“Pale has caught the scent of Centaurs!” Miss Emmert announced with a broad smile. Nutmeg seemed to catch the same whiff, for the mare swished her tail and trotted a bit more brightly.
Ornery pulled in close to Miss Emmert. “Can I scout ahead? Please?”
Miss Emmert shook her head. “It is too dangerous.”
Even Crystalia had to grin as the boy clenched his fingers in prayer and begged his mother. “Please. I will be so careful!”
Traven nodded. “It might be nice to have a lay of the land ahead.”
***
Ornery silently thanked the Hero with his eyes. He so badly wanted to sprint ahead. Miss Emmert was about to shake her head again, but Ornery spoke up before she could deny him. “Please, Mother. Please.”
Miss Emmert’s face softened as she slid off the wolf’s back. “Take Pale with you. Do not stray far.”
Jumping with joy, Ornery dashed forward, the wolf right at his heels. He turned to wave and found that Traven was dismounting and placing Miss Emmert upon Lauger. Despite Ornery’s initial dislike for the Hero and the way he had crushed Crystalia, the boy begrudgingly admitted that Traven possessed great honor.
The Hero had been nothing but kind and supportive since their meeting. Ornery was beginning to feel a bit guilty at the venom in his heart towards the Hero. Even Crystalia admitted that Traven had not been a cad. Still, Ornery felt a pinch of resentment towards the tall man. Whether it was Crystalia’s affection for the Hero or his own jealousy at Traven’s physique, Ornery was not certain.
If only Ornery had a splinter of the Hero’s physical presence, he would not have had such a tumultuous childhood. But now, Ornery looked ahead.
Here on the Steppes, he would find his own kind. Here, perhaps, he would finally fit in. If he truly was The Way, would Ornery not be honored and treated with respect? Would he not experience all the joys and laughter he had missed as a vagabond traveler?
“Be careful!” Glacial shouted from far behind.
Ornery cringed. That princess would not shut up. The girl set his teeth on edge each time she spoke. Glacial was always coming up to him, touching his hand, asking him questions. It was unnerving. Normally, Ornery could not be silenced from talking about the Centaurs, but around the Princess, he would sooner muck out a stall.
The truth was that he did not trust her or her kind. Oh, it was not her Giant heritage. They sounded like a worthy enough folk. No, Ornery did not trust her beauty. It seemed to Ornery that beauty somehow tainted the soul. Had Belle not proven that back at Charlotte’s Berg? And a dozen other girls along his travels? Had not each of them felt their beauty entitled them to torture whomever they pleased? This Princess would not lure him into her games. He was wise to one such as she.
Pale slowed and gave a low growl as they approached a cluster of overhanging rocks. How Ornery wished he had mindspeak. Miss Emmert or Traven would know exactly what the wolf was feeling. Cautiously, they climbed up the slick rock as Pale nosed the snow and crevices. Ornery had not been around the wolf long, but knew that Pale was concerned. By the way the wolf’s nostrils flared, others had passed this way recently.
Ornery could not help but peek around the corner, only to have himself lifted high off his feet. Letting out a scream, Ornery flailed against his unknown attacker. Pale leapt from the shadows but landed softly beside Ornery, wagging his tail. While his legs kicked in vain, Ornery squirmed around to face the person who restrained him.
Only it was not a person, it was a Centaur. The horse portion of the Centaur was only fourteen hands high but broad in the chest. One arm jutted from his trunk, and an elongated horse face stared at Ornery with probably the same amount of surprise as Ornery had looking at the Centaur.
“Declare yourself,” the Centaur finally barked.
Ornery could see a second Centaur on the other side of the overhang. This one had two arms, but a nearly complete horse head. In its hands rested two huge battle-axes.
“I am Ornery, Daughter of Seleen, Son of Dimitri.”
Ornery was dropped onto the hard stone as both guards seemed confused. Pale barked loudly, the sound echoing off the rocks. Behind them, Ornery could hear the rest of his party.
Miss Emmert was the first through the opening. “Konrad, do you not recognize me?”
“Seleen?”
