There weren’t very many survivors left, perhaps a dozen or so. A few hounds, able to run faster than their assassins, topped the hills and vanished. Most remained loyally at their master’s sides and tried to protect them.
Sliding half-under the sword of a fear-blinded assassin who raised his sword to stab me, I slashed him across the mouth. He stumbled forward, his blade falling. Spinning behind him, I buried my dagger into the back of his neck. Leaving him to fall, I wheeled again, my dagger ready. No enemy threatened my rear. Mikk stood guard there, his ears flat and tail high, blowing in sharp pants. Still, he fought no one.
Our tide washed over the remaining, fleeing assassins. Kel’Ratan cut down his man with a backhanded slash to his neck, blood fountaining high. The Tongu staggered away, trying in vain to stem the gush of his life’s blood, and fell to the sand.
Silverruff, after killing a hound, leaped for another. That beast turned and fled, and somehow escaped Silverruff’s wrath. The fighting I expected, needed, wasn’t there. Corwyn, after burying his blade into the tattooed skull of an assassin, galloped out to the side, chasing a pair of Tongu who ran for their lives.
Tor and Kip galloped after still more hounds, who followed their fleeing masters in a mad dash into the desert. One Tongu assassin, seeing a mere boy chasing him, turned raising his stout cudgel. He grinned, his pale lips slicked back from his teeth. No doubt he thought Tor full of bravado but no skills, no training.
Tor bore down on him at a gallop, his reins on the grey’s neck, his bow raised, and his arrow nocked.
His bow whispered softly.
The Tongu’s head snapped back on his neck. He fell backward to the desert sand, Tor’s arrow punched through his left eye.
Must make a note, I thought, haphazard. Tor’s first kill. In our warrior society, a boy became a man, a warrior, when he slew his first enemy. Tor left his childhood behind him. He’s a boy no longer, but now a man.
With a shriek, Bar rose high and banked around, his wings sweeping wide and fast, his lion tail streaming out behind him. He swept after them, giving chase, his talons catching a fleeing Tongu across his neck. The Tongu’s body fell north, but his head flew south. Bar’s thirst for vengeance took longer to slake than most.
Shardon slowed his headlong gallop, Rygel’s sword lowering as the pair watched our enemies run from us. Breaking his gait, Shardon turned and trotted back toward me.
Silverruff, Thunder, Black Tongue, White Fang, Nahar and Little Bull also slowed their gallop, no longer willing to chase foes that refused to stand and fight. One by one they, too, turned, and loped back, tongues lolling.
I flung my hair from my face, watching the survivors run. Across the desert sand they fled, leaving behind the corpses of their brothers, and the ground soaked in blood. A hundred rods in all directions lay the still bodies of men and dogs. This wasn’t a fight. ‘Twas a bloodbath.
Where was the daemon?
I turned. Before my eyes, the damn thing continued to writhe and howl, twisting this way and that. Slowly it shrank, growing smaller and smaller. Folding in upon itself, its yellow cat’s eyes shut, its huge wings folded and vanished. Now more like a black blob in sharp contrast against the hot desert behind it, it reduced itself into yet half again. Now it looked more like a black saucer than a daemon escaped from hell itself.
Is that all? You’ve got to be kidding me.
Like its worshippers, it vanished.
In an eye blink, everything changed. The sun resumed its former brightness. The air I breathed felt clean of its former evil. I drew in a deep breath, scenting blood, horses, sweat and fur. I trod on sand and rocks I felt beneath my boots. Shadows fled under the bright sun of high noon. I heard within my ears the song of the wind, the shifting sand, and the buzz of irritating flies.
In a loose bunch, several wolves trotted around, noses to the ground, searching for any hidden enemies. Those injured men or dogs died quickly, mercifully. Corwyn and Kel’Ratan reined their horses about, slowing to a walk. Tor trotted his mare back with Kip bounding, bloody, alongside. Arianne sat her now quiet stallion, the knife still in her hand as she watched the last of the Tongu disappear over the horizon.
Oh, crap, I thought.
My hot, fighting blood, the adrenaline rush, left me all at once. I fell back, onto my butt, clasping a whining, anxious Tuatha to my chest. Above me, Mikk halted, his reins dangling to my neck, his sweat and blood dripping onto my already gory slaves’ clothes.
