Stellan’s thoughts drifted to Clarysa’s agonized cries in the cave when his hunger had spiraled out of control. He’d been nothing more than a slavering wolf demon.
That’s what you are.
The cold air seeped into his soul. He missed the warmth of the fire, the warmth of Clarysa cradled by his side. He especially missed the feel of her soft, curvaceous body. They’d been pressed so close together, only separated by the gossamer fabric of her gown. And her smell! He had perceived the musky scent of her arousal a hundred times stronger than a human ever would, and it had sparked in him a fierce and primitive lust. She had seemed to enjoy the intimacy they shared.
At first.
But he had gone too far.
The memory caused his huge wolfish eyes to moisten. Stellan deeply regretted having caused her pain. This prompted recollection of his promise to Queen Arietta. He had since given Clarysa reason to fear him. Their relationship had caused her harm as a result of Sada’s anger. Now the King and Queen would think him untrustworthy. They’d probably take Clarysa far away, to a place where he’d never be able to find her.
A sharp ache formed in the pit of his chest. He shouldn’t have allowed the intimate contact no matter how much they loved each other. His control had been absolute… Hadn’t it? It was difficult to recall everything clearly. But that must be the answer. Had he succumbed to his darkest desire, his sharp claws and unnatural size would have quickly rended her delicate form into bloody shreds. Stellan pushed the grisly thought out of his mind.
On the horizon, a lone wolf’s cry seemed to herald his uncertain future. What if he remained trapped in this body? As much as his departure would devastate them both, the honorable choice would be to disappear from Clarysa’s life entirely. At the thought, Stellan let loose a booming, sorrowful howl, causing a flock of birds to scatter above him. Gods of fortune, don’t desert me now!
The thought of living a cursed existence filled his mind with fire. He leaped up and smashed his fist into the trunk. The tree buckled and shook violently. All its limbs sent their share of accumulated snow earthward. Stellan’s knuckles throbbed with pain, but it helped him concentrate. He had to continue his journey. This magick was beyond his scope.
He pressed onward, attempting to resist the call of his wolf brother’s forlorn wail. There was only one person who could help, and Stellan had to reach him quickly. If his suspicion was correct, transformations of this magnitude became more and more difficult to reverse with every passing hour.
He reached Ravenwood Pass and made his way swiftly through the Hemling Mountains, traveling north into Falcon Heights. Many months had elapsed since his last visit. A single memory spurred him forth, to the Valley of the Clouds, where the unknown sorcerer dwelled.
Even in his bestial mind, he knew what he found there would seal his fate forever, for either good or ill.
Stellan raised his snout. It was well past noon, and the sun was beginning to drift into the western skies. Good. He was on the right path. Perhaps he still had time.
Exhausted though he was, he sprinted ahead toward his destiny, whatever it might be.
Chapter 33
“These tracks continue to run westward,” Lionel noted. “And by the size of them, along with this fresh blood, I’d say we have our beast.” He rose from his knee and turned to the officer standing next to him. “Do you concur?”
The man snapped to attention. “I do, sir. It’s fortunate you picked them up again. I thought we’d lost ’em a while back.”
Lionel lightly slapped his gloves against the strident young man’s chest. “Luck had nothing to do with it. I know how the beast thinks.”
“Sir, I must point out that we are rapidly losing light. Shall we set up camp here for the night?”
Lionel glowered. “And let that beast have my cousin? What are you thinking, man? Every moment we stand here delaying allows him to put more space between us! No, we press onward.”
The officer stiffened. “Understood, sir.” He turned and relayed the order.
Lionel scanned the countryside. Oh mighty Prince Stellan, where are you and your expert tracking skills when we need them? When Clarysa needs them? To make things worse, Edward had only given him a skeleton crew for the search and rescue, and this was for the protection of his own sister! Was his grudge against Stellan that strong?
