by Xenia Melzer
Musingly, Canubis viewed the obscenely high walls of Ki’t, which rose toward the merciless sun like a man-made mountain range. They had arrived in front of the city only a few days ago, and now that the camp was erected, Canubis concentrated all his energy on finding the best strategy for defeating the count. He never liked it when his enemies found out about the approaching Pack too soon since it gave them the opportunity to prepare.
The count was neither a fool nor a weakling. It was obvious that he wouldn’t be easy prey. The Eastern Kings had paid the Pack a large sum for the eradication of this comparatively small kingdom that had been an annoying thorn in their sides for about fifteen years, and all due to Markon’s abilities.
Not that the count had a choice in the matter—to protect his people, he’d maneuvered through the jungle of foreign politics like a snake, always trying to secure a position that made it either unprofitable or too dangerous to attack his kingdom. Canubis wasn’t overly interested in politics so long as he and his men got paid, but Markon had managed to gain his respect. The man was definitely a rat, but one with principles, and Canubis could relate to that. Up to a certain point, he could even understand why the count had made a deal with the followers of the Good Mother.
Kitona had always been a place where the schemers of Canubis’s ancient enemy felt at home, but Markon had managed for a long time to keep them out of the government of his country. That had changed when the Eastern Kings’ request became public. The count knew that his chances against the Pack were slim, and so he grabbed every straw he could reach. Even though the magic practiced by the followers always came with a hefty price, they were valuable allies in a war against two demigods.
Canubis wasn’t so stupid as to underestimate them, although he was furious that the servants of the Good Mother dared to ignore the laws of the Holy Mothers so openly.
“He didn’t have much of a choice. It was either gathering the troops here and hoping he could stick it out till fall, or trying to go for an open confrontation all over Kitona. I’d have chosen the capital as well.”
Hulda’s dispassionate voice woke Canubis from his musings. As always, she assessed the situation with the cool attitude of a trained killer. Canubis grinned at her with open fondness. He was truly grateful to have such a dangerous, and merciless, woman at his side.
“And what would you do to keep me off your walls?”
Her lavender-colored eyes betrayed nothing of the lethal intent lurking behind them. “I’d visit you in your camp during the night when nobody would disturb us—of course, you wouldn’t be able to say a lot, but it would be a very intimate meeting.”
Canubis snickered before he turned serious again. “Do you think they’ll send a killer?”
“Only if they’re really foolish. The Order doesn’t exist anymore. The assassins you can get these days are second-class idiots of dubious origins. Nobody with solid training. Markon knows that. And he knows you’re immortal, so he won’t take the trouble.”
“That’s what I was thinking. But what’s his plan? He’s not an idiot. He won’t rely on the strength of his walls alone, and he’s too realistic to view the magic of the followers as more than a backup. He must have a plan.”
Hulda’s lips parted in a sensuous smile, her voice a seductive purr that had taken the Wolf of War to the peaks of pleasure more than once in the past. Only since he’d met Noemi was he able to resist Hulda’s allure, but her tone evoked fond memories.
“I’m going to find out.”
With an elegant gesture, she pulled the hood of her jerkin over her bright blonde hair. Then she checked the five daggers she was wearing and turned toward the besieged city. “Don’t wait for me. This could take some time.”
Before he could answer, she vanished.
“I hate it when she does that.” Shaking his head vigorously, Canubis went back to the camp. Hulda’s ability to step behind time had always been unnerving to him. He’d never had a problem with how, back when they’d first met, she’d dealt him a blow that would have been lethal but for his immortality. On the contrary, he admired her for her callousness. But the way she manipulated time itself however she pleased sent shivers down his back.
The Holy Mothers had introduced time to dam Chaos and to establish order. Hulda was a direct descendant of the most powerful witches of the First Aeon, and her power was a remnant of those times. She was the last witch to command such magic, and it was just like her to turn that gift into something useful. She’d become the most famous and feared Mother Superior the Order of the Sisters of the Night had ever known. And now she was using her talent to spy for him within the city walls and find out about Markon’s plans.