“Are we alive?” Tor asked, above me, his voice faint.
I glanced up.
He reined his lathered mare in beside me, his bow lax in his hand. Fear-sweat trickled down his temples. His brown hair plastered to his cheeks, his brown eyes stared wide and blank with shock. His grey mare, quiet now the threat of her life now vanquished, stood quiet but sweated as much as her master.
I grinned up at him. “I think you know the answer to that. Warrior.”
At my use of the title, Tor swung his full attention toward me, the blank leaving his expression as he focused sharply on my face.
I nodded. “Your first kill, warrior. You’ve rightly earned that honor and your manhood.”
“Warrior,” Tor breathed, unbelieving.
Trotting his bay up, Kel’Ratan swung down from his saddle. Leaving the sweating, dripping stallion to stand, his reins in his pommel, my cousin sat down beside me and took me, and Tuatha, into his brawny arms.
“Nephrotiti be praised,” he murmured, into my hair. “How did we survive?”
“Are you kidding?”
I aimed for brightness, for confidence. “With all of us, how’d they stand a chance?”
Kel’Ratan sat back, smiling faintly, and allowed me room enough to brush tangled hair from my face. “How indeed.”
Behind me, Bar settled to earth, furling huge wings across his back. “Are you all right?”
Singular and in pairs or threes, the wolves limped in, their tongues hanging to their knees. Panting, blood from gaping wounds on their faces, shoulders and necks they sat or lay down in a loose circle about Kel’Ratan, Tor and me. Scatters Them, Warrior Dog, Shadow, Joker, and Black Tongue lay down and licked with disinterest at their injuries. Silverruff and Thunder flopped on their sides at my feet. Tired almost unto death, I dislodged Tuatha to reach down and caress them.
“Hey, boys,” I murmured.
I looked around. “Where’s Digger?”
He emerged, hardly able to walk, from the rocks behind me. He raised enough energy to cheerfully lick my cheek before lying down. His breath came and went in harsh pants, one ear canted back while the other drooped. He’d been badly torn by wicked fangs.
Nahar, whining low, staggered on three feet to Kel’Ratan. For the first time, Kel’Ratan showed concern for his huge friend. His mustache bristled, yet his blue eyes burned with worry. Leaving me, he earnestly examined Nahar’s wounds, ignoring his own.
Left and Right walked their black and bloody stallions toward me, those poor horses unable to move much faster. As one, they lifted their feet over their pommels and slid down, dark eyes concerned over me. I flapped my hand tiredly.
“See to your horses and wolves,” I said, aching in every bone. “They saved our lives.”
Corwyn’s roan managed a limping trot, White Fang trailing far behind. Like the others, he hurt from numerous cuts and nasty bites from the hounds. Dire and Lightfoot, the last to come in, sat on their haunches as the twins stroked their ears.
Shardon, with Rygel still aboard and Little Bull at heel, trotted in. “They’re gone,” Rygel said, the only one of us who had the slightest energy left. “I looked around, but I didn’t see any sign of anything living.”
Sliding down from Shardon, he took a long moment to caress his silver friend’s face.
Corwyn and Tor dismounted their sweating horses, the grey mare blowing hard. Corwyn’s ugly roan, too tired to complain, allowed her close beside him. Kip, more lively than the others, swiped Tor’s face with his tongu
e and wagged his tail. Tor, his hand on his friend’s head, closely examined his mare’s legs for injuries. He thought of his horse first. A true sign of a Kel’Hallan warrior.
“Darkhan?” Arianne called, still aboard her horse. Her worried face turned this way and that. She nudged her tired stallion toward the hill the daemon stood upon, Rufus stepping daintily among the dead.
I sat up straighter. Where was he? I hadn’t seen him since he clawed his way down the serpent’s gullet. The daemon fled, or more hopefully, died. Did it take Darkhan with it?
“Darkhan!”
None moved as Darkhan limped toward Arianne at the same moment she leaped from her saddle. Her midnight hair spilling loose from the net I put it in so long ago, she stared at Darkhan in horror. He collapsed at her feet, his whines faint on the hot, still air. She knelt, instantly, beside the one who offered her the most. He offered nothing less than his courage, his devotion, his own life’s blood.
