The Silvered

by Tanya Huff

  Not soldiers. Scavengers.

  Tomas launched himself forward, forgetting the pain. He couldn’t stop the howl from ripping free. He was close enough the warning didn’t matter. The scavengers jerked away from the half-naked body, but before they could run, he crushed the scream in the throat of the man nearest the water, taking him down, tearing out mouthfuls of flesh. When he turned, blood dripping from his muzzle, the other man was running up toward the larger trees.

  Stupid man. He had hands. He could climb after him.

  No. The silver in the wound kept him from changing. He had to end the chase before his quarry reached a tree large enough to climb.

  Leaping the body, Tomas stumbled and nearly fell as the impact of his paw with the ground shot lines of pain out from the impacted piece of silver. He switched back to three legs and kept going. Uphill was easier than down and rage lent him strength.

  They reached the ridge together. Tomas lunged forward and closed his teeth on a mouthful of filthy fabric. This close, even over the blood still coating his muzzle, he could smell young man, not old and under that, something sharp, bitter…if hunger had scent…

  A bare heel slammed into his bad shoulder.

  Tumbling back down the slope, Tomas landed on his left side, pawed the cloth from his teeth, and, snarling, fought his way back onto his feet in time to see the surviving scavenger dive through a break in the trees and run deeper into Aydori. He had to be trying to get to the river above the rapids. It was the only way back to Pyrahn that didn’t go past Tomas.

  Pushing himself past the pain, Tomas followed, holding tightly to a single coherent thought: Stop him.

  A scrap of fabric caught on a branch.

  Fresh blood in a footprint.

  The only living scent in the woods, impossible to lose.

  Snapping and growling as he shoved through the underbrush, Tomas emerged onto bare ground, looking down over the river. He could hear the roar/hiss of water dropping over a jumble of rock. Saw the scavenger fling himself from ledge to ledge then suddenly end his wild descent, realizing there was no safety here. If he tried to cross, the river would take him. White showed all around his eyes as he twisted and looked up.

  Tomas had no intention of allowing the river to take his prey.

  He could smell the fear.

  Growling low in his throat, he gathered himself to…

  Froze.

  Another scent.

  An almost familiar scent.

  He straightened, lifting his head into the breeze.

  Almost Pack.

  Alive.

  The scavenger no longer of any importance, Tomas turned and ran upstream. The scent came from above the rapids. He plunged back into the trees, the river on his left, following the slope of the ground as it dropped back toward the river. He staggered, bounced off a tree, kept going.

  Up ahead, the underbrush grew thick again, marking the edge of another clearing. He slowed and dropped to his belly to crawl past the older wood, below the long thorns. The silver flashes of water he could glimpse to the left moved around until he could see them out in front as well. A creek? Spring runoff?

  Gray where it shouldn’t be caught his attention and he crawled toward it.

  She wasn’t dead. She didn’t smell dead. As he watched, she tried to move a little farther out of the water without much success.

  About to rise and risk the thorns, a new scent froze him in place. Men. He lifted his head as high as he dared, nostrils flaring, forcing himself to smell something other than the warm, amazing scent of her. Three…no, four men, Imperial soldiers, moving fast.

  Gold glittered in the air between the soldiers and the woman, too small and moving too fast for Tomas to identify it, but it smelled bitter and cold like old mage-craft. She flinched as it touched her and disappeared into the wet, tangled mess of her hair.

  Three pairs of boots stopped just at the edge of his vision, bodies masked by half grown leaves. The fourth pair moved close enough he could see they belonged to an officer, a captain. From what Tomas could see of his face, he looked like a professional soldier. A man who’d do what he was ordered to do whether he liked it or not. As Tomas watched, he reached down, grabbed the woman’s arm, and hauled her up onto her feet.

  Instinct fought with reason and reason won although, deep down, Tomas knew that had he not been wounded and exhausted, reason wouldn’t have stood a chance. He’d have charged out and gotten himself shot by the three men who, given their position, had to be holding muskets on their captive.

  Whoever she was, they thought she was dangerous.

