by K K Ness
Magus Ronan remained near the stream. He pulled a small ball of polished onyx from his pouch and spoke crisply into it.
Hafryn swore under his breath and Danil watched in dread as three soldiers approached the very building they hid in.
A bitter coldness swept across Danil’s spine. By habit, he glanced up but saw no mist form. A vision of Magus Brianna in the inn’s kitchen came to him. She stared down into the bowl and muttered into a matching onyx ball.
He tugged Hafryn’s sleeve in alarm but it was too late.
Ronan’s gaze snapped about to stare at the wall they hunkered behind. He pointed and bellowed an order.
Hafryn pushed away from the window and yelled a warning.
The first soldier charged through the missing section of wall. Elania was on him in a heartbeat, powerful claws raking down his back. He fell with a scream.
Blutark shot the second soldier to enter, and the third one fell after being entangled with the body. Two of Ronan’s troop stepped in, their faces expressionless. Another clambered through the ruined window. All were met with roaring ferocity as shifters moved to intercept.
Danil found himself hustled to the center, the shifters forming a ring about him.
“More come!” someone shouted.
The crash and clang of fighting filled the ruins as more soldiers boiled in. Danil drew his dagger, blood thundering in his ears. He ducked in, finding a gap in the wall of Amasians to stab a soldier in the thigh. The man soundlessly fell back, to be finished off by Blutark.
Magus Ronan stepped through the broken section of wall. Blue eyes glittered as Danil met his gaze over Elania’s shoulder. The snow leopard growled deep in her lungs. A glyph lit up along her spine as she roared. A solid wall of air surged toward the mage. He flung it against the stonework, creating an explosion of mud and splintered rock.
More soldiers entered, and with a coil of terror in his guts, Danil knew they would be overrun. The shifters gathered close as they were surrounded.
Ronan slowly unfurled his firewhip. It slithered on the ground like a living thing. “Give over the deadland rat,” he purred. “And you all may live.”
Nothing in his eyes indicated he meant it.
Hafryn’s lip curled in a wolfish snarl. “You think you can enter Amas without consequences?”
The mage appeared amused by the exchange. “I assure you, everything is exactly as planned.”
Suddenly, a crow dropped down through the absent ceiling. The bird transformed mid-flight into a black haired, black-cloaked woman with twin blades. She landed on a soldier’s chest and drove both blades clean through his body. She somersaulted off him as he fell, slashing another soldier across the throat and abdomen.
More crows winged inside, transforming into fearsome warriors until there was a sea of black. They seethed over the Roldaerian soldiers, cutting and slashing. Hafryn and the rest of the party joined the fray with shouts of triumph. Magus Ronan staggered back as the soldiers around him were cut down.
“Ha!” Hafryn said, driving his sword for the mage’s throat.
Green light coalesced moments before Ronan transported out.
The final Roldaerian soldiers fell under a flurry of swords, claws and talons.
A quiet settled over the battle before Hafryn motioned for the injured to be checked over. A few shifters bore slashes and blade cuts. Blood left dark stains on the soil.
Sheathing his dagger, Danil put his hands on his thighs and drew in a few shaky gulps. That was closer than he liked.
The crow shifter who had entered first cleaned her swords on a soldier’s pale cloak. “Apologies for our tardiness,” she said as she straightened, her accent lilting. “It’s not our way to make a dramatic entrance.”
Hafryn gave her a crooked grin. “Your timing is impeccable.”
She pressed a fist to her heart and bowed. “I’m Commander Katril of the Southlands. We patrol this quarter of Altonas.”
Hafryn made hasty introductions. Katril ran a curious gaze over Danil but said nothing. “How many patrols are in Altonas now?” the wolf asked.
“We number close to two hundred,” Katril said. “Enough to take on the Roldaerians, but more of them arrive each day. We judge as many as three hundred are spread throughout the citadel.”
“So many,” Elania exclaimed, startled.
Katril ran an assessing gaze over them. “Let’s get you to our base. You all look in need of rest and care.”