Tears spilled down over her pale cheeks as she gathered him into her lap, her glossy hair enveloping them both.
Darkhan whined, bleeding from nose, mouth, ears, flanks and so many cuts and bites on his body I lost count after I got to his shoulders. He took on the Tongu’s daemon-god alone, perhaps saving not just Arianne, but us all. His courage, his loyalty, his devotion carried him into a fight in which he stood no chance of winning.
Yet, against all odds, he won.
Nestled against her tiny bosom, Darkhan bled, his tail thumping uselessly in the dusty sand. He raised his head enough to caress her salty tears with his tongue before the effort cost him too much. His head dropped, ears lax, his happy tail finally stilled. Only his gasping, death pants showed him still among the living.
Arianne found her voice.
“Gods, no,” she wept, gathering as much of his bulk as she could into her small arms. “This can’t be happening. Not him. Not my boy. Oh, gods, please, no.”
Rocking back and forth, she held him tight, tears streaming from her eyes in rivers. Moaning in heart-broken agony, she wept over the dying body of her wolf.
Dropping to my knees beside her, I stroked over Darkhan’s ears. His eyes opened briefly in acknowledgment, before closing again. As though the effort of keeping them open was too much for him. My own grief spilled over and tears mingled with the blood on my cheeks. I glanced up, my vision blurred, searching for Rygel.
In a loose circle about us, Silverruff, Digger, Nahar looked on, ears and tails down, whining with anxiety. The twins rested their hands on Dire and Lightfoot’s necks, their bloody faces still, dark eyes watching. Tor and Kip sat down at his mare’s feet, Tor, despite his new-found manhood, wept openly. Corwyn and White Fang stood beside them, Corwyn’s head bowed as though he prayed silently.
Kel’Ratan dropped to his knees, to further examine Darkhan’s bleeding body. “We can’t save him,” he muttered, his own eyes filled with sorrow.
“We must,” I cried. “Rygel! Dammit, get over here.”
Rygel pushed through the milling wolves, escorted by Little Bull. Shardon stood back, his great height enabling him to see all without needing to advance too close. Bar sat down beside him, his wings furled across his back.
Kel’Ratan moved away to allow Rygel room to drop to his knees beside Arianne. With his hand on my elbow, he courteously dragged me up with him.
“But – “ I began.
“You can’t help him,” Kel’Ratan said softly. “If Rygel can save him, he will. But we’ve many wounded to see to.”
Rygel rested his hands on Darkhan’s shoulders and head, under Arianne’s sweeping hair as she bowed in grief over his body.
“Please, Arianne,” Rygel said softly. “I must see what I’m doing.”
Arianne lifted her grief-stricken face, her river of hair retreating. Rygel probed the wounds on Darkhan’s neck.
In a move both swift and startling, Darkhan snarled and whipped his head up and back. His fangs bit deep into Rygel’s left hand.
Cursing, Rygel jerked back. “Damn you! I’m trying to save your life.”
Darkhan’s head collapsed back onto Arianne’s lap. He growled deep in his throat, a low rumble. I’d no idea what he said, but Arianne did. Shock etched across her pale face, widening her mouth into a bow.
Rygel did, too. He turned his face away, shutting his teeth. He closed his amber eyes tight against pain. Not from his hand, I didn’t think, but from a pain deep in his heart. I didn’t look around to see the other wolves’ reactions, but their combined growls and whines told me they didn’t like what he said either.
“What’d he say?” Kel’Ratan asked, bewildered.
“He wants to die,” Rygel answered, his face still averted. “He won’t permit me to heal him.”
Arianne screamed, her voice high and despairing. As though Rygel’s words were the first she heard.
“Darkhan!” she sobbed. “You mustn’t. Please don’t leave me, don’t go. Darkhan!”
He whined, his voice growing weaker. His tail lifted in a half-wag before flopping to the sand like a dead snake.
At my feet, Tuatha also whined. I should pick him up, I thought. But I stood frozen, my tears still falling, my heart numb.
“Perhaps its best,” Kel’Ratan whispered. His hand slid down my arm to clasp my own in a tight grip. “Maybe – “
“No!” I screamed. “Rygel, save him! I command you.”
“Princess – “ Rygel choked. “This is his choice.”
