Direbound (The Wolves of Ruin #1)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

I t isn’t hard to wake before dawn the next morning. I’ve been lying awake for at least an hour before I start to hear others rustling in their tents.

Alessandra wasn’t wrong, I’m sure the warmth of us both together was better than apart, but it was still damn cold, and no matter how many times I shifted around, I couldn’t get away from the rocks and roots that stuck into my back at jagged angles.

So much for the tough Alleycat. Defeated by a tree root and some cold air.

I kick off my bedroll and gently shake Alessandra’s shoulder. Somehow, she managed to fall into a deeper sleep at some point in the night, evident in the high-pitched snore she’s been making ever since.

Her eyes snap open right away, and I can tell by the way they dart back and forth that she’s having trouble remembering where we are, what’s coming next.

“It’s time to get ready for the Ascent,” I say. “Rise and shine.”

Outside, everyone is stirring. Henrey breaks down his tent with cool efficiency. He catches my eye and gives me a nod.

Our packs on our backs, we struggle over to the center of the clearing, where a huge group of recruits is massing. It’s hard to tell because I can’t see the full group, but between the commoners and the recruits from Bonded families, it seems like there are hundreds of us, maybe as many as a thousand.

Everyone is shivering as the pale dawn light seeps through the fir needles to light up exhausted faces, but it’s hard to miss how the Bonded recruits are just so obviously better prepared.

Those twin sisters I noticed are pink-cheeked from the cold, but they’re talking fast back and forth with their hands, one laughing at the other’s communication, much more alert and cheerful than anyone near me.

“I’d be laughing too if I had some of those thick furs to keep me warm,” Alessandra says in a low tone that only I can hear.

I grimace back at her. “Or if I’d been training for this?”

The rich recruits all sport shiny-looking crampons on their boots and carry well-oiled coils of rope over a shoulder. Many of them sling deadly looking pickaxes back and forth, the tools clearly familiar in their hands, warming up their muscles for the climb ahead.

Thankfully, Lee knew enough to get me well kitted out. The equipment we found in Sturmfrost isn’t quite as nice as this stuff, but it seems significantly more sturdy than what the army is providing for everyone else.

There are a few clusters of crooked camp tables set up around the front of our gathering with some dingy-looking climbing gear for anyone who hasn’t brought the equipment they need. Everyone’s hanging back, though, so they must have been instructed not to grab anything yet.

I stoop to pull my own crampons out of my bag, tightening them on my boots one at a time before slinging my pack back over my shoulders. If the Bonded recruits have theirs on already, it must make sense to put them on now.

Watching around me out of the corner of my eye, I make a few adjustments to the straps of my bags, making sure the weight is distributed evenly.

Groups of recruits are hovering as close as they can get to the tables of equipment, trying to identify what to grab when the moment comes. Others squat to adjust their own gear, reshuffling things in their packs and chattering anxiously.

A loud horn sounds and everyone goes silent, looking around for the source—but it’s plain to see. At the base of the mountain are two Bonded riders astride their massive direwolves, towering above the crowd. One is a woman, and the other is…

The officer I saw back in the Central Market, the one who was dragging that deserter behind him. The dead-eyed psychotic killing machine.

He’s holding one of those cone-shaped voice amplifiers and is absolutely glowering down at the rest of us from astride his hulking black direwolf.

I’m able to get a better look at him, now that I’m not distracted by the way his direwolf is tearing a human being apart.

He’s somehow taller than I remembered and broad shouldered, with light brown skin and dark hair that is still surprisingly messy for someone so obviously controlled. He’s wearing riding leathers and fur, but even from a distance I can see the bulky muscles of his arms, strong enough that he could undoubtedly kill a man with his bare hands.

Probably has, too.

At that thought, my gaze is drawn again to the kill tattoos littering his hands and neck.

Yep, definitely a murderous monster.

His face is viciously beautiful, with thick eyebrows and full lips that are pulled into a sneer as he looks over the crowd. It’s unfair how all the Bonded are so… hot. Even assholes like this guy. He raises the amplifier to his mouth.

“Good morning. For those of you who don’t know me—” At this, his gaze trails over the ragged commoner side of the crowd. The disdain in his voice makes it clear what he thinks of anyone who doesn’t automatically know him. “I am Stark Therion, Alpha of the Daemos pack and one of the instructors during this year’s Bonding Trials.”