  Well, they weren’t stupid because given the way she smelled, she was a high-level mage of some kind. He recognized the almost Pack scent now—Mage-pack. Potential Mage-pack anyway. She didn’t smell mated.

  He watched as the captain efficiently bound her arms behind her. Watched as he half carried her over to where his men waited.

  Whoever she was, she was the only thing that had smelled like Pack since Tomas had come back to consciousness facing the dead Imperial gunner.

  At least he knew what he had to do now.

  * * *

  “So what now, Cap?”

  Reiter stared down at the girl—woman, very young woman—and frowned. He could see the tangle glinting in the wet mess of her hair, more obvious than it had been on the others for all she had a lot more hair, but she hadn’t tried to escape with mage-craft, so he had to assume it was working. She looked annoyed, exhausted, and frightened in that order. He appreciated the lack of weeping and wailing. Actually, there’d been a distinct lack of weeping and wailing from all six women the Soothsayers had sent them after. Was it bravery or did they not understand what was happening to them?

  “Cap?”

  “We take her to Karis, as ordered.”

  “Do we go back and join up with the lieutenant?” Armin wondered, and all three of them turned to look back, as though they could see the distance they’d covered.

  Best snorted, bicorn in his hand, fingers scratching through damp hair. “He won’t be there, you dumb shit. We’re coming on late afternoon and he started moving when we left.”

  “No one told you to lower your guard,” Reiter growled, pulling out his map.

  “But, Cap, the tangle…”

  “You want to bet your life on an artifact that’s been gathering dust in the treasury for a couple hundred years? Or on the Tower .625 caliber musket you’re holding?”

  Chard swung his weapon back around to point at their captive. “Well, if you put it that way…”

  “Armin. Best.”

  “Yes, sir!” They snapped it out together, although Best’s musket rose noticeably faster. Seemed Armin didn’t much like holding a weapon on a helpless woman. Well, neither did Reiter, but what he did or didn’t like had no bearing on what he would or wouldn’t do. He had his orders. They all did.

  “We’ll follow the river around to the ford, and cross into the Duchy of Pyrahn…” What had been the Duchy of Pyrahn and was now a part of the empire; or would be as soon as politics caught up to war. “…then we follow the border until we meet up with Lieutenant Geurin and the wagons.”

  “Begging your pardon, Captain, but there’s no ford marked on that map and even if they didn’t blow the bridge, it’s still a good five miles out of our way.”

  Reiter turned just far enough to meet Armin’s eyes. The soldier tried not to look like he’d been reading the map over his captain’s shoulder, gaze sliding sideways to lock attentively on their captive. “If the army’s crossed into Aydori…” Reiter paused so they could all hear the sound of distant gunfire. “…then there’s a ford.”

  “Probably more than one,” Chard snorted. “Trust me, I’ve spent a stupid amount of time on dig the crap back out of the river duty ’cause that’s way too much actual work for engineers.” When Reiter turned to glare at him, he grinned. “And no one cares. Right. Shutting up now, sir.”

  Not for the first time, Reiter wonder
ed how Chard had managed to survive his few years in the army without losing the skin off his back. Insubordination was still a six-stroke offense, but even Geurin, the very definition of an officious prick, had put up with Chard’s mouth. Still, sometimes, his mouth was useful.

  Their captive had been watching Chard through her lashes as he spoke; listening, not merely hearing.

  “Everyone speaks a little Imperial, Captain. The language, like the empire, is…pervasive.”

  Something to remember, although, here and now, he had nothing to say to the mage nor did he need to hear anything she had to say to him.

  “Armin, you and Chard keep her on her feet and moving. Best, you’re on our six.” Of the three, Best had the most traditional view of the beastmen of Aydori and Best’s beliefs wouldn’t let him get complacent. The job wasn’t done until their captive was in Karis.

  “You think if the lieutenant gets there first, he’ll leave us a wagon, Cap?” Before Reiter could speak, Chard sighed and answered his own question. “Yeah. Me, either.”