Canubis wasn’t worried; Hulda was the best. For a moment he’d even contemplated allowing her to assassinate the count, but he’d changed his mind. According to the contract, they had to conquer the city, and Canubis preferred fighting against an enemy he knew and could size up.
Just the idea of the Good Mother’s followers taking the lead should Markon die had been so detestable that Canubis had spared the man’s life—for the time being. Nobody could tell what would happen if the violations the followers committed to make their magic work got out of control.
Canubis had no intention of finding out while all his men were present.
SULLENLY, CASTO kicked off his dusty boots. He’d been on patrol since early morning to make sure that they wouldn’t be surprised by the count’s scattered troops. The ride had been long, hard, and terribly boring, which had worsened his mood by the hour. Not even the prospect of a fight with Renaldo had managed to cheer him up.
Listless, he stripped to take a bath. Since they’d set up camp three weeks ago, Casto’s life had been an endless succession of patrols, digging moats, and maintenance of weapons. It was so boring, yet exhausting, that Casto got the feeling his brain was slowly cooking in the unrelenting sun. To make things worse, he was missing the Barbarian, a fact that didn’t brighten his mood.
Renaldo was so busy they only met sporadically to exchange a few words. Casto even found himself thinking things would have been a lot easier had they stayed in the Valley. Then they would be able to see each other regularly, have their usual fights, end up in bed, and he could get riled up over Renaldo’s bad habits.
While he was pondering those gloomy thoughts, Casto washed himself with the ice-cold water from the tub. Since he’d started living in the Valley, he’d gotten used to the comforts of a warm bath, but in this heat, the chill was actually welcome. With ease of practice, he oiled himself. Naked, he returned to the front of the tent to enjoy the tingling sensation the oil caused while seeping into his skin. At that same moment, Renaldo entered the tent.
Casto didn’t know that to Renaldo he looked like some fairy-tale creature. The four diamonds in his nipples reflected the light like little suns. The last rays of the declining, real sun caressed the perfect relief of his muscles, got caught in his still-wet, wheat-blond hair, and made his eerie blue eyes flame like ghost lights that lured the incautious wanderer to perdition. Renaldo extended his hand demandingly.
Casto’s face contorted in defiance for the tiniest moment, but it was gone fast, as if it were nothing but a mere shadow. Casto tilted his head slightly, opened his lips invitingly, the glittering blue became darker, deeper, and then he stepped toward his master.
Renaldo pulled him close, the young man’s naked skin rubbing against the steel-reinforced leather tunic he was wearing.
Renaldo’s lips closed over Casto’s own; his hands stroked the smooth skin. Whimpering, Casto obliged his master’s will, allowed Renaldo to push him against the table and take him there. Then he turned around in his arms, helped him to undress in his usual, graceful manner, and followed him to their bed. They kept their silence while mating time and again, knowing full well that one word would be enough to break the spell that kept them prisoner so sweetly.
And so they expressed with their bodies what their tongues were unable to sa
y.
“ARE YOU sure?” Canubis’s amber eyes bore into Hulda’s frozen expression.
“Yes, I am. Thinking about it, the plan is not half-bad. And Markon has definitely enough men to succeed.”
Canubis crashed his fist on the table in frustration.
Renaldo placed a placating hand on his shoulder. “We’re warned, brother. Thanks to Hulda we know what he’s planning and when.”
Aegid joined the conversation. “What fails me completely is where he’d stationed all those men. Two thousand soldiers need to be fed. How is he doing that?”
When she answered, Hulda’s voice was hard. “A good question, Aegid. He’s making use of magic. The followers of the Good Mother are helping him. There are more magical traps in this city than rats roaming the streets. That’s why it took me so long to come back. I’ve also seen how some of the priests have fed the soldiers, which is one of the reasons why Markon is getting nervous. Even the old hag’s followers have to obey certain rules, and they can’t get supplies out of thin air endlessly.”
