by Claudia King
“Of course he did,” Hasham said. His face had begun colouring with anger of his own. “I'll guess that was why he killed her too! She knew all about his treacherous schemes.”
Radeen-Na snarled and drew his blade, whirling around to march up the steps. Jarek and the others followed after him.
“Forget listening to his excuses,” Radeen-Na said. “We will demand he gives up the Dawn King's name to Hasham.”
“I'm glad you finally see sense, my friend,” Hasham said.
“I am no friend of yours, but I'd rather serve a fat fool than a lying coward.”
According to Hasham Thakayn had spent much of the night in the conclave chamber making preparations with Mountain Sky, so it was to the conclave chamber that the four of them headed. It was an appropriate place to resolve their dispute, away from the eyes of the temple. They all knew that Mountain Sky was unlikely to side with them, so they wasted no time attempting to send servants ahead to fetch him. Thakayn must have known the danger he was in after what had happened, but Jarek doubted he was expecting the entire conclave to confront him. It was surprising that he'd not roused half the temple with warnings of more Moon People savages already. Then again, perhaps he still hoped to keep Adel's identity a secret. His ruthless self-interest never ceased to disgust Jarek. For many years Atalyn had insisted that his cousin was a good leader, and perhaps he was, but only when there was someone with a strong hand to keep him in check. Atalyn had not considered what might happen without him until it was too late.
The sickening loss of the former Dawn King struck Jarek afresh. No, Thakayn had never been worthy of a place among the conclave, not even with Atalyn's wisdom to guide him. Atalyn had simply sought the good in people while overlooking the bad, perhaps because he so desperately wanted to forget his own bloodthirsty past as the warrior who had unified the heartland plains.
Radeen-Na led the way down the stone passage to the conclave chamber. Low voices echoed ahead of them, accompanied by the soft glow of braziers. They entered to find Thakayn and Mountain Sky engaged in an intense discussion beside the table. Two warriors, the pair Jarek had seen in the chamber earlier, were there with them.
“Thakayn!” Radeen-Na roared, pointing with his blade. “The conclave seeks your audience.”
If there had been any doubt left in the minds of the high priests, the look of panicked guilt that flashed across Thakayn's face dispelled it. It was the look of a man who knew he had made a grave mistake. Yet he composed himself quickly and squared his shoulders, stepping around the table to stand behind the Dawn King's seat. It was a clever move—a subtle reminder of his status. Yet Jarek suspected that no clever tricks would be enough to slip Thakayn free of this noose.
“You tormented one innocent woman and killed another this night,” Jarek said. He stared unblinkingly at Thakayn, searching for any hint of remorse, any acknowledgement of guilt in the man's face. Jarek was not a violent man, but he longed for justice. If that justice was no more than seeing Thakayn break down and beg for forgiveness, then he would advocate for mercy.
“I was attacked,” Thakayn said evenly. “That woman slew a temple warrior, and I defended myself from the seeress when she tried to do the same to me.”
“By burning and beating her?” Jarek exclaimed, surprised by the passion in his own voice. He spoke loud and clear, with a determination that had seldom been heard from him in this chamber. For once his was the voice the entire conclave was listening to.
Thakayn regarded him with a cold glare. “Would you call your Dawn King a liar, Jarek?”
A crash of wood startled everyone as Radeen-Na kicked over one of the benches. “How dare you accuse him of lying with your forked tongue! Your lies are the only reason you now hold the Dawn King's name!”
Jarek saw the two guardsmen reaching for their blades. He stepped forward with his palms up, hoping to cool the anger in the room before it escalated. “We demand that you submit to Hasham as the new Dawn King. All four of us are agreed in this. We give him our support.”
Thakayn sniffed the air in distaste. “It is too late for that. The preparations are already underway for my ceremony. I am your Dawn King now.”
“The conclave disagrees,” Jarek said. “If you truly wish to honour Atalyn's memory, then you will respect the will of your high priests.”
“No. Every tradition in this land sees a man's status pass on to his sons. Atalyn had no sons, so it is my duty as his cousin to carry on in his stead. Putting it to the will of the conclave was a foolish decision in the first place.”
