43. Cirri
Chapter 43
Cirri
I t was easy to hate cruel men, to hate monsters without a giving bone in their body. It was easy to hate wargs, and selfish little boys like Miro.
Hating Hakkon was like hating the sky for breaking into a thunderstorm. He simply didn’t care; my hate slid right off him, and from the very moment he decided I was of use to him, he was a perfect gentleman.
Led by Miro on the leash, surrounded by an honor guard of wargs, Hakkon led us out into the plains of Foria, leaving the fire and the horse’s mostly-eaten corpse behind.
I stumbled in the dark, my leather bag once more slung over my shoulders, my books tucked away carefully, but I couldn’t see a blessed thing on this cloudy night. Miro was charging well ahead with the lantern, once more holding his head up proudly as he spoke to Hakkon, telling him of my dead family and the estates he’d killed them for.
And why shouldn’t he? He’d narrowly avoided death, and brought Hakkon a true prize: the means to lure Bane over the border, right into a seething tempest of rage and vengeance, a whirlwind of twisted creatures ready to eat him alive.
So he was walking faster, trying to keep up with Hakkon as though he were an equal, a valued lieutenant, and I was left to stumble after him in the dark, tripping on stones and branches, once over an old barricade left over from the war. The tether occasionally pulled at my ankle, nearly upending me, and I’d have to make a dash to catch up with Miro’s steady march.
Until I stumbled over something bigger, plunging forward and just catching myself on my hands. I squinted behind me, seeing that I’d walked right into a half-burned log buried in the grass.
And there were more ahead of us, a whole pile of them; the foundations of an old cabin emerged from the grass, most of it burned black, but no creeping vines or plants had made a home of the ruins. It was simply an untouched pile in the midst of the flatlands.
Hakkon made a low noise, almost a snarl, and one of the wargs crept over the cabin’s remaining wall on all fours and began digging around on its floor, shoveling away at debris with spade-like claws.
Then he motioned to Miro. “Give that to me.”
Miro stared at him for a moment, face taut with strain, and Hakkon curled his lip. “The leash, boy. Give me the leash.”
Miro glanced at me as I picked myself up, not bothering to dust dirt from my palms—no doubt I’d be dragged along again—and licked his lips, clearly debating the merits of telling Hakkon no.
I saw the exact moment he realized it was futile; he no longer controlled the situation. He no longer controlled anything but the chance to save his own sorry skin.
Hakkon took the proffered leash, smiling at Miro in an unpleasant way. “You’ll go first, boy. Into the tunnel with you. Leave the lantern.”
The warg had not been digging at random. The scent of rotting wood filled the air; it had scraped away the trash from the cabin floor and pulled up a trap door with the squeal of rusted hinges, revealing rough-hewn steps. Miro stared at the descent, frozen in place.
“Any day now,” Hakkon said, amused. “You don’t need the little night-light.”
That did it; a vivid flush suffused Miro’s cheeks, and he snapped, “I’m not afraid,” clearly revealing his fear.
Strangely enough, I wasn’t afraid at all. Eight wargs surrounded us, unseen and unheard, but I knew they were prowling the cabin, boxing us in. Nothing down those stairs could possibly be worse than knowing I was watched and hunted at this very moment.
I watched impassively as Miro lowered the lantern to the floor and descended the steps cut into the earth, disappearing into the darkness. Several wargs spilled after him, jeering in high voices to push him along. Two of them carried the saddlebags in clawed hands: the jewels Miro had stolen from the Tower of Spring, stolen again by wolves.
Hakkon extended a hand, helping me over the burned wall.
As I passed over, I did my best not to touch the wood, not leaving so much as a fingerprint in the burned ashes. I wanted to mark it so badly, to leave the tiniest imprint that told Bane I had been here, that I was hoping he’d come; but I was torn down the middle.
One half of me prayed he’d stay in the Rift, believing in Miro’s letter. The other half screamed for him to come, to save me when I needed him most.
But the first half was winning, inch by precious inch, and I kept myself from touching the wood.
Stay away, Bane.
Hakkon grinned at me, noticing that I’d done everything in my power to avoid touching it. He leaned in close, warm breath on my cheek. “That won’t save him, redling. He’ll come for you, sure as the sun rises, and my children will feast.”
I glared at him and he laughed. “Down the stairs, nice and easy. Remember, my sons and daughters are ahead of you and behind you.”
