Days had passed before Rayna and Mina found the ground thick and cold with snow. They had crossed moors and streams, through pine barrens and then, a wide plain that savaged them with biting wind. She did not recognize half of the plants she saw, and most of the bird calls were unfamiliar.
Countless days into their captivity, after the effects of her last sedative-laced meal had worn off, Rayna made a decision. She could not escape the Monil, but she could try to save Mina. Garrison walked next to her, gripping her lead rope, marching her on through the freezing snow and slush.
“Where are you taking us?”
He stopped trilling his tune mid-note, grinning. “Halmstead. Councilor Terayan has decided he wants to meet you before killing you.”
“Why?”
He shook his head. “I think he’s worried there wouldn’t be enough of you left if he had me do the job.” He yanked her closer and slid a strand of hair behind her ear. “Or maybe he is just curious to meet the girl who escaped the Overlord of Maenor. I know I was.”
“What do you mean? Enough of me left for what?”
Garrison shrugged. “I just know he’s keen to possess you in one piece. Though given how easy it was to catch you, I think he’ll be as disappointed as I was.”
“I'm sorry kidnapping me wasn’t as fun as you had hoped,” Rayna snapped as she pulled away the full length of her lead rope.
“No matter, we may have some fun yet. But Rayna, why so talkative? Warming up to me at last?” He pulled on the rope, dragging her back to his side.
She attempted to growl but her human vocal cords could not do her sentiment justice. “I just want you to let Mina go.”
“Is that so?” He pushed her away. “Do you think I’m that easy to persuade? You'll have to do better than that.” He laughed, moving on at a faster pace.
“We'll stop here for the night,” Garrison ordered his men, pointing toward a grove of scrawny pine trees ahead.
As four of the men made camp, two tied Rayna and Mina to a pine. Rayna rolled so she could see her friend. Mina’s pretty face was drawn and bruised. Her lip was swollen from where one of their captors had hit her. The ends of her fingers were tinged blue, and she shivered in the wet snow. Rayna felt as bad as Mina looked, but guilt for getting Mina into this mess pounded through her aching body with every heartbeat.
“Where do you think we are?” Rayna whispered. Mina didn't respond, and Rayna wasn't sure if she'd heard her.
After a long silence, Mina spoke. “About sixty leagues from Halmstead, maybe forty from Kanton.”
“Any chance you know of anyone who could help us?”
“No, I don't.”
“All right, then–” A hard kick to the stomach silenced Rayna.
“No talking,” one of the soldiers said, passing by with firewood.
Not wanting to get them into more trouble, Rayna obeyed. They waited in silence until Garrison approached, kneeling beside Rayna. “I have been considering your earlier request not to send your friend to the capital with you. After all, the warrant was for your arrest alone, so I don’t know what the Councilor would do with her anyway.”
“You’ll let her go?”
“No. All I said was, I’m not going to send her to the capital.”
Rayna looked at Mina, who stared at the ground, and then back at Garrison.
“I have explicit orders to deliver you in one piece, but we did not anticipate this one.” He gestured to Mina, lacing his hands behind his head and pretended to think for a moment. “What to do, what to do… here’s an idea!” He stood and untied Mina from the tree, grasping her rope.
“Fallon, Wyatt.” Two men saluted. “Dispose of this.”
“No!” Rayna struggled to stand up. Mina fought too, kicking one of the men, but the larger one held her fast.
“We leave in the morning. I want her dead by then. What you do in the meantime is up to you. Just keep her quiet. I have a headache coming on.”
“Mina!” Rayna shrieked, her skin blistering as she strained against her tether. “Please! Do whatever you want to me, but she has nothing to do with this! Let her go!”
Garrison laughed as the men dragged Mina into a tent. Once they had disappeared, he grabbed Rayna by her shoulders.
Rayna struggled against his hold. “Get off me! Mina!”
“Don’t make me gag you!” Garrison roared, forcing her onto the frigid ground. He glared at her. “I want to tell you something.”
Rayna spat in Garrison’s face.