Jarek felt the heat of indignation rising in his chest. He could not believe the man's obstinance. Cool tempers be damned, there was no appealing to Thakayn's sense of honour.
“Atalyn would be ashamed to leave his lands in the care of the man who killed him!”
The accusation caught Thakayn off guard. The colour drained from his face. The Dawn King's seat scraped audibly across the floor as his leg struck against it.
“What lies are these,” Thakayn began, but his faltering tone only confirmed his guilt.
With a roar of anger Radeen-Na lunged forward and grabbed the front of Thakayn's tunic. “Get on your knees! Beg the Sister for forgiveness before my blade meets your neck!”
“Wait!” Jarek called as he saw the two guards move forward. Mountain Sky had drawn a blade of his own, and when Thakayn yelled for help he gave a nod to his warriors. In an instant the tense atmosphere turned deadly. Radeen-Na saw the two men approaching and shoved Thakayn away, bringing up his blade to defend himself.
“Wait!” Jarek yelled again, but it was too late. Thakayn and Mountain Sky were ready to spill blood, and they were the ones with armed warriors on their side. Jarek glanced around the chamber frantically, wondering whether to flee, but Radeen-Na would be killed if they abandoned him to fight four men alone. There was only one weapon he knew of in this chamber. Six small shrines to the great spirits stood around the walls, and a ceremonial blade had always rested atop the platform dedicated to the Brother. When Jarek looked he saw that it was gone. Mountain Sky had already armed himself with the weapon, and the enormous man was now lumbering his way around the table toward him. The pair of them locked eyes for an instant before a deafening clang of metal on metal sounded from the other side of the chamber. Radeen-Na was facing down both guards simultaneously. They were menacing him with their blades, taking cautious swipes in an attempt to disarm him, but the priest of the Brother was the foremost among the temple's warriors for good reason. His form with the blade was quick and elegant. He stood facing sideways to make his body a smaller target for his opponents, and he kept the table as his back so that they had difficulty flanking him. One of the guards took another swing and Radeen-Na turned the blow aside with a flick of his wrist, using his own blade to catch the edge and deflect it away harmlessly. Yet for all of his skill he was still one man against two, and the guards wielded their weapons with similar deadly grace.
“Submit, Jarek,” Mountain Sky said, holding out his own blade level with Jarek's neck. “I was always fond of your funny little jokes.”
Jarek hesitated, wondering whether there was still a chance of appealing to Mountain Sky's empathy. His hesitation lasted just long enough for the priest of the Mother to step close enough to swing. Jarek leaped back as the ceremonial blade sliced through the air in front of him. Mountain Sky cursed and tried to stab at Jarek's chest, but it had clearly been many years since the man handled a weapon in a real fight. He overreached, stumbling forward and almost falling.
“Back, boy!” Jarek heard Hasham yell from behind him. He stepped aside just as the priest of the Father lumbered into Mountain Sky's path, his face red and muscles straining as he hefted one of the benches and swung it like an enormous club. The impact would have flattened any other man, but Mountain Sky was as broad and hardy as a pile of granite. He groaned in pain and staggered as the bench hit him in the side, throwing out his palms to brace himself against the table. The ceremonial
blade rasped over the engraving of the sun as it slid across the stone surface. Hasham dropped the end of the bench and reached for the blade, but Mountain Sky was going for it too. The two large men grappled at each other's arms, half-climbing over the table in their haste to reach for the weapon. Jarek leaped on Mountain Sky's back and threw his hands around his neck, but before he could get a good grip someone seized him by the shoulder and a sharp pain pierced his side.
He fell back and the pain receded. Thakayn stood beside him, a knife clutched in his hand with blood on the tip. Jarek stumbled away from him and fell, but to his surprise Thakayn made no attempt to finish him off. Instead he leaned over the table and swiped at Hasham, giving Mountain Sky the moment he needed to get his hands on the blade. Jarek touched his side and withdrew his hand to see blood on his fingers. Thakayn had stabbed him. It was only a shallow wound, but it had already begun to burn like fire. When he tried to stand the pain shot down his leg and up his back, and he fell to the floor with a gasp.
