Howl of the Wolf (Heirs to the Throne Book 1)

by Diane Rapp

Chella felt drained. She retreated to the silence of her room and saw another vision—Halder lay in a chapel with a death mask covering his face. Why am I suddenly plagued with visions?

  Maggie entered with a steaming cup in her hands. “I thought you could use this.” The smell of cinnamon and nutmeg drifted enticingly from the liquid. Chella sipped and grinned at the taste of Trenton’s favorite liquor. Heat spread through her chest.

  She clasped Maggie’s small hand. “I’m sorry I endangered your life, Maggie. If I’d known…”

  “If your talent involved radiation detection, you would have known. That’s my special talent. Don’t blame yourself. I feel good that my skill proved useful. The danger’s gone.”

  “That priest knew!” Tears dripped into the hot tea. “I trusted him!”

  “Priests are fallible human beings. You can’t let one man’s frailty taint your faith in God.”

  “No. God protected us with your ability to detect radiation,” Chella said.

  “And you learned a valuable lesson.”

  Chella nodded. “I won’t blindly place my faith in men. My faith belongs with God and He has a plan for us.”

  Maggie grinned, picking up the dishes. “Don’t fret over past mistakes! Get on with your life.”

  “I thought you lacked faith.”

  “Just because I don’t spend time in the chapel? My faith may not take the same form as yours but it’s there inside me.”

  Chella frowned. “Seeing visions of the future terrifies me. I wish I could turn it off or at least control it better.”

  “You saw the face of our enemy. Now you can deflect the danger by exposing him. That’s your duty. The rest is not your responsibility, so don’t yield to your fear.”

  Maggie’s common sense made Chella feel more confident. “Okay. I’ll place my faith in God. His plan includes doing my part. Thanks.” She kissed her friend’s forehead.

  That afternoon, Chella dutifully sat next to Halder, scanning the crowd for the killer. She sensed Halder’s seething anger, tried to concentrate, but couldn’t help ease Halder’s rage. Did the same priest deliver contaminated oil to his family? It made sense. A gift from a priest was less suspicious. The ploy must have fooled the king’s security.

  Donovan entered the ring, standing tall and handsome in his golden uniform. The comfortable attire was slick, difficult for an opponent to secure a good hold.

  Halder groaned. “Donovan’s opponent is Marasuta.” Genuinely distressed, Halder answered Chella’s questioning glance. “Donovan’s chances are slim. Unarmed combat is Marasuta’s specialty. I specifically asked him not to enter but he is a stubborn man. I can’t believe he’d be part of a conspiracy.”

  Marasuta was the oriental rider in the horse race. Although a head shorter than Donovan, confidence radiated from the small man. He wore a simple white garment, tied with a black silk sash, and red band tied around his forehead. He bowed.

  Donovan mirrored the greeting but Chella saw uncertainty in Donovan’s face. Marasuta’s graceful, fluid patterns were the same maneuvers Donovan used for exercise. Marasuta took control of the match using rapid action and an aggressive attitude.

  Why does Donovan hesitate? He can move fast, so why is he off balance? Noting Krystal’s rigid posture and glassy stare, Chella wondered if Krystal projected confidence to Donovan. Something must spur him into action or he would lose!

  Marasuta charged.

  Donovan executed a tumble, enhanced by speed time. Surprise showed in Marasuta’s face. He missed striking Donovan but quickly regained composure.

  Donovan dove at Marasuta, who countered the move. But in the middle of the dive, Donovan kicked out, landed on his feet, and knocked Marasuta to the floor. The unorthodox action scored valuable points.

  Surprisingly, Marasuta looked pleased. The two men circled. Marasuta’s hands moved in a mesmerizing pattern. Keeping a relaxed posture, Donovan stared past the hands and fixed his gaze on Marasuta’s eyes. The crowd fell silent as the men stalked each other.

  Marasuta kicked, shouting foreign words in a startling staccato. Donovan blocked the kick and countered with his own kick. Marasuta dodged.

  Enthralled by the contest, Chella almost missed seeing the desert rider. He stood watching Donovan, and Chella recognized Jarrack standing at his side. She cringed. If Jarrack was in league with the killer, the danger elevated!