His thoughts switched to the threat facing Aldebaran. Strange fires had been sighted around the perimeter of Vandeborg upon his departure. Was this the beginning of the massive invasion Stellan had warned of? Lionel made a fist. Where the devil are you, man? Stellan’s disappearance was a perplexing mystery.
“Sir! Sir!” A young soldier ran up to him, gasping and wheezing as though he were ready to vomit forth his own insides.
“Take it easy, lad! You’re going to burst your head in half running about like that! Now what do you have to report?”
The soldier pointed to a ridge about a quarter mile away. “There’s a cave. Tracks are all over the place.”
Lionel flexed his hands. “Gather the men.”
“Yes, sir.” He raced off.
Lionel peered into the distance. He could just make out a darkened entrance on the rocky wall. The young and gangly crew assembled before him, arms at the ready.
“Prepare you weapons and brace yourselves for battle. Our quarry lies there,” he said while pointing to the cave. “Princess Clarysa is to be protected at all costs! And I want the fiend who took her lying dead before me by morning. Am I clear?”
A resounding answer of “Yes, sir!” made it evident his order was highly understandable.
Lionel drew his sword and led the troop forward. Very well, devil. You had best pray Clarysa is unharmed, or I shall personally see that your death is the most excruciating in the history of the Five Lands!
* * * *
Clarysa exited the stable and guided her steed up a hill. The air was clear except for an occasional flurry. She easily picked up the Captain’s trail as the sun climbed higher behind a haze-filled sky. Frigid morning air seeped into the gaps of the thick scarf around her head. If nothing else, at least her feet felt comfortable, buried in fur-lined boots. She glanced back. Vandeborg loomed, dark and gloomy, behind her.
She continued ahead. Then she spied movement.
Patrulha, Hunter, and three other men were riding steadily across the snow. Clarysa was about a half mile behind them. The blurred edge of Dungeon Forest lined the horizon on the east, while rolling, snow-covered hills filled the scene to the west. Clarysa had only a vague sense of the direction in which they headed. Vandeborg soon faded behind her in a sea of gray and mist.
She began to wonder if the Captain was trying to lose her, for it seemed every time she caught up to the party, they sprinted ahead even faster. A cruel trick, if that were the case. But the obstacle only made her more determined. Clarysa plodded on.
Hours passed. The blinding white fields grew precipitously darker. Clarysa glanced up at the dour-faced clouds. They foretold a long and terrible storm.
Snow began falling at a furious rate. She pulled her wrappings about her tightly, but the action did little to mitigate the bitter cold. Clarysa strained to see Patrulha’s rescue party amid the gloom. She urged the brave Palomino on. I hope I’m not leading us both to a frozen death on this lonely plain.
Waves of icy precipitation washed over her as she traveled. A biting wind kicked up, making her eyes smart with needlelike precision. She gritted her teeth. This had to be Nature’s version of a wintry torture chamber. Clarysa prayed the horse would not drop from coldness and exhaustion, as she herself felt dangerously close to doing.
Gathering her wits, Clarysa called out to the riders before her. But the wind snatched her words away. The distant shapes of riders and horses began to blur. She fought to keep her eyes open. Were they traveling to a location within the Snowflake Kingdom, or somewhere beyond? Would she catch up to them in time?
The search party finally halted. Clarysa
spurred her horse forward. Patrulha and Hunter exchanged glances at her approach. They had seen her, no doubt. Their adversarial posturing hinted at an argument. Clarysa inched closer until she was near enough to hear them.
“I’ll take full responsibility. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”
“I said no! She’ll slow us down.”
“But she’s kept up this far. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
“Hardly.”
“Patrulha, don’t be an ass. She’s only trying to help.”
“No one asked her to come.”
“Well, she’s here now. We can’t spare anyone to go back with her. And I for one won’t be the one to deal with Stellan if we don’t. Will you?”
Patrulha glared at him with her good eye. Silence appeared to be her answer.
Hunter smiled. “Then it’s settled.”
Scowling, Patrulha pulled her scarf back against her face. Her brows furrowed as she stared at Clarysa. “Staring, spying, eavesdropping–will you be gracing us with any of your other bad manners, dear Princess?”