“Charming.” He grimaced, wiping his cheek before continuing. “I was happy to accept this mission, and I want you to know why. I have a personal stake in this issue. Years before you were born, I was a guard at Krymammer prison in Halmstead. One day they brought in three Fenearen men, emissaries from Eron the Blackclawed.”
Rayna inhaled sharply as she recognized her grandfather’s name. “What happened to them?”
Garrison narrowed his eyes. “I was getting to that part. The Council imprisoned them. We could not trust primitive beasts, and you’re worth a small fortune on the slave markets. Somehow, one of them escaped his Monil and helped the others. A comrade and I were guarding their cell. They killed him. Ripped his throat clean out, though they were much kinder to me.” He balanced on his knees, lifting his shirt. Rayna cringed away, but his hand caught her face, forcing her to look. A wide red scar ran the length of his midriff, thick and angry.
“Ever seen your guts spill out of you, girl?” he roared. He unhitched Coer's blade he'd taken from her days earlier. “I promised Terayan you would be alive and in one piece when I delivered you, and you will be. I won't cut you as bad as I was– just enough to leave a scar–and I have a healer standing by to patch you up. If I could survive, so can you.” He flashed a crooked smile as Rayna squirmed against his weight.
“Please! Somebody help!” Her fingers strained to reach her bracelet as tears of fear and anger spilled from her eyes. With her hands tied and her wolf locked away, she couldn't fight back. Garrison yanked her shirt up, exposing her stomach to the biting autumn wind. He looked down at Rayna, smiling wider before placing the dark metal against her skin. She held his gaze with as much fierceness as she could manage, channeling Bayne's confidence and Silver's calm.
“Don't worry, love. I'll stick to the surface—no organs or arteries—just enough to make you bleed.” With a throaty chuckle, he pushed the knife's tip though her skin. A small sound of pain escaped Rayna’s lips, but she tightened them, screwing her eyelids shut. He edged the knife in a line with the same bumps and curves as his own disfigurement, as if he had memorized its shape for such an occasion. She was no stranger to pain; few Fenearens were. She had been kicked in the chest by elk, bitten by snakes, had her arm and ribs broken, been nearly drowned. Yet as Coer’s knife, a gift meant to protect her, etched her abdomen, Rayna could not hold back her cries. She burned and bled, and Garrison laughed.
Through her agony, amid her shock, Rayna heard a sound out of place: a whistle and a thud, and then again. Understanding broke through her pain. She forced her eyes open to see an arrow hit the chest of one of Garrison’s men. Garrison stopped cutting—the wound, though painful, was only two hair-lengths long—but he did not release Rayna as he searched for the attackers. A guttural cry sounded behind them, as someone barreled into Garrison, knocking him off of her.
She struggled to move, but she was still lashed to the tree. Ahead of her, Garrison broke free of his opponent. He dropped Coer’s knife in favor of his broadsword and now faced a burly, ginger-whiskered man.
“Captain Gabriel Garrison,” the newcomer sneered with a mock bow.
“Lonian Kemar.” Garrison steadied his stance.
“It has been what, two years?”
“At least. To tell the truth I thought I was rid of you.” The older men circled each other as unfamiliar figures swarmed into the camp, outnumbering Garrison’s remaining men. “Sometimes the tiniest pests can be the toughest to destroy.”
&
nbsp; Lonian laughed. “Glad your tongue has not lost its sharpness, but apparently your way with women has. You've taken to kidnapping innocent maids?”
“Are you jealous, Kemar? Are those long, cold nights too lonely now that your dear husband’s been dead almost a decade?”
Lonian roared with the fury of a winter squall. His twin blades met Garrison’s sword with an ear-splitting clang. Rayna's gaze returned to her wound. Blood still oozed from the gash, dripping over her hips. It hurt, but Garrison hadn't had time to copy more than the first few jagged cuts of his own scar. Still, she was vulnerable tied to a tree in the middle of a battle. All it would take was a stray arrow or a panicked horse's hoof to end her life. She would never see Channon again, and he would suffer for all eternity because of her.
“Rayna!” A familiar voice called her name. Then a black-clad form hovered over her, cutting her bonds. Her unfocused gaze found the face, half-hidden by his hood. She recognized those gray eyes, now rounded with concern.
