Under the Wolf's Shadow

by A. Katie Rose

  “Ly’Tana?” Kel’Ratan’s voice, from just beside me, expressed his worry.

  Ignoring him, ignoring them all, I enfolded Raine’s baby son to my chest and wanted nothing more than to crawl under the nearest rock and hide. Preferably for the rest of my lift, as short as that time will be.

  I snorted inwardly. Raine believed he saw his own death in his dreams. He had predicted mine before he left. Perhaps this was Usa’a’mah’s revenge . . . we both die in the cold frozen north. Together.

  I could live with that.

  “Don’t–” Bar began, hissing, already reading my thoughts.

  Arianne, too, pulled from my head the reason for my new-found calm. “Ly’Tana, what Lavi says may not come to pass. Events can change.”

  I straightened. I pulled my tresses from my face. I sat back on the log, set Tuatha’s heavy mass in my lap while his anxious whines fell on my deaf ears. I wiped my tears from my face, and glowered at those who yet dared to pity me.

  Kel’Ratan scowled, his confusion at Arianne’s words growing. “What does she mean, girl?”

  “I’ll die,” I replied softly. “Gods grant I live long enough to fight beside Raine, battling his monster.”

  “No,” he and Rygel said at the same moment, both jumping up like puppets on the same string. They scowled at one another. Amid Silverruff’s menacing growl, Shardon’s ears flattened and his dark eyes beneath his silver forelock blazed.

  “Arianne is right,” Rygel snapped. “We may yet find a way to halt Usa’a’mah’s madness. It isn’t over.”

  “Not even bloody close,” Kel’Ratan growled. “You will not die.”

  “If that crazy bastard wants you,” Bar snarled. “He’ll have to go through me.”

  I shook my head, smiling wanly.

  “Your people love you,” Li commented, his voice low. “I, too, will pray that this dark god is moved to mercy.”

  “Somehow I doubt he is capable of mercy.”

  “He is,” Brother Lavi said. “One never knows what might move him so.”

  From the folds of his robe, Lavi extended his closed hand, palm down, A length of slender chain dangled from his fingers. Bemused, I disentangled myself from Tuatha and reached for the object. His eyes warm and kind, Lavi set a gold-washed jewel in my right hand. Gently, he closed my fingers upon it.

  “I was commanded to give you this, Princess,” he said, his teeth gleaming in a smile. “Use it.”

  “What is it?”

  Withdrawing my hand from his tender grip, I studied the gem. It glowed with a pale amber light, its smooth, polished surface warm to the touch. Not from Lavi’s body, I thought, nor mine. Its warmth came from within itself, as though it were a living, breathing creature. The filigreed chain attached to it seemed cold by comparison. I stared deep into its soft depths, mesmerized.

  “It’s not just a trinket,” Lavi said, as though from a distance. “This amulet is a direct link to the gods.”

  My head snapped up. “No–”

  Lavi nodded, his bald skull gleaming, yet dry, under the intense sunlight. “When you take it in your hand and concentrate on your prayer, whichever god or goddess you pray to will answer you directly. But–”

  His voice dropped in warning. “Use it only in extreme need. This is no toy you carry. Be not frivolous with it.”

  “Then maybe she shouldn’t–” Kel’Ratan began.

  “She must. I, and she, are commanded.”

  “Then what is it for?” I asked.

  “Use it, and your powers, wisely, Princess. Let this be your guide.”

  I glowered. “Pray, good brother, speak clearly or not at all.”

  Despite my tone, Lavi smiled. “Sorry, Princess. I expect I need to relearn how to talk to people, not just the divine. Use this example: You wish a man dead, do you pray for his death?”

  Thinking of Brutal, I said, “Um–”

  “Think hard. This man, despite your hatred, has his purpose on this earth, does he not?”

  “Well–”

  “He does. Should you kill him through your prayers, you may halt the divine purpose for which that man was born.”

  Brutal has a divine purpose? While I could scarcely credit it, the idea did have its possibilities. Without Brutal, I might never have met and fallen in love with Raine.

  “You could win a battle simply by praying for the enemy army to die in its tracks. Do you pray so?”

  “Er–” I fumbled.

  “The gods have purpose even with death, Princess.”

  “Then why give her these powers?” Kel’Ratan snapped. “These are not for her.”

