lives, Bre’ach… because you feel guilty about the map and want to redeem yourself in your father’s eyes?”
Elspeth could feel her face redden with anger as she spoke, but she wasn’t finished yet…
“Gods, you’re using us, aren’t you? You need us to get safely to Bailryn. You knew about the valley. You’ve left our home ignorant and defenceless, all to serve your wounded pride!”
Elspeth lifted her bow and lunged towards Bre’ach. Wielding it like a club, she swung hard at his head.
Gialyn caught her arm. “No, Elspeth, we can’t fight amongst ourselves.”
He, too, was shaking, Elspeth noticed. Why wasn’t he standing by her side, attacking Bre’ach for what he had done?
She felt another surge of anger. “Let me go, Gialyn. That fool has put our home in danger, and all for his own ends.” She kicked at Gialyn, struggling to wrestle her bow from his grip. “Why are you helping him? Why are you on his side? Can’t you see what he’s done?”
Gialyn wrapped his arm around her. She wanted to bite him, kick him, anything to get free. That Salrian would pay for his arrogance; needed or not, he would pay.
“You’re right,” Bre’ach told her.
Elspeth stopped struggling with Gialyn and gazed open-mouthed at the Salrian.
“You’re right,” Bre’ach repeated. He turned to them and rubbed nervously at his neck. “I have my reasons for going east, that’s true, and I rescued you both so you could help me reach Bailryn. Nevertheless, I also spoke the truth. There’s no going west; they have the marsh track guarded. You know that as well as anyone. They captured you before when they didn’t know what they were looking for. You would not have made it to Blue Rock Pass, never mind Albergeddy. Yes, I wanted to go east, and I could have gone on my own, left you there to your fate, but I needed you. It’s the only reason you’re free – I needed you.”
Elspeth pulled her bow from Gialyn’s grasp and slumped on a rock. “We could have tried, Bre’ach. We could have tried to warn them. I don’t see how it would be any more dangerous than what waits for us in the valley.” She slowly shook her head. “All this because you wouldn’t be able to get to Bailryn with a Surabhan by your side. You coward!”
“I honestly wasn’t sure they would be here, Elspeth,” Bre’ach told her. “I still don’t think they are all here.”
Olg coughed. “If I may…” The poacher held out his hands. When no one said anything, he continued, “If we stay west of the stream, we should be able to sneak by. I would guess they’ll make camp under the trees, at the centre of the valley. If we wait until night, we should pass unnoticed.”
Bre’ach jerked his head back. “You still mean to come with us?”
Olg laughed, then cleared his throat again. “It’s no more dangerous in the valley than on the road. In fact, it’s probably safer. There’s plenty of cover. And if we had gone back, if you hadn’t found us, we would have walked right into a squad of Salrian soldiers. You saved us from a nasty meeting with the general’s men.”
“And how far will you come?” Elspeth asked him.
“I can’t speak for these two,” Olg nodded toward his friends, “but I intend to go all the way. This war will spread if we don’t stop it here. I won’t have my sons fighting the Kel’madden. Best I help you Surabhan. You never know, maybe we’ll get lucky. I don’t know what is to come, but I can’t just turn my back on that.” He pointed towards the column of Kel’madden.
For all their uncouth manners, Lud and Fran both nodded vigorously in agreement. Although Lud waited for Fran’s response before agreeing.
Olg smiled at them. “We weren’t always… uh… hunters, miss,” he said, patting his friend Fran on the shoulder. “We’ve seen war and have had our fill of it. These Kel’madden won’t stop at Bailryn. Either I fight now, and maybe help you put an end to it quickly, or my children fight tomorrow.”
Elspeth brought a shaky hand to her mouth. And I wanted to go home. The idea of trying for the palace guard suddenly filled her with shame. What right did she have to guard anybody, when all she wanted was to go home at the first sign of trouble? Either way, brave men and women didn’t turn tail and run when faced with danger. She felt like hugging Olg, but resisted the temptation. She couldn’t help a smile, though. It occurred to her; every Salrian she had ever met had been a brave man. Even Bre’ach had stuck to his convictions against overwhelming odds, whether he was right or not was beside the point. If she were going to be of any use to anybody, she would have to step up and stop feeling sorry for herself. Right then, she resolved to focus on Bailryn; she would be a guard, even if the palace were in turmoil and the recruiting cancelled. She would steal a uniform and pretend, if that was what it came to. She would stand fast.
As if reading her thoughts, Gialyn raised his chin and thrust his chest out. “Then we wait for dark and make for the Tunnels.”
Everybody agreed.
CHAPTER 18
Mott’s Lot: Part Three
Mott ran hard for three days, following Dras to where the old wolf had heard the Gathering was to take place. Their path took them most of the way back to Crenach’coi. First along the Great Western Road, and then turning south, down by the Raithby tributary. By the third evening, Be’olyn – the Town of Thieves – was less than an hour to the east. They were only a two-hour run from the Shinnon Valley, where the Gathering was to take place.
