What did it matter? He would soon dispose of them.
Shadow continued, traveling through the day as a wolf while his thoughts focused on how to trap the person following him. His senses brought no clue of the identity of the person. But, when he followed the faint disturbance of magic, the flow interrupted high above. They flew but gave out a detectable presence of magic. It could not be a dragon; their powers were too great to miss. Another shapeshifter?
No wonder he missed them! As a bird, they could stay well away and leave no scent on the wind. He resisted the temptation to look for them with his eyes, wishing not to give away his awareness.
Instead, he found a dry shelter beneath two stones leaning together. The snow covered half the entrance, leaving him to crouch into the makeshift den. Inside, he laid down to rest. The other shapeshifter would have to rest too, and flying took as much energy as running, if not more. He could wait. When they settled down for the night thinking they were safe, he would make his move.
* * *
A cold wind blew across the snow, swirling up loose surface flakes and depositing them into any crevices and crags, including tracks. A crescent moon hanging in the sky cast a faint light reflected off the snow. Dusk settled over the land.
Shadow peered into the encroaching night. He stretched out with the magic to find his pursuer. The ripples caused by their presence came from somewhere nearby. Another presence, that of an ordinary mortal moved over the land somewhere nearby also.
The howl of a wolf rang out from the distance. He lifted his head, pulling his nose out from behind his gray tail. The faint scent of a man carried on the wind, with the scent of other wolves.
Was the man hunting the wolves? Perhaps a new form would be needed; something frightening but not uncommon. With barely a thought, he transformed.
As a mountain cat, he crept out of his den. White as the snow but for the black end of a long tail and a face accented with black, he bounded across the drifts with more ease than he had as a wolf. He followed the effect on the magic to the other shapeshifter. With any luck, he would catch them unawares. They could not be allowed to report to the mage.
Over the summit of a rock-strewn hill, he saw them.
Shadow crouched behind a large boulder and watched the pack. Six wolves of varying shades from white to black took turns with a white newcomer.
The newcomer hunched down, partially exposing its underside in submission. The leader of the pack, one of the grays, stood over it, posed to attack while deciding. One wrong move and the newcomer would be mauled.
The flow of colors formed a distinct pattern around the newcomer. That was his shapeshifter, and, like him, they used camouflage. More than an amateur then. But how good were they?
With all luck, the wolves would do his job for him. He waited and watched to see if they would attack.
The leader snarled, baring his fangs on the newcomer. The white wolf jumped away in time to avoid those teeth in their neck. The leader came up with a mouthful of snow but stayed his ground while the white wolf again cowed in submission.
The pack should not have been that generous. The leader snapped at the newcomer but no more. The white wolf licked at the leader, who permitted it. At that cue, the others moved in and exchanged greetings. No further fights ensued.
Lucky. Or could it be something gave them an advantage, other than knowing something about pack dynamics?
A vague memory came back from his past. He remembered a woman many years ago in the yard of the Sh’lahmar. Haiberuk had greeted her and taken her inside. Later she left, throwing up her cloak into the wings of a hawk.
Her! Who better than the same fair-haired woman in service to the ones he hated? A female might be more welcome in such a group as these wolves.
A low rumble vibrated from his throat. He would take pleasure in her death.
The wind swirled snow around him, blinding him for an instant. It carried no scent, moving in a parallel course between him and the pack.
A yelp came from the pack.
A second later the snow settled. The black wolf staggered, the shaft of an arrow sticking out of its side. The pack circled in curiosity around their member, glancing around with their tails tucked. They stopped and stared in the same direction downwind, toward the scattered, leafless trees.
The hunter. Bundled in fur and leather, he stepped out into the wan moonlight. Perhaps he would finish the task. Too much to hope for.
A second arrow found its mark in a gray wolf, and the pack ran off a short distance from their whimpering members and stopped to look back.
Shadow counted them. Besides the two felled, four stood around. He had counted seven before the hunter interfered. Six out of seven now.
She was gone.
Damn her. Where was she?
There. The white wolf bounded over the snow and leapt over drifts. With an enraged snarl, he leapt after her.
The new form shortened the distance with little effort; but he was hard pressed to hold his pace. He had exchanged endurance for agility.
She glanced back.
Shadow pushed his body to the limits and closed the gap between them.
She jumped and slid down against the slippery side of a hill.
In full stride, he sprang into the air with claws out. In the second it took to come down, the wolf shrank into the snow, vanishing it seemed.
He landed at the spot where she should have been. Nothing. Where— There. She ran along the base of the hill to where the slope eased. Interesting. She had moved swifter than he anticipated.
Breathing hard with the effort but thrilled by the chase, Shadow sprinted after her.
He pounced on the white wolf and caught her, reveling in the line of blood in her white coat. Determined to kill her before she could report of his presence, he lunged for her throat. The wolf jerked her head away at the last instant.
The wench! Who are you?
She growled in response and bit at his legs.
Darkness take her. He snapped at her back, but she pulled away, leaving him a tuft of hair. A swipe with large, powerful claws caught her square against the jaw.
She yelped in pain and hobbled over, fresh lines of blood staining her winter coat. Still, she fought on and rose on trembling legs and shook her head.
