Chapter 52
The morning starts well. Elska caught some sort of creature Kyor refuses to name but which tastes good enough.
Ruben’s fire powers falter after lighting the morning fire, so I give him an extra-large power jolt, and then he goes around giving everyone their morning hugs.
Kyor clears his throat. ‘I’ll take one.’
Ruben blinks. ‘One what?’
‘Don’t make me say it.’
‘What?’ Ruben repeats, appearing baffled.
Kyor huffs. ‘A hug. Give me a Godsdamn hug.’
Ruben doesn’t mock Kyor, doesn’t tease him. He just walks up to him and enfolds the Prince of Morathka in his arms.
‘Is this warm enough?’ Ruben asks softly.
Kyor nods tightly. ‘It’s nice.’
He stays in Ruben’s arms, and Ruben carefully lays his hand over Kyor’s injured shoulder, easing the stiffness there.
‘Thank you,’ the prince says as he draws away, his voice barely above a whisper.
Kyor looks around and freezes as he sees all eyes are on him. ‘What are you all staring at?’
Benny smiles beatifically. ‘Progress.’
‘Pack up,’ Kyor grunts. ‘It’s time to move out.’
We do as he requests, and before long we’re on the road. We skirt further west to find a path that Kyor promises will take us north, and the further we travel, the more the land changes.
The forest thins and then disappears. The wild open, dotted only with a sparse tree or two, feels raw and vulnerable after so much time under the dense canopy, the air sharper as the undergrowth grows sparse.
Even the birds are quieter here. Watching. Waiting.
The tension in Kyor’s face tells us all that we’re deep into disputed territory. This is exactly why he wanted us to ride east, but we chose west, and so here we are – filled with tension and an unceasing itch between my shoulder blades.
I’m being watched. I’m sure of it.
We ride on, and the feeling worsens. I feel Fen’s hackles rise. We are not alone, Little Raven.
I know, I think back. I can feel them too.
The sensation is familiar now – that press against the edge of my mind. Feelings rising that are not my own. Almost as if I am bonded to more than one wolf.
I could have believed the sensations were Fen’s were I not able to feel him so clearly now. Besides, the main emotion rolling off whoever is following us is very different to what I feel from my bond: outrage, disgust, and under it all, anticipation and patience.
It doesn’t take a genius to guess who is stalking us: Torailians. Whether we’re in their territory or not is certainly debatable, although I suspect they’d beg to differ. Hopefully, they’re just watching us to ensure we don’t go further towards their land.
And hopefully Kyor knows enough about the terrain to ensure we don’t.
Before I can warn the others, Benny speaks.
‘We’re being followed,’ he mutters, hand drifting casually to rest on his sword’s hilt.
Kyor doesn’t bother to deny it, and it’s clear Benny’s comment is not new information to him, as evidenced by his rigid shoulders and the way his gaze scans the horizon with precision.
‘How many?’ Ruben asks tightly.
Kyor and Benny hesitate simultaneously, and both by just a fraction too long.
That hesitation lands like a stone in my gut. Too many. That’s the answer.
‘Enough,’ Kyor says finally. Enough to be dangerous.
My mind shifts back to what I’ve heard about the warriors before … about the way they attack in their thousands. If attacking is what they decide to do, there’s no way we can survive numbers like that, even with dire wolves on our side.
I’m twisting my neck, scanning the area for any sign of them, when the first arrow whistles past Kyor’s ear.
Elska surges sideways before he can fully react, her movement smooth and instinctive. Another arrow sings through the air, piercing the space where Kyor’s head was a heartbeat before. My own heart stutters at how close he came to dying.
‘Down!’ Kyor shouts, but he makes no move to duck.
His arrogance riles the fear out of me. I’d hoped his shoulder wound would have taught him that he’s not fucking invincible, but clearly not.
‘They’re everywhere!’ Caz cries out as our attackers spring up out of the dusty earth. ‘We’re surrounded!’
She’s right. There was no charging, no yelling of orders to get into place, and yet they appeared instantly as one, as if they portated there. But they have no magic, so that’s not possible.
Sandy-clad figures face us on all fronts with their weapons raised, all with garnet eyes that gleam unnaturally bright against their warm skin.
Torailians.
Not thousands – not even hundreds, thankfully – but with the synchronicity of their attack, it would be easy to believe there were ten times more than the two dozen that are now spread around us in a perfect circle. How though? How did they do it?
I may not know how they achieved such a feat, but I know I was wrong about one thing: they weren’t tracking us at all, weren’t watching to see if we headed away. They were waiting. Patient. Ready.