Dras wasn’t sure the Wildlings would still be there; his information was a week old, and all he knew was the site of the Gathering, not the time. He was, however, sure that many of the Wildlings were angry – and ready for war.
Dras had told Mott about one pack of maybe fifty Wilding, fleeing south, attacking anything that got in their way. Many humans had abandoned their farms, seeking refuge in the larger towns. It was a foolish tactic; the wolves had to join with the humans, not make enemies of them. Convincing them of that was not going to be easy. Indeed, Mott wasn’t so sure if such a thing were possible – not with the Wildlings. They were territorial pack hunters, proud and fiercely protective of their wild ways. Getting two Alphas to work together would be difficult enough. Uniting over five thousand wolves seemed all but impossible. And why would they listen to him, anyway: an Illeas Rukin, of all things? The doubts kept mounting as time went
by; Mott was not as sure of his plan as when he had started.
The morning of their fourth day came quickly; it seemed they had slept for a few hours, at most. Mott was tired and sore. Dras, on the other hand, looked ready to run circles around him. I’ll say one thing for the Wildlings; they’re certainly a healthy bunch. They had spent that night in a small stand of trees, hidden from view by a line of prickly redberry bushes. Hiding while they slept had become a necessity; he’d seen more than a few farmers reaching for their bows when Mott and Dras ran too close to one of their fields.
After drinking from the stream, Mott made his way back to the trees. He grimaced when he saw Dras shredding the rabbit he had caught. Not that Mott was opposed to raw meat; it just didn’t taste as good as Lanay’s cooking. Besides, a scrawny rabbit wouldn’t make much of a meal. He would have to admit, however, that last night’s hunt, short though it was, had been exciting. Even if Dras had caught most of their food. He didn’t mention the raw meat, though; Wildlings were always accusing the Rukin of being soft and eating cooked food…
“We should be there by mid-morning,” Dras said. “Have you decided what you’re going to say to them?”
Thankfully, Dras was talking out loud. Mott had difficulty maintaining the Earthen Voice, which was another reason for worry: the Wildlings would not respond well to the spoken word. He would have to learn fast and hope he didn’t make a fool of himself.
“Not yet,” Mott said. “I thought I’d see what state they are in, whether they have a leader or have decided on a plan of their own. I think listening would be best. At least until we know what is happening.”
“That’s some sage thinking, Mott.” Dras nodded. He seemed impressed. “You are learning.”
They ate.
The skies had darkened by the time Mott followed Dras out of the thin stand of trees and led them east across the flat grasslands. They looked worryingly at the clouds.
“We should hurry,” Dras said. “The river can rise quickly when the rain falls on the mountains. We’ll need to cross at the ford before it does, or they’ll be no meeting anybody.”
The prospect of a wasted trip spurred Mott along. He led Dras in a fast trot eastwards along the bank of the stream. Apparently, the ford was a half mile north from where the stream flowed into the Raithby tributary.
Despite their haste, Dras had the breath to talk. “Maybe I should do the talking when we reach the Gathering.”
Mott smiled to himself. For three days, Dras had insisted he was not getting involved – too old for “wolf politics” was his excuse. Mott had asked him what he had meant by that, and Dras gave him a lecture on Wildling hierarchy. Mott found it surprising how similar the Wildlings were to the Rukin on matters of democracy. Yes, there were Alphas, but they were not as dominant as Mott had thought. Smaller packs would often come together, to balance the strength of a powerful neighbour. Alpha’s could be “voted” out if they failed to provide food and security for their pack. Females had their own leaders – many wolves thought them more influential than the Alphas. It was all very… civilized.
“If you think that would be best, Dras,” Mott said.
Dras said nothing but looked knowingly at Mott. The old wolf must know how pleased he was with his change of heart.
“We need to see who stands to lose,” Dras said. “Wildlings admire strength; if we can find three or four packs that are willing to listen, then maybe we can sway one of the more powerful Alphas. It won’t be easy, but it’s our only chance.”
“You mean… form a coalition?” Mott could not help but chuckle. “And you call yourselves Wildlings?”
Dras scoffed. “Do you want my help, or not?”
“Of course I do. It’s just—”
“—what’s that sound?” Mott turned his ears to the southeast. “It’s in my head. Someone is shouting in my head. A really loud.” Mott pawed at his ears. The screeching – it was more a screech than a shout, he realised – seemed to come from everywhere at once.
“The river,” Dras growled. “A wolf is caught in the river. Hurry.”
Mott followed as Dras sped off towards the river. The Voice in his head was getting louder and more anxious by the second: “Help me! My cub! Help me!” Mott jumped the privet and all but rolled down the bank towards where he thought the voice was coming from. Dras was two paces behind; the old wolf was not so good with obstacles. However, he caught up again, and they both saw a yellow-eyed female frantically trying to reach her cub.