“So the question is how do we defeat about two thousand soldiers backed up by magic with our meager eight hundred warriors?”
Kalad and the other Emeris looked at the brothers imploringly.
Canubis’s expression was grim. “We’re going to outflank them. They have to leave through the main gate. If Markon is wise, he’ll open two more gates at the sides. Renaldo and I are going to hold the middle where our numbers are the weakest. Wolfstan, Hulda, and Noran will cover our flanks. Aegid, Kalad, as soon as all the men are on the battlefield, you will break rank in our back, attack their flanks, and keep them occupied. As always, Belnor is going to lead the mounted reserves and intervene where necessary. I want this army completely eliminated. We take no prisoners. Only Markon will be spared. I want to have a little chat with him.”
The Emeris showed their consent with a slight bow, and then they all left the tent to prepare for the upcoming attack.
Canubis and Renaldo, too, went into the camp. The prospect of a long, merciless fight filled them with unrestrained delight that was only slightly marred by the worry for their men. Since they were gods of war, they did expect a lot from those who followed them, and the mercenaries knew about the risks they were taking when joining the Pack. They also knew about the rewards, which made obeying the demigods so much easier.
Renaldo and Canubis knew that those who died in their name were taken to the Green Lands by the Holy Mothers where they would live in eternal peace. For that reason they didn’t pity the fallen too much.
They were the Lords of War. For them, humans were born to serve their gods. If it meant dying, then it was the price they paid for their servitude, for being allowed to follow Canubis and Renaldo. A price that went hand in hand with the reward. That might be arrogant, but from the viewpoint of the brothers, it was only logical. What kind of sense had a human existence if not for serving the gods?
But there was one mortal who Renaldo didn’t want to lose—Casto. In his tent he explained to the young man where he would fight.
As expected, the conversation didn’t go smoothly.
“I thought you wanted to let me fight, Barbarian? And now you’re asking me to stay with the reserves?”
“Be assured, Casto, the reserves will fight. We are up against an army of two thousand men. But I want you first, to be mounted, because Lys would never allow anything to happen to you, and second, that you don’t fight at the front. It’s going to be tough, and it’s possible I might lose sight of you.”
Casto stared silently at Renaldo for so long that he started to feel uncomfortable, something only Canubis had accomplished before. Then Casto spoke in measured tones.
“I understand.”
“Do you only understand, or are you going to obey?”
A menacing glint in Casto’s eyes made plain how angry he was. “I obey.”
Relieved, Renaldo pulled him close. This had gone better than he’d dared to anticipate.
Casto allowed the Barbarian to kiss him. He was furious that he’d been banished to the ranks of the reserves when he’d wanted to fight at Renaldo’s side, but he knew Renaldo would never waver. Before Renaldo forbade him to fight at all, Casto preferred obeying him and using the opportunity to show him he was trustworthy.
INSIDE THE palace in Ki’t, Count Markon sat on his throne, drumming a nervous rhythm on the armrest while listening halfheartedly to the statements of one of his provision officers.
Despite the magical assistance from the followers of the Good Mother, things were starting to look glum for his men. Their provisions would soon be gone.
Markon prayed that the Wolf of War would finally decide to take action. That was the only drawback in his otherwise flawless plan—he was dependent on his opponent making the first move. The count wasn’t stupid enough to think that Canubis didn’t at least suspect what he was planning, but he trusted that he would attack nevertheless to stop the uncontrolled use of magic taking place within the city.
Markon still wasn’t convinced that the followers of the Good Mother were suitable allies, but he hadn’t had that much choice in the matter, and he could at least trust them to hate the demigods enough to fight to their last breath.
Although he hadn’t asked her for this, their leader, an ice-cold priestess called Rave, had read his future and predicted him a great victory. His plan was outrageous enough to end in triumph, but he preferred not to trust the ranting of a woman whose own destiny was so inextricably interwoven with his own.