And we walked straight into their snare.
‘Square!’ Kyor snaps at us, like we are his soldiers to command and obey. But we were not drilled for hours as a team. We’re just a ragged group of friends surviving by our wits, the grace of the Gods, and sheer, dumb luck.
I don’t even know what the fucking command means. Square up to our attackers? Form a square? Square dance?
Fen snarls, low and thunderous, his body angling to shield me without waiting for a command.
But the Torailians don’t aim for my wolf; they aim for me.
Nets – not arrows – fly towards me, but Fen dodges, sweeping to the side as he leaps towards the boundary of their ring. And it’s one hell of a fucking leap.
I knew dire wolves could jump, but the way he springs from the ground lifts us high enough that we could have cleared my and Kay’s home in the slums. My stomach swoops as I flatten against his body, and as we vault over the armed Torailians, one of them reaches up and grabs my ankle, trying to yank me from Fen.
‘No!’ I scream out as pain sears through me.
Not a chance, Fen growls as his head snaps around to snarl at the woman, his teeth only millimetres away from her flesh. Whether he misses her through choice or restraint, I cannot tell, but she releases me all the same.
A burning remains in my skull, and words echo in my head, the voice never touching my ears.
Take her alive! Take her alive. The rest are expendable.
Telepathy. The fucking Torailians have telepathy. No magic, my arse!
As lightning flashes in the air above us, the pain I felt only moments ago is gone, replaced by outright fury.
None of us are expendable, and whichever fucking woman just thought those words is about to learn that lesson real damn fast.
A flash of ice blasts out from beneath me, but rather than heading towards the Torailian in a manner that is helpful, it fires backward, knocking Benny off his feet.
‘Fuck!’ I say. Panic surges through me, but Fen’s mind is there to calm me.
He’s fine, Little Raven. The fire weaver has him.
A single glance behind me is all it takes to see he’s right.
Benny is back on his feet, charging, blade flashing, while Ruben’s fire ignites, not in a wild burst but a controlled arc that forces three of the Torailians back.
It’s oddly nice to hear Fen call him a fire weaver, when his whole life Ruben has ‘just’ been a furnace.
I’m absurdly grateful that I gave Ruben a decent power boost this morning.
Stide and Thessa don’t hesitate. The Quiet Ones fight together. The two women are silent and move with brutal precision and a synchronicity that tells of years of companionship, but always Stide has half an eye on protecting Thessa.
Caz is there too, battling one-on-one and winning. Arrows are great from a distance, but you’re fucked if your opponents reach you before you’re ready, as Caz’s adversary is finding out.
As the speared tips fly through the air, I can’t help but think of William.
This is what he asked me to bring back for him.
Not a cure for the affliction that threatens to destroy his life, but a Torailian arrow.
And I plan on keeping my promise. I just have to stay alive long enough to snag one – and hopefully not with my body.
From the outside of the ring, it’s easier to disrupt their lines, but whereas we are forced to anticipate each of their moves, for them it’s like this has all been rehearsed, like a dance.
No orders are shouted aloud, no directions given, and yet they regroup almost instantly, the majority of them once again encircling Fen and me.
Hold on, Little Raven, Fen tells me as he lunges back and forth, leaping and clawing at the Torailians as lightning continues to pelt the earth.
My body moves and rolls with his movement.
This isn’t like the fight with the Rottings, where he knew we were safest separate.
He saw the nets and knows they’re trying to entrap me, and keeping me on him is the best way, in his eyes, to ensure I remain safe.
‘Kyor! Enough!’ I yell at him, worried about him burning himself out.
His injury is already sapping his energy, and if he doesn’t stop he could drain himself without even realising.
One last crash of thunder ricochets through the air just as a Torailian leaps towards Fen, as if meeting the wolf in mid-air may help him win.
He ducks under the wolf’s claws an instant before contact is made, almost as if he knew which paw Fen was going to use to rip his limbs from his body.
Frustration crackles along the bond between Fen and me. Fen does not miss. Not when he has a target in mind, and yet somehow the Torailian can anticipate our every move.
Disgusting. A woman’s voice cuts through my thoughts the same way Fen’s so often has. She should feel ashamed, bound to a beast.
Beast?
Fen’s outrage rolls through me, but it is nothing compared to the roar of my own.
‘He is not a beast,’ I snarl aloud, my voice carrying further than it should. ‘And of all the things I deserve to feel shame over, he will never be one of them.’
A laugh cracks in my skull.