“Aye!” Miss Emmert ran up to the Centaur and hugged his wide neck. She planted a kiss upon his cheek. Even with all the fur that covered Konrad’s face, Ornery could tell that the Centaur blushed.
“Dimitri will wish to see you immediately,” Konrad said, emotion thick in his voice.
Ornery nearly burst from his skin as they followed the Centaur escort through the rock and out into a valley. Behind him, the others followed, a bit more reluctant than he. Traven had his sword drawn, but its tip was down. The Hero looked ready to raise it without hesitation, though. Ornery wanted to reassure Traven, but he could not find the words. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Across the moonlit snow, a single Centaur charged across the valley. His mane and tail were thick and streamed behind in the late-night wind. His deep red coat glowed in the pale moonlight.
“Dimitri?” Miss Emmert asked quietly, almost too soft to hear. At first his mother stepped forward tentatively, then ran to meet the Centaur.
“Seleen!” Dimitri shouted as he scooped Miss Emmert up into his strong arms. They hugged so firmly that you could not distinguish one body from the other. “Thank the gods you are safe, my beauty.”
It took a moment for his father’s words to sink in. The Centaur was not mocking Miss Emmert. In Dimitri’s eyes, Ornery could see that his father meant every word. There was a love there that Ornery had never witnessed before between husband and wife. Tears crept into Ornery’s eyes. These were his parents.
Even a few moments ago, Ornery had found it difficult to imagine Miss Emmert was ever more than just his caretaker. Ornery could not conceive of her being Seleen the Beautiful.
That is, until now. The reflection in his father’s eyes was that of his mother — his true mother.
Miss Emmert sobbed heavily into Dimitri’s shoulder. For a long moment, Ornery’s father just held his wife, stroking her hair. Ornery studied his father. Dimitri’s face was covered in a fine fur, even his eyelids. Large round brown eyes spilled a stream of tears down his long nose.
Ornery was glad to see his father had human lips that turned up at the corners whenever he felt his wife stir in his arms. With each sound, his father’s long, horse-like ears swiveled to take in the noise. Finally, Dimitri turned to the group.
“Ornery?” his father asked.
The boy could not answer. Ornery could not remember how to speak, but he did take a step forward. Gently, Dimitri lowered Miss Emmert to the ground and held out his arms. “Son, how I have missed you.”
Ornery did not remember running or leaping into his father’s arms, but there he was, clinging to Dimitri’s chest.
Quietly beside them, his mother finished the introduction. “Dimitri, your son, Ornery. Ornery, your father, Dimitri.”
Ornery did not care if the entire world collapsed in the moment — he was so divinely happy. Ornery feared that he would burst from joy. Behind him, someone coughed awkwardly, but Ornery did not care. He wanted this moment to last as long as any moment in history had ever lasted.
Corpse was, of course, the one to shatter the mood. “Do these brutes understand what a fire is?”
His father did not let go of Ornery, even a bit, as he answered the dead man. “The fire pits are deep inside the rocks. Please, allow me to show you the way.”
Dimitri swung Ornery up sidesaddle and scooped his wife up into his arms like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. His father noticed Nutmeg and looked over the rest of the party. “Where is Kymon?”
Miss Emmert shook her head sadly. “She was lost in an avalanche, saving the Snowy Maiden.”
“Ah, that will be a hard loss for her mare. Nut
meg, your node has taken the most southerly caves as their own.”
Ornery felt a touch of sadness creep into his heart as he watched Nutmeg trot away. It seemed mighty strange to not have Nutmeg close by. In the past, the horses had never been more than a few feet away. He had slept with them his entire life. A chill went through his body despite his father’s close proximity. Ornery became very aware that his life would never be the same again — never.
***
Holt’s wings strained. The winds had turned against them, and the last hour of flight had been difficult. Even now, he had trouble maintaining their altitude. Several times his feet had dragged along the snow, but it would not be much longer.
In the near distance, Holt’s Vampyr eyes could make out the scattering of yerts across the Plains. A caribou herd looked not too far off. This was the Intuits’ winter camp. The nomads settled in this region to over-winter. They took advantage of the sheltering foothills in times of blizzard.