She indicated they follow her out of the ruin. Other crow shifters stood guard along the street, while a couple set about putting the trench to rights. They put the cobbles back in place with care.
Danil hesitated, glancing at Hafryn. “Is it wise to go to the base? Brianna’s farseeking—”
“We’re aware of your particular situation, human,” Katril said. She inclined her head, glossy black hair sweeping forward. “I assure you, we are prepared for it.”
14
Katril and her squadron of crows escorted them deep into Altonas. All about were broken columns, the remnants of homes and palatial buildings, and moss-covered stairs leading to great platforms. Much had been reclaimed by the forest, the thick canopy casting variegated sunlight across the stone. A burbling river wended its way amidst the broken citadel. They crossed the river using a crumbling stone bridge newly patched with wooden planks.
All about were signs of Roldaerian dig sites. To Danil’s eyes, they seemed haphazard and aimless, found amidst alleys, under felled trees and once in what was perhaps a cookhouse or smithy, judging by the array of hearthstones still blackened despite centuries of disuse.
“The Roldaerians arrived two days ago,” Katril said, leading them down into a gully where a paved landing stretched out over a rambling stream. Danil imagined shifters had once sat on the landing’s edge and sank their feet into the clear depths on warm summer nights.
“They started their mining almost immediately,” Katril added. “We’ve attacked many parties, yet their excavations have continued unabated.”
Elania stepped over a mound of disturbed rock and soil. “There are places on the borderlands with better kiandrite yields than Altonas,” she said.
Katril nodded. “And yet here they are.”
Frowning in thought, Hafryn said, “I’d like a map of every dig site your patrols have come across.”
The crow shifter inclined her head. “Of course.”
After a time, they stepped into a courtyard stripped clean of undergrowth. Instead, a veritable collection of barrels, crates and tables stretched across the flagstones. A sizeable contingent of Amasians sat together to share a meal, while at an armory others worked on blades, arrows and metal talons. Danil saw one shifter polishing a helm suitable for a large feline.
On the far side of the courtyard was an intact tower, its yellow stone stripped of most of the lichen and moss so that it gleamed in the sunlight. Danil could see guards patrolling its heights.
Katril took them to an outbuilding on the opposite side of the courtyard. A sheltered corridor led them into what looked to be a greenhouse of hanging plants. It held an gathering of waxy-leafed orchids, elkhorn and bearded moss that hung down in massive clumps. The air felt strangely charged as a breeze swept through. Danil brushed against a flowering ginger and felt his skin tingle.
“Our healers’ favorite collection of curatives,” Katril said, pausing to look up at a clump of purple-lined moss. She rested her hands on her hips. “A handful of these plants have a habit of disrupting the reliability of enchantments.” She smiled slightly. “I figure this would be a suitable place for you all to rest.”
Hafryn turned about on his heel to study the plants. “I recognize a few.” He tapped a glossy leaf no larger than his thumbnail. “This one here was banned from my clan’s gathering hall after one too many pranks went awry.”
Blutark muttered under his breath something about pranksters and wolves.
Ignoring his companion, Hafryn said, “We’ll need encha
nters on hand. I admit we underestimated the magi’s fixation on Danil.”
“I’ll have them stationed outside,” Katril promised. “A farseeking may still be possible, but the mage shouldn’t be able to pinpoint your location.” She indicated with her chin. “There are healing pools in the adjoining rooms. I’ll have fresh towels, clothing and refreshments brought in.”
Hafryn murmured his thanks and saw Katril to the doorway. They spoke quietly for a few minutes before the crow shifter departed.
Danil waited for Hafryn to return before he asked hopefully, “Are we really safe here?”
“After a fashion,” the wolf allowed. He motioned for everyone to make for the healing pools. “With all of this running around, we’ve forgotten that the magi’s hunt is a good thing.”
“How do you figure that?” Danil folded his arms.
“The magi don’t have what they desire,” Blutark muttered as he brushed past to join Elania.
Danil met Hafryn’s eyes and froze.