“You!” she shrieked as he carefully lifted her. “You’re the lowlife from Kanton!”
“Whoa, I just saved you, didn’t I? Relax, Red. Nice to see you again, unfortunate circumstances aside. It's Kellan Kemar by the way, although I'll answer to lowlife if you prefer.” He took her limp hand, shaking it as he carried her away from the skirmish.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know you saw my tattoos earlier. Didn’t you recognize the markings?” He thrust up his sleeve. Black swirls coated his forearm and peeked through the collar of his shirt.
“It looks like ancient Fenearen, but different.”
“It’s Sylrian.”
“What? Sylrian? I thought you were all–”
“Dead? A common misconception. That would’ve been unfortunate for you today. Now just keep talking to me, Red. It looks like we stopped that bastard before he cut you too badly, but still you need to stay with me.” He placed her gently on a clean patch of snow, kneeling beside her. His gloved hand slipped beneath her vest onto her stomach.
“What are you doing?”
He removed his hand. It dripped with blood. Her blood. The sight of it shocked feeling back into Rayna. Her abdomen burned, and her head grew fuzzier by the moment. The cut wasn't deep, but she'd still lost blood. Combined with the exhaustion of her last few days, her hold on consciousness was tenuous.
“Damn it.” He tore a piece from his cloak, pressing it to the wound.
Rayna flinched away from his painful touch, but he held her fast. “Your friend!” she exclaimed as several tail-lengths away Garrison made contact with Lonian’s shoulder.
“Uncle! Rayna, hold this on your stomach until I get back.”
“I know how to apply pressure,” she snapped.
“Still conscious enough to hate me; that's a good sign.” Kellan unsheathed a pair of daggers. He hurled himself at Garrison, knocking him away from his injured uncle. Garrison's men were gone; some dead, others riding west. There was no sign of Mina.
“It's a family affair now, is it?” Garrison mocked.
Kellan took the opportunity to shove one of his daggers into the captain’s open right arm. Garrison cursed, sprinting toward his horse. Within moments, he'd mounted the animal and kicked it to speed.
“No! He’s getting away!” Kellan ran toward another horse, but Rayna could no longer keep her lips sealed over the pain. She cried out and he turned back to her. With one last look at the fleeing Garrison, he hurried to her side, lifting her with apparent ease.
“Lonian, she needs Violette now.” He glanced at his uncle's bleeding shoulder. “You as well.”
“No,” Rayna objected weakly. “They took my friend. You have to find her…”
“They kidnapped another woman?” Lonian dusted his hands and approached her. A shallow flesh wound darkened his shoulder. “Where did they take her?”
Rayna pointed to one of the tents. Lonian held out his arms to take her from Kellan.
“You’re hurt,” Kellan objected.
“I'll take her; go find her friend.” The movement pulled a gasp from Rayna as he handed her over. The older man carried her easily, even with his wound. Kellan gave her a kind smile before ducking into the tent.
Lonian touched her Monil. “So it is true.”
Rayna looked up, mystified, as Kellan strode from the tent, rubbing his head. Rayna strained to see Mina. “Is she all right?”
“She's fine!” Kellan grumbled as Mina walked out behind him.
“How was I supposed to know you were my rescuer? I thought you were another one of his men, so I gave you the same treatment I gave them. Except you don’t go unconscious very easily.”
“No surprise.” Lonian chuckled. “With a head as hard as his, I doubt it is even possible.”
Kellan shot his uncle a dark look, nearly tripping over an animal that wove around Lonian’s legs. At first, Rayna thought it was a wolf; the elegant muzzle and large size fooled her. But her coloring, a smooth gray with white dappling reminiscent of freshly fallen snow, gave her away.
“Laera, my girl.” Lonian passed Rayna back to his nephew before rubbing the dog between her droopy ears. She had beautiful eyes, one brown and one blue, that held Lonian’s gaze with unnatural intensity. After a moment, she turned to look at Rayna and growled.
“The Monil,” Lonian said.
“Take that off her now,” Kellan said.
