Gar climbed out between sycamore roots, blinking in confusion. Bayne? What is going on?
Bayne led Gar away from the dens before answering. I need your help, Gar. I'd never ask this of anyone under normal circumstances, especially not such a dear friend as you.
Bayne?
You're our best and fastest tracker.
Gar inclined his head. So I am told.
Nero must pay for what he did. We are in the middle of a war, but some crimes cannot go unpunished.
Say no more, Bayne. I will find him. I will leave right away. If my packmates ask where I am, please tell them I am safe, and they are not to worry.
I am forever in your debt.
Forever does not seem so long anymore. He bowed and cantered toward Thera's den to catch the scent.
Gar caught Nero's scent quickly. Unfortunately, the trail led far north of the site, and he knew Maenorens could appear around every bend. Loyalty and pride, however, steadied his paws.
It was dark by the time he smelled a Maenoren encampment. Nero's scent led straight to it. Gar did not want to believe it, but his nose could not lie. Nor had Nero been alone. Gar scented several Maenorens, including a female—which made little sense as Maenoren women did not fight in their armies. Whether they'd escorted Nero as a prisoner or a willing traitor, though, Gar could not say.
Gar stalked along the edge of the trees. He kept his eyes averted, nervous they would catch the torches' reflections and alert the sentries to his presence. He moved with silent precision, investigating each step. A chill air swirling with moisture brought familiar scents to Gar: animal fat, charcoal, metal, and Nero. The brute could be no more than a half a league away.
Movement registered in Gar's peripheral vision. He flattened beneath a thorn bush as a guard made his rounds, thanking Wolnor that Maenorens had such poor senses of smell. After the man disappeared, Gar crept back out, making his way closer to the camp.
Gar slunk into the narrow shadow of a beech tree within sight of the camp's center. Thousands of men slept in their tents, but thankfully Gar caught only a stale trace of the Da' Gammorn. He could not risk staying so near the camp for much longer, and he hoped Nero would reveal himself soon.
Several clueless sentries passed as he waited. Just when he thought he had best return to the Southern Densite with what little news he had, a man strode from a tent. Gar's heart sank as he recognized Nero's scent of balsam and walnuts. There were no bonds, his injuries had been treated, and most disturbing of all, Nero wore Maenoren robes. There was no mistaking the truth: Nero was no prisoner. He was a murderer and a traitor. Gar's hackles climbed his spine. As Bayne had said, some crimes could not go unpunished.
Gar briefly considered sinking his canines into Nero's jugular before the Maenorens killed him, but he knew that was not the answer. Bayne and Silver had to know Nero had turned his cloak. The former Beta knew all there was to know about Fenearen fighting techniques, battle strategies, even where they stored their food. Gar had to warn the pack.
Gar watched as Nero stretched, looking up at the sky. The traitor seemed so relaxed, so content, curling Gar's lip. But he had found his answers, and he had to leave. As he crawled back into the tree line, a sharp wind blew across him. In the distance, Nero froze as the breeze carried Gar's scent on its current. Maenorens had terrible senses of smell, but Nero had not lost his.
Gar's legs whirled into motion. He ran into the forest, praying he would be fast enough. He heard Nero shout something in Clanspeak. The sentries would know he was there. But this was his land, and they were the trespassers. Gar's muscles burned as he reached peak speed. The trees streaked by, and he rebounded off every root in his way. Soon, the deep forest surrounded him once more, blocking out the early morning rays. Gar slowed to a trot. He listened for clumsy pursuers, but heard nothing except normal forest sounds: a mouse skittered among elm roots, dew dripped from a sassafras branch, and a fox padded through the underbrush. Gar steadied his breathing, heading for home, as his mind railed against the lone wolf turned traitor.
Inside the privacy of his den, Bayne listened as Gar related his findings.
After all his talk about Maenorens being scum... I cannot believe Nero would stoop so low, Bayne growled.
A wolf without a pack is like an arrow without a target. There is no telling who they might hurt, Gar said.
Nero is a wolf no longer. Bayne gnashed his teeth. He has disgraced everything we swear to uphold. He's but a rabid dog now, with Rhael as his master.