  The crowd screamed as Marasuta toppled Donovan, but Donovan grabbed Marasuta from the floor with his legs and they both writhed on the floor. Their bodies tangled, distracting Chella, and she lost sight of Jarrack and the desert rider. Glancing back, she clenched her fists in frustration.

  “What’s wrong?” Maggie asked.

  “I’ll be right back.” Chella couldn’t waste time explaining. She slipped out of the box and threaded her way through the crowd, desperately searching. She reached the point where the men last stood, ignoring grunts of effort from Marasuta and Donovan.

  The crowd pressed around her with an overpowering smell of sweat mingled with pungent perfumes. Men spat disgusting remarks at her while groping hands mauled her body. She felt vulnerable, yet continued her search. Where did they go? She wiped her face with trembling hands and headed for the exit. Outside she heard a cheer erupt and hoped it was for Donovan.

  Chella stood in the shade of a tent, trying to determine her next move when a flurry of color caught her eye. A man dressed in flowing robes passed, gesturing as he argued with a companion.

  She followed.

  The men briskly walked, absorbed in conversation. Is it a mistake to follow strangers dressed like the desert rider? She had little time to reconsider as she entered a remote circle of tents and hid. Men dressed in colorful robes with long curved swords dangling ominously from leather belts. Robed women wore veils. Chella didn’t remember seeing women dressed like that around the castle. Are these women forbidden to stray away from camp?

  A heavy hand gripped her shoulder. Chella swung around to face the desert rider’s menacing grin. She panicked, struggling to free herself from the painful grip when another hand grabbed her arm.

  “Nice of you to join us, Chella.” She saw Jarrack’s face and her heart sank.

  ******

  Sweat trickled down Donovan’s face but Marasuta looked calm and cool. Donovan’s mind raced, trying to discover a weakness or a new tactic he could use for better advantage. I can’t use speed time as it stops when I make physical contact. Marasuta moved gracefully while Donovan felt battered, beaten. I must outsmart Marasuta—use an unfamiliar tactic to gain an edge.

  Marasuta anticipated Donovan’s every attack, countering the moves easily. He reminded Donovan of his first instructor, a hard-boiled, demanding man who was devious and cunning. On the first day of class, the instructor singled out the cockiest new student to make a point. The instructor rapidly disabled the unsuspecting victim—Donovan—who felt mortified as he lay on the ground. Donovan practiced the instructor’s tactic until he could execute the move perfectly. He never needed it again, until today.

  Donovan’s determination flared. Using a slicing gesture aimed at Marasuta’s head, he charged. Marasuta jerked back to avoid a kick that never landed and was off balance as Donovan slammed both feet into his midsection. Donovan used his momentum to execute a backward somersault. He landed on Marasuta, pinning him to the floor.

  Marasuta peered into the grinning face above him. “A very interesting strategy,” he said.

  “Yes, it is.”

  They rose together and shook hands.

  Donovan was the winner. The crowd roared when Marasuta bowed to Donovan, and he returned the gesture. Together the combatants left the ring and walked to Halder’s box.

  Eyes sparkling with delight, Marasuta greeted the somber king. “He is worthy.”

  “Did you doubt my choice?” Halder sounded caustic.

  “One never commits loyalty to an unproved man.” Bowing, Marasuta departed without further comment.

  Halder said
, “You just bested the highest ranked competitor in this event. More important, you earned Marasuta’s loyalty, a most valuable conquest, my friend.”

  Maggie nudged Trenton. “Chella’s gone off by herself, and I’m worried about her.”

  Halder overheard. “What? Where’d she go?”

  Maggie shrugged, close to tears. “I don’t know. She said she’d be right back but I was caught up in the contest and didn’t see which direction she took.”

  “She must’ve seen the killer! How could she ignore my orders? I wanted to know who he was immediately.”

  Krystal said, “Regardless of what Chella should have done, we must find her now. She’s in great danger.”

  “I’m afraid she’s already a victim.” Halder spoke without emotion.

  “I’ll find her if I have to search each tent.” Trenton clasped his knife hilt with a menacing scowl.

  “Impossible. You can’t invade the camp of any Lord during the Tournament. If Chella is hidden inside a camp, she’s lost. We do not betray the sovereignty of a Lord without starting a war.”