“Violette can handle it.”
“Mina?” Rayna whispered, reaching out to her.
“I’m right here.” Mina squeezed her hand.
“Did they hurt you?”
“Me? Never! I’m just fine, but you need help.”
The blood oozed over her makeshift bandage. Lonian tore a piece of his own cloak, and Kellan pushed it hard against the gash. She bit her lip to keep from screaming.
“Violette! We need help!” The wind pushed Kellan's hood back, letting black hair fall to his shoulders. It brushed her cheek before darkness closed in and all awareness slipped from her grasp.
Chapter Nineteen
Ash saw his jaws moving, saw his canines slash and bite, sensed his claws raking. Blood filled his mouth and screams assaulted his ears. But he could not believe his senses. It was impossible. He tried to howl, but no sound came. Instead a voice whispered all around him, echoing in his skull.
Fight not.
You are weak.
We have dominion over this body.
You are just a beast.
Pathetic.
Weak.
Useless.
That’s what your packmates say about you. Useless.
Good for nothing.
A pup pretending to be a wolf.
In his head, Ash cried out, wanting to bury his ears, but he could not. His body was no longer his own. Fenearens were dying all around him. They begged for his mercy, but he could give them none.
Help! Ash thought. I do not want to hurt them!
The voices cackled and shrieked with joy. You know this is what you want. They never cared about you anyway. You were just an animal to them.
A convenient tool.
Fodder for arrows.
No! Ash watched himself massacre his allies, and he could not block it out, no matter what he tried. I want them to live!
Liar!
Weakling!
Do not deny the truth.
NO! Ash's unheeding ears heard the Fenearens begging for their lives. Still he raced on, overtaking his friends, slaughtering them. No!
Ash rolled over. Please make it stop! His eyes shot open. Please let it all have been a dream. Please. But the dried blood that coated his jaws and paws gave him no reprieve. He jumped to his feet. Dozens of wolves surrounded him, some still sleeping, others stumbling to their feet. A large black wolf sat silently beside him.
Ash nudged him. Pike? Pike glanced at him with dull amber eyes, but said nothing.
What happened?
I don't know.
Ash whimpered, looking around
at the waking Trues. They were all covered in blood. Where is Gar?
I have already looked for him. He’s not here, Ash.
And the Fenearens?
About ten tail-lengths behind you.
Confused, Ash turned. A trail of bodies extended behind them as far as the eye could see. How?
The Da’ Gammorn. Don’t you remember? That darkness. Pike shuddered.
I remember.
I cannot take this! A golden she-wolf sprang forward tail-lengths away. It is like the voices said, I wanted this! I killed them! I’m a beast!
No, Lark! Ash barked, running toward her. Pike followed. She sprinted away from them toward the bodies. A sword jutted upward through one of the dead. Lark!
She glanced back before flinging herself forward, impaling herself on the blade.
No! Pike staggered.
Everyone! Ash howled to the horrified wolves. Listen. Something happened on the battlefield. A curse. Those things blocked us from the sight of Wolnor, taking control of our bodies. I know you are afraid, but now we have to figure out if some of our friends made it out. Gar is not here.
Nor is he among the dead. Roxen is not here either. And many of the others. Pike stepped to Ash's side.
Let's get back to the Southern Densite. Maybe we can find some way to stop this from happening again.
But I killed them, a brown wolf wailed.
You did nothing, River. But we can't keep cowering here. Our pack needs us. Move out Ash sprinted forward beside Pike. The others joined them, fleeing the carnage, never looking back. They ran without stopping except to wash their fur and paws in a stream along the way. What would their packmates do when they arrived? Would they understand? Would they forgive them? As Ash watched the stream waters turn pink and cloudy, he wondered if he could ever forgive himself.
Once clean, they returned to the trails. Ash tried to focus on the feel of the moss beneath his paws, the scents of animals on the wind. But no matter how hard he tried to think of anything else, the battle played in his mind repeatedly. Beside him, Pike thundered on, amber eyes staring straight ahead.
Hex Breaker (The Fenearen Chronicles Book 1) Page 21