Chapter 12 Baying of the Hounds
Baying of the Hounds
As the sun slipped below the vast horizon, night rose to sing its lament. With the uncertainty of cyclical patterns during Duskfall and the Bleed, Resh could not know if the sun would rise again.
He stood by the Polis lantern at his desk, his jaw tight as he fastened, buckled, and hooked together the sections of Morvane, the Resh’Agar’s aethersteel armor.
Each piece was unique, irreplaceable, enchanted with runes and glyphs that worked in a seamless system with the Runesgram carved into his spine, chest, and ribs.
If even one were missing, the rest would fail.
Not that he needed it. Even armed with only the runes etched into body, he could activate most of the spells he required for combat. But without his armor as an anchor, the cost was his living blood.
Chest plate, leg plates, pauldrons, gauntlets.
He checked every onyx-colored piece. Finally, he donned the Morvane mask, a piece of curved metal that covered the lower half of his face.
The Crafters had forged it to resemble a beast’s maw with fangs, a theme which matched the ominous spikes on his shoulders and arms.
Intimidating.
Frightening.
Not much use against Varkhounds.
A whisper of a sound behind him. He turned to see mystic silver eyes following his every move.
Auryn’s pupils weren’t black, nor did they respond to the flickers of the light.
They glowed, pearl-like, suspended in eyes as pale and ancient as forgotten myth.
Always, it seemed, she saw right into him.
“You’re awake,” Resh smiled. “How do you feel?”
She blinked at him for a moment. “Kailorien, I am wearing shoes.”
Resh paused, confused, until Auryn’s feet shifted under the blankets and emerged from the furs. He’d covered them in wool to keep her warm.
“Those are socks, Auryn,” he explained.
“I don’t like them.” She tried to sit up but quickly sagged back against the pillows.
“Whoa, easy now.” He strode over to her and knelt by the bed. “Let me help you. Thessia brought you back late last night. You were exhausted.”
He took each small foot in his hand and tugged off the socks. The world would break this creature if her feet trod its paths too soon. And yet, she never looked afraid. Not even now, with his monstrous armor covering him like a second skin.
She didn’t flinch.
Instead, she looked thoroughly pleased. She wiggled her toes as though finally freed from some kind of binding.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded before going still, her eyes looking into him again. “You look different. Not like Kailorien.”
“It’s my armor. I suppose it’s a bit unsettling seeing it for the first time.”
“No.” Auryn shook her head. “It fits you. But just the armor. Not the purpose.”
Resh froze, goosebumps breaking out on his arms at her words. The tent flapped open, letting in the scent of mud and blood and rising mana. Zarrek stepped through, mist beading on his pauldrons.
“They’re closing in,” he said. “We’ve got hounds on every side. The men are ready to take a stand. Blades are in position.”
“Me too,” said a voice from behind.
Auryn swung her legs over the side of the bed with a resolve sharper than any blade. Pale. Shaking. Upright.
“I want to help.”
Zarrek tilted his head. “Not sure if you’d be help or hazard. Most of those men wouldn’t even see you under ‘em.”
Auryn lifted her chin. “They will see me. My hair is very bright.”
She glanced at Resh’s blade…then at her hands. “I don’t need a weapon. I will stop the hounds. Their cries hurt. They sing to the sky. I will remind them how to sleep.”
Resh crossed the space in a heartbeat and placed his hands on her shoulders—gentle, grounding. “Auryn,” he said, quiet but firm. “You’ve been unwell. You try to hide it, but I can see it.”
She met his gaze with a frown. “My body is tired. But my magic sings.”
His heart twisted. Her silver eyes burned with purpose, and some part of him wanted to let her. To see what she could do again. To let the world watch her shine. But that wasn’t what she needed. So, Resh knelt—fully armored, the silver threads of his aethersteel mask gleaming in the lantern light.
“If you want to help,” he said, “steady the horses. You like whispering to them, don’t you?”
Auryn’s mouth pulled into a reluctant line. “They like my songs, especially Astenos.”
“I know they do. And I believe you could help us.” He reached up, brushing her hair back from her cheek, just once. “But I will not use your power for something we can do ourselves. Save it. For yourself. For when it’s needed. For when I can’t protect you.”
Their eyes locked. Her breath caught. He waited. No command. Only invitation.
“All right,” she whispered. “I will stay.”
Resh smiled, relief welling in his chest.
“Good girl. Stay within the fence line. We’ll do the rest.”
When Resh and Zarrek reached the fences, his Second tapped him on the shoulder.
“She’ll be fine.”
Resh clenched his jaw. “She’s going to get herself in trouble one day.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to stop her.”
