Nacole shot Ker a wolfish grin. “It would appear he has arrived.”
* * *
“The Rukin are here. The Rukin are here,” a young wolf shouted, as he entered the small clearing where Nacole and the others were sitting.
“Did they bring food?” Ker asked, in a very matter-of-fact manner.
“Yes, sir.”
“How many Rukin are there?”
“Uh, all of them, I think.”
Ker flashed a quizzical glance between Dras and Nacole. He was up and out before Nacole could say a word.
The western track – the narrow path cutting the Southern Taris Grasslands in two – was crowded with carts and horses… and goats – lots of goats, and cows, too. Many other animals, chickens, geese and even ducks had been packed into wide cages set on narrow carts. They stretched back as far as Nacole could see. There were humans as well; perhaps two-hundred. Mostly men, but Nacole could see several groups of women. Younger men with long sticks herded the goats and cows. Further back, a dozen larger wagons, filled to bursting with firewood, led another dozen or so coaches that looked like small houses on wheels. Nacole had no idea who might use them; probably the humans. In truth, she could hardly pull her eyes away from the goats.
She had expected Mott to be at the front, but ten minutes later, half the Rukin procession had gone past, and there was still no sign of him.
“He’s gone to Taris,” a large wolf said as he approached Nacole.
Startled, Nacole gaped at the grey wolf. “I’m sorry, were you talking to me?”
“You are Nacole, yes?”
“Yes, I am. How did you know?”
“He described you and the pups, and that you would be with an old wolf.” The wolf nodded apologetically at Dras. “I saw you looking, and not just at the goats.”
“Who are you? And why has Mott gone north?”
“I am Elder Gaiden. Mott had to talk to someone at Gieth’eire, at the fortress. Did you know his friends were captured?” Gaiden was almost at her side now. He smelled of apples, of all things.
“Yes, he said something about the children. Is he coming back?”
“Oh yes,” Gaiden said, sitting down. He looked tired. “He should catch up with us by tonight.” Gaiden stood and looked around the Wildling’s camp. “We should see about getting you fed; you can’t fight on an empty stomach.”
Nacole nodded. She hoped her relief didn’t show too much. For a moment, she thought Mott had decided to rescue his friends by himself. The old wolf grinned; maybe she didn’t hide it as well as she thought.
“Yes, thank you, Gaiden. They have given me the job of helping with food, apparently.” She gave Ker a wry look. He gave her a wolfish grin. Hurry up, Mott, before I bite someone.
* * *
“You’re recruiting… uh… what did you call them…? Wildlings?” Colonel Le’ode sat at his desk, staring at his pile of papers and tapping his finger. “You know I have a town full of farmers, most of whom are on the run from these Wildlings? Those who haven’t been raided are living in fear of them.”
Mott stared down at the floor. He was getting tired of apologising for Ker and the others. “Sorry, Colonel, but they were running from dragons; they wouldn’t be here were it not for that.”
Mott felt worn out. His feet hurt, his arrow wound hurt, he was exhausted from a two-day, near non-stop run. Ishban – the Elder who had accompanied him – didn’t look much better than he did. The old man leaned back in the chair Colonel Le’ode had offered him. The Elder was getting old; riding a horse or not, the travelling was taking its toll on the man. They both needed sleep, but instead, Mott was standing in front of a Surabhan colonel, explaining to him that wolves needed food, too. What did he think the Wildlings were going to do? March all the way to Eurmac without eating? Not that he thought Ker and the others were right, either, but he did understand them: forced from their homes by the very same dangers that now threatened the Surabhan. Yet… and yet… What was the point; he could hardly expect these humans to understand wolves, never mind feed them. Their ignorance was just another problem he had to deal with – all that had to change.
The colonel continued, “I understand… uh… Mr. Mott. It is just; your friends have not made it easy for me to help. I can’t spare men to go running after young Gialyn or Elspeth. We are hard pressed keeping order as it is. And believe me, I’d like nothing better than to see them safe.”
“Maybe just half a dozen men,” Ishban asked. “Just a scouting force; enough to locate them, at least.”
