Roxen picked up his pace. The wind blew the scent of the Western Densite ever closer. Soon he could see it. Those unfit to fight had passed them on their way south, one good thing in the sea of horrors surrounding them.
Bayne and Silver had not wanted this combat that was practically a blood sacrifice to the Maenorens. Roxen and his ranks knew that most, if not all, of them were not long for this world. Roxen didn't fear death. His mother’s stories of Wolnor’s Forest had always kept him steady. But now, with the Maenoren stench strong on the currents, his faith was tested for the first time. Some locked away instinct of preservation urged him to flee, but he would not move in any direction except forward. His warriors needed him, and he needed to prove to himself that he deserved his own title and heritage.
“Wolnor’s Forest will be crowded when I arrive,” he muttered.
Sorry, sir? I don't understand Clanspeak. Ash appeared at his side.
He glanced at the young wolf. I said it is time we sent those Maenorens to the Hell they so admire!
Ash bared his teeth, half-smile, half-snarl, as he entered the site. All the Fenearens took defensive positions on the site's northern edge.
They waited as the Maenoren war drums boomed louder, along with the scent of foreign soldiers and carrion. Beside Roxen, Ash’s ears swiveled, and his nose twitched. The Western Densite was situated below a hilly field of sweet grass and wildflowers, a fine hunting ground for pheasants and grouse, but, Roxen realized as dark shapes appeared over it, a near coverless battlefield. In case of a retreat, forest surrounded the meadow, but Roxen felt exposed and vulnerable as he waited for the Maenorens to come into range. He squinted against near darkness. Infantry made up the front lines. That was odd. Maenoren strategy involved charging cavalry before resorting to one-on-one warfare. He gazed past the infantry, in search of mounted warriors. He found them atop a hill near the forest edge, spread in a line behind the infantry and arbalests. But these were not the usual mounted Maenoren soldiers. Roxen knew instinctively that these were the Da’ Gammorn. They emanated a stench of death that was impossible to ignore. A shard of dread lodged in Roxen’s stomach as he turned to his forces.
“Archers! Nock!” The twang of bowstrings and sliding arrows answered his command. “On my order!” Roxen raised his hand as the Maenoren infantry marched forward. Their arbalests and Da’ Gammorn held back, though, and to Roxen’s confusion, he realized only a small section of the infantry approached.
What are they doing? Ash asked.
Roxen shook his head as the small company came closer and closer. It had be a trap or a decoy, but they had to be eliminated. Once sure they were within range, Roxen dropped his hand. “Loose!” he shouted.
The Maenorens fell beneath the shower of arrows. The twenty men not felled by the archers barreled toward them. Roxen pitied them as the True Wolves sped forward, attacking the hapless men.
No one surrendered. Fighting in terribly efficient pairs, the True Wolves brought down man after man without a breath between them. After every single soldier was either dead or dying, Roxen moved toward the bodies, eyeing the Maenoren lines. The Da' Gammorn stretched out in two rows, now blocking the rest of the army, but they did not attack. It was as if they waited for something. Roxen's dread deepened as he searched for a still-living Maenoren to question.
“Kenaii? Kenaii, wake up, brother!” One man, bleeding out through his leg and neck, grasped at a corpse beside him. He cried out in pain or horror, and did not seem to notice Roxen kneeling beside him until he spoke.
“Please, tell me, why did they send you in here like that?”
The man did not peel his unfocused eyes from his dead comrade.
“Please, I have to know!”
The man was not far from death. He turned his face to Roxen. “I-I don’t know. I am—frightened.” The terror in his voice and anguish in his eyes underscored his words. Roxen grasped his enemy’s hand.
“What is your name?”
“Phlael Æra.”
“Do not fear, Phlael.”
With one last perplexed look at Roxen, Phlael turned to Kenaii, his hand falling limp in Roxen’s grasp.
Gar approached Roxen, gazing at the slaughtered Maenorens. The Da' Gammorn to the north remained still. Not even their horses stamped or whinnied.