Now he had her. Shadow sank his teeth into her shoulder. She struggled, until he clamped his jaw tighter. Bones crunched with the threat of breaking within his jaws, and she collapsed. I can take you now, if you choose.
You cannot kill me, a strong voice replied.
Why do you follow?
She growled her response, breathing hard.
He clamped down tighter. She shifted, and his awkward hold lost contact with all but skin and hair. She struggled away, leaving him with a small patch of hide.
Enraged, he spit out the hairy piece and struck her hard against the ribs with his claw. She turned with teeth ready but lost her balance against his strength and fell aside. He set one large claw to her throat and caught her left foreleg in his jaws, then bit down hard.
This time the crunch of bones and limpness of the limb was unmistakable with her yelp.
Who sent you?
Who are you? Her lips curled back in a snarl, but as quickly fell with a whimper.
Tail lashing, he held to her foreleg. Tell me, before I rip off your arm.
Makleor. He sent me.
Why?
Because you work for Tyrkam.
Who are you?
She fell limp. Clever, but he was smarter than that. While an animal would have continued struggling to escape, she was human by nature with the cunning that brought. He tightened his jaws on the leg, unimpressed by her feint.
She let out a shrill yelp. Gaispar. I carry messages between the realms.
You are the messenger?
He had heard her name, or overheard. Gaispar carried messages from the dragons of the Second Realm to the old mage, Sh’lahmar, Lumathir, and others of no name. She had bee
n the one he saw all those years ago! If she escaped, she would warn the princess. He had to stop her.
Gaispar growled, her uninjured legs scratching at his face in a vain attempt to free her broken leg. A deep rumble of annoyance rose from within his throat. For a moment, he considered how to end it quickly so he could continue on his way. Only for a moment. Taking longer would be more fun.
The wind whipped loose snow around them and settled down again.
When he let go of her leg to take her neck, she tried to pull away. His large claw pressed her head into the snow, but she brought her hind legs to his claw to scratch it away.
Shadow pinned her broken leg beneath his other claw and snarled. The pleasure of the kill burned in his veins.
Pain seized his shoulder before he could make his final lunge. He roared and fell back. Each movement wrought greater pain. An arrow shaft projected from the front of his bloody shoulder. Damn her! She’d distracted him from the hunter.
The hunter stood in the distance, too far to reach and too dangerous with another arrow nocked and ready.
He’d forgotten that the gusting wind blew the man’s scent away.
Gaispar lay on the blood-stained snow, her breathing labored and her eyes glazed. If she was not on the verge, she would soon die, if not of the wounds, then at the hands of the hunter. Unfortunate. He wished to complete the task himself to insure her death.
The hunter approached with caution.
Clenching his teeth from the pain, Shadow limped away on three legs. He would have to find shelter where he could take time to mend his wound.
* * *
With the weight of the large cat lifted, Gaispar breathed deeply again. Through blurred vision she saw the stranger disappear. Her strength washed away, stolen by the pain of her wounds. They would heal in a few days, but at the moment, her mind clouded with the pain and she was weak from the lack of food while following the stranger. She could guess now where he headed.
Now, she lay vulnerable and dared not change back. The cold and her transformation would use more energy than she could spare.
The crunch of snow stopped nearby. The hunter pulled back his arrow. Piercing eyes fixed on her from beneath a wool-lined hood.
Please. She whimpered and laid still.
He hesitated and blinked.
Stay your weapon.
“What?” He released the tension of the bowstring and glanced around. “Who’s there?”
She had one chance to reach him, though she knew not whether he could be trusted. Pain ached through her foreleg and stung her body where the cat had mauled her. I am not the enemy.
The arrow fell from his grasp, and he took a step back. “How can this be?”
I wish you no harm. Please, help me. The effort of reaching him took the last of her strength. Darkness fell over her.
__________
Calli
Calli wiped the melting snow from her eyes to be sure she saw what she thought she saw, rather than a daydream. Warm lights glowed from windows, chasing away the cold of dusk. She shivered from a breeze down her neck and adjusted her scarf.
Finally. A village. Not much, but they would find food and rest, and the camaraderie of others.
Though no village was more than a few days travel from another along the roads, traveling off the known roads took more time and the snow and wind made it miserable. This was the first they found, nestled in the foothills of the Northern Mountain. Smoke rose from chimneys, which meant villagers huddled indoors around the fires that made the smoke. Only one danger faced them now; tracks abounded everywhere, packing the snow into ice sheets in some places, particularly around the town well.
A sign with a picture of a horned bull hung over one of the doors with the words “Bull’s Head Inn” beneath it. Lights flickered behind the frosted glass, casting a warm glow into the street. Voices of laughter and revelry reached them.
Exactly what she long sought since leaving Arronfel. Calli let out a sigh, glad to have found a warm place to stay.
Jayson smiled and led her through the door while Ellead tied the horse to the post outside. The door hinges creaked in the cold air a clear note of resistance.
The moment she stepped into the dining room, Calli inhaled the scents of wood smoke, inebriation, and food. Her stomach growled its insistence for food, and she pulled the scarf down from her face, her numb cheeks welcoming the warmth.