“There no need for that, sir. That Salrian general has been gone these past four days, maybe more. He could be anywhere by now. And even if they could pick up the trail, there will be no one here to back them up; all but the city guards are on their way to Bailryn – as I said.”
Mott had to sit. There was nothing he could do, nothing at all. Elspeth and Gialyn were all alone. He could only hope that the Salrians thought they were valuable enough to keep alive.
“You should get back to your friends, Mr. Mott,” the colonel said. “If Captain Rarshman has done his job, there will be three thousand soldiers heading towards the Redgate garrison. That should ease the locals’ nerves. And I’ve sent a pigeon; the townsfolk shouldn’t bother you, but if they haven’t got the message…”
“I understand, Colonel. Ten thousand wolves marching down the Great Western Road is enough to make me nervous, never mind a small town like Redgate. You need not worry, though; my friends are nowhere near the town.” He hoped they were not, hoped Ker had not taken it upon himself to move the Wildlings east. “We will be cautious. Maybe send Ishban and some of the other humans on ahead.”
Ishban raised an eyebrow, but then conceded the point. He was probably annoyed Mott was giving orders. “We will alert any settlement of our passing,” Ishban told the colonel. “We have brought plenty of food with us, there will be no need for the Wildlings to hunt, never mind raid farms.”
The old soldier nodded approvingly. “That’s good to hear.”
For a long moment, the colonel rifled through a handful of papers. And Mott waited while he read one of them. Then, “Rarshman’s men are leaving in a few hours, Mr. Mott. You’re welcome to travel with them, if you wish.”
Travel with the army? This was getting ridiculous; first the Wildlings, then his own folk, and now the Army; who did they think he was? The Wolf King? “Are they just… going our way? Or will they be joining our convoy?” Mott didn’t mind the company, but army folk would likely want to take charge. If they thought they could give Wildlings orders…
“I can order them to accompany you to Bailryn, if that’s what you want. It will certainly make travelling easier. Uh, I mean… You know what I mean.” The old man almost blushed. Thus far, he had done a good job of not holding any prejudice, but even-tempered or not, he assumed wolves would get themselves into trouble – and he was probably right.
“They can travel with us, Colonel, but they cannot be permitted to give orders. There are many packs gathered near the Great Western Road; if they are to remain loyal, they need to know a wolf is in charge – in command of them, at least. I doubt they’ll mind if the soldiers give orders to the Surabhan.”
Again, Ishban raised a brow. What did he think was going to happen? Did he think the Rukin council was going to take charge? Mott hoped not.
“That’s understandable,” the colonel said. “I’ll make it clear to Rarshman that he is to travel with you as an independent force. I’ll even give him orders to introduce you to the garrison at Redgate and Oxley. That is, if you use the Oxley Road.”
Mott bowed. It was as much as he could hope for. No, that was not true; he had hoped for half the garrison to march into An’aird to rescue Elspeth and Gialyn. But this was a good plan. At least he could get the wolves to Bailryn safely and quickly. Hopefully, he would be able to talk with Daric and the others about the two captives. He was under no illusion what Daric would do when he found out what had happened to
Gialyn. Mott had already settled his mind on helping Daric rescue them, regardless of what the others expected of him.
After saying his goodbyes to the colonel, he and Ishban left the keep behind and made their way to the rendezvous with Nacole and the others. It wouldn’t take long, assuming Ker had led the Wildlings to the right place – he should have; all he had to do was follow the stream. Although Mott would not be surprised if the former Alpha didn’t have a few plans of his own.
Mott wanted to tell them to follow the Raithby and turn north, joining the Great Western Road just west of Redgate. But that would mean another two days before food could reach them – and they might encounter soldiers from the garrison. No, better they backtrack east for a couple of days. The Wildlings had not argued; even though half of them were starving.
Ishban’s lack of comment was deafening. Mott hoped that he and the other elders had not already decided on a strategy. That would be the last thing he needed. They were good elders, but battle-brothers, they most certainly were not. The thought of Ker’s reaction to a demand from Gaiden gave Mott the shivers.
