Chapter 11
IS THAT A HARPY?
Arioch
The pounding of metal led me to the brick outbuilding near the stables. I announced my approach with heavy footfalls. Leander’s hearing had begun to fail, and one simply did not creep up on a warrior surrounded by weaponry.
He towered over his anvil, smithing hammer gripped in one gnarled hand as he tempered the glowing metal. I cleared my throat and stepped in. Leander lowered his tool and dipped his head in deference.
“Lord Arioch.” The rumble of his baritone was deep enough to rattle the windowpanes.
“Leander.”
Most magical beings could heal non-lethal injuries, but the centuries had stolen that gift from the minotaur, whose years were carved into the deep lines of his face.
A faded scar nearly cleaved his muzzle in two.
The shorn horn had happened when he was a prisoner of war, as had the missing third finger on his left hand.
He would carry the evidence of his torture for the rest of his life.
Despite his advanced age, power still hummed from his hands and illuminated his cloudy eyes as he fed magic into the metal before him.
Beyond the minotaur’s broad back, a gnome child perched on an upturned bucket, watching the blacksmith work, seemingly enthralled by the sight. A smile tugged at my lips.
“Anker.”
The child startled, gaped up at me, and then remembered himself and jolted to his feet with a bow. Having seen only eleven summers, the boy stood barely over two feet tall. “Forgive me, m’lord.”
“Forgiven.”
“When he was your age, Lord Arioch spent time in the smithy, too,” Leander said.
Anker’s face lit up. “You did?”
“I did. And I highly recommend it.”
“You don’t think I should be out in the fields with my parents?”
Anker’s parents tended the estate’s crops and gardens with the innate earth magic of their kind. Their son, it seemed, had other ambitions.
“There is nothing wrong with a well-rounded education,” I said. “Learn what you can from whoever is willing to teach you. With parental approval, of course.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Speaking of your parents, where are they this afternoon?”
“Fixing the breach in the hedge.”
I should have known the gnomes would already be on the task and made a mental note to thank them for their diligence.
“I heard about the visitor we had last night,” Leander said.
“A thief who will be dealt with in due time,” I assured them both. Wanting to discuss anything other than the troublesome female, I studied what he was crafting. “Is that a hatchet?”
“Yes.” He released the flow of magic and assessed the blade before setting it aside.
“Clymene says the estate will soon require one, but that can wait. Now, I must see to Silentium.” His gaze drifted to the hilt protruding from behind my left shoulder, and his fingers curled in anticipation of the opportunity to work with my blade.
I drew the longsword and handed it over. An elven blacksmith had crafted Silentium more than a century ago, yet the blade held its edge, never rusting or tarnishing.
Leander turned it over in his hand with open admiration, as he did all expertly crafted weapons, asking, “When do you intend to set out?”
“The day after tomorrow.” The delay would give me two more nights to pry information from Ziara. I dared not wait any longer.
He considered my answer a moment before rumbling, “I will accompany you.”
Careful to keep my expression neutral, I pretended to consider the offer.
The bloodstone was somewhere to the northwest. The distance was significant, and I would need to fly.
Leander’s pride would never permit him to ride on my back or in my claws, and even if he could somehow keep pace with me on the ground, he was riddled with arthritis and stooped with age.
He would never survive the trip, but perhaps death was his intention.
My hoard held a memory of Leander sharing his life story with my grandsire.
His suffering eclipsed any tragedy I had witnessed or inherited.
When the minotaur was young and foolhardy, he had taken on a contract to wipe out a settlement, not realizing it was full of innocents.
An Arae—a demon spirit—had cursed him to live out two lifetimes of misery as a result.
“You answered the call of the manor to live out the remainder of your days in peace,” I said.
He harrumphed. “I am a warrior, m’lord. A peaceful death holds no honor for me.”
The surrender in his eyes tightened my chest.
“I need you here. Guarding our people,” I said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Leander had sworn fealty to me, and I would not relinquish it.
Not now. When he started to reply, I forced the growl out of my voice and added, “With the ward destroyed, our people will be vulnerable in my absence. I am trusting you to keep them safe. They need you, Leander.”
I needed him.
“Furthermore, it is logistically impossible for you to attend me on this trip. I am sorry, but you must stay behind.”
His head drooped. “As you command, your lordship.”
Unable to face his disappointment, I excused myself and strode into the clearing before the smithy. Magic condensed around me as I surrendered to the shift. Bones cracked and reformed, scales rippled across my skin, and my wings unfurled, catching the breeze as my true form swallowed the man whole.
The wind whipped beneath my wings as I circled the estate before heading over to survey the damage to the hedge. The gnomes were already working in tandem on the breach, weaving new growth to seal the gap. Their magic pulsed in gentle waves, coaxing the branches to knit together.