  * * *

  If her hands hadn’t been tied, Danika would have struggled until the two soldiers keeping her upright in the current lost their footing on the slick rock, sending the three of them into the river. She was a strong swimmer and her clothes were designed to be easily removed. The soldiers, on the other hand, weighted down by boots and weapons and packs would be at the mercy of the icy water, swept away, and drowned. Two less enemies of Aydori.

  Were it not for the golden net suppressing her abilities, it wouldn’t matter that her hands were tied. She could take air into the water with her. Of course, if it were not for the golden net, they’d still be on the road to Trouge arguing that they should have kept one of the enemy alive to question. Jesine was a strong Healer, but not quite strong enough to question the dead.

  But her hands were tied and she had access to only the most basic mage-craft, so to drown the enemy, she’d also drown herself and her unborn child. While that would still result in two less enemies of Aydori, she was a long way from the point where death seemed the only escape. Where there was life, there was hope. Where there was life, Ryder would find her.

  From what she’d overheard, the artifacts restraining them were ancient and everyone knew time weakened even the strongest mage-craft. Danika tested the net’s control constantly, barely allowing the pain to fade before she tried again. From what she’d seen of their expressions, Stina and Jesine were doing the same. Annalyse looked so miserable her expression could have been hiding anything, and Kirstin had remained strangely quiet. But then, Kirstin hadn’t been herself for some days, although preparations for the war had kept Danika from inquiring. She’d thought to have plenty of time to speak to her on the road to Trouge.

  In her defense, this was not something she could have anticipated. Soothsayers had a way of complicating the most basic of expectations.

  Her own face as expressionless as she could make it, Danika remained passive in the grip of the enemy, walking between them because being dragged would accomplish nothing but leave her less able to fight when the time came.

  “Sarge! These wet skirts weigh a fucking ton! Can we strip them down?” The shout came from behind, from one of the soldiers charged with keeping Jesine on her feet.

  “You can stop bellyaching and put some effort in!” Sergeant Black called from the shore.

  “Effort, he says,” muttered the soldier on her right as he half guided, half dragged Danika forward another step. “Didn’t see him crossing at the same pace as the prisoners. My balls have climbed so far up into my body they’re sitting on my shoulder.”

  “Shut up, Murphy, you fool!” snapped the soldier on her left. “She can understand you.”

  “What’s she going to do, Tagget? Tell the sergeant on me?” Murphy’s grip tightened and he shoved her down until the water that had been up to her chest slapped against her face. “You’re not going to say anything, are you, sweetheart?” he murmured as he pulled her upright again.

  Coughing, Danika fought to get her feet back under her, helped by Tagget’s arm around her waist. When she could speak again, she turned her head to the left and nodded as graciously as her position allowed. “Thank you.” Murphy, she ignored.

  Then there were hands reaching down from the bank, and she was hauled up and left to lie on dry ground while the others were pulled from the water. For the last few weeks, as her body adjusted to pregnancy, she’d been too hot, but now, in cold, wet clothing, her teeth started to chatter. A warm body rolled up against her back, and Jesine whispered, “I can still control my temperature. Maybe it’ll help.”

  It didn’t make her less wet or less cold, but it did help.

  “If there’s a breeze,” Danika told her, lips barely moving, “it carries sound both to and from, but I have no control.”

  “Seems we’re first level again. Stina should force the rockweed into bloom.”

  “What…”

  “Allergies.” Jesine’s tone made it clear her teeth were showing. “Might as well make them as uncomfortable as possible until the Pack arrives.”

  “Shut up!”

  The wet wool of her skirts absorbed most of Murphy’s kick and, as it was Tagget who hauled her to her feet, Danika allowed herself to be hauled, teeth gritted against the growing pain in her shoulders.

  “Come on, get up, you great bloody cow!”

  The soldiers lifting Stina were handling her a lot less neutrally, grunting and cursing at her weight and grabbing both breasts and buttocks as they maneuvered her upright. When she jerked away, calling them names, it was probably just as well for her safety they didn’t understand. One of them reached inside her open jacket to pinch a nipple, visible through wet shirtwaist and chemise.