He had to ask, “Have you and the others already made plans, Ishban?”
The tall human remained silent for a time before answering, fiddling with his horse’s reins. “Of course we have made plans, Mott. This is the largest movement of Rukin for three-hundred years.”
Mott shook his head, he could not help a low growl. “I wasn’t talking about logistics, Ishban. Do you have plans to lead the Wildlings?”
“Well, not lead, exactly. More like counsel.”
Mott dipped his head. “Oh dear; we had best hurry before half the Wildlings leave.”
Mott sped up his pace. Ishban had to heel his horse to a trot to keep up.
“Now just a minute,” Ishban said when he came alongside. “You can’t expect us to commit forces and not have a say.”
“You can have a say, Ishban, but you can’t take over, not with Wildlings. I just hope Gaiden hasn’t set them against us already.” Mott turned his head to the older man. “Come on; if you can’t keep up, I’ll have to leave you to catch up.”
Ishban stayed silent. Although his strained expression spoke volumes. Mott sighed. I should have brought Gaiden. That old wolf could ruin everything.
* * *
Nacole had slept for an hour. She had felt surprisingly refreshed after her nap. The pups had been rolling around on the ground not two paces in front of her. The sun had dipped to the western horizon, and a cool breeze floated calmly from the east. The comfort of the soft grass had made her relax for the first time in what felt like months. All seemed well.
That was an hour ago.
Now, she was standing amid a circle of wolves, listening – along with at least fifty others – to Ker and Gaiden argue.
“Listen, old wolf, I have told you not to call me that. We are Broan Wolves, not southern Wildlings. Others may answer to that name, but I will not. Don’t associate me with those… weaklings who live around your village.”
“Oh, so your southern brothers are weak?” Gaiden said. The old grey’s brow rose as he stood. What was he doing? Nacole didn’t know how to describe his manner, other than arrogant. “Do they know this? Perhaps someone should tell them; I see probably a thousand within your ranks.”
After walking once around Ker, Gaiden sat calmly in the centre of an ever-increasing circle of wolves. Ker, on the other hand, paced back and forth, with Surash’s watchful eye following him. Nacole wondered if she was worried about Ker’s talk, too; calling the Southerners “weak” was not going to help anyone.
Fortunately, Nacole didn’t think any of them heard. Thanks the gods they are speaking out loud.
“Neither of you can lead,” Nacole said, staring at Ker and then Gaiden. “Look around you. Think what you are saying. With all that’s at stake, you two stand here arguing about who is in charge.”
“Child,” Gaiden said, in a far too condescending tone for Nacole’s liking, “we are ten thousand Rukin and Wildlings… and Broan, and that number is likely to grow before the week is out. Someone must be in charge, or chaos will reign. Now, we have a plan. We have been discussing it at le—”
“Of course you have,” Ker growled. “That’s what you Rukin do, isn’t it? Discuss, plan, organise; you are worse than the humans are. All of your scheming and planning – where has that gotten you? Until we came, you were holed up in Illeas, hiding.”
“‘Where has our planning gotten us’?” Gaiden repeated while slowly shaking his head. “We are the ones with the food, are we not? Three days, and we have a convoy of supplies. What have you done? Raided farms, picked up scraps, hunted the valley dry; the best you have managed to do is gather yourselves in one place. It’s a wonder you managed that much.”
Nacole heard a rumble in the Voice. The Broan did not like hearing that. If this pair didn’t stop soon… Foolish males – always concerned with power; never a thought for what is best. She expected it from Ker, but not this so-called “Elder.”
Teeth bared, Ker snapped at the old wolf. “Let’s see you do so well with a dozen dragons landing in your village, Rukin.” He said the last with spite as if it were a great insult.
Other wolves began to close the circle, inching their way forward, Rukin on her left, Broan on her right. Even the southerners began to take note. The mumbling within the Voice grew shrill; calls for “Take what they have” and “Leave them, run south” were among the loudest.
“What are you doing? This is madness!” Nacole shouted.