A dog eager for scraps. He'll tell Rhael all he knows.
Aye. We must assume Rhael knows our battle strategies, fighting techniques, the terrain. He knows–Wolnor–he even knows where we hide the pups and elders.
Then we will not do what Nero expects. Gar dipped his head. I must return to my pack, Bayne.
After the True Wolf left, Bayne stared at the flames dancing in the hearth. The beautiful red color, so similar to Rayna's hair, brought a raw ache to his chest. “I swear, my darling, I will avenge you, too.”
“Love?” Silver crept into the den. Her blonde locks were now cropped short. Puzzled, Bayne watched as she approached, leaning her head on his shoulder.
“Makes it easier,” she explained as she took his rough hand, smoothing it through her hair.
“In battle?” he whispered. Silver was as capable as he was, probably even more so, but the thought of her in war sent a mix of fear and frustration through his mind.
She nodded, burying her head deeper against him.
“Nero has joined the Maenorens.”
Silver raised her head. “How do you know that?”
“I sent Gar to find him. He traced his scent to a Maenoren encampment south of the Western Densite ruins.”
“Is Gar all right?” Silver asked.
“Yes, he’s fine. You just missed him.” He looked into the fire for a moment before gazing into her distractingly beautiful seafoam eyes. “Nero will face justice for his crimes, but it seems his execution will be on the battlefield.”
Silver flinched. “It's my fault, Bayne. I don't deserve Roxen's forgiveness. I should have left Nero to die. Thera–”
“Thera,” Bayne interrupted, “did what was right. As you did. Our lives have been so filled with violence, and only compassion can change that.” Bayne stroked Silver's cheek. “I stayed my killing blow, but my mercy would have been incomplete without your pity.”
“If I did what was right,” she whispered, “how can everything have gone so wrong?”
“My dove.” He cradled her head on his shoulder. “Sometimes every choice you make can be the right one, but evil still comes of them.” After all, Bayne thought, their plans to end the war with Maenor had been met only with destruction. He had often told Rayna that the right choice was rarely the easy one, but now he saw sometimes the right choice came at a price so steep, it threatened everything you had.
“But,” Bayne said, kissing Silver's cheek, “that doesn't mean we stop trying.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lonian suggested Rayna wait until morning to set out. He did not want her to start climbing in the dark, and Rayna agreed. That night, Rayna, Mina, Laera, Lonian, and Kellan slept in the open by a roaring fire. Mina and Lonian nodded off quickly, Laera slumbering at Lonian's feet. Rayna couldn't sleep. Her mind tangled with dark premonitions of her journey the next morning.
Kellan turned over in his fur-lined sleeping sack near her. “Why are you doing this, Rayna?” He swept snow from her hair. Normally, this gesture of familiarity would have irritated her, but genuine worry clouded his gaze in the firelight.
“For Channon.”
He scoffed. “You don’t even know what’s up there. If your friend is as badly off as you make it sound, I don’t think anything could help.”
Rayna sat up. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it's true, even if it's not what you want to hear. I don’t see why Lonian is so comfortable sending you there. You’ll be eaten al
ive by those savage wolves.”
“Kellan, I am a wolf. Even if the Ice Wolves try to hurt me, I can fight back.”
“You don’t understand, do you? Laera looks just like the wolves who live with you, except she has spots and limper ears.”
Rayna glanced over at the dog.
“But,” Kellan continued, “she’s not a southern wolf, Rayna. She’s a dog, and her life revolves around Lonian. That is the way she wants it to be. She worships him, not the Father like your True Wolves do. The Ice Wolves look like southern wolves, except they're much larger, all white, and all of them have the same dark eyes. They do not worship humans like Laera, or Wolnor like True Wolves. They worship freedom alone. Lumae saw in them raw power. They honor her because she honored them, but she is no goddess to them, just another force of nature. Their instinct is their only code, and their instinct will tell them to kill you. It doesn’t matter if you are descended from Lumae’s northern tribe or that Laera and your southern friends are distant relatives. We often find dogs dead if they wander too far north. If you try to cross their territory, you’ll end up just like those dogs.”