“That’s the problem,” Resh muttered. “She doesn’t stop. She just…listens. Smiles. Says she understands. Then goes and does what she wants anyway.”
Zarrek snorted. “Maybe because she knows she’s right. She stopped a tidal wave, Resh. Alone.”
“She shouldn’t have to.” Resh glanced at his brother in arms. “And I won’t always be there, Zar.”
“So, you’ve taken my advice for once? Gonna let her go?”
Resh shifted his weight between his feet. The grip on his blade grew so tight it dug into his skin through his glove.
“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted. “But I must.”
Zarrek looked taken aback for a moment. Then his gaze settled back on the horizon. “Then yeah, I can see the concern.”
Howls filled the air—monstrous bellows mixed with human screams of terror. Voices called and beckoned, but they did not belong to men.
“Help us!” one voice cried.
“Kill…ssslay…eat…” another hissed.
“Sskin…alive…eat…thrash…”
“Save us! Save us all!”
Beyond the timbre of the words purred a growl, vibrating beneath each syllable’s unnatural shadow.
Resh drew his crystal blade. Zarrek reached back and pulled his colossal battleaxe free from its bindings.
The varkhounds were close, already mimicking their prey to instill a sense of dread.
Once they devoured man flesh, they stole their victim’s voices, learned enough words to keep the fear alive in what they hunted next.
With each moment, more and more Reskala formed up at the fences, their weapons drawn, their runes glowing beneath their armor.
A shoulder bumped against his—sharp, intentional. Thessia.
“Worried your moonbeam will get bruised?” she murmured, cocking her head as she cracked her knuckles. Resh didn’t answer, but the flicker in his jaw must’ve betrayed him, because she let out a low laugh. “Gods, you’re gone for her.”
He turned to shoot her a look. “Eyes front, Thess.”
“Always, Resh’Agar,” she drawled, saluting playfully. “But if she ever needs a new tent—mine’s warm.”
As she passed behind him, her glaive tapped against the back of his thigh hard enough to make him shift.
Resh growled, low and unmistakable. “Thess.”
She grinned wider, clearly delighted. “Don’t scorch your veins over it. She’s dug in behind two lines of shielded wagons. Wind’s with us, not against—she’ll be fine. Even if a rift breaks open, it’s going to form near us, not her. She’s safer there than in the command tent.”
He didn’t say anything. But something in his shoulders loosened. Just a little.
“Besides,” she added. “Your girl glows like the moon. Even the beasts won’t know what to do with that.”
Resh's hands flexed at his sides, fists tightening and loosening once, as if trying to wring the worry from his bones. Thessia gave a final smirk and turned away, slipping into formation with the ease of a seasoned predator.
The howls rolled closer. A gust of sour wind cut across the field.
Zarrek stepped up beside him, eyes scanning the darkness. “Better throw one more guard to the horses, don’t you think? Maybe two.”
Resh motioned for one man to come close. Bigger than his fellow warriors, he lumbered over. When he stood before his Commander, his hands flew out to sign Resh’s title in the silent language of Krystopolis.
Hail the Resh’Agar.
The Fist to Crush the Spine.
Arm of the Void.
“At ease,” Resh said. He pointed to the other side of the fences where he could already see a flash of silver standing with the horses. “You’re reassigned. Take one more and stand there. Keep the horses safe.”
The Reskala’s eyes flew wide. He signed—'Gratitude, mighty Resh’Agar. To guard the Sokar is honorable.’
Resh’s throat tightened. “She’s not the Sokar,” he said.
The Reskala only smiled wider, like he hadn’t heard him at all. If anything, he looked even more pleased as he nodded, saluted, and turned to fetch a second guard.
“Now focus,” Zarrek shoved him. Hard.
A normal man would have sprawled into the mud. But Resh just leaned sideways, smiled, and nudged him in return. Their teeth gleamed white in the pallor of the moonlight.
The howls struck again, this time close. Deafening. A wall of earsplitting shrieks.
Resh pulled his mask into place. It hissed as it sensed the mana in his skin, and as it sealed against his face, the runes within the aethersteel erupted in a blinding blue glow.
One by one, each symbol connected with the next in a spiderweb across his armor.
Shoulders, chest, arms, legs, and feet. The power dug inside him, searching, seeking blood.
In a silent cry, the aethersteel answered, providing an anchor for the mana drain.
The seal was complete.
The armor breathed.
Resh endured the pull—of mana, breath, pain, clarity.
He didn’t flinch. Over centuries, it had become a part of him. Now, the knives clawing at his ribs, chest, and spine were familiar torments. He welcomed them.
If I am not the Resh’Agar…
Then I am no one.