When he looked up a jolt of fear joined the pain racing through his muscles as he saw Mountain Sky swipe at Hasham. The priest of the Father yelped, flailed his arms, and staggered back from the table. Mountain Sky thrust the leaf-shaped blade at him, and this time he did not overbalance. The tip plunged deep into Hasham's chest. He dropped to the ground, an exclamation of pain dying on his lips as his eyes glazed over in shock. Mountain Sky yanked the blade out, then rounded on Jarek.
“My poison will finish him,” Thakayn hissed, yanking on Mountain Sky's arm. “Kill Radeen-Na!”
Jarek touched his wound again, unable to mourn Hasham while his own life still hung by a thread. So that was why Thakayn had not attempted to finish him off. A single nick from a poisoned blade was all it took, and Thakayn was a shaman who knew of many awful poisons. At any moment Jarek expected the spreading fire to stiffen his muscles and steal his breath away, but the pain was slow and dull, as if struggling to take root. He tried to move again. It was difficult, but he managed to rise to his feet. So many years had passed since Jarek took the shape of his wolf that it took him a moment to realise why he was not dying. The Sun People's poisons were meant for Sun People, not Moon People. Whatever had been on Thakayn's knife felt like a nettle sting spreading from the site of the wound, but it was not killing him.
Thakayn had turned his back, and Mountain Sky had moved around the table to try and attack Radeen-Na from behind. The priest of the Brother was still putting up a ferocious fight. Jarek had seen the man spar with his warriors before, but never like this. Radeen-Na had not yet taken a single cut, while one of the guards was already bleeding from the arm.
Jarek looked around for Eral, but the boy was cowering beside the passage entrance, pale with fright. He would be of no help. Mountain Sky was about to lunge for Radeen-Na while the two warriors distracted him. Three blades would be too much for him to defend himself against all at once.
“Behind!” Jarek yelled as Mountain Sky moved forward. Radeen-Na took his eyes off the guards for and instant and spun around. His arm flashed out like lightning, and a spray of blood erupted from Mountain Sky's neck. Radeen-Na did not even wait to see the enormous man die before turning back to the guards and sidestepping another stab that had been meant for his chest. Mountain Sky's free hand groped at the edge of the table in confusion for a moment, then he collapsed like a falling tree.
Thakayn rounded on Jarek, his eyes wide with shock. He glanced at his knife, as if struggling to comprehend why the poison had not worked. It was only then that Jarek realised he was defenceless. With or without the poison, the knife was still sharp and deadly.
Jarek raised his arms as Thakayn ran at him, managing to get his hand in the way of the man's wrist before he could stab him in the heart. Jarek staggered backwards. His shoulders hit the wall, sending another burst of burning pain through the wound in his side. Thakayn's face was inches from his, panting and hissing, his expression a hideous twist of fear and hatred. A lock of his blonde hair had been burned, and it clung damply against his cheek, recalling in Jarek's mind the memory of his love gasping in pain on the floor of the passageway with Rat lying dead beside her.
He grit his teeth and pushed back against Thakayn with all his might, gripping the man's wrists in an attempt to keep the knife from piercing his throat. They struggled in a vicious embrace, twisting to and fro, the ringing sounds of Radeen-Na's blade still sounding from the other side of the chamber. Someone cried out in pain, but it was impossible to tell who it had been.
Thakayn bared his teeth, the panic fading out of his expression as he realised that Jarek's grip was faltering. The poison was weakening him. He groaned in dismay and tried to dredge up one final burst of strength from the well within him, but there was nothing left to give. Only his wolf. Jarek stared into Thakayn's eyes, realising that he had no other choices left. Either he could allow the knife to plunge into his neck, or he could reveal his true nature and be branded an abomination. For himself, and for Adel, he let the beast rise and engulf him.
Thakayn seemed to sense something was wrong even before the change took hold. Perhaps it was some feral glimmer in Jarek's eyes, or the sudden intensity of the grip around his wrists, but it made him falter. Jarek pushed back against him as the wolf claimed his body with a chilling howl. So many years had passed that he had forgotten how to control the change. His high priest's tunic shredded from his body rather than coming with him. The metal ringlets around his braids scattered across the floor. In place of fingers he now had claws, and those claws dug through Thakayn's sleeves and bit into his flesh.