It’s clear that we’re supposed to have an impressed reaction to that, based on the excited titters that pass through the Bonded part of the crowd.

Good for you , I want to snark back at him, bristling at his imperious tone. And I’m the Queen of Shit Mountain .

He shifts on his wolf as he talks, his movements sharp, precise. “Being Bonded requires great sacrifice. The direwolves have lived in this range since before our history started. They’ve always been our allies, but before they choose to bond, they need proof that the human they’ve chosen is… worthy .”

His eyes sweep over the crowd. I get the sense that he himself is weighing our value and finding us distinctly unworthy.

“As is tradition, of course, any army recruit gets the chance to bond.” His tone nakedly betrays his disbelief that anyone but the Bonded progeny will be found worthy. “There are usually about a hundred wolves ready to bond and there are at least a thousand of you. And the wolves will choose from the first who make it to the peak. So. Don’t dawdle.”

He grins cruelly, exposing his teeth, looking as wolfish as the beast he sits astride.

“Do what you need to do to get to the top first.”

Someone from the Bonded family side of the clearing whoops, and a few guys around him snicker. Alessandra and I exchange a loaded look. This man is basically telling us to throw each other off the mountain on our way up.

Good thing she and I both plan to take the long way up, hopefully staying well out of the way of any conflict.

The crowd has begun murmuring, other common-born recruits clearly coming to the same conclusions Alessandra and I have. The man silences us with a shrill whistle, magnified tenfold by his amplifier.

“ Everyone must attempt the Ascent, as requested by the direwolves. Beta Egith,” he gestures to the woman on the wolf next to him, “and I will be here to ensure that you go up that mountain. Our wolves have been away from the front for days and are bored. It would be entertaining for them, and for us, to chase you. You do not want us to do that. You especially don’t want us to catch you.”

The threat is bone-chilling. We go up the mountain on our own or this living villain and his hell hound will hunt us down and probably kill us.

“Remember! The direwolves are not dumb beasts. They are dangerous, sentient beings and they deserve your utmost respect.”

He hands the amplifier to the woman he referred to as Beta Egith and she raises a hand.

“Move out, recruits! Let the Ascent begin.”

Immediately, chaos erupts. The group from the Bonded City takes off like a shot. Meanwhile, dozens of common-born recruits have descended on the gear tables. Some grab the piece or two they’ve been eyeing and then clear out, but others attempt to sort through the gear, and fights erupt over the tables as two or three people try to grab the same item.

Somewhere by one of the tables, a pained scream rings out, then is suddenly muffled.

I take a steadying breath as the bleak truth of this day is brought into sharp relief: people are going to die.

Alessandra looks at me in panic and then starts to move, trying to push her way through the crowd. I grab her arm.

“Stop, Alessandra,” I say. “Think for a minute. We should stick together, look out for each other.” Her skin is already frosty below her flimsy coat.

“Absolutely not,” she says with a sharp edge. I fall back at the tone. Her voice is full of fear and something darker, something like despair. “I can’t put my life in anyone’s hands, not even yours.”

She’s gone before I can say anything else. I stare at the spot where she disappeared in shock. Bodies swarm after her, others seeking that slower path up that Henrey told us about.

“Goddess keep you,” I mutter, then turn away, looking to find the best path forward for myself, away from the melee of bodies.

Skirting around the edges of the clearing, I watch as the flow of recruits noticeably splits in two, with the tall and handsomely outfitted headed straight for a rocky incline that tips sharply up and up, and many others headed for what looks like a path of to the left.

I press back against a tree, waiting for the way to clear a bit more. I’m not trying to race, I don’t care about getting to the top fast.

I do care about staying out of the way of some idiot who’s so afraid of what’s coming that they accidentally swing an ice pick into my face.

Or maybe not so accidentally. To my left, a sharp wail catches my attention, followed by a choked sound.

It’s a sound I’ve heard a few times before, in the fighting ring—that sound when someone gives up hope after an especially brutal hit. And it sounded like a woman.

Shit .

Against my better judgment, I leave the safety of my cover and turn back, checking to find the source.