I descended the steps. They went a good fifteen feet into the earth, and opened on a small and empty cellar. The only thing in the cellar was a dug-out doorway, a long, narrow passage just visible beyond it. Far ahead of me, I heard the wargs, the scratch of claws on stone, Miro’s curses as he stumbled in the dark.
The only relief was that it was a single passage. No branching corridors where hungry things might lie in wait—if the Fae still lived anywhere, the wilds of Foria’s Below seemed like the place for it—and the air smelled of simple, honest dirt, not the primordial breath of the mountains.
As soon as I reached the bottom, Hakkon gestured to one of the wargs on the steps. “Collapse the tunnel behind us. Set the cabin alight; make sure the entrance is buried. Several of you must wait for anyone who follows.”
I stared at him in horror, and Hakkon tilted a smile towards me. “Go on now, woman. Unless you wish to be buried under the earth, your bones gnawed and forgotten.”
I started to walk, my leash dragging with every step, making a hissing sound… I looked down, and then up at Hakkon, towering in the passage behind me, his hands empty.
He held his hands up, showing me his palms. “What use is your leash? There’s nowhere to run. Have your freedom, little one.”
That was true, but nonetheless… I didn’t trust even a selfish gesture of kindness from an enemy.
First he would drop the leash, then he would offer me a gift, and with each step, if I accepted, he would be prying the door open further and further, making me susceptible to his generosity. Making me grateful for his kindness, until I could no longer think of him as an enemy or a captor.
I pointed at him, telling him, I know what you’re doing. I won’t trust you, not for a single heartbeat, just because you don’t leash me like a dog.
Hakkon’s grin was a slice of icy white in the shadows. He pulled a knife, and even as I backed up, meaning to run, he knelt and grabbed my leg, pushing my skirt up to my knee.
His hands were warm and rough, callused as only the hands of a soldier or laborer could be. Hakkon sliced through the knot of the tether and tossed it aside, and though I expected something worse, he simply released me, smoothing my skirt as it fell back into place.
I stared up at him, debating fighting to take the knife, but he’d gut me like a pig before I could lay a finger on him; there was nowhere to run in either direction. He was dead right about that.
Hakkon shook his head solemnly, resheathing the blade. “You may not speak aloud, redling, but I see those thoughts in your eyes. It’s a wise choice to back down; when the wolf cannot win, he turns back and lives to fight another day with the pack.”
I sneered and signed, the wolf cannot win against the fiend. If Bane came for you, you’d all be dead.
“Not this time. I have planned for years. When he comes, I will finally destroy my oldest and most beloved enemy.” He grinned even wider, because I couldn’t keep the shock from my face. “Oh, yes, I understand you. The wise man understands the language of his foes.”
Miro has already ruined your plans. Bane doesn’t know where I am. He won’t come for me.
There was a deep, groaning rumble behind us, and I flinched as the sound of several tons of earth collapsing echoed through the tunnel.
Now there was truly no way but forward. I kept one hand on the wall to guide myself forward blindly.
“That soft little boy can’t stand in the way of destiny. All I must do is send one of my wolves to the Rift, a lock of your hair in his mouth, your blood on his teeth… and Bane will come.”
A shiver ran down my spine. It was all too plausible, and the last thing I wanted.
To keep myself from spiraling into despair, I focused on a little detail that had disturbed me.
What do you mean by ‘beloved’? I asked suspiciously, signing broadly as I walked; Hakkon’s brown eyes gleamed yellow in the pitch-black darkness of the tunnels; I knew he could see me clearly. You despise him, you’ve hunted him for years.
“Of course, but every man needs his one great adversary, the foe who forces him to become better, faster, stronger. I have always respected your husband deeply. How could I not?” Hakkon chuckled, a warm, inviting sound. How could a warg sound so… human? “He forced me to acknowledge my weaknesses, to shore them up against the might of his storm. Wargyr was the one who forged me, but Bane… he refined me.”
Instead of answering, I clenched my fists, letting my nails dig into my palms as I walked. The pain cleared my head, kept me sharp.
I was exhausted from the past day, not only from the poison Miro had used, but from riding nonstop, from the terror of riding under the mountains. At times my eyes had drifted closed while on the horse, and only the fear of falling off and breaking my neck had kept me awake then.
Now I was running on nothing, and there was no end to the tunnel. The coolness of the air, the pain in my hands, Hakkon’s footsteps just behind me: those things kept me awake and alert for now.