The wolf nodded, his gaze penetrating. “In each attack, you’ve been the magi’s goal. And not, I believe, out of petty vengeance. They believe you are key,” he said.
The deadlands.
It always came back to that. Danil was the only one in Farin who walked it. While the magi could bring a deadland walker from Scara, they’d be unfamiliar with the local terrain.
He said as much to Hafryn.
“Perhaps the magi arrived at the village thinking they could find it without help,” the wolf mused.
“Most of the soldiers never got past the first scree field,” Danil replied, remembering his desperate escape.
“Well, then.”
Danil sighed in frustration. “I don’t know what they’re looking for.”
“Let’s hope they never force you to find out.”
15
“Danil.”
A hand gripped his shoulder and gently shook.
“Come, wake up, fala.”
Danil rolled onto his back and blinked blearily at Hafryn from under his nook of hanging ferns. The sun beamed high over the wolf’s shoulder, bringing fiery highlights to Hafryn’s braid.
“It’s morning?” he mumbled.
Hafryn grinned. “Afternoon. You’ve slept most of the day.”
Danil scrubbed his face. The muscles in his arms, shoulders and legs made themselves known. Even his belly hurt. “Gods, I ache,” he grumbled.
“You and me both. Join us for a meal, fala.”
Pushing himself up, Danil saw a handful of cushions spread out in front of platters of fruits, meat, bread and cheeses. A fire crackled merrily a short distance away, breaking the lingering coldness in the air.
Danil’s belly rumbled.
With an effort, he settled on an embroidered cushion and stretched his boots toward the small brazier. He noticed Elania and Blutark kneeling before a moss-covered marker at the far end of the greenhouse.
He hadn’t seen the marker during their arrival yesterday, but now Danil watched as the glyph at the center of the marker glittered with changing light. Its swirled pattern reminded him of two ropes intertwined.
Blutark murmured something, and a softly glowing symbol made of spirals floated above his upheld palm. It joined Elania’s glyph of tightly-woven lines. The two glyphs melded together before wheeling down to the ground at the foot of the marker. The co-joined glyphs winked from sight.
With a heartfelt groan, Hafryn sat down on the cushion beside Danil. His green eyes watched the pair fondly. “This place is one of the aife,” he said. “It’s a sacred place where two leylines cross.”
Danil watched as Elania and Blutark created another series of glyphs. “What are they doing?”
“Honoring the leylines, so that we don’t take their kiandrite gift for granted.”
The white stone underneath the moss appeared brighter as the second glyph disappeared into the soil.
Hafryn pressed a fist to his heart and bowed toward the marker. “As enchanters, our two friends are particularly bound, and so they offer the twin glyph of strength and fidelity, and another of duty and consequence.”
The glyph showed a mass of color, first red and yellow, before settling into a series of darker, verdant hues.
Hafryn’s mouth tilted upwards. “Of course, all of Amas honor the leylines. The solstice festivals are rambunctious affairs—not at all like the solemn rituals of our enchanters.” He shrugged. “We each give reverence in our own way.”
Blutark eventually rose to his feet and offered his hand to Elania. They navigated the low-hanging maidenhair ferns and took up the cushions on the other side of the platters of food. Bemusement showed on the large man’s face. “I don’t think drunkenness and multiple bedmates counts as honoring the leylines, Hafryn,” Blutark said dryly before popping a grape into his mouth.
The wolf straightened. “Depends on what you’re honoring.” His green eyes twinkled.
Elania snorted as she helped herself to a hank of bread and slathered it with butter. The dark circles under her eyes already appeared diminished. “How a wolf of the northern reaches ever got past the gates of Corros, I’ll never know.”
“By having impeccable taste in companions,” Hafryn said. He winked at Danil. “You should know the northern reaches are unfairly maligned, fala. We might have our share of cutthroats, swindlers and brigands, but if we declare you enemy, we’ll come at you from the front.”
“You just don’t like the political maneuverings at Corros,” Blutark said as he speared a slice of ham and filled his plate. “Help yourself, Danil. There’s no ceremony here.”