I banked left, riding a thermal current over the pastures where Clymene’s sisters tended the livestock.
A war cry drew my attention.
I followed the sound to find Theatox standing over a figure with her bow drawn, with Tyrin and Skarde closing ranks. Landing nearby, I quickly shifted into my human form and went to investigate.
“M’lord.” Theatox bowed as I approached, and the gargoyles followed suit. “We have another intruder.”
A winged creature lay on its side at the centaur’s feet. Blood matted bright orange and yellow feathers, and an arrow protruded from the shoulder joint of a wing.
“Is that a harpy?” I asked, coming closer for a better look.
“It is,” Tyrin confirmed.
I crouched to study the creature. Clawed, four-toed feet ended in hooked talons. Down covered her legs and the swell of her chest that rose and fell with her breath.
“I caught her near the fruit trees,” Theatox said, keeping her nocked arrow trained on the creature’s head. “Would you like me to finish her off?”
I grabbed the creature by the shoulders, jerking her up to face me. Her weight barely registered in my hands. Hollow-boned, perhaps, built for the sky rather than the ground. I shook her until her eyelids slid open and two fiery orbs focused on me.
“What can you tell me about the wolves?” I demanded.
The harpy blinked. “Wolves?” The word came out raspy.
“Do not lie to me.”
I shook her again, rougher this time. She cried out in pain, folding in on her wounded shoulder protectively.
“I know of no wolves,” she snapped.
“Then why have you crossed into my territory?”
“The boundary fell. I was curious about what it protected.”
I believed her, but after last night, I would not be played for a fool again. “So you trespassed.”
“I did. I… I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Her heart thundered in her chest as her eyes darted around the area, widening when they landed on the gargoyles.
Confident that she was sufficiently terrified, I handed her to Tyrin.
“Take her to the boundary and fly her over the hedge. If she crosses the hedge again, kill her.”
Tyrin tucked her against his chest and took flight with Skarde right behind him, leaving me alone with Theatox, who studied me critically. I could not tell whether she approved of my punishment, and I fought the urge to ask.
“If she returns, I suggest we mount her head on the hedge,” the centaur said after a time.
“We will.”
After my encounter with the harpy, I dined alone before returning to my hoard to find everything put away. The crossbow bolts and rope had been removed, the damage to the walls repaired, and my treasures restored to their rightful resting places.
A thick leather tome balanced atop the nearest pile of coins and jewels like a peace offering. I gingerly picked up the journal and took it into the library to read.
Cracking open the worn leather cover, I discovered a wolf named Fernando Cortado had penned the journal.
It was written in Spanish, which was no problem since the gift of languages had been a birthright from my sire.
I flipped through the book, noting the sporadic nature of the entries that spanned almost a century.
Returning to the beginning, I settled in and started reading.
Fernando made his first journal entry in the spring of 1502, the day his inner alpha decided it could no longer serve under another.
He chose to leave his pack rather than fight, and the next several entries detailed his migration from Spain to Peru.
Once there, he started his own small pack.
The book detailed the bonding process and the telepathic group communication they shared once bound.
The journal confirmed that silver was indeed deadly to wolf shifters, substantiating the decision to imbue Silentium with the metal.
My sword’s new edge was a courtesy since I had other means at my disposal.
An ancestor had once burned a werewolf to a crisp, forcing the beast into a healing coma before she shifted and beheaded it.
Freezing and then beheading my enemies would be every bit as effective as a silver weapon.
I had made it a good quarter of the way through the journal when Catori appeared before my desk, holding a teapot and a cup.
“You should be asleep,” she said, eyeing the journal clutched in my hand.
I glanced out the window, alarmed by the darkness of the sky. Setting the book on my desk, I stood. “Clymene was supposed to notify me when the spell was ready.”
“She is on her way,” Catori said. “This will get you started.”
She lowered the teapot and cup onto my desk before dumping a collection of dried leaves into the cup. Adding hot water from the pot, she set the cup before me.
I studied the brew curiously, giving it a sniff. Notes of lavender, chamomile, and oak, mixed with several unfamiliar scents. “What is this?”
“A draught to aid your rest.”
I eyed the cup. A full night’s sleep would be welcome, but we were still exposed without a ward. “What if we are attacked?”
Catori’s eyes flashed with something akin to indignation.
“The rest of us will defend the estate. You must adequately prepare the soil of your mind for Clymene’s spell to take root.
” Her gaze met mine, dark, fathomless pupils taking my measure.
“Assuming you still wish to perpetuate your dream connection with the thief.”
Apprehension tried to worm its way into my mind, but I plucked it out and confirmed my commitment with a dip of my chin. “She will not live long enough for me to regret it.”
Catori gestured at the cup. “Then drink your tea, hatchling, and prepare yourself.”