And by the Light… it was a walk.
One foot in front of the other. One step, one more, and yet another.
But I didn’t falter more than once. The first time I stumbled, leaning against the wall as my body tried to overtake my mind and drag me into a waking half-sleep, Hakkon touched my shoulder. The sort of caress that made me think there were other things on his mind, and I startled upright, suddenly wide awake again.
“I’ll carry you, redling, if you’d rather sleep.”
I cut a narrow look at him, unsure if I was looking in his direction at all, and kept walking, trying to maintain a distance between us and failing. He was always one step behind.
The second time I felt my feet dragging, like I was tugging bricks behind me, eyelids heavy, I decided to speak again.
Why are you still trying to invade us? I asked. The war is over. King Radomil has given up on Veladari land. Why keep trying when you know the fiends will drive you out?
Hakkon hummed to himself, drifting close enough that I felt his sickening body heat in the chill air.
“Let me ask you, little red one, what did you see? Did you look at the land? Did you wonder at the vast and empty ruin of it?”
I raised one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, not wanting to admit that I had. There was nothing in Foria, at least this side of the border, but dry prairie grass and poisoned dirt.
“So you did, then.” Hakkon chuckled. “The Rift was ours, once. Radomil, that weak pretender—I will not call that slinking coward a king—knew that, too. He came to us, promising rich farmlands, rich mines, the territory that was once rightfully ours… and he used us and threw us away. My people starve by the day. The women grow weak, and what few pups are born are stunted and frail.”
My lip curled. The Light only knew what red milk those ‘pups’ needed.
“Bane is an honorable foe, worthy of destruction.” Hakkon raised his eyes to the ceiling as he thought, as though he could see the sky through the earth. “Worthy of my every effort. He has tested me sorely. But Radomil… when we have retaken our land, that worm will not be raised in Wargyr’s dark sight. He will be pissed upon and left to rot, food only for the crows.
“But before that happens, we will take the Rift. We were born there, and we will die there, all of us standing as one. The sheep will feed my hungry children, and I will no longer lament their painful cries as they go to sleep at night with empty bellies. The farmlands will grow our supply, and with the mines and forests we will have secure homes, no longer living in holes in the ground. Until the day comes that I see all the packs under Wargyr’s eye living in comfort, I will keep trying.”
Those sheep are humans, I said furiously. You despise all of humanity. Don’t pretend you’re some hero, not after what you’ve done to these people. You’ve turned them into monsters.
I heard the smile in his voice as he spoke. “Despise? No, redling. Does the shepherd despise his flock? He culls the herd, he feeds his family with their mutton, he spins their wool into cloth for his children’s clothes, but never does he despise them. No, he loves them, he cares for them as though they were his own. As you will all be cared for, tended with the greatest effort.”
That’s monstrous. They’re people, not animals.
“In the wolf’s eyes, all are sheep. Surely you have some knowledge of this—does your own husband not feed on their blood? You will understand when you join us, when you feel the strength and freedom of Wargyr’s blessing.”
My chest and stomach felt full of cold stones, dragging me down. I’d rather be dead , I signed sharply.
“Unacceptable. Miro Kyril has told me of your ancient lineage, your wealthy inheritance. To continue the metaphor, you are the prize among sheep. Your worth lies in your lands and your cunt, not your meat.”
Unseen, facing the darkness, I spat, letting Hakkon know what I thought of that. He laughed openly, unphased.
“You will be fresh blood, the mother of a new pack born on Veladari soil—lai Darran soil. We will raise them there in the safety of your family’s house, and grow strong on the fruitfulness of your land. He has told me of your research, your academics: you will learn the language of the blood-drinkers, and teach us. They will no longer control their own past or teachings. They will eventually die, as they should have done before.”
I stared down the passage, eyes gritty and sore, but the darkness pressed in on them like a solid thing. My hope was already guttering out, like the futile wish in my heart that this was all a nightmare, that I had even a sliver of a chance of escaping.
There was no hope. Miro had murdered my blood-kin, and put me in a position to be used by Wargyr’s high priest for unspeakable things, and as long as I prayed for Bane to stay away, to save himself… there was no hope left over for me.
So. Escape was no longer an option, then. All I could do was ruin myself, refuse to become a pawn for Hakkon’s plans.
I walked faster, trying to put him behind me, following twists and turns until I no longer knew which direction we faced.