I stumbled my way across the sand, tripping over my own boots. I fell rather than knelt beside Rygel, falling against his strong shoulder. He pushed me upright, his amber eyes shut tight with grief.
“Darkhan,” I cried, crouching at his side. I put my hand on his ribcage, feeling his slow heartbeat. “You have much to live for. Don’t do this.”
His answering whine sounded feeble and weak. I didn’t know what it was he said, but I didn’t care. If I couldn’t convince him to want to live within a few minutes, he’d pass beyond our help.
“Damn you for a coward,” I snarled. “You’re a selfish, whining, worthless pup. You’d sentence her to a life without you. You’ll let her grieve when you can live and still give her happiness. You will find happiness, Darkhan. Remember what I told you? She’ll always love you and need you, even when you find your own mate.”
Darkhan didn’t answer. Under my hand his heart skipped a beat, then another. His pants subsided into slow draughts of air. His death waited, hovering close on hushed wings.
“The world is a better place with you in it,” I hissed, for his ears alone. “If you choose death, you’ll never see your sons and daughter playing under the sun. Those unborn children will never know a sire as courageous, as strong, as loving as you. Your mate waits, your loving, true life-partner, awaits you alone. Should you die now, she’ll find another who appreciates her sweet, caring soul. Because you’re a coward who chose an easy death over a hard and dangerous life, her mate will not be you.”
Under my hand, his ribs lifted slightly as he took in a long painful breath. I held my own. I think the entire world froze as we waited on Darkhan’s choice. What would he do? I bit my lip, frantic he’d slip away even before he had a chance to change his mind.
“I swear on all I hold holy, I speak the truth. Above all, boy, you know I do.”
His tail lifted once. He growled, low, under his breath.
Arianne choked on a sob. Rygel whipped around, fast, his hands once more on Darkhan’s neck and shoulders.
“What – “ I began, stunned.
“He’s chosen to live,” Rygel said tersely. “That is, if it isn’t too late.”
I staggered to my feet with the aid of Kel’Ratan’s firm grip. Stepping around Rygel, already dropped into his healing trance, I put my hand on Arianne’s hair. She glanced up, her white skin drenched beneath her tears. “He’ll be all right,” I said, my voice soft.
Her tremulous smile answered me before she bowed over her wolf once more.
L
eaving Rygel to work his magic, I gestured for the others to move away and allow Rygel room. Kel’Ratan was right: we needed to see to our many wounded warriors.
At my signal, the wolves stood up and followed after Kel’Ratan and me. Without my bidding, Mikk walked wearily behind me, his breath still labored from the fight. Tuatha trotted clumsily at my ankle. I glanced back, Rygel’s head bowed over Darkhan’s very still body, his bloody hands splayed on Darkhan’s shoulder and head. Was I too late?
My aches and weariness, forgotten in the last few moments, hit me with a rush. I ached with every nerve ending. Every muscle seemed either torn in two or stretched completely out of place. My legs especially pained me. Glancing down at myself, I discovered I’d been bitten on both legs and my left arm had been sliced open by either a knife or a sword. All of them still bled, albeit slowly. A deep bruising on my lower right arm suggested I had also been hit with a cudgel. I didn’t remember receiving any of these wounds.
I went first to Tor. Gesturing for him to stand up, I looked him over. He obeyed, straightening his back and wiping the tear-stains from his eyes. Kip also stood. I knew I’d need to check him as well. He might have bites from the hounds under all that blood caking his coat.
Yet, before I began my examination, the sound of hooves thundering across the desert wheeled me around. I reached for a sword that wasn’t there.
“Easy,” Kel’Ratan soothed. “It’s them.”
Praise be, there were my boys, in at last. Witraz, Rannon, Alun, Yuri and Yuras trotted into view, their horses burdened with huge sacks of food, packs of the required clothing and all the necessary gear I sent them to obtain. Their wolf friends, Shadow, Warrior Dog, Black Tongue, Scatters Them, and Joker hadn’t the energy to greet them, but tried for a few tail wags.
My boys stared at us in horror.
“What the hell – “ Witraz began, lifting his leg over the pommel of his saddle and sliding down to the ground. Joker, whining, limped toward him, panting harshly. Witraz knelt in the dust, running his hands over the wolf’s body, finding the many bites and hurts.
Prince Wolf Page 43