The Intuits must have been forced extremely south to be camped this far out on the barren Plains. Holt was not complaining, though he did not think he could have scaled the hills before sunrise. Even now, the light was just a tad brighter. The moon still washed the Plains with cool light, but now there was a touch of purple to the deep black that crept at the edge of his vision.
Holt was struck by the moment’s splendor. This night was a beautiful night. His Vampyr eyes could not spot a single blemish in a bank of snowflakes. With his enhanced vision, he had easily scouted the featureless Plains and found the Intuit camp.
Holt stiffened. He should not think like that. There was nothing about being Vampyr that was redeeming. It was a Curse, never a blessing. With Ekoli cradled in his arms, it was becoming harder and harder to remember that. They had not spoken the entire night, but her mere presence had already begun to soften his angry heart. It infuriated him that his body still thrilled at her every breath. The way she sighed and grimaced each time she checked her bandage made him wish to comfort her. All through the long night, Holt had to remind himself that it was she who had damned him.
The wind whistled in his ear, singing a slightly different tune than a moment before. Were those human voices he heard? Holt scanned the horizon again, and the Plains were now dotted with Intuits moving around their camp. Even for the nomads, this was an early rising. Before dawn, there might be a few young boys sent out to milk the caribou, but never this many of the camp.
Giving a part of himself over to the Vampyr, Holt sharpened his vision even more. A dull ache formed in his stomach. The more he gave over to the bloodlust, the more his hunger grew. It had been nearly two days since his last feeding, and his stomach was complaining greatly.
Tuning out the roar of his body, Holt focused on the camp. There was disarray and chaos. The nomads were scattering.
For a moment, Holt feared it was his presence that had set off this turmoil, but he knew it could not be. Holt and his mother had visited this tribe through the years. They knew of his condition and accepted it as they did anything else Nature felt moved to create. What then could have caused this near stampede?
“Hold on,” Holt warned Ekoli as he beat his wings faster. His pulse bounded in his throat. He recognized the threat. Ice Scabs. They were well-hidden in the snow and blended in with the snow banks, but his Vampyr eyes could not be fooled.
The Scabs were cloaked in polar-bear furs and wore white sealskin facemasks. Their weapons were fashioned from walrus bones. Holt knew that underneath their camouflage that these attackers were only men made of flesh and blood. Despite the Scab’s lack of supernatural powers, this many could slaughter the Intuits.
Holt’s shoulders screamed from the strain. In an attempt to subdue the bloodlust, Holt had kept as many human features as possible during the journey. It was an awkward compromise, but it had been functional to the fly over the Plains.
Now, however, his human muscles could not bear the strain of this type of flight. Reluctantly, Holt allowed the Vampyr to emerge more strongly. With each muscle fiber he allowed to be transformed, Holt could feel his will sap away. He could not allow much more to fade, or else he might be as much danger to the Intuit as the Ice Scabs themselves.
Banking sharply in the wind, Holt landed near a small group of Intuit who were frantically breaking camp. The leader of the party swung around with his scrimshaw knife. Holt danced away and felt his heart pound with excitement. How the Vampyr part of him would love to fight right now.
Instead, Holt forced human words through his pointed teeth. “Jumar, it is I, Holt.”
It took a moment for the Intuit to recognize the man within the Vampyr shell. “Holt, we are under attack. The Ice Scabs —”
“This is Ekoli. Keep her safe, and I shall join the melee.”
The man only nodded and went back to his work. These people were used to hardships such as this. Living this far north, there was always a threat sleeping next to you. Holt took wing again and skimmed over the yerts. He only needed to buy the Intuits enough time to yoke the caribou and take flight. The Ice Scabs were masters of stalking and ambush, not pursuit.
Diving, Holt knocked a Scab from a small girl and slashed the brute’s throat with a single swipe of his clawed finger. The young girl screamed as Holt licked the blood from his nail. The bloodlust was strong, and it was all he could do to take flight again, away from the pool of bright red blood that seeped from the dead Scab.