It was hours later when Hakkon exhaled, tipping his head from side to side as sharp crackles and pops filled the silence.
“We are close,” he said quietly, as though speaking to himself. “Be good now, red one.”
Never .
Some time later, I heard Miro cry out.
“Stairs ahead, woman. Don’t stumble.”
I managed a sore, tired sort of trot, desperate to be away from Hakkon and the rancid smell of wargs emanating through the tunnel, and found a set of stone steps.
They led upwards in a spiral, and when I reached the top—an empty landing, with an ironbound door cracked open before me—I halted, unable to go any further.
Every fiber of my being screamed at me to turn and run, to flee the wargs that awaited me. The stink in the air… the scent of dirty and mossy stones gave way to their stench, a powerful animal reek of carrion and blood and fur.
“Oh, redling, don’t be afraid.” Hakkon touched a lock of my hair, examining it with a curiosity that was more speculative than lascivious, and it was more disturbing than if he’d felt any sexual urges at all. I could vaguely understand how to handle a man with desires; I had no idea what to do with a man who looked at me like livestock. “None shall harm you.”
It was only the need to get away from that touch that drove me through the door.
I pushed it open, stopping in the doorway at the sight before me.
We were in a tower, so much like the Tower of Winter that I felt an immediate, nauseating tug of homesickness, the taste of tears in my throat.
The curved stone walls were piled with crates and barrels, weapons and provisions. Lanterns, burning a dirty yellow with animal fat, had been hung from the ceiling, illuminating the scene.
Miro had been brought to his knees, kneeling before a man with a thick tangle of dark hair, clan tattoos on his cheeks, and bright white pinpricks in the vast pools of his pupils. Two wargs panted over either shoulder, their hungry eyes focused on Miro, slavering bright silver strings of drool.
“Stand down,” Hakkon said calmly, moving me aside with ease.
I was torn, the vengeance in me screaming for him to be eaten, the human in me praying he’d be released.
Miro’s breath came in short, sharp stutters. “I was told… I should marry Cirrien lai Darran. I will help you gain a foothold in Veladar, and bring more wargs in—”
“There’s been a change of plans, laddie,” Hakkon told him with a broad smile. “You see, you haven’t committed yourself to Wargyr yet.”
“I worship Wargyr, as my father did,” Miro protested, but Hakkon leaned down to stare at him in the eye, each word whispered, yet pelting Miro like stones.
“You’re not one of us.”
I didn’t think a human being could turn the color Miro turned then, a waxen white like a corpse, gray mottling his lips. “I…” He looked from Hakkon to the tattooed guard and back, his glassy eyes traveling over the wargs. “I…”
“You,” Hakkon agreed. “You will give yourself into Wargyr’s embrace tonight. Prove that you’re a wolf in the soul—” He pounded a fist to his own chest. “And not a lamb hiding in men’s clothing. You must hunt or be hunted. Until then…” He smiled at Miro, showing his sharp teeth. “You’re only meat.”
Please, no , I signed. Please .
The same numb terror had come over me again; I was no more than a dreamwalker trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up.
Hakkon gazed at me impassively; he picked Miro up by the collar, bringing him to his feet, then plucked my pen from Miro’s pocket and held it out to me with another winning smile. “This is yours, I believe.”
I took it, because there was nothing else I could do. My fingers wrapped around the cold metal; I thought about the pointed tip, how sharp it might be.
It was not a weapon, and I could only count on one strike.
“Cirri…” Miro breathed, his breath catching in his throat.
I shook my head. What did he want me to do? He had brought himself to this, and all of my thoughts had to go into how to kill Hakkon, to take down the leader of the pack, with a pen and the strength of a single blow.
I would be torn apart afterwards, no doubt, probably so fast I would be dead before I knew what had happened… but without Hakkon leading them, the wargs in chaos, Bane might stand a chance at taking most of them down.
So I tucked my pen safely in my bag, holding it close. It was all I had.
“But my father was Forian,” Miro cried, his voice cracking. “I’m one of you!”
Hakkon tilted his head, all tolerance gone from his brown eyes. “What makes you believe I give a damn, boy? Half my men are from Nordrin, Serissa… does that make them less in the eyes of Wargyr? My own mother was a Veladari merchant. That blood means nothing. It is only the blood blessed by the Great Wolf that matters.”
Suddenly and inappropriately, silent and hysterical laughter bubbled in my throat. I leaned over, letting out the breathy sounds, not even bothering to hide my mouth as I laughed and laughed and laughed.