The Dawn King recoiled with a scream of terror, throwing himself aside before the enormous sandy-furred wolf could topple forward and crush him. Jarek's claws tore thick woolen threads from Thakayn's tunic as he pulled himself away, then his paws struck stone. He stumbled forward, loping on legs that had barely been used in years. He felt giddy in his wolf's body, the same way he remembered feeling when he'd first made the change as a youth. For a moment he was stunned by the overwhelming keenness of his nose and the sensitivity of his ears. The ring of metal on metal behind him was horrendously loud, and he could smell thick, coppery blood clinging to the inside of his muzzle. Not just blood, but Hasham's blood, Mountain Sky's, his own, and that of one of the guards. Without even having to look his nose told him that Radeen-Na was still alive and unwounded.
Jarek's amazement at the rediscovery of his wolf's senses lasted only a moment, but it was enough for Thakayn to bolt for the doorway. He was not willing to fight one of the Moon People. Jarek ran after him, hearing Eral yell with fear as he tore past. The legs of his wolf carried him as swiftly as a gust of wind. An instant before he reached Thakayn the man spun around, jabbing his knife at the side of Jarek's neck. The blade stuck in somewhere above his shoulder, but there was no time for Jarek to worry about the wound. His jaws closed around Thakayn's arm and bit down hard. Flesh parted and bone crunched. A screech of pain echoed down the passageway.
Suddenly Jarek's urge to fight faded. The taste of blood shocked him into letting go. Thakayn was finished now. The bite had been terribly deep, and if the wound did not kill him then the Moon People's sickness would. Jarek backed away, leaving the moaning Thakayn to collapse to the floor cradling his arm. He tried to get his forepaw up to reach the handle of the knife, but he could not find it. It was still stuck in his body. A nick might not have delivered enough poison to kill him, but a deep wound might. In desperation he abandoned the shape of his wolf, falling to the ground as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him. As he reeled he felt the side of his neck again, but still he could not find the knife. Only when his vision cleared enough for him to see Thakayn's weapon lying on the floor next to him did he realise how fortunate he had been. It had caught in his fur, not his flesh.
A voice cried out from behind him. He turned, staggered upright, tripped, and caught himself against the edge of the table. The poison was making it difficult for him to walk properly, but the burning sensation had
begun to fade. Behind the Dawn King's bench Radeen-Na was still fighting one of the guardsmen. The other lay dead on the floor. Jarek staggered forward, guiding himself with his hands on the table. Before he could reach them the guard's blade nicked the underside of Radeen-Na's forearm, and the priest of the Brother flinched back with a grunt. It was only a shallow wound, but it made Radeen-Na switch his weapon to the other hand. Now the guardsman had the advantage. Radeen-Na could not fight as well with his left hand, and he was forced to dodge and retreat rather than taking swings of his own. Jarek had to help him.
Drawing in a deep breath, he summoned his wolf once again. The effort of changing shape so quickly was draining him even more rapidly than the fading poison. It took him several moments to gather his wits, during which he feared Radeen-Na might take a fatal blow. Then the wolf's strength surged through him, and he lunged.
The guard had been so fixated upon his duel that he did not even see the attack coming. Jarek threw a swipe at the man's side, catching him in the stomach with a heavy blow from his forepaw. It was not meant to kill, but it knocked the wind out of the warrior and send him stumbling sideways. That was all Radeen-Na needed to step in and drive his blade through the base of the man's throat. Then, to Jarek's horror, the priest of the Brother rounded on him and swung again. Jarek leaped away, scrabbling back and reverting from the shape of his wolf. He fell upon the stone floor with a wheeze, holding up his palms to Radeen-Na in a gesture of submission.
Breathing heavily, the priest of the Brother stared at him in disbelief. “What dark magic is this?” he whispered.
“No magic.” Jarek met his gaze, trying to catch his own breath. “Only the truth.”
“You are a demon.”
“I always was. It was why Atalyn chose me. I am one of the Moon People, but I am one of you also.”
Radeen-Na glared at him. He grit his teeth, staring around the room at the bloody carnage they had wrought. Finally his eyes settled upon the body of the guard he had just killed, then he looked back at Jarek. “You saved my life.” Now that the fury of battle had faded, he sounded desperately confused.