We had no choice. Gar stared at Roxen’s hold on Phlael’s hand.
I know. Roxen released the hand. But why send their men only to be killed? Why are they waiting to attack now?
Gar gave no answer. Pike and Ash appeared beside him. Pike's amber eyes focused on the statue-like Da' Gammorn, his tail and hackles bristling.
Back to positions! Roxen commanded. He and the True Wolves rejoined the Fenearen ranks.
Are we going to charge them? Ash yipped to Pike.
They have the high-ground. We'd never survive. Of course, we likely won't either way.
Pike, enough! Gar pricked his ears forward. Look at the center one, the one even taller than the rest, he is raising his arm. I think he is about to speak.
“We, Negiol, Commander of the Da' Gammorn, have seen you fight well indeed, animals.”
Roxen fidgeted uncomfortably as the demon spoke. It felt as though the stinking creature whispered in his ear.
“However, your savagery will not save you; not when you bring into our midst the only children of the False God whose souls need not be fled for us to take them.” Its words made little sense to Roxen, but chilled him nonetheless. “You know not what true warfare is. It is neither blades, nor teeth, nor claws. No, quiet souls, true war is in the heart alone.” It placed its fist upon its chest as if illustrating its point, but when it extended its bony fingers, it punctured its skin, and although no blood issued forth, the sound of its ribs cracking sent shudders through Roxen. Digging through the decaying filth in its body, Negiol's hand emerged, oozing slick black coils—the exact black that clouded the animated corpses’ eyes.
I can understand him. How? Ash stopped short as Negiol thrust its arm forward and black coils extended, fanning toward the Fenearens, True Wolves, and the dead Maenorens.
Take cover! Roxen howled, but it was no use. The helices, the black twisting ribbons of filth, were upon them. They split into an innumerable haze, falling upon the Fenearens, Trues, and dead Maenorens like arrows. One slammed into Roxen. But as the darkness touched him, it disappeared, leaving nothing but a chill. He exhaled in relief before turning to Ash, realizing the True Wolves were not as fortunate. The Fenearens watched in horror as the blackness burrowed into the Trues' fur, through their muscles, and into their chests. One by one, the animals convulsed on the ground, until only one wolf was left standing.
Gar watched his comrades fall around him. His own doom hurtled toward him. He knew running was no use, and braced himself as a coil collided with his fur. But just as it had upon reaching the human warriors, it vanished with a whistle that resembled a scream. Gar did not understand why he was spared, but there was no time to speculate. With the Fenearens, he rushed to his fallen friends’ sides.
Ash, Pike, Lark, River! Someone wake up! He struggled to help them, but the wolves ceased all movement. No! Sudden uncontrollable anger gripped Gar. What did you do to my family? He charged toward the Maenoren ranks.
No, Gar! Roxen caught him, dragging him back. Gar stopped struggling, but retreated from the wolves, cowering with Roxen behind the bodies.
Gar wailed, burying his face in his paws. He could not bear to see his friends like that.
A new sound met his ears—a cry of joy from the Fenearens.
Gar, they’re waking up! Roxen nudged him. Gar raised his head. Sure enough, the wolves stirred, coming to their feet.
Joyously, the Fenearens rushed toward them. Trentin reached them first, kneeling beside Lark.
But the cries of joy swiftly changed to puzzled silence. None of the wolves reciprocated. They remained silent and unresponsive.
Then in an instant, the True Wolves moved. In complete unison they tu
rned away from their enemies, facing the Fenearens and Gar. Their eyes glistened black. Behind them, the dead infantrymen stirred, stumbling to their feet.
Trentin was the first to die. Lark lashed out, tearing out his throat like that of a deer. But it did not stop there. The Fenearens closest to their allies and the dead could not escape.
Roxen pulled at Gar. They've done something to them! Come, Gar, we must either run or fight! Knowing he could never attack his own pack, Gar followed Roxen and the other Fenearens south, bypassing the Densite, fleeing through the forest. The Trues pursued them, tearing stragglers to pieces. The undead infantrymen were slower, but no less vicious.
