Fearless

by Jennifer Jenkins

  Gryphon cast his eyes to the ground. He’d considered telling Laden everything last night before the fire. It was the only way to protect Zo. But telling Laden now, after he’d already called his bluff, felt more like getting caught in a lie than coming forward with the truth. That small distinction mattered to him.

  “What I can’t understand is why you’d come all this way for Zo only to leave her.” Laden paused, regarding him with his penetrating glare. “Were you even planning to tell her you were leaving?”

  Gryphon’s carefully guarded expression slipped. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, old man.” He turned to leave, more flustered than he cared to admit, when a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Don’t be a fool, boy.” Commander Laden seemed to choose each word with careful precision. “Don’t break the poor girl’s heart. She’s already been to hell and back.”

  Gryphon closed his eyes and bit back a curse, but he didn’t pull away.

  “As much as you don’t want to admit it, we are the same, son. More heart than prudence. The fact that you’re standing here in my camp proves as much.”

  Gryphon turned around. “I’m not the one building an army to kill our people.” Gryphon grimaced at his own duplicity. I’m just training that army.

  Laden’s mouth formed a thin white line. “Despite what you think, I will do everything in my power to protect the Ram from high casualties. I want to find a way to end this conflict without completely destroying them.”

  “Will you swear to that?” Gryphon asked.

  “If I do, will you spill your secret?”

  The blood oath. Zo’s life in the balance.

  Laden sighed. “You’re a smart lad, Gryphon. Surely you can see the crimes of the Ram. Change must happen. Justice demands it.”

  Unable to disagree, yet hating himself for what he was about to say, Gryphon met Commander Laden’s eye with steady appraisal. “What I’m about to tell you will make the Ram vulnerable.”

  Laden leaned in. “I’m listening.”

  “Your word,” Gryphon insisted. “I need your word of honor that you will do your best to protect the innocent.”

  Laden sighed. “That fact that you even have to ask shows how little you know me.” He stuck out his hand, shaking Gryphon’s. “On my honor, I will preserve and protect the innocent Ram, including women, children, and others who do not wish to fight us.”

  A weight lifted from Gryphon, and he felt his body relax for the first time since entering the Allied Camp. No matter how far he strayed, he couldn’t bring himself to completely abandon his clan—flawed as they were.

  “What I tell you, I tell in the faith that you will use this information to help free Zo of this blood oath.”

  Laden arched a brow in interest.

  “A few days before reaching your camp, one of my mess brothers visited me while Zo and the others slept.” Gryphon went on to explain the favor Ajax asked and the promise made.

  Fury etched hard lines across Laden’s face, tightening his arms down to flexed fists.

  “Ajax is the reason Zo is still alive,” Gryphon explained. “If it weren’t for my decision to leave, none of this would have happened. Getting Zo out of the Gate and coming here … it was the right thing to do. But I can’t survive the guilt of knowing I’ve ruined the lives of my brothers. I can’t sit by and do nothing. Not when I can fix things.”

  Gryphon wondered if Laden could see through his skin, deep into the recesses of his mind where all of his private thoughts were buried.

  “You underestimate Barnabas’s drive for power,” said Laden. “Do you honestly believe your sacrifice will make everything go back to the way it was before? You think you can march up to the Gate and Barnabas will forget his anger toward the men of your mess?”

  In the distance, Gryphon heard men laughing over their evening meal. It was odd to think people still laughed anymore.

  “I’m not marching to the Gate.” Gryphon took a deep, fortifying breath. What he said next would take him from being a deserter to a traitor. Men would die. Their fates would be sealed with only a few words from him.

  “I agreed to meet Barnabas and his men where the rivers converge just north of the Valley of Wolves in exactly nineteen days.”

  Laden stood completely still, no doubt sifting through a hundred different scenarios at once. “Barnabas will come this far south?”

  “Not just Barnabas … ”

  Then Laden, a man so sure of everything and everyone, staggered. “The Great Move.” His eyes widened. “So soon?”