  “They are–”

  “No.” I stood up suddenly, dumping a protesting Tuatha into the dust, my panic returning. “He’s right. I don’t want this. Take it back.”

  “This is a gift.”

  “It’s a curse,” I almost screamed, my hands over my ears. “I blessed a man, and it worked out alright, once. But what if next time it doesn’t? What if I say the wrong thing and cause evil?”

  Lavi smiled. “The amulet will guide you. Through it, you cannot go wrong.”

  My hands on my hips, I scowled at the good monk. “If I pray hard, will the gods take this from me? If I beg they remove this from my shoulders, will they do it?”

  Lavi nodded. “Probably.”

  “Then I should–”

  He held up a warning hand. “Please, don’t, Princess. The gods don’t offer this gift lightly. They have their reasons, believe me. In the end, you’ll do what’s right.”

  “I wish I could believe that,” I muttered.

  I should pray for protection.

  The sun had nearly reached its zenith as I rode Mikk down from the sandy hills. The answers I received from Brother Lavi offered me scant comfort. On one hand, all the gods in the universe were, in essence, my slaves. On the other, the most powerful slave of them all ripped huge holes in the security of my new role. Kel’Ratan and Rygel were right: Illan’s challenge had Usa’a’mah’s jealousy written all over it.

  Below, the tribe gathered near Li’s pavilion, waiting as me and my escort trotted down the steep, sandy incline. Our horses fought the loose soil, their rear quarters slung low. Silverruff loped just ahead of me as Kel’Ratan grumbled under his breath at my right. Li shot me concerned glances from my left, no doubt thinking my slaves couldn’t help me through this one.

  “They’re waiting for a spectacle,” Kel’Ratan groused.

  “This a fight of honor,” Li said. “Of course they must watch and witness.”

  Illan and his cronies sat their horses to one side of the crowd, Illan stripped of his scarf and mantle. He wore only the crisscrossing leather harness and his breeches. His weapons hung from his black stallion’s pommel and he smirked as I drew closer, saying something to his friends. They all laughed at his jest.

  Also mounted and bristling with weapons, my boys half-circled Illan and his companions. Though clearly Illan wasn’t intimidated in the least, his pals occasionally glanced over their shoulders as though disliking their close proximity. After one such look, Witraz raised his hand and made that single highly insulting gesture. The warrior didn’t accept the obvious challenge and quickly turned away.

  Where the ground leveled out in the camp proper, I reined in Mikk. Li and Kel’Ratan halted with me as Rygel and Arianne trotted their mounts further to stand between me and Illan’s pals. Bar circled low over my head, the wind of his passage blowing my hair across my face. I didn’t swipe it away, but my fingers inched over the gem at my breast.

  “I can kill him now,” Bar advised, leaving me to fly over the neat rows of orderly tents behind the crowd. Coming from their rear, he buzzed across Illan’s small group. This, of course, set their horses to pitching in panic. Illan and his friends were forced to fight to keep their butts in their saddles. Their grins vanished.

  I shook my head without answering him. “Li, how much time do I have?”

  He squinted at the sun. “Perh
aps thirty minutes.”

  Leaving Tuatha on my pommel, I slid down from Mikk into the midst of horses and wolves. Left and Right dismounted also, though Kel’Ratan and Corwyn remained mounted. “I need some time alone.”

  Li nodded. “You may use my tent.”

  “Ly’Tana,” Kel’Ratan began, but I held up my hand to forestall him.

  “It’s all good, cuz,” I said, smiling a little. “Just need to collect myself.”

  When Thunder made to follow, I halted him with a look. “Alone, I said.”

  Much like Kel’Ratan, he grumbled under his breath. He obeyed me, but the twins didn’t. At my heels, Left and Right stalked as silent as ever, my bodyguards. I knew they wouldn’t follow me as I ducked under the pavilion’s flap. Nor did they. As the doorway slid down behind me, I heard their boots crunch sand as they turned around to stand their posts.