But the worst was yet to come.
Maenoren forces had used the confusion of the initial strike and the Da' Gammorn's cover to move to the southern side of the Densite. To Gar's horror, the Fenearens were attacked from both sides. Roxen and Gar fought past the Maenoren lines, reaching the open forest without fatal wounds, but many were not as fortunate. He heard his brothers and sisters howling for blood, trampling through the trees, ripping Fenearen flesh, and all he could do was run.
Chapter Sixteen
Rayna, though miserable and wet, made it out of Drownman Swamp. She followed Mina in silence through an endless expanse of moorland. Like Maenor, not many trees dotted the landscape of the Kyrean Republic. The stars ignited the sky above, but before Rayna could ensure they were still heading north, Mina groaned, falling to the ground. Her awkward descent tripped Rayna, sending both girls rolling down a hill into a prickly juniper bush.
“Mina! Ouch!” Rayna stood, brushing away the fragrant needles.
“Sorry,” Mina said ruefully “I'm so tired. We were in that godforsaken swamp with barely any sleep for days.”
“All right.” Rayna set her pack down on the grass growing beyond the juniper. “Find some firewood, and we'll make camp here.”
Mina meandered toward a copse of spindly trees Rayna did not recognize. Once Rayna was sure that Mina could no longer see her, she formed wolf and sniffed the currents. A strong scent of partridge wafted over the hill. Following the trail into a thick patch of heather, she closed in and launched forward. In a single motion, her jaws snapped the bird's neck. With sudden thought, she dropped her prey, taking human form. Mina was sure to notice the teeth marks. She took Coer’s knife from her belt and cut off the bird’s head. Satisfied, she picked up her game, walking back to their camp. Mina had returned, and Rayna threw her the tinder box and flint Coer had given her.
Soon a pleasant fire burned, and Rayna and Mina had plucked the bird. Rayna started to tear a piece of the raw pink flesh but stopped. Mina would expect to cook it. Rayna handed her the meat. Mina raised an eyebrow before roasting the bird over the fire.
“Are you all right?”
“Sure,” Rayna answered, watching the fresh meat sizzle and blacken.
After a less than enjoyable meal for Rayna, both of the girls spread their damp clothes by the fire. Rayna slid into her sleeping sack, exhaustion already dragging her into sleep. Neither Alvo nor Lumae had appeared to her in dreams in Drownman Swamp, likely because she had caught little restful sleep as they had traversed the muck and gloom. Now, next to the fire, dry for the first time in days, and with a full belly, she thought she might dream that night. She needed to. Since Alvo had advised her to accept her friends' help (had he meant Mina?), she had received no other guidance. She may have escaped Rhael for now, but she was no closer to saving Channon.
“Rayna?” Mina interrupted her thoughts. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?” Rayna opened her eyes.
“I saw you fighting the bear. I felt your claws in the swamp. I’m not an idiot.”
Rayna collected her words. Why had Mina waited so long to ask her if she had already known? “I didn't think you were.”
“So you're Fenearen? Unless anyone else can transform into a wolf.”
“Aye. We’re the only ones, at least that I’ve heard.” She braced for Mina's reaction. She didn't know what people in the Outers thought of Fenearens.
“A wolfkind, then?” The slur rolled off of Mina's tongue, slicing into Rayna's nerves.
“I am not a wolfkind.” Rayna growled. “I hate that word.”
Mina flinched, horror sliding over her features. “I'm sorry, Rayna. I didn't know. I don't care that you're Fenearen. It’s not like it bothers me what you are, or where you come from. Why should it?”
“I’m glad.”
Mina pushed up on her elbows. “Could you tell me about it?”
“In the morning. You said you were exhausted,” Rayna said, and Mina nestled into her own sleeping sack.
Lumae led Rayna across the moor. Mist swirled around their ankles, and the wind blew sharp and cold across Rayna’s face.