The cub was stuck on a branch. From what Mott could see, the mother and cub had tried to cross the river by using a downed tree as a bridge. The cub was stuck underneath, and the water was rising. The mother looked ready to jump in after it.
“No, wait,” Mott shouted.
The female turned her yellow eyes on him in a half-fearful, half-threatening stare. “Who are you?” she said – she actually said it.
Mott didn’t answer; he jumped into the river.
He paddled hard to reach the cub. Biting at the branches, he tried to steady himself as the ever-rising river slapped hard against his side. It wouldn’t be long before the fast flowing water completely submerged the tree. Slowly – too slowly – Mott lurched forward, one branch at a time.
The tiny wolf looked exhausted. It had managed to wedge itself into an area of split bark. Its ears were flat on its head, its eyes closed against the roaring river; it coughed and choked after each wave covered its head. Mott let go of his bite-hold and, paddling even more ferociously, grabbed the cub between his teeth. He ducked down under the fallen tree and came up on the other side. The female was screaming at him, and the cub was wriggling, trying to escape. You would think they would be grateful.
There was no swimming against the river; he had to hope he could steer himself into the shallows. Mott kicked hard, trying desperately to turn into the current. The water thrashed against his back. It was all he could do to keep the cub’s head above the surface.
There was one chance. From what he could see, they were fast approaching a shallow bank on the eastern side of the river. Too close to swim, he would have to dive down and try to kick off from the riverbed. He hoped the little wolf knew how to hold its breath.
The river wasn’t as deep as he had expected. Mott managed to push himself off the muddy riverbed. And with another lunge, he surfaced less than a pace from the bank. Dras was in front of him. The old wolf was standing in the shallows, yet the water was still up to his shoulder. He must have run across that fallen tree. Dras had managed to pin himself against a rock. Mott aimed for him and the old wolf bit at the scruff of his neck, just in time to help pull them in.
The heavens had opened; the heavy rain made the bank slippery. Mott scrambled ashore. He put the cub down on the first patch of green grass. The little wolf coughed a few times, but, apart from being drenched, looked none-the-worse for his adventure.
To Mott’s surprise, two other cubs appeared from around a wolfberry bush, followed closely by their mother. The cubs looked happy; the mother did not.
“What the hell were you thinking, going under the water like that? He could have drowned.”
She pushed Mott aside and curled herself around the soaked cub. The other two joined in.
Wonderful, risk your life to save her cub, and she moans. Typical female.
Mott looked around and saw a small stand of trees a few hundred paces to the east. “Come on, you can’t stay out here. Bring your cubs to those trees.” He nodded in their direction.
The female laughed mirthlessly. “Oh really, you nearly drown my cub and now you want to give orders. Typical male. And why are you talking? Where do you come from?”
“Why am I…?”
In all the fuss, Mott had forgotten about that, forgotten that the Wildling female had spoken to him like any other Rukin. He wondered if she might by one of those Rukin kidnapped by Wildlings – it had been known to happen, although he hadn’t heard of any recently.
“Why am I talk
ing? Why are you talking? Are you Rukin?” he asked her.
She did laugh at that. “Gods no, I’m no Rukin. My name is Nacole; I am of the Broan Sect.”
“The what?” Mott asked, slowly turning his head towards Dras, who was nodding as though suddenly understanding something.
“I am from the Karan Lowlands. Our home is north of the Broan River, close to the Karan Valley.”
The rain began to beat down even harder.
“It’s nice to meet you, Nacole,” Mott said while squinting against the now near-horizontal rain. “My name is Mott, and I would love to talk, but please, let me help you get your cubs somewhere dry first. They could still die out here. Gods, they could drown in a puddle, they’re so small.”
Nacole sighed. “I would never have travelled if it were not for… Never mind. Yes, you are right. Come, my little ones; follow the nice wolf to the trees.”
Mott looked down at the three cubs as they tripped over their own feet trying to walk through the thick grass. “It would be quicker if you put them on my back. If you’ll allow it.”
Nacole looked startled. Mott knew offering to carry a wolf’s pups was a sign of intent. “Please, I make no claim. It’s just… under the circumstances.”
Nacole smiled. “Very well, but I should tell you my mate is dead, and only just. Please behave accordingly in the future.”
Mott bowed. He knew what she meant; wolves were very particular about how they treated a widow – there were rules for everything.
He waited for Nacole to place her cubs on his back. Slowly, the three of them walked to the trees. Nacole and Dras flanked Mott, making sure the cubs didn’t fall. Once under the wide-bowed oak and ash, Mott eased himself down and let the cubs jump to the ground. The three little wolves quickly circled their mother and Nacole lay down to give them warmth.
“Why are you on your own?” Mott asked her.
Dras coughed. And Nacole’s eyes narrowed.
The Dragon Oracles: Omnibus Edition (The Eastern Kingdom Omnibus Book 1) Page 66