My eyes dart between the running bodies, searching for a breath or two before I see them. It’s the beautiful girl from last night, one of the twins from a Bonded family, the one with the longer hair. She’s down on the ground, and there’s a dark-haired man atop her, also one of the wealthy Bonded.

He’s holding her down by her throat.

I see white, and I’m running toward her without thinking, my body instinctively preparing to fight, muscles tensing.

“I’m going to enjoy this, you little bitch,” the man’s voice says as I near, though his back is still turned to me. The woman is wheezing below him as he holds her down with one hand, strangling her with the other. “You think you’re too good for me? That’ll be the last thing you think.”

The last word is barely out of his mouth when my foot slams into his face.

I forgot about the metal crampons on my boot—they tear into the meat of his cheek viciously, gouging a hole and ripping the top of his ear. The impact jolts him to the side and he falls to the ground, freeing the woman.

“What the fuck ,” he snarls, turning to face me as he rises. His gorgeous face is wrecked, his cheek like pulped meat. I’d say that I feel bad about it, but I really, really don’t.

He reaches under his furs for what I can only assume is his knife. Before he can grab it, my other foot is already flying around, and the toe of my boot connects with his groin.

His strangled wheeze is the most satisfying thing I’ve heard all year.

Letting my momentum carry me forward, I slam him down to the ground, holding him firmly down with both knees and tucking my own small dagger, always at the ready in my sleeve, neatly against his neck.

“When you get up, you better fucking run.” My voice is calm, almost pleasant. “Or I’ll gut you.”

I hop off of him and back up, eager to check on the woman to be sure she’s not seriously injured, but keeping an eye on him in case he still wants to try something.

He’s gotten the message, though. He scrambles away, blood dripping out the wound in his cheek, dotting the neck of his furs in a thick, viscous crimson.

“You cunts better hope you fucking die during the Ascent. Because if you make it out, I’ll be waiting, and my wolf will tear you to pieces.”

Big words, from someone who was just in the dirt. I wait to be sure he’s actually gone before turning around to the woman behind me.

She’s pulled herself up and is brushing the dirt and slush off her clothing, breathing heavily.

Our eyes meet. “Thank you,” she breathes. At that moment, her sister appears by her side.

“ Izabel .”

The women clasp each other in a brief hug before breaking apart so that their hands have space to move rapidly in a pattern of communication I can’t hope to follow. My eyes bounce back and forth between them, dizzied by the speed of their communication.

Cutting herself off mid-gesture, the second woman turns to me. Up close, she’s the mirror image of her twin—same golden skin, same dark eyes—and the only difference is her chin-length hair.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have a clue what we’re saying. And you saved her. My sister.” She gulps a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m Venna. That’s Izabel,” she waves toward her sister. “I’m hard of hearing so it’s easier sometimes to sign.”

Izabel smiles at me, gratitude in her eyes.

“It was no problem,” I assure them. “I have zero tolerance for people who fight dirty, and can sense a rat from a league away. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Izabel has started to stalk back and forth, staring off at where the man disappeared into the rush of bodies. Her eyes are ablaze with fury. “ That rat’s name is Jonah. He’s been after me ever since I turned him down a fortnight ago. Of course he’d try to attack me here, not even properly on the mountain. That fucker.”

Her hands flash again toward her sister, and Venna signs back at her as she says aloud, “I know, I thought you were right behind me.” Izabel winces.

I uncork my waterskin and take a quick drink, swishing it around in my mouth while I decide what to do next. The crowd is thinning, so it might be my cue to head to that slower path, perhaps keeping to the rear where I can stay out of the path of assholes—or help anyone else who has fallen behind. I check the straps of my packs, re-sheath my dagger, and then turn to say goodbye to the two women.

Izabel and Venna have been conversing again, and as I open my mouth to speak, Izabel spins toward me and says, “Right then. You’ll join us on the Ascent.”

Huh.

“That’s really not?—”

Venna and Izabel exchange a loaded look “You saved Izabel’s life,” Venna says simply. “So now we’ll save yours.”

“I’ll be fine,” I protest. “I’m going to take the slow path. I’m not interested in Bonding.”

Izabel shakes her head sharply. “It’s not any safer, not really. Especially if you’re alone. People are terrified and cold and hungry, they lash out at each other. It’s a bloodbath. Plus there are the pricks like Jonah who pick off a few recruits here and there just to see if they have any good gear to grab.”