She backed away; none would listen to reason, it seemed. She tried to turn, but was caught up in the surge. Growling, snapping, and snarling; it wouldn’t be long before the fighting started. She had to get to her pups.
“Enough!”
All eyes turned west.
On top of a shallow rise, thirty paces away, a line of soldiers – human soldiers – sat on their horses with spears held high, their forms silhouetted against the dusky sunset. The line stretched for a hundred paces, two or three deep in places. For a moment, Nacole thought it might be the Kel’madden soldiers, come across the border already. But in the middle of their ranks, Mott stood. Her heart lightened; she didn’t know if it were relief, or if she was genuinely glad to see him. Nacole watched as he ran down the short slope towards them. He did not look happy.
And neither did Ker. The pretend general eyed the line of humans, growling and snapping. “What did you bring them for, Mott?” He did not take his eyes off the soldiers.
Nacole knew well that it was these soldiers – or others under their banner – that had chased the Broan south and run them off the Taris Grasslands. She could not blame Ker for his mood, not this time.
“I didn’t bring them,” Mott said, as he walked into the centre of the now wider circle of wolves. “They are merely going the same way. And as for why they are here; they could hear your arguments from the road! Yet none of you could hear thousands of soldiers and cavalry marching on your position. What is going on here, Ker? What if they were Kel’madden? You would be dead, all of you.”
Nacole suspected that Mott knew very well what was going on. He spared as much ire for his own elder as he did for Ker.
Maybe he should not have left. Or at least he might have taken Gaiden with him – that would have saved a lot of trouble.
“We are having a… disagreement,” Gaiden answered.
“‘Disagreement’!” Ker laughed. “The old fool wants command. As if the Broan would ever listen to an old Rukin.”
“You listened to me, didn’t you?” Mott asked him, staring first at Ker, then turning his head slowly to take in those now gathered around him.
“You made sense, and you didn’t try to take over. This idiot will not yield until he controls all.” Ker growled at Gaiden, and the other Broan moved forward, again.
“As you wish; so be it,” Mott said to them both. He turned and began to walk away.
“Where are you going?” Ker asked. And Ga
iden said, “You make no sense, boy.”
“Go ahead, kill each other. If you can’t work together, you’re all dead, anyway. You might as well get it over with.”
Mott nodded at Nacole and then walked over. “Come. Let’s see if we can find a few wolves that still have the sense they were born with.” The circle parted for them. “Maybe the Wildlings have more brains; they certainly have enough about them to keep from this stupidity.”
Nacole heard nothing from Ker or Gaiden. She hoped they were at least thinking about what they were doing.
For that matter, what was Mott doing? Males!
The human captain pulled the straps up on his helmet and made a hand signal to the rest of his men. The soldiers angled their spears as if readying an attack.
“Rarshman? You’re as bad as this lot,” Mott said. “Lower your weapons.”
The tall captain reined his horse to the front while those behind thickened their ranks. “A defensive stance, wolf, nothing more.”
“Call your men off, Rarshman. You’re liable to get them killed.”
Nacole heard Ker follow.
“A few hundred soldiers. Ha!” Ker said. “Only humans would think they can defend themselves against ten thousand wolves with a few hundred soldiers.”
“We will do what is needed, wolf,” Rarshman told Ker. “Besides, we’re not ‘a few hundred,’ there are another two-and-a-half thousand not half a mile north.”
“Oh, you’re a funny one, Captain,” Ker said. “It is one thing to chase a dozen wolves from a farm. Look around; you have no hope.”
“We have cavalry, spears and bows, wolf; we’ll take enough of you with us.” Rarshman raised his chin. He did an excellent job at appearing arrogant.
“Against ten thousand wolves?” Ker asked.
Nacole couldn’t understand how Ker hadn’t seen what was coming. But then, the big wolf had missed the wide grin on Mott’s face.
“So, we are all wolves again, are we?” Mott asked Ker. “Not Rukin… not Broan… not Wildling… Wolves.”
The Dragon Oracles: Omnibus Edition (The Eastern Kingdom Omnibus Book 1) Page 81