Famished, he loaded his plate with various meats, fruits and two servings of honeycake. He took his first bite with deliberate slowness. The sweet flavors burst on his tongue.
They ate in amicable silence for a time.
Swallowing a mouthful of ale, Danil eventually asked, “Have you all been to Corros?” He wondered how a human could live in a place where enchantments were both normal and unremarkable.
“It’s a stuffy place,” Hafryn said. “Pretty enough, if you have a liking for citadels carved into the side of a mountain. Too much tradition and formality for me, though. It’s a wonder Sonnen turned out as he has.”
Neither Elania or Blutark disagreed.
“Will Sonnen be king one day?” Danil asked.
“Certainly not, barring any disasters,” Hafryn said, slicing into one of the cold meats. “He’s the first cousin to the Queen. It’s at her pleasure that he rules over Corros and its principality—that’s everywhere from the deadland border to the end of the Orinic Mountains. A full week’s flight, according to our hawk brethren.”
“Does it include the northern reaches?”
“No.” Hafryn crinkled his nose. “Sonnen and I met when I was scarcely more than a pup. Altonas is in his purview, however.”
Danil could imagine what Altonas had once been like, filled with artisans and traders and riotous living. He glanced at a fountain overrun by tiny epiphytes, and a sculptured mountain cat that peered out from a thicket of ferns. The citadel seemed far larger than Danil imagined, perhaps even of a size to Roldaer’s royal city of Anteran.
“I know that Altonas was ruined by Kaul, but why has no one ever rebuilt?” Danil asked.
“A few clans tried over the years,” Blutark said as he assembled meat atop a thick slice of bread. “But there’s a strangeness here. Some argue that it’s the remnants of Kaul. The younglings are particularly vulnerable.”
“How so?”
“Some lose the ability to shift, or are fearful of kiandrite. Others refuse to go near certain parts of the citadel.” The bear shifter squinted at the stone marker. “We are for the most part content to let the forest retake it.”
“I thought nothing could affect your ability to transform,” Danil said.
Elania shook her head. “The shift comes upon us when we’re quite young and don’t know ourselves. Shifting into our Trueforms requires strength o
f mind that youngsters have yet to develop.”
“So some people may never learn to do it,” Danil surmised.
“Oh, it’s a natural part of ourselves,” she replied. “But like walking, it doesn’t come easily at first. There are clans for whom the first shift is a sacred occasion, for it reveals who you truly are.”
“I don’t get it.”
Hafryn chuckled. “Our Trueforms are our spirits made flesh—inheritance has little to do with it. Take Blutark for example, whose parents are an osprey and a wren, yet he is a bear of a man in all respects.” The wolf grinned when Blutark made no indication he was listening, instead concentrating on demolishing his construction of meat and bread. “It makes for interesting family gatherings.”
Danil looked at the bear shifter in awe.
“Of course, some Trueforms are more common than others,” Hafryn continued. “The High Reaches has an abundance of wolves and various birds of prey. The lowlands have small folk best suited to traversing the border undetected. Regardless, your Trueform is largely unknown until the first shift, although some have an inkling.”
“Did you know you were a wolf?”
Hafryn tilted his head in thought. “There were indications. Games and pranks I used to play on my clanmates.”
“Trickster wolf,” Elania muttered under her breath.
Hafryn grinned. “I was an errant child,” he conceded.
“Your childhoods are so different to mine,” Danil said with yearning. If he hadn’t been scavenging in the tunnels, he’d busily made himself least in sight. “Winter was always the best season—even if we had little to eat, at least there were no magi in the village. We could play without fear of disturbing them.”
The three shifters looked at him with varying levels of concern and pity.
Danil straightened. “It wasn’t all bad. My parents loved me deeply.”
“Did the magi force them to leave with the rest of the village?” Elania asked.
He shook his head. “My pa died of the wasting sickness a few years back. Ma went out into the deadlands one day and never returned.” He forced a shrug. “It’s the way of most folk who walk the deadlands.”