Once in the air, Holt headed to the far edge of the camp, where most of the men were fighting off the Scab host. The party of attackers was quite large. Farther north must be brutally cold if the Scabs had banded together to this degree. The Scabs could barely tolerate one another much more than other folk could.
Gliding over the battle, Holt lashed out with all four limbs, raking the Scabs indiscriminately. The line buckled and broke, giving the Intuits the upper hand for a moment. The men pushed the brutes back, making them take the defensive, but the Scabs were a hardy lot and quickly regrouped.
One was able to lasso Holt’s leg and jerked the Vampyr down from the sky. In his tumble, Holt pulled off the Scab’s fur coat. Underneath the polar fur was a hideous sight.
It was easy to see how these people got their names. Their entire body was covered in patches of frostbite. All over their skin were great festering scabs and open sores. Even the man’s tongue was covered in nasty lesions.
The Scab slashed at Holt with his knife, but it only took one carefully placed claw to end the brute’s life. The Scabs were not the most skilled fighters, but they made up for their lack of prowess with an almost manic drive.
The Scabs would attack until their enemy was either vanquished or the Scabs themselves were slaughtered. The only way out of this vice was to use speed to outrun the berserker Scabs.
Holt landed near the tribe’s chief. “Spare some of these men to guard the caribou.” Already Holt could see the Scabs had stolen or slaughtered half the herd.
The man nodded gravely and gave the order. “Thank you, Sir Hesper.”
Not bothering to correct the Intuit, Holt rose up on his wings again. Holt was not a Sir this night — he was Vampyr.
The battle had flowed from the eastern end of the camp to the northern portion, much nearer to Ekoli and her party. Determined to reach her before the Scabs, Holt swooped over the yerts. But as much as he wished to find Ekoli, Holt kept stumbling onto Scabs that were pillaging and trying to rape the fleeing women.
Blood near boiling, Holt dug his claws into a Scab’s back and nearly pulled his heart out through the Scab’s backbone. Holt might be part Vampyr, but this wanton behavior galled him.
A Vampyr lusted for blood but did not take joy in torture like these Scabs did. Herding the survivors forward, Holt led them to Jumar’s group. The Intuits had broken down several of the yerts and loaded them onto the sleds. Caribou were harnessed and snorted their apprehension. They were ready to run fast and strong to get away from the nasty-smelling Scabs.
Jum
ar indicated toward a covered sled. “Quickly, before the sun rises.”
In the passion of battle, Holt had nearly forgotten about the early morning glow. Rushing across the snow, Holt skidded to a halt when he found Ekoli already crammed into the tiny sled.
Of course, the Intuit did not know of their rift. Before Holt could voice his concern, a stabbing pain flared in his left wing. He turned to find black blood dripping from a large gash in the leathery skin. A Scab smiled a toothless grin and charged again — his white blade now tainted with black blood.
Holt’s rage flamed to the surface, and in a single motion dug his claws deep into the Scab’s neck and pulled out the man’s throat. The Scab flailed and groped at his neck, then fell dead into the snow.
Still panting from the thrill of the kill, Holt looked for another victim. He wanted to purge his anger and frustration on the Scabs.
“The sun!” Jumar screamed as the orb began cresting the eastern horizon.
Still, with death so close, the Vampyr yearned for mayhem. It was Ekoli’s hand upon his arm that brought Holt’s consciousness back to the surface.
“We must go,” the goddess said plainly.
Over her shoulder, Holt could see the Scabs swarming towards them. With the sun on the rise, there was nothing else to do but flee in the covered sled. Drawn by Ekoli, Holt squirmed himself into the fur-lined sled. The fit was tight, and once Ekoli secured the flap, they were in complete darkness. If it were not for his Vampyr eyes, Holt would not have been able to see a thing.
Ekoli groped in the dark and found the wound on his wing. By putting pressure on the thin tissue, she was able to stop the bleeding.
The smell of so much blood, even his own, enflamed Holt’s lust. In such close proximity, even the human remnants of the Vampyr felt the heat of passion. Ekoli’s body was nearly smashed against his own. Only a thin layer of her clothes lay between them. He could hear her heartbeat and feel her breath warm his skin. What raced through his mind would have made an Ice Scab blush.
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