  Gryphon nodded. “Barnabas is bringing everyone. Even the Nameless.”

  “Barnabas was always one for a show. He’ll want his whole army to watch you die for defying him. The perfect form of entertainment for his men before they move on to the Valley to attack the Wolves.” At that he looked up. “But this wouldn’t be just another raid. This will be an invasion.”

  A cold chill shot up Gryphon’s spine. He hated these Wolves and everything they represented. But invasion meant death. Children. Women. Elderly. None would be safe from Barnabas and the Ram spear. And this wouldn’t be one lone pack. It would be an entire clan.

  Laden walked forward, resting his hand on Gryphon’s shoulder, meeting his eyes with fire. “We can’t let the Ram reach the Valley of Wolves.”

  And just like that, Gryphon’s anger and hatred melted, because this really wasn’t about his prejudices. It was about the sanctity of life and the need to preserve it. He felt himself nodding, and agreed. “I know.”

  “There really is only one solution to this problem,” said Laden. “The time has come for the Allies to leave our camp and march against the Ram. You need to meet Barnabas, as planned. We’ll use the spectacle as a way to free the Nameless and any others seeking refuge from the Ram, the families of your mess brothers included.”

  Spectacle?

  Gryphon blanched. He hadn’t expected Laden to show such little regard for his life. But then again, this was the man who wittingly sent Zo into the Gate as a spy.

  “Use my meeting to buy the Kodiak time to free their people and the rest of the Nameless. When I leave, I need to know Zo’s commitment to Ikatou and his men is fulfilled.”

  Laden, finally, had the decency to look ashamed. “That is a mighty sacrifice.”

  “Whether I die by the ax in a few weeks or from an arrow in a year, it makes no difference to me. Death will come. The only thing I can control is whether I am honorable in this life. I will not live with the guilt of knowing I could have done something to stop this war.”

  “Is that really what you want, Gryphon?”

  “I want peace. Peace of mind and peace for the region. And if … if I had a chance at life, I’d want to share that peace with Zo. That is what I will fight for, Commander. That is my religion, clan, and purpose.”

  Shadows gathered beneath Commander Laden’s weary eyes. With a reluctant nod, the commander thrust out his hand and waited for Gryphon to close the handshake. “I will do my part. I will send dispatch to alert the Wolves to prepare for invasion. All will be decided at the Ostara when the Wolf Alpha, Chief Naat, and—if Zo can work a miracle—Murtog join us.”

  Gryphon offered a short bow and turned to leave.

  “Gryphon!” Laden called, causing Gryphon to freeze in place. He turned his head but not his body. “Yes, sir?”

  “You are a good man.”

  Gryphon tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. He nodded and walked away, hoping his trust in the Commander wasn’t misplaced.

  They left the giant cavern and entered a wide tunnel filled with glowing stones, similar to the one Ikatou carried, embedded in the wall. The gleaming stones spiraled floor to ceiling in one giant coil that gave the illusion they were walking on air in a star-filled sky.

  Though the lights were dim and the ground barely visible, Zo allowed herself to calm in the presence of such unexpected beauty. She turned to Ikatou and
asked, “What are they?”

  “Moonstones,” he said, his voice barely carrying over the quiet echo of their footsteps. “A sacred stone reserved for royalty. This is the hall of stars, leading to the exalted one. The man in the sky is our maker and supreme leader, but his chief exacts his will.”

  Zo jogged a little to walk shoulder to shoulder with Ikatou. “Do you think of Murtog as a holy man?”

  Ikatou choked on what might have been a shot of laughter. “No,” he finally managed. “He is just a man. Flawed as the rest of us. But as our ruler, he has our oaths of fealty. It is the reason no one has ever tried to overthrow him. We would die before breaking such an oath.”

  “Even if he is a poor leader?” asked Zo.

  With the faint light of the moonstones, Zo just made out his nod. It seemed to take all of his self-discipline to offer it. “Many are frustrated by Murtog’s inaction to face the Ram. Some, like myself, have left to take matters into their own hands, but I still keep my oath of fealty to the chief. Without my word and honor, I am nothing, and neither is my family.”