“What amuses, redling?”
All that time , I said to Miro, my composure fracturing further by the second. All that time you whined and complained about your Forian father, thinking you were mistreated and abused for it. You had everything. Bane gave you a home and asked for the same work ethic he asks of all of us. You could have been a true artist, loved by all. But you had to imagine some terrible injustice, you had to sell every soul in the Rift, my own family, Lady rest them, for your own ego. You had it all and you killed them for nothing.
Hakkon translated my words to Miro, and the fracture inside me gaped wide open, spilling hate as the artist’s eyes widened and became liquid-soft, like the ashamed eyes of a little boy caught stealing.
You little bastard , I signed, and backhanded him across that pale, waxen face.
The sharp crack of my hand across his cheekbone filled the air. The pain in my hand, and the sight of the shock in Miro’s eyes, was so satisfying that I hit him again and again, until Miro was crying for them to stop me, and a hand took mine before I could rain more blows on him.
Hakkon raised his brows. “Ah ah ah, red one. Contain yourself. He is for Wargyr’s judgment, not yours.”
Miro sniveled, blood spilling from his nostril to coat his upper lip.
I gulped down air, swallowing the bubbles of laughter. I even clamped a hand over my mouth, clenching my stinging hand, because I wanted to drag Miro out of here by his hair and rub his nose in the corpses he’d helped make.
All of it for nothing.
“The moon is still full and ripe.” Hakkon stepped to the tower’s outer door, and the wargs slunk around Miro on all fours, not so subtly herding him. “So you will make the sacrifices tonight under his watchful eye. We will see if you are worthy of running with the pack and joining in our hunt.”
Miro glanced over his shoulder, giving me one last, desperate look. As though I could save him.
As though I would save him.
But I was not to sit inside, safe from the wargs without.
“Bring her, Daniil,” Hakkon ordered. “Let her see the change. Her own time will come when her human purpose has been served.”
The tattooed guard held a poniard loosely at his side; on Hakkon’s order, he brought it up, the sharp tip pricking me through my corset. I took a shuddering breath as I followed Hakkon and Miro, driven along like… like a sheep.
And into a far worse nightmare than I’d imagined.
The clouds had tattered and parted, revealing the bright white moon, and its light bathed a sea of wargs.
My lungs crumpled, breathless, as thousands of eyes, all pinpricked with white, stared back at us. Hundreds of restless shaggy bodies milled back and forth, trampling the deadened lands of Foria into mud.
I had thought a hundred wargs too great for Bane to take alone.
But this was an ocean of them. An army vast enough to overrun all the fiends together, by sheer dint of numbers.
Hot tears pricked the backs of my eyes as Hakkon elbowed Miro down the stairs onto packed earth.
The wargs parted, and the poniard jabbed, and I followed. Down into the sea of spindly limbs, snouts stretched too long, high-pitched jeers and cackles emerging from the tooth-lined gullets.
They crowded in around us, only thinning out as Hakkon led Miro to a sort of cage sunk into the mud. Built of timbers and scrap iron, reinforced with plates of wood and metal, it was a hideous eyesore, but its contents were worse.
A woman, filthy from head to toe, hardly more than skin and bones, wrapped her thin fingers around a plank of wood. “I know you,” she whispered. “You’re one of Lord Bane’s men. Help us.”
Miro stared at her blankly.
Her eyes were too big in that skeletal face. “Please help us.” Her voice cracked. The others in the cage didn’t move, slumped over like corpses, but their eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
Hakkon extended an arm. “Here is your sacrifice, Miro Kyril. Your father’s blood does not matter. Your mother’s blood does not matter. All that matters is that you hold rage in your heart, and give Wargyr the proper offering.”
Miro’s fingers twitched as he stared at the woman and her fellow prisoners, five in total. He reached for the knife at his belt, and Hakkon shook his head. “No steel. Only tooth and claw, boy. You have to mean it, or you’re meat for the pack.”
Miro was hyperventilating, tears running down his cheeks, but I was watching the cage, wondering if there was a way to free them… but even if, by some mad chance of fate, I could break away some of the boards, they would have to run through a sea of hungry wargs. There was a poniard drawing a slow trickle of blood at my ribs, and a warg panting at my heels.
There was no escape for any of us.