Rayna remained silent, watching the anger spark and burn in Kellan’s gray eyes. She could only guess how someone so young could carry so much rage. In the short time they had known one another he had mentioned his parents and his uncle Tristren only once, but she sensed their losses always stayed on his mind, as her own losses did. A flicker of fear appeared as he glanced away. Like Mina, he was scared that she would go to the mountain and never return.
“Kellan.” She shook her head, “I have to go. I'm the only one who can help Channon, so that's what I must do.”
“Channon. You'd really risk everything for this man?”
She watched the jealousy glint in his eyes. Suddenly, their whispered conversation seemed wrong, even disloyal. “Yes.”
“Do you love him?”
“He's my best friend. Of course I do.”
“So you’re not in love with him?”
Rayna balked at the simple question. Was she in love with Channon? When they had been younger, before changes had turned child to adult, she had seen him as a brother, her playmate, and confidante. But had that not changed? Roxen was more her brother now than Channon was. Channon was something different. He had been a constant in her life, predictable as the sunrise and just as warm and bright. For the first time in weeks, she saw his face clearly again, not obscured by terror and pain. She saw his hesitant half-smile, the dimples appearing in his flushed cheeks. She remembered twining her fingers in his curling blond hair when they hugged, the mad urge to kiss him that, for some reason, she had ignored. His excited heartbeat had pounded in time with her own, and his eyes shone the color of cornflowers. A dark, almost violet blue radiated from wide pupils, fading to the color of a cloudless summer sky.
She was in love with Channon, but she had never told him. She had to save him, if only to make that right.
“Why do you care?” Rayna growled, realizing several moments had passed.
“Because,” he took her hand, “Rayna, I love you.”
“No, you don’t. We’ve known each other two weeks.” She snatched her hand back.
Kellan chuckled. “Two weeks isn't enough time to fall in love? How unromantic you are, Red.”
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Act concerned, and then laugh at me? It's cruel, Kellan. Channon is being tortured, and you're laughing at me?”
“Quiet, Rayna! You’ll wake the others.” The teasing smile slid from his face. “I am not laughing at you. I’m trying to get you to laugh. Evidently, I'm making a poor go of it.”
Rayna turned over in her sleeping bag. “I don’t want to laugh,” she whispered into the furs.
“Because you’re scared.”
“I am,” Rayna watched a shooting star speckle the sky, “but not of what you think.”
“What do you mean?”
“It's not the wolves or the climb I'm most scared of.” She glanced back at Kellan, who traced designs in the snow. “It's that if I reach the top, I still won't understand how to help Channon.”
“Your dreams brought you this far, or so you said?”
She ignored the skepticism in Kellan's tone. “That's just it. I have no control over my dreams. My seer heritage is supposed to be the key to rescuing Channon, but I don't understand any of it. I thought I would by now. I suppose I just have to believe in what's guiding me: the gods or–”
“Please do not say destiny.” Kellan's tone resembled a Fenearen’s growl.
“I was going to say fate.”
Kellan groaned. “That is just as bad.”
“You don’t believe in fate?”
Kellan shook his head.
“What do you believe then?”
He sighed. “I don’t know.”
“The gods? Razorn, Wolnor?”
“I believe in the power of their names. If one person worships Sira and another worships Wolnor, they could kill each other over it without realizing they’re one in the same.”
“But without people, up there on the mountain. Do you think there is anything? That there’s a weak spot in the veil, where the dead can come through to our world and the living to theirs?”
Kellan shrugged. “Could be, but I’ve never seen anything to make me believe it.”
Rayna thought of how she wished to see her parents again, how she had begged Wolnor and Lumae. Never once had they listened, showing her cryptic visions and nightmares instead. Then she thought of Rhael sending Channon away in a storm of black, of the Da' Gammorn, and the possessed, rotting bear.
“Evil has to come from somewhere,” Rayna said. “Good, too,” she added as an afterthought.
“Does it? I’ve done bad things, because I wanted to. Not because some outside force told me to.”