Once the Wolf of War attacked, it would end. One way or another.
6. Battle
FROM LYS’S back, Casto watched the battle begin.
As anticipated by Canubis, Markon had opened two gates next to the main one to allow his men to spread out quickly. Canubis hadn’t tried to prevent that for fear the battle would turn into pure chaos that would obliterate all his plans. The two armies faced each other for what felt like an eternity before the count finally gave the command to start.
Everything had gone as planned; Aegid and Kalad had attacked the enemy flanks and started to broach the soldiers, allowing the hard-fought middle, where Canubis and Renaldo were, to gain some breathing space. As Lys and Casto watched the battle, Lys shook his head nervously. Although things went as predicted, something felt off. The demon could almost grab it but couldn’t quite get a hold on it.
Casto shared his brother’s hunch. He, too, was nervous. Disquieted, he searched the ranks of the warriors, allies and enemies alike, always on the lookout for what disturbed him, for the hook he suspected, and suddenly he knew what was wrong. There aren’t enough enemies.
Hulda had said that Markon had about two thousand men gathered in Ki’t, but only two-thirds of that number fought in front of the city gates. It wasn’t immediately apparent since the Pack was so heavily outnumbered that the sheer mass of their opponents threatened to swamp them. At the same moment that Casto realized what that meant, an explosion shook the earth. On the northern side of the city, parts of the wall crumbled, but so accurately the damage had to be magical. The heavy stones sailed elegantly, controlled through the air, and they left a swath through which the attackers could reach their target quickly.
About five hundred enemies rushed through the breach and made a charge at Kalad’s men. Now the desert warrior had to defend himself on two sides, and it became obvious that Markon had enforced that part of his flank from the beginning. He had managed to encircle Kalad, and none of the other Emeris were able to help him since they were still struggling with the superior numbers of Markon’s army.
DOWN IN the heart of the battle, Renaldo swore under his breath. When he’d heard the explosion, he knew something was seriously wrong, and then word reached him that Kalad was outflanked. The count had used the same maneuver the Pack had, only his version was actually working. No way could any of them come to Kalad’s rescue. The desert warrior was on his own.
Furiously, Renaldo ducked un
der the sword of an advancing soldier and killed him with a clean slash. He turned to Canubis, who was fighting next to him. “We need to do something!”
Canubis spun around in an elegant circle, fending off three attackers at once. “There’s nothing we can do, as you well know. We can’t even send Belnor down there since we’re cut off. No messenger is going to make it through, and my connection to the wolves is disrupted. They’re really going beyond themselves to take us down. You’ve got to give it to Markon, his plan isn’t half-bad. All we can do now is wrap things up on our end as quickly as possible and hope the flank will hold until then.” He parried another attack. “So go off and kill, dear brother mine.”
Renaldo hefted his sword, a grim smile on his lips. As bleak as their situation might be, his heart sang out in joy. Brutal carnage was what he was born for.
KALAD, TOO, swore, but he did it aloud. Being cornered by the same trick the Pack had intended to use didn’t sit well with him, let alone the fact that he was losing his men. Not even his well-trained mercenaries were able to hold against superior numbers like these. To top it off, Markon had positioned his elite right there, and those men were perfectly trained killers too. With a grim determination and merciless accuracy Kalad had to admire despite being its target, the enemy decimated his warriors. The Pack’s rigid training still made it hard for the attackers—they did not give in easily—but with their numbers dwindling, the enemy gained ground and started to isolate Kalad from his men.
CASTO TURNED with gleaming eyes to Belnor, the seasoned mercenary who had led the mounted reserves for many years. “We have to help Kalad!”
Belnor shook his head. “We don’t attack without orders from Canubis. I know this is your first battle, but believe me, it isn’t in vain to wait for the orders of the Wolf of War.”