  “We can’t even search for her?”

  Halder shook his head. “It’s regrettable but the law prevails.”

  Krystal asked, “Can we search quietly on our own?”

  “You risk capture inside a Lord’s camp, but I won’t forbid the attempt.” Halder signaled his carriers. “Good luck. I entreat you to exercise caution.”

  14 ~ King Halder’s Revenge

  “They’ll be suspicious.” Forshell grimaced. “She gave Donovan the vase and now she’s missing.”

  Jarrack said, “She saw me in the crowd and tried to track me for Donovan.”

  “It’s too late for her either way. Peld! Kill the woman and get rid of her body where no one will find it.” Forshell started to leave the tent.

  “Sire!” The force in Jarrack’s voice stopped Forshell. “She might prove useful as a hostage or give us information about Donovan.”

  Forshell frowned. “Too risky. If anyone learns she’s here, Halder might disregard the sanctity of the campsites to get her back. Get rid of her.” Forshell’s expression looked stony.

  Bound and gagged, Chella heard the exchange filled with fear. Forshell moved confidently and his men regarded him with an attitude akin to worship. It frightened her to be in Jarrack’s hands but Forshell terrified her. He told them to kill her like she was a piece of trash to toss out.

  Peld flashed a toothless grin at Jarrack. “I guess he told you.”

  “Listen, Peld,” Jarrack’s voice sounded smooth, his tone hypnotic. “Close your eyes and remember your dreams. Do what I command.” Jarrack moved closer, placing his hands on Peld’s eyelids. The little man stood transfixed under Jarrack’s control.

  “You prefer to remain among the living?” Jarrack asked Chella.

  She nodded.

  “Be very quiet and do not move! Peld must believe you are dead. It’s very important that he remembers you are dead.” Jarrack produced a small vial of red liquid from his robe. “This blood will make the scene more convincing. Lie back. Trust me. I don’t want Peld to kill you.”

  She obeyed. Although Jarrack didn’t promise she’d live, Chella sensed he didn’t want her dead—right now. She forced herself to remain calm and still.

  Jarrack placed a bloody knife in Peld’s hand. He said, “You’ve killed the woman. We must bury her body, so I’ll help carry it outside. Open your eyes and see what you’ve done.”

  “Good. The master will be pleased,” said Peld. “Help me carry the body, and we’ll bury her outside.”

  Chella stayed limp, afraid to breathe. As they carried her into the cool night, the pungent odor from Peld’s dirty clothes nearly made her gag. She heard a wolf howl in the distance.

  Peld stopped. “The spirits cry out. They may come for her body. Let’s bury her quick.” He threw Chella onto the damp ground.

  Jarrack’s low voice commanded, “Sleep. You remember digging. You remember laying her dead body in the grave. Your hands are sweaty and your arms ache from the effort. Wake and go back to the tent. You’ve done a good job.”

  Still afraid to move, Chella heard Peld run to the tents. Jarrack jerked her upright, using his knife to slit the rag holding her gag in place. His eyes glistened and his breathing quickened. Chella realized Jarrack yearned to kill her.

  “We’ll have a nice little talk. Tell me exactly what Donovan knows about the tainted oil then let’s discuss his special talents. I want to know everything.”

  *******

  Forshell entered the tent, clapped his hands, and threw off his outer robe. Slaves appeared with platters full of food and tankards of drink. He glowered. “Stupid idiots! I ordered nutmeats! You know I won’t consume red meat during the Tournament!” The slaves cowered and in a flurry of activity produced new platters of food.

  He lounged on the divan and thought about Donovan. The man presented an interesting challenge. Observing Donovan today, Forshell analyzed his fighting style, his stance, movement, and combat logic. He must know his enemy.

  Peld entered the tent, looking dirty and wild-eyed. Forshell nodded permission to speak. “She’s dead and buried, master.” He panted like he’d run a long race but his eyes looked dazed.

  Forshell felt uneasy. “Is there something else you want to tell me?” Peld glanced around the tent, confused. “What disturbs you?”

  “The spirits cried out in the night, master. I feared they would come to eat our souls.”

  “Who was with you?”