Clarysa’s heart sank. “I only want to help Stellan,” she mumbled. How was it she managed to offend Patrulha at every turn? As the Captain turned away and rode on, she risked a glance at Hunter, seeking assurance. He motioned her forward.
“Best keep up before she changes her mind!”
He gave her horse’s rump a firm slap as she rode past him. Clarysa sighed with relief. A fresh burst of adrenaline revived her. Heading due north, they were soon swallowed by the wintry might.
* * * *
Night fell. Clarysa and her companions made camp just past the Snowflake Kingdom’s border. The weather change had been so marked it had been like walking through a waterfall. The countryside here splashed with abundant greenery; about them, a cacophony of tree frogs sang the night away. The horses munched on a well-earned meal.
She was relieved to be beyond the snow and mind-numbing cold. How had Stellan and his people coped with it all these years?
The weary party gathered firewood and soon had a roaring flame going. Each collapsed beside it with outstretched fingers and toes. Hunter leaned over to offer Clarysa a metal flask, which she readily accepted. Ill-tasting liquor rushed into her mouth and she coughed. But then a warm, tingly sensation spread throughout her body. She smiled demurely in thanks.
The motley crew cobbled together a sparse meal of nuts, dried meats and raw greens plucked from the edge of a nearby meadow. Strong tea brewed in a heavy pot washed everything down. Hunter explained they would only rest for a few hours. He encouraged Clarysa to sleep, and offered her a spot close by the fire.
For the first time in days, Clarysa could see the stars twinkling in a silent rhythm above her. Despite the long, hard ride, her thoughts were restless. She worried about Stellan, wondering if he was safe and if he had found help. She feared the wayward hunter who might cross his path. He wouldn’t know Stellan had been human; he would only attack. Visions of his stuffed corpse on display at the local fair flashed in her mind–the largest and most rare saberwolf. Her darling prince, reduced to nothing more than a grand prize. Clarysa shuddered.
Gretchen’s parting words echoed in her mind. “Selfish,” she had called Clarysa. Was she? After a great deal of brooding, Clarysa came to the conclusion that perhaps she had been self-centered in her decision, but only to an extent. For if death were to befall Stellan in some far off land, she would never forgive herself for not even trying to locate him. Surely he would understand! If she had made a reckless choice to follow Patrulha, it had only been because Stellan’s life was at stake.
Patrulha.
What did Stellan’s transformation and disappearance mean to her? Why did Gretchen say nothing of her daughter’s decision to leave, especially at a time when the castle needed her protection the most? Clarysa raised her head and glanced around. Hunter and the other men sat huddled together, talking quietly. A dark figure sat separate, amid a group of large boulders many yards away.
Patrulha.
Clarysa rolled over. Thoughts continued to flood her brain as sleep eluded her. There were too many questions without answers. She and Patrulha both had Stellan’s best interests at heart, yet they were unnecessarily at odds with each other. Clarysa had to at least attempt to clear the air between them.
She walked to the boulders. She said nothing at first, only watched Patrulha through sidelong glances. The Captain of the Guard sat on a flat rock. She had lit a small, separate fire for herself. A naked sword blade lay across her knees, and she sharpened it with measured force. Occasionally, she swallowed something from a nearby flask. Clarysa could smell the alcohol in the air.
She inched closer. Against the fire’s light, Patrulha looked like one of the legendary warriors in the tapestries back home, a fierce, noble creature from some exotic land. The flame danced off the blade’s surface, yielding a prismatic glow about the giantess before her. Attempting to appear nonchalant, Clarysa ambled forward.
Patrulha abruptly paused in her task and looked up. “Can I help you with something?” Her voice was as cold as the wastes behind them. “Or would that interfere with your spying?”
Clarysa winced at the surly tone. “I…couldn’t sleep.”
No reaction came aside from the quiet crackling of the fire.