  At the end of the hall they came to a large set of wooden doors where two guards stood as giant sentinels. The concentration of moonstones around the doors illuminated the guards clearly.

  “What is this, Poi?” one of the sentinels asked as he scanned their company.

  “Messengers from the Allied Camp,” said Poi. “They come with word from Commander Laden with the voice of the Raven and Wolf.”

  “And the deserters?” the sentinel asked. Ikatou stepped forward, ready to rip the man’s head from his neck.

  “What of you, Bator? What man allows his family to be taken without a fight?” Ikatou said each word with slow, careful intention. “Isn’t that true desertion?”

  Poi pushed his way between the two men just as the sentinel reared back to strike.

  “Enough!” Poi said. “Now open these doors.”

  The guard crossed his arms. “You know the chief will not see them.”

  “Will you take the choice from him? Or have you joined the filth that would abandon their oaths to do as they please?” said Ikatou.

  The guard glared at Ikatou, clearly despising the space between them. With a grunt he stepped aside, and Poi pulled the highly polished latch on the door. Hinges whined. Flickering torchlight danced along the floors and walls as Zo shuffled into the barren receiving room behind Ikatou, Talon, and Raca. She looked back to realize the others hadn’t followed. Perhaps they didn’t wish to see Murtog in his wrath at being disturbed. “This room leads to his private chamber. I’ll announce you,” said Poi. He approached the chief’s bedchamber door like one might a wounded wild animal. As one of Murtog’s guards, Zo assumed they’d have something of a relationship.

  If Poi was worried …

  “Sir?” Poi knocked. “You have company.”

  Nothing. Not a sound beyond the quiet murmur of the torches fastened to the walls.

  Poi cleared his throat and straightened. Rolling back his shoulders, he didn’t bother using a quiet tone. “Chief Murtog. May I enter?”

  Again, no response.

  Next to Zo, Raca adjusted her weight from foot to foot, humming with agitated energy.

  Poi turned back to them, an apology fixed to his kind face. “You may have to wait here a bit. I don’t recommend going back out there.” He pointed to the door from which they’d just entered. “I’ll have some food delivered in a few hours once the sun is up. In the meantime, I suggest you settle in.”

  “This is ridiculous!” said Raca. “We’re just supposed to wait here and hope he comes out?”

  Poi had the decency to frown as he dropped his gaze to the floor. “My apologies. But it is best. If he doesn’t come out, I’d be happy to escort you back to the cabin at nightfall when I can guarantee your safety.”

  “Not a chance.” Raca stomped over to the door of the chief’s private quarters and yanked on the handle.

  The entire room took a giant inhale of breath, but Zo was the only one to follow as she shoved her way into the room, pushing the door with so much force it banged against the opposite wall. “I am the daughter of Chief Naataain and the anointed princess of the Nest,” Raca’s raspy, melodic voice filled the room, bouncing off walls. Demanding to be heard. “I have traveled for several days to see you, and will be received with some degree of—”

  Her words died on her tongue as she and Zo took in the scene.

  The smell of sweat and stale food hit her like a punch to the face. A quick scan of the room showed weapons and hunting trophies lining the walls at crooked angles. A dressing bureau stood opposite the bed with doors open and clothing scattered on the floor. In the far corner, the low-burning embers of a fire cracked and whistled in a large fireplace tall enough for Zo to walk into without even ducking.

  A man sat not on one of the grand, fur-trimmed chairs positioned before the fireplace, but on a three-legged stool. His large, rounded back faced them. An elaborate network of swirling ink rose and fell over contours of thick muscle across his back and shoulder. He’s sat so completely still that Zo had to wonder if he was breathing.

  The man stared into the fire with forearms resting on knees. Long corded hair was tied back by a strip of leather. Zo pressed against the stone wall, the feeling of the room so pungent she nearly buckled under its weight.