  After the bright sunlight, the inside of the tent wasn’t so much dim as it was dark. As my eyes grew accustomed, I glanced around at the sheer opulence of the place. Li’s harsh life as a nomad didn’t extend to his home. Rich furs and luxurious carpets covered the floors. Divided into rooms via colorful tapestries and priceless brocades, it was bigger and richer than a wealthy merchant’s mansion in Soudan. His bedroom lay behind a wall of bright silken hangings while the odors of roasted meat and fried peppers emanated from a small chamber at the far end. Li didn’t sit on chairs, but rather lounged on huge pillows and low couches. Brass oil lamps hung on slender chains from the tents poles, small flames burning and brightening the room. Several charcoal braziers, unlit, stood ready to warm the tribe’s Chief in cold weather.

  Deciding against sitting on one of his pillows, I sank down on a soft sheepskin and folded my legs. Resting my hands on my knees, I shut my eyes. Long ago, one of my arms masters taught me to focus, to plan my battle long before I met my enemy. Your worst enemy is within you, he said. Fight your fears first. Find your weaknesses and turn them into your strengths.

  I focused on my breathing. Slow and deep, slow and deep. I cast all worries, all thoughts of the future, of Raine, of Usa’a’mah and of Illan from my mind. My heart slowed to match the rhythm of my breath, my inhales and exhales. I emptied my thoughts, and centered in on my breathing. In and out. In and out. I didn’t fall asleep, but I did slide into a light trance.

  In it, I permitted Illan to walk into my inner sight. Arrogant, confident in his size and strength. As though he told me in words, I knew he planned to overpower me; he’d hit me with his heavy fists and take me down swiftly. He knew my strength could never match his.

  It doesn’t have to, my arms master whispered. Use it against him.

  We female warriors were trained to fight opponents bigger than we were. We struck with the speed of a cobra, and vanished before they struck back. We didn’t test our muscles against theirs. Speed kept us alive. We didn’t attack blades. We attacked vulnerabilities. Every fighter had his weaknesses. Time to exploit Illan’s.

  Behind me, the tent flap went up and sunlight flooded the chamber. I blinked, rising out of my trance. Yet, my single-minded focus remained with me. My mind, my heart, were calm; cold even. I could walk, talk, smile and that icy quiet within me would stay, ready.

  “It’s time,” Kel’Ratan said, his voice low.

  I rose. Passing him, I walked out from the pavilion and into the sunlight. The Jha’fhar stood en masse outside. As I strode firmly toward them, Kel’Ratan at my shoulder, the milling crowd ceased their laughter and talk. They fell silent and only the wind whispering across the sand and the rushing river spoke. My boys, aboard their horses, saluted me formally as I went by. The wolves paid tribute, not with their voices but with bent forelegs. Shardon, too, bowed low as I passed him, his silver mane hiding his eyes. Bar stood behind the line of Kel’Hallans, his tail lashing. Though he didn’t offer me his respect as the others had, his raptor eyes gleamed with anguish.

  Rygel and Li, shoulder to shoulder, halted me not far from the nomads. Rygel bowed and Li offered me his tribal salute, his palms pressed together as he lowered his face.

  “Your weapons, please, Princess,” Rygel said.

  Unbuckling my swordbelt, I handed it to him. Bending, I removed my hidden knives from my boot tops and gave them to him, hilts first. Working my gold torque from my throat, I also took from my neck my many necklaces. Yet, I kept the gem Brother Lavi gifted me, and tucked it away in my vest. Kel’Ratan took everything else.

  “Are you ready?” Li asked.

  I didn’t bother to nod. Rather, I looked past them both to Illan. Twenty four hours hadn’t healed his face much. Li’s cut on his cheek appeared red and angry, nor had the swelling of his nose gone down. He stood in the midst of the crowds, alone, his previous smirk gone. While I doubted the potential threat I posed was the reason, I almost wished it was still there. Then I’d know what he was thinking.

  The nomads had created a huge fighting ring made up of warriors, servants, women and children. Some rode their horses, a few mounted on camels, but most stood on their feet. Dogs, as silent as everyone else, watched the spectacle from within the massed legs. As I walked in, the circle closed behind me. I eyed Illan as much as he eyed me. Only one of us would leave this arena.

  Spinning me around, Kel’Ratan suddenly hugged me tight to his chest. He kissed my cheek. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered. Then he left, and entered the walls of the human ring.

  “If he kills you,” Bar said. “He won’t live long enough to triumph.”

  “Shut up,” I snarled. “Don’t blow my concentration.”