“What am I supposed to do?” Rayna asked. “Coer said to go to the Eye of Heaven, but I don’t know what to do when I get there. He said these dreams were the key to saving Channon, so please tell me what I need to do!”
Lumae stopped, turning. Her lupine yellow-green eyes stared straight into Rayna’s soul. “You are on the right path. All you must do tonight,” Lumae paused as the mist seethed and darkened, “is survive.”
Before Rayna could ask what she meant, the smell of carrion choked her and dissonant screams filled her dreamscape. This time, as Rayna fell to her knees clasping her ears, words whispered in the tumult.
“Find the seer. Find the seer. Find the seer.”
“Rayna! Damn it, Rayna, wake up!” Mina shook Rayna awake.
Bolting upright, she stared at the blue sky and dimmed fire.
“Razorn's blood! Must you scream in your sleep, Wolfie? You'll attract every bandit from here to–”
Rayna raised a hand. “Do you smell that?”
“Smell what? What are you talking about?”
”Pack up. Put out the fire, and let’s go!”
“Rayna, what’s going on?”
“Carrion.” Rayna packed Mina’s bag and pointed at the fire. Mina stomped it out.
“What do you mean?” Mina grabbed her pack, tossing Rayna hers.
“Remember how we don't know everything about each other?”
“Aye?”
“Well,” Rayna looked around to make sure they had not left anything, “I am running away. My pursuer has sent riders after me.”
“How many?”
“Four. But they… they’re not human. They're Da’ Gammorn, um, bodies, filled with demons and–”
“Demons?”
“It sounds insane.”
“Yes, but I believe you. What do we do?”
“We run.”
Without another word, they fled. They dashed over the hilly terrain, not stopping when briars cut their clothing or shrieking birds flushed from their hiding places. But still the scent was strong.
“We can't outrun them!” Mina doubled over, clutching her side.
“I know.” The stench twisted Rayna's stomach. “Go to that copse of trees over there and get your bow ready.” The words left Rayna’s mouth before she knew what she was saying. There was no time to think. She had to act.
“What about you?”
“Go!”
Mina tore off for the nearby grove. Rayna walked to the hilltop and stopped dead center in the open field. She could see the riders now swiftly closing the distance. They were the same four she had seen in Maenor. They rode in a straight line. In the pale dawn, she could see more detail than before. On the right, a huge black war horse galloped beside a reddish brown one, and then a gray, and last, a pale gold. As they drew closer, she could see their glazed eyes, leathery skin, and missing chunks of flesh from their chests and necks .
The riders hurtled across the moor, their horses' mouths frothing with bloody spittle. The loamy scent of the soil they kicked up mingled with their putrid rotting flesh. The one on the black horse raised its cleaver above its gray, bandaged head. All four riders stared right at her. All the fur
y of Hell concentrated on Rayna where she stood, a lone target.
They were almost upon her. Waiting until the last possible moment, Rayna formed wolf, dashing beneath the gray horse. The undead warriors struck their swords at nothing. Before they could compensate, Rayna leaped, shifting in midair. She pulled her knife as she landed on the horse's back. She plunged the knife into the Da' Gammorn's heart. Its sword fell. Its tattered flesh disappeared. An ashen skeleton clattered to the ground.
Rayna grabbed the horse's reins, but it was no use. With its master destroyed, the horse decomposed in the space of a heartbeat. It was not a skeleton like the Da’ Gammorn, but when it folded to the ground (with Rayna toppling over it), much of its leathery flesh had turned to dust and its bones, still strung together by tendons, were visible. Rayna rolled onto the cold grass. The remaining three Da’ Gammorn turned their horses around, charging toward her. She gripped Coer’s knife, her claws extended.
The Da’ Gammorn on the gold horse slowed its mount and laughed. It was a terrible sound, akin to claws pulled across slate, spine-crinkling screams, and Rhael’s hideous laughter all in one. All three dismounted, surprising Rayna. She had been prepared to ward off a second charge. They strode toward her, moving as one.
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