  Pain. Loss. Misery. Regret. Sorrow. And most of all, mourning.

  She’d never experienced such a visceral reaction to a person’s emotions by simply standing in his presence.

  Raca’s features hardened and her fists balled as she stood in all her five-foot glory. A true warrior princess prepared to rip the head off of this man at her earliest opportunity.

  “Leave me.” With his back still to them, Zo had yet to see Murtog’s face, but his deep, rumbling order left little room for discussion.

  “I would sooner put an arrow through my foot,” said Raca, crossing her arms defiantly before her.

  Zo caught a glimpse of Talon in the doorway. He’d removed his bow from his back and held his free hand near his ear, prepared to reach for an arrow. Poi and Ikatou stood behind him, equally prepared to prevent him from doing just that.

  At Raca’s declaration, Murtog finally lifted his head and turned to glare at her.

  Zo couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips.

  Murtog the widower was young … and handsome.

  He kicked his stool out from under him and it crashed into several pieces against the back of the fireplace. “How dare you!” he growled, his voice filling the whole room, doubling over itself as it bounced off stone.

  Zo took a cautious step toward the door, but Raca marched up to him, coming toe to toe with the man easily double her width and so tall she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes.

  “We have an urgent message from the Allies and my father. You will either hear us or bring down the ire of the entire region upon your clan.”

  He blinked at her, struggling to comprehend the gall of such a tiny, fearsome creature. Finally, as though surprising even himself by the decision, he walked over to his bed, snatched a tunic that had been thrown there, pulled it over his head, and while fastening a leather belt around his waist called over Raca’s head, “The cowards whimpering behind the door may enter.” He looked over his shoulder as he made his way to one of the large chairs in the corner of the room. “But only if you possess a fraction of this girl’s grit.”

  Talon pushed away the hands holding him back and entered with head held high. He gave Raca a furious look and stopped at her side. “Honored Chieftain.” He offered Murtog a clipped bow. “I am Talon, son of Chief Naat.” He cleared his throat, nodding to Raca. “My sister has had a long journey and forgets herself.” He grounded out the last two words.

  Murtog nodded, acknowledging the introduction as Ikatou came forward and dropped before his chief on one knee, with head bowed in deep supplication. “My chief.”


  Muscles in Murtog’s neck danced, his cheeks flexing and unflexing as he seemed to struggle to hold his rage.

  He finally spoke through gritted teeth. “Rise. Your gesture is a lie.”

  Ikatou stood, but didn’t lift his head. “I have never lied to you, my chief. Even before I left, I told you my plans. In your mercy, you didn’t command me to stay.”

  “But you left, all the same.”

  Ikatou raised his head and his words took on a harder edge. “They were my family, Murtog. If she had been taken, you would have gone after her too.”

  A mighty roar erupted from Murtog. His fist flew through the air, connecting against Ikatou’s cheek with enough force to knock the Kodiak onto his back. “Get out!” he commanded. “All of you!” He moved as though to strike Ikatou again, but Zo, out of a healer’s instinct, leapt in front of him and, without thinking, thrust her hands against his chest.

  “Stop!” Zo shouted. Then softer, she added, “If you care anything for your clan, you will hear what we’ve come to tell you.” She pushed as much calm into him as she could muster. Peace. Patience. Respite.

  Murtog’s nostrils flared as he sucked air into his lungs. His stance relaxed. The angry lines cutting through his face softened. He lifted one of Zo’s hands and examined the raised scars. Then he glanced down at Ikatou, who still lay on the ground with a hand pressed to his swelling cheek. “A blood oath?”

  Ikatou nodded. He took his time climbing to his feet. Zo couldn’t blame him. She’d check his pupils later to see if he’d concussed from the blunt attack.

  “We have much to discuss,” said Ikatou.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eighteen days.

  Gryphon stared at the ceiling of his tent, resenting Laden, Ikatou, and Ajax. All three were responsible for his misery. Days wasted without Zo here beside him. His arms literally ached with her absence.