  The icy focus retreated for a moment, and the sounds and senses around me closed in. The sun felt hot on my skin, the low mutters of the Jha’fhar assaulted my hearing. I smelled fear, tasted the tangy salt of nervous sweat on my tongue. It wasn’t mine, but I needed the sensory overload gone. I needed a few moments to regather my inner calm. Daring to shut my eyes, hoping Illan’s honor forbade an attack before his opponent was ready, I breathed in–then out. And again. Then another. My cold center returned with a rush.

  I opened my eyes. Illan studied me, his dark brows furrowed and his lips thinned. Perhaps he feared I planned to cheat, and had a weapon concealed somewhere. I studied him in my turn, watching, waiting. A big man, Illan’s muscles bulged in his arms and across the expanse of his shoulders. Li had said his warrior skills weren’t up to Jha’fhar standards. That didn’t mean he wasn’t terribly dangerous. He was.

  Li made no formal announcement of the proceedings. As though directed by one mind, I stepped lightly to my right at the same moment Illan slid to his. We stalked each other, weighing, judging, watching for any weakness. His arrogance returned as did his sneering smirk. He straightened from his slight crouch, no longer walking on the balls of his feet. No doubt he’d decided my slender form and female gender posed no serious threat. All he had to do was walk over and kill me.

  He continued to edge his way to his right as I continued to circle him, crossing my right foot over my left, my body relaxed, ready. The stiff tension in his body language told me he geared for his attack, planning to charge with his ham-sized fists swinging. I waited, patient, jotting down his weaknesses in rapid mental notes.

  His left knee didn’t bend properly. His almost imperceptible limp informed me clearly of a past injury. The stiffness in his spine didn’t just tell me he prepared to rush, it told me it, too, had been hurt. Both would hamper his speed and agility. The slight heaviness to his gut spoke of many skins of talela and not enough time at sword practice. His reddish eyes clearly spoke of the skin he’d already drunk that morning. Half-drunk, arrogant and busy underestimating my abilities. The cold concentration didn’t permit me to roll my eyes.

  With a bellow not unlike a bull in a rage, he charged. Neither the noise nor the sight of him coming at me affected me in the slightest as he intended. I hesitated, inviting him in, watching for my moment. It came as he reached the height of his swing, past the point of no return. Eel-like, I slid sideways
and ducked at the same time. I didn’t try to strike back, but watched as he stumbled and nearly fell, still yelling, behind me.

  I’d no doubt that would piss him off, and I wasn’t wrong. He swung around, raging, snorting much like that self-same bull. His face dark with humiliation, his teeth bared in a fearful grimace, he rushed again. This time I struck back with my own fist and hit his passing shoulder. I danced out of reach as he charged, aiming to strike my head with his hams. He hit nothing at all and his fury mounted.

  An angry opponent is a weak opponent, my arms master whispered. Rage and battle never mix.

  But keeping Illan angry wouldn’t win this fight, nor would it keep me alive if he got me down. I needed to strike at key points on his body in order to kill him. That meant I had to get in close. And if I did, he had perfect opportunities to render me as helpless as a gutted lamb. One hit to my head would offer him that.

  He charged, now expecting me to slide away and avoid him as I had before. I didn’t. His arms spread wide to catch me within them, he was off balance and running with his weight forward. My fist caught him at the point his chest and belly met with all the power I could muster. In the same movement, I ducked and spun on my toes. His arms passed over my head.

  Coughing, trying to regain his wind, Illan stumbled with his hands clutching his gut. The crowd’s roar reached through my cold concentration, and I grimly pushed it back. I couldn’t afford any distractions. Illan learned fast. He recognized the error of his ways, and realized I used his arrogance and rage against him. Once he caught his breath, he forced calm over his anger. A thinking enemy I could do without. The sneer left his lips and I knew I was in trouble.

  He didn’t charge. Instead, he walked toward me with his fists up. Though I melted from his path, he moved faster forward than I did backward. His ham slammed toward my eyes. I spun sideways to avoid the blow, but he was ready for that, too. His knuckles caught my cheekbone and slid across my ear. Hard enough to make my eyes water but not enough to make me black out. My own strike connected with his ribs, but I hadn’t the force behind my arm to make a severe impact. He grunted.