Clarysa found the silence disconcerting. “Lots of thoughts were going through my head. Questions, you know?”
“Like?”
“Well, I was wondering…what happened to your eye, for one thing?”
There it was, hanging in the air–a question asked that could not be brought back, a thought that could not be undone. Ugh. Could you have been any less subtle?
Patrulha resumed her sharpening. “Ask Stellan when we find him.”
“But I’m asking you!”
The Captain snorted. “Well, I guess you are, then.” She pursed her lips. “Very well.”
Clarysa sat on a nearby rock, hands folded in her lap.
Patrulha stared at the ground, utterly silent. Then she slowly raised her head and began her tale. “Once upon a time, there were two warriors, a man and a woman, who were exploring the local countryside. After much ground had been covered with nothing extraordinary to report, they happened to come upon a rather odd man in his shop. He was furiously banging away and bending metal before a roaring fire. This man, with a fat, red face all covered in sweat and a shiny bald head, ceased his work upon their entrance. He demanded to know what business the pair had with him.”
She took another swig from her flask. “Well, the man and woman didn’t know the proper response except to comment on how they admired the man’s handiwork–with one sword in particular standing out from the many displayed on a back wall. The man took it down and swung it about in the air to test its balance. This was all it took to confirm the pair’s suspicions–it was a magick sword, one with the power to deflect and shatter all manner of spells. ‘This is an extremely rare weapon,’ said the man to the woman, which of course caused the woman to desire it by her side. ‘How much?’ she inquired to the queer man before her. But the man laughed and shook his head.
“This only caused the woman to desire it even more, so she asked again, ‘How much do you want for this fine blade of yours?” Once again, he rebuffed her. ‘More than you can afford, young ragamuffin.’ Well, this put the woman beside herself. Now she had to have the weapon at all costs, despite the man’s insistence that she forget it.
“The swordsmith then pointed to many other fine blades he would willingly sell, ‘for a fair bargain,’ he said. But even this would not do.” Patrulha paused for another swig.
“‘No,’ said the woman, ‘I want this sword–no other!’ Well, the man with the red face and balding head stared at her for a long time. ‘All right,’ he finally declared, ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll sell you this sword then, but not for coin.’
‘Excellent,’ said the woman in her arrogance. Inwardly she was laughing,
thinking he would want her body in trade for a few nights, or maybe a week. The sword was easily worth the price, probably more so. Her companion wouldn’t have been pleased, but he had made no claim on her, so she stuck out her chin and planted her hands proudly on her hips. ‘Name your price,’ she said.
‘Your right eye,’ he stated.
The woman snorted in disbelief. ‘You jest.’
‘No,’ he said quietly, turning his back on the pair. ‘Now be out of here! I told you, you couldn’t afford it.’
“Well, what do you think the woman did? For pride flowed through her veins, and lust for a sword she would surely never see the likes of again. But there was one other prize to win, or so the woman thought. She believed her companion would reject her cowardice if she backed down and reward her with his undying devotion if she did not.”
Patrulha stopped sharpening the sword and hurled it into the earth near Clarysa’s feet. “So, I got my sword. End of story.”
Clarysa sat before her in astonished silence. She didn’t know what to say, but knew she had to come up with something. “I…I don’t understand. Why did he want your eye?”
Patrulha shrugged. “He didn’t. He only wanted to see if the person who possessed the sword also had the fortitude to own it. Besides, I knew we needed it to fight Pestilence. This was about the time of the first outbreaks and Stellan had said it was likely to worsen. Obviously, his predictions were correct.”
“But…your eye! What kind of a trade was that? I mean, couldn’t Stellan have conjured up some kind of payment?”
Patrulha shook her head. “A sorcerer’s power doesn’t work so easily. Magick–well, true magick at any rate–requires time and preparation. It isn’t just a flick of the wand and there it is, as some might have you believe.” She chuckled. “This purchase was a spontaneous one anyway. The merchant took me to a back room. I sat down, he plucked out my eye, and I walked away with an enchanted sword.”
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