“You’ve done good things, also, like rescuing me from…” Rayna could not say the hateful captain’s name aloud.
“It's entirely possible I did that for immoral reasons,” Kellan teased with a wink.
“All right, you two, that’s enough philosophy for one night,” came a phantom voice from Lonian’s sleeping sack. “Get some sleep.”
The next morning after a cold breakfast of snow hare jerky, Lonian handed Rayna a pair of heavy, textured gloves.
“Use these to help you climb, but be very, very careful. It’s an awfully long fall.”
Rayna packed them away before turning to him. “Thank you, and goodbye, Lonian.”
“Don’t be saying your farewells yet, keiri,” he cautioned, placing his hand on her shoulder. “We'll be seeing you soon.” Laera nosed around Rayna’s legs while Mina and Kellan approached.
Kellan stared at her, his eyes cold, sharp chips of flint. Rayna groaned internally. Did he always have to be so moody?
“Kellan. Try to–”
He cut her off, clasping his hand over her mouth. “Don’t say anything,” he said as he removed his hand. She glared at him. He stepped away from the others, beckoning her to follow.
“What is it, Kellan?”
He paced over the snow, not looking at her. “I can be an ass sometimes. And you have no good reason to believe anything I say is the truth. But I do care about you, Red. I can't stand by and let you go on some suicide mission, because you think you can save your friend with bedtime stories!”
“Just because you don't believe it doesn't mean it isn't true, Kellan.”
“What if you are right? Even if you rescue Channon, what then? You return to Fenear to die?”
Rayna tensed. She'd been so wrapped up in saving Channon, she'd given very little thought as to what came next. But there was only one option. “I go home to fight. You of all people should understand that!”
Kellan tugged at his long black hair. “Rayna. I do understand. You're as stubborn as I am, and that's saying something. No matter what I say you won't change your mind. But still, I have to try.”
&n
bsp; Rayna's anger softened. She wished she could say something to ease his worry, but Channon's terrified face and agonized screams filled her mind. There was no turning back. “I appreciate your concern, but it doesn’t change anything.”
Kellan glared down at her, pain slicing his gaze, before tearing off into the cold. “Kellan!” Rayna cried as Mina grabbed her arm, holding her back. She did not struggle. In truth, she knew it would hurt Kellan more if she followed him. He needed space.
“Let him go, Wolfie, he'll be fine.”
“I know.” Rayna embraced Mina, breathing in her yew and rose scent. “Thank you, Mina. I couldn't have done this without you.”
“That's true.” She smiled. “You can repay me by remembering our deal. I'll wait here for you, but don't take too long. And don’t take any stupid chances. You’re no mountain goat.” They pulled apart. “Remember,” Mina dropped her voice to a whisper, “you can’t do anything for Channon if you're dead.”
Rayna nodded. “I'll come back if I can. I promise.” She hugged Mina again before turning toward the path.
With one last, steadying glance back at Mina, Laera, and Lonian, she formed and began down the trail. The snow beneath her paws was hard, compacted by the wolf feet that had patrolled the path. Drifts framed her on either side, and leafless birches stood sentinel behind them. The trail meandered over hills, snaking around boulders, twisting with such suddenness that every turn could hide a wolf. Her new reality hit her hard. She was a lone Fenearen crossing another pack’s territory without permission. All her fear came crashing into her lungs, drowning her. She would be torn to pieces before she reached the mountain’s base. With no other ideas, Rayna raised her muzzle, baying out a soulful plea, hoping that this bit of courtesy might deter the wolves’ anger.
Rayna picked up her pace, continuing to take in the surrounding sights and smells with frantic vigilance. The actual path was thin, trodden only wide enough for five wolves to stand abreast. The birches were dead and narrow, but their shadows could hide a stealthy Ice Wolf. The air was still, lacking wind to carry her early warning. Wolves had been there recently, but she could not say when. Other smells–snow hares and squirrels, moss, a falcon, and bearberries—wafted through her nostrils, though she saw no animals.
Hex Breaker (The Fenearen Chronicles Book 1) Page 26