  “You lay with beasts, don’cha? You should be grateful for a bit of human touching.”

  “Enough.” The lieutenant sounded bored. “We haven’t time for that nonsense. Get them moving.” He peered westward, eyes slitted against the late afternoon sun. “This is taking too long. We’re following our own tracks out. We know exactly where we’re going. We should have been able to make it over the border and meet up with the wagons before dark.”

  “We won’t be able to manage that, sir.”

  “I know that, Sergeant! That’s why I said should.” He sighed, as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Fine. Then we need to reach the camp before dark.”

  “The camp, sir?”

  “The place where we camped on the way in, Sergeant. I want to leave as little indication of our passage as possible.”

  “Sir, the beastmen track by scent. It doesn’t matter where we make camp for the night.”

  “Then we make it where we…” The lieutenant frowned. “…where we made it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Danika bit her lip at the sergeant’s tone, fighting the rise of hysterical giggles.

  Lieutenant Geurin turned his frown on her, as if he sensed her reaction. “The beastmen close enough to track us,” he said, his words meant for the sergeant but spoken to her, “are being dealt with by the Imperial army. If there are others, either beast or mage, they’re both too far away. Get them moving, Sergeant Black.”

  “Yes, sir. You heard the lieutenant.” His voice was a nearly familiar growl. Danika bit her lip harder. “Keep them on their feet, keep them moving. And Kyne?”

  “Sergeant?” The soldier who’d assaulted Stina now had one hand tucked up into her armpit, waiting for the man on the other side to take his place.

  “Keep your hands to yourself.”

  “Ah, she doesn’t mind, Sarge. Do you?” As he leaned in, Stina reared back and slammed her forehead down onto his nose.

  The next thing Danika knew, Stina was on the ground and Kyne had both hands clamped to his face, blood seeping out past his palms, his profanity varied and extensive. Murphy shoved her toward Tagget and charged forward, raising his musket to strike Stina with the butt. Danika stretched out a
foot and tripped him. As he hit the ground, she saw Kyne put his boot to Stina’s hip, saw the marksman Hare prevent him from taking a second kick, saw muskets coming up…

  “Enough!” Sergeant Black grabbed Kyne’s arm and threw him away from Hare, now standing over Stina. “You deserved that hit for letting her past your guard.”

  “She took me by surprise!”

  “And I’m sure that’s an excuse the Record Keeper is tired of hearing from the newly dead. Corporal Carlsan, take Kyne’s place. Kyne, you’re behind the redhead.”

  “But…”

  Danika couldn’t see the sergeant’s expression, but it shut Kyne up.

  “Ma’am…”

  The lieutenant’s frown deepened at the honorific, but Danika gave the sergeant the attention an Alpha deserved.

  “…tell the women not to try anything like that again. We will knock you out and drag you if it comes to it.”

  She met his gaze levelly for a moment, then nodded. “Nicely done, Stina,” she said in Aydori. “But the sergeant says that if anyone tries something similar, they’ll be knocked out and dragged. As I doubt it will slow them any more than if we’re stumbling along conscious, and as we can’t do enough damage to free ourselves, and as I’d rather none of us were irreparably damaged, passive resistance only for now.”

  “You’ll tell us when we can be a little more active, Alpha?” Stina showed teeth. The Mage-pack inevitably picked up their spouses’ expressions.

  Danika returned her smile. “I will.”

  * * *

  Head pounding, shoulders burning, Mirian collapsed to the ground the moment the two soldiers released her. The one named Chard looked a little surprised and bent to touch her cheek.

  “You hurt?”

  “Why are you shouting?” the other one, Armin, asked him.

  Chard glanced up and shrugged. “She went down like a one-bit whore, I thought she was hurt.”

  “But why,” Armin sighed, “were you shouting?”

  “In case she doesn’t speak Imperial.”

  “She speaks Imperial.”

  Chard moved away as the officer, Captain Reiter, came to stand over her. Mirian didn’t look up. She wasn’t entirely certain she could; her head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.