“Release the first one,” Hakkon called, and one of the guards in a human skin unlatched a door in the cage, grabbing the woman who’d called out, and dragged her into the open air. She was forced to her knees before Miro.
I closed my eyes, hands shaking, and heard Miro whisper, “Please.”
“Get to it,” Hakkon murmured, his brogue thicker than ever, almost perverse in how melodical it became as the bloodlust drew nearer. “Give Wargyr his due, or you will take her place and feed the hungry young.”
Miro sobbed, just once, a dry and dusty sound.
I forced myself to open my eyes. She was Rift-kin, one of my people, and someone had to bear witness. Even if I couldn’t save her.
The traitor, that bastard, closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. He opened them again, staring wildly at the wargs surrounding us, the unending ranks of misshapen bodies.
Without another word, still breathing rapidly, Miro began unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt. His hands trembled at first, moving more quickly with each button until he was ripping them off, peeling away his clothes to reveal a smooth, bronzed back and shoulders.
His lips drew back, showing flat white teeth, a snarl emerging with every breath as he built up a head of rage, a vein pulsing in his temple.
He fell on the woman.
She screamed, a high, reedy sound that made the wargs howl, and I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stop myself. Miro’s fingers dug into the woman’s arms, the tendons in his arms and throat standing out like cords as fingertips punctured skin. He sank his teeth into her cheek, ripping his head sideways with a sharp jerk and tearing flesh away.
Acrid bile rose in my throat at the sounds, and all I could do was swallow it back down, twitching with every ripping tear and snarl.
“Bring another,” Hakkon said, and I opened my eyes to see him smiling faintly. “One is not enough for this little lamb.”
Miro crouched over the woman’s body, that sleek bronze skin shining wet and visceral, panting through a mouth painted with gore.
The muscles under his skin wriggled and shifted, slug-like and nauseating. His nails looked sharper, longer.
This time he didn’t wait when the wargs dragged another prisoner before him. He dug his hands into the man’s stomach, ripping through soft skin to draw his guts out amidst the shrieks.
I bent in half, swallowing hard, my mouth full of saliva and my nose filled with the sharp, hot reek of fresh blood, Miro’s snarls becoming deeper, more sonorous, with every second that passed.
Hakkon touched my hair. “You’ll have to grow a stronger stomach to run with the hunt, red one. Your husband did this; should you not look upon it with pride in his ferocity?”
I slapped at his hand, straightening myself, and saw Miro plunge his face into the prisoner’s torn-open chest. There was a sharp crack, but it wasn’t the breaking of the victim’s bones.
Miro screamed, rearing back, and I saw that his skull had split, cleaving wide open from the crown of his head to his nose, his jaw jutting forward and distending his face…
I put a hand over my mouth, screaming silently, nothing but a thin hiss of air emerging. Miro’s screams were raw and guttural, tearing from a throat as broken as mine.
His skin was splitting, his human face stretched flat and warped, eyes bulging wildly as something, glistening slick and wet, began to emerge from the terrible gash in his skull.
Hakkon’s hands caught me as I threw myself back from the emerging warg, clamping around my arms like bands of iron even as I clawed at him with my nails.
“She’s seen enough of the birth. Take her up, Daniil, and guard the door. He’ll want more to eat.”
He forced me into another set of harsh hands, and there was no fighting the inexorable tide drawing me away from the awful sight of Miro and the things on the ground before him.
Those hands picked me up, and I was flung over a hard shoulder. It drove into my guts, punching the breath from my lungs.
With black blooming before my eyes once more, I didn’t remember the trip to the top of the tower. I sucked in desperate breaths, clinging to consciousness with sheer willpower even as Daniil dumped me onto a cold stone floor.
For a while I laid there, twisting in pain around my bruised stomach, pulling air into pummeled lungs. The screaming was still audible, cutting like a knife through the howling of a thousand wargs.
I didn’t move until much later, when the sun crept through a narrow window to paint the walls red. It was a small room, with a tiny cot on the far wall from the door, and a small table and chairs under the window. All of it simple, crude; a tower for a prisoner.
I got to my feet, clutching my sore stomach, and tested the door as quietly as I could. It was locked, of course. I crept to the window next and looked down.
A long, long way down. The fields of Foria were muddy and churned, the wargs gone beneath the surface into their burrows.
There, in that slick and blackened patch of earth…
I hiccuped, choked, and closed my eyes. Miro was one of them now.
And with all those burrows, those thousand wargs lying in wait… there was no escape.