A counter ran from behind the door to the center of the room and made a sharp corner to the wall to form a square of space set off from the main area. On the opposite side of the room, a fire spit and crackled in the stone fireplace. Around the warmth sat a group of men, a serving maid near them with a pitcher of frothy mead in her hand, ready to pour for the next empty mug.
From the opposite end of the bar came a husky man of ample girth with a day’s growth of stubble on his jaw. He hustled toward them in three long strides, his hands occupied with drying a plate, and squinted at them, a look of distrust glinting from his small eyes. “What business have you, strangers?”
Jayson ignored the suspicion in his voice and threw back his hood with a charming smile. How did he do that? She only wished she could feel as confident. When he reached his hand back for her, she curled her fingers in his. The quiet strength of his touch settled the anxiety grating in her mind. He pulled her to his side.
“My wife and I need lodging.”
Calli swore her heart stopped. The heat of a blush rose to her cheeks. They never discussed any disguises. Wife? She could only play along at this point, but why that? Not that she disagreed, but what did it mean? Anything?
The bartender peered over their shoulders through squinting eyes. Ellead stood alone behind them, trying not to attract attention. “What o’ the boy?”
“A friend’s son. We agreed to bring him this far until his uncle meets us.”
The man harrumphed but indicated the dark alcove across the bar. “Take your pick. I’ve three rooms open, what with these beasts they tell gobbling anyone they find, and winter here. Bad enough the season than these flying devils.”
“Thank you.” Jayson gave a nod and tossed the man a coin.
The bartender turned the coin over in his hand, nodding in satisfaction. “Stay as long as yeh wish. Follow the stairs and mind the fifth—a bit loose.” He was suddenly friendlier, but money did that to people.
Jayson smiled and steered Calli through the mostly empty tables and chairs. The group of a half dozen smiling faces near the fire raised their glasses to them in good cheer as they passed.
Jayson tossed them a two-fingered salute in return. She recognized the gesture—Marjan’s men had used it as an informal friendly greeting. “Many happy returns, gentlemen.”
In response, two of the men returned the salute, showing the backs of their hands for a second; long enough for Calli to catch the glint of metal on their wrists peeking out from beneath long sleeves. A second later, they drank in earnest.
Bracers bearing some design she didn’t catch. Only nobles paid that kind of money. The king’s men! Had he known?
After they passed the group, Calli leaned close to Jayson. “You’d never guess those things caused trouble here.”
“Or the people have nothing left and take pleasure in what they have,” Ellead said from behind.
Jayson and Calli both looked back.
“There’s a happy thought.” Sarcasm clung to Jayson’s words. “I’d rather believe these men have the world in their hearts.”
Calli restrained a grin, silently agreeing with Jayson’s assessment and surprised by Ellead’s words. He never showed any bit of pessimism in the time they traveled together. Was this the result of the loss of Fenwar?
They continued up the spiral stairs to the second floor, where a row of three doors ran down each side of the corridor to the privy at the end of the hall. On three of the doors hung vacancy signs; two of them on opposite sides of the hall.
Jayson chose one and opened the door. No be
tter than the front door, it creaked an announcement into the corridor. Calli cringed and followed Jayson into a tiny room. A window opposite the door looked out on the empty street and a fireplace sat cold on the wall between. The bed was empty but made against the wall across from the fireplace.
“Cozy.” Ellead sounded less than enthused.
“There are two others.”
At the sincerity of Jayson’s words, Calli looked to him in surprise.
“May I?” Astonishment rang in the boy’s voice.
“We’ve limited currency.” Calli hoped not to have to spend any more than necessary.
Jayson’s grin betrayed the mischief in those blue eyes. “Then we’d best not arouse suspicions by staying apart.”
This time she knew what he intended—a chance to talk. Or was it? What was his purpose for staying in the same room?
Before she could ask, Ellead jumped across the hall to the opposite door and pulled the sign.
Jayson caught him with his voice. “Mind you not to forget our supplies.”
Ellead nodded and ducked inside. The door clapped shut.
“Now.” Jayson’s eyes danced over her in the light from the door. “To keep you out of sight.”
Calli followed him into the room. The door clapped shut behind her, closing her in the darkness. Only a faint light from outside entered the room through the window, enough to see logs stacked ready in the fireplace. She shivered but pulled her hood off, along with the woolen scarf, while he made work of starting the fire.
With questions circling in her head, she squatted next to him. “You knew they were the king’s men.”
Jayson fumbled in the dark on the floor in front of the hearth. In the faint light through the frosted window, she caught his shrug.
Not good enough. She wanted an explanation. “How?”
“Observation.” The telltale scratch of a flint brought no sparks the first time. Jayson kept trying.
Calli sat back and pulled her knees up to rest her chin. She should have recognized the signs herself. She spent many nights around Marjan’s men, but preferred the company of the men who accompanied her and Jayson before meeting the remainders of the army. She wished she’d paid more attention to the small things, but she had taken on the task of cleaning up the old fortress or fought to prove her skills and had little time for merriment, and little patience for their kind.
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