I purse my lips, looking toward the ever-thinning crowds.

Venna clasps her hand around my forearm before I can continue to protest. “There’s safety in numbers for this climb, trust us. I know you can protect yourself, I saw how fucking amazing you were just now when Jonah jumped Izabel. But you need someone watching your back.”

Izabel nods emphatically.

I shift back and forth, my boots gripping the ground awkwardly with the metal crampons. It’s possible they’re right.

After all, I wanted to follow Lee’s advice to go up the mountain with an ally, and I can tell they’d be good ones. Their packs of gear look new and sleek, and they’re both my height or maybe even a touch taller, with broad shoulders and strong-looking legs. The way they move betrays years of training, like dancers… or pit fighters.

Fuck, Izabel was on the ground under her wannabe murderer just moments ago, and she’s already back in a fighting stance, ready to get moving.

But following them would go against my entire plan. The wind picks up in a harsh whistle, whipping across my face, and I turn my head to brace myself against it. I notice the two Bonded riders are still waiting at the base of the mountain, watching and waiting as the recruits clear out.

With a jolt, I realize that Stark Therion is staring me down, his gaze nothing short of malevolent. His feral black direwolf bares its teeth, and while I can’t hear it from this distance, I can tell that it’s growling at me.

A thought hits me with absolute certainty: if I take the slow path, that wicked man and his wicked wolf are going to hunt me down. The only way to survive is to go where they can’t follow.

I cock my head at the twins. “Well. After you, then.”

We’ve barely begun and we’re already scrambling over gigantic slabs of rock, using tree trunks and branches to leverage our way over massive boulders covered with sheets of ice and snow. The path, if it can be called a path, doesn’t wind back and forth the way any sane person would make their way up a mountain.

Instead, it seems to go straight up.

We’re already behind; signs of boots and crampons and poles and picks mark the way. Big chunks are ripped out of a tree trunk at one of our resting points, and we all gaze at the scars on the wood, silent.

In less than half an hour, any semblance of a path disappears, replaced by a wall of mottled gray stone speckled in ice.

Venna and Izabel are mirror images of each other as they both drop their packs on the ground and begin removing gear—harnesses, ropes, and a pair of small pickaxes each.

“Well, fuck,” I say, watching. “I brought some rope, but I didn’t expect to need a harness or ice picks…” Lee probably didn’t even think of it, since there was no reason I’d be going up the mountain the hard way.

Venna’s mouth quirks in a smile. She roots around in her pack, then unearths another harness, holding it out. “No problem.”

“We brought an extra,” Izabel explains. “We’ve heard that, well… sometimes the fastest way to beat someone up the mountain is to mess with their gear.”

I accept the harness cautiously. “But the picks?”

“We’ll trade off,” Izabel assures me. “Venna can start without. She’s like a spider when she climbs. Her free climbing is insane. You’ll see.”

Venna removes a pair of supple leather gloves from her pack, pulling them on like a second skin.

“If you’re sure…” I grab the axes from Izabel’s outstretched hands, tie them to my pack where I can reach them if need be, then look dubiously up at the slabs of rock and jagged boulders above, punctuated by patches of slick black ice. “I just don’t see how anyone could climb that, equipment be damned.”

Venna laughs, the sound surprising in the bleak landscape. “It’s honestly not even the hardest part of this. The hardest part is going to be?—”

Something large falls from above, dangerously close to us, and we all flinch to the left. I hear a gruesome wet thud.

A body.

The broken remains of a person are less than three feet away from us. There’s something warm and damp on my face, and I realize that in the impact, blood from the person’s wounds splattered up in a grisly fountain, landing on me and Venna’s furs, and painting Izabel in lines of red.

We all stare.

The corpse looks almost fake, the angles of its body twisted and unnatural, like a statue of a person made by a being that’s never seen one of us before. Blood oozes from a massive wound in his chest, and seeps out from his head and mouth, which is still open in a final scream.

I recognize him, I realize. He’s the boy from the fire last night, the one who was too young to even grow in his beard.

“That’s the hard part,” Izabel finishes Venna’s sentence finally. “The bodies. Watching out for the bodies.”