  “Jarrack.”

  “He helped kill the woman?” Peld nodded. “You may go.” Forshell could hear wolves howl in the distance. Most men of the tribes believed wolves were supernatural spirits but he knew better. As a youth Forshell killed a wolf, and the animal bled like any creature. He didn’t fear wolves any more than other predators.

  Jarrack was another matter. He disturbed Forshell; he possessed the eyes of a devil, too dangerous to remain among the living.

  ******

  The howling drew close. Chella strained against the ropes holding her captive, glad that Jarrack left. When he asked questions about Donovan and Krystal, Jarrack quickly grew angry at her evasive answers. She blocked his mind with tight mental barriers but knew her control couldn’t last. He seemed afraid of the wolves and replaced the gag. He would return in the morning and force answers from her. She felt the power of his mind batter at her mental barriers. Cold and tired, her muscles ached. Strength seeped from her body like sweat.

  She heard a snuffling noise and the dry rustle as a creature moved through nearby bushes. She shivered. Hot breath wafted against her cold skin and a wet nose touched her hands. She lay still as death. Her heart pounded as she waited for the wolf to tear into her soft flesh. A wet tongue licked her wrist and teeth tugged at the ropes. Long, breathless moments passed before Chella realized the wolf was gone. Surprised, she felt suddenly lonely.

  ******

  Krystal lay in bed awake and depressed. Their futile attempts to search for Chella were met with cold hostility from the Lords’ campsites. They came back late and ate dinner in silence, avoiding the subject of Chella, while she occupied their minds.

  “I tried to reach Chella’s mind,” Krystal said. “I know she’s alive, can feel her mind but I can’t make contact.” She gripped the mendilium crystal tightly.

  Donovan said, “Try to rest. We’ll go out again tomorrow.”

  “I failed her. I should’ve been sensitive to her stress, especially knowing how guilty she felt for bringing that bottle from the priest. I could have helped, if only…”

  Donovan sighed. “Stop it! We all blame ourselves—for landing on this planet, for falling prey to an insane king, and for reacting in anger over the radiation threat. Blaming yourself won’t find Chella. Tomorrow we’ll try another tactic. We’ll keep trying until we exhaust every avenue.”

  Donovan sounded strong and comforting. Krystal buried her face in his shoulder and let her tear
s soak his soft shirt. Donovan stroked her hair. “Hear that?”

  They listened to a wolf’s howl, a deep mournful sound. “God, I hope she’s not out there alone with the wolves. She must feel so frightened.”

  ******

  Halder sat next to the window with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He gazed into the night muttering, “She should’ve pointed him out so I could see his face! Why didn’t I remain alert to her moods? Couldn’t she trust me instead of running after the killer herself?”

  Campfire lights flickered in pockets across the horizon.

  “Which campfire hides the murderer?” Tears blurred the lights. “I must know who it is! If he tries to kill again, he’ll reveal himself and suffer my revenge. It must happen before the disease consumes the last days of my life!” Halder felt his life evaporating, his time running short.

  “Sire? Can I help you into bed?” Halder swiped tears away with weakened anger.

  “Yes, Justin. You may help me one last time.” The sound of finality in the king’s voice brought tears to Justin’s eyes. He struggled to help the king into bed and hide his sorrow.

  ******

  The smell of fear lingered in Kriegen’s nostrils. He recognized the female as one from Donovan’s pack, but the scent of the evil one clung to her skin. Humans were such frail creatures! She rapidly lost body heat in the cold night. He tried to chew the ropes but realized he must find Donovan. Running toward the stone cave, he howled to communicate with the pack.

  Hearing the reply, Kriegen bristled. Konig reprimanded him for assisting a human in need! The deep rumble in his chest erupted into a full growl. He’d teach respect to that young whelp. Kriegen forced his hackles down and continued his swift journey.

  Carefully skirting the gray outlines of human travel caves, he sniffed and sampled a variety of odors. He hated the pungent scent of fire and avoided its dancing light. The large stone castle radiated with a mysterious glow in the moonlight. Moving silently, his pads sinking into the soft turf surrounding the stone caves, he remembered the location of the stables and checked there for Donovan’s scent. Too many feet disturbed the trail.