Prologue
Caden
300 years ago.
Telmonra stood atop the Dragon Stone, her heart clenched with a mixture of grief and pride and desperate hope. The mountain wind whipped her long hair into a storm, held back from her eyes only by the gold circlet of her rank. Below, in the city, there would be wailing and tears this night, but here there was only the wind, the monotonous words of the ritual, and the cries of dragons.
The cries of her kin.
It had been a long time since all of the clan had gathered together in one place. Madness ran in their line, it was said, and mingled with that were the petty quarrels and rivalries found in any family. Jonaglirs had murdered one another in the past, spilling the blood that bound them.
Spilling the blood that was the key to their power.
“Our need has never been so desperate,” she had told the swarm of cousins, uncles, aunts, nieces, and nephews. They had stood in the great throne room, which lay open to the mountain weather, all of them watching her with eyes as gray as her own. And in that moment she had almost hated them, because none of them could take this burden from her. She was the last surviving child of King Osha; all the rest had been carried away by the plague that had claimed their parents as well.
Whether the plague was natural or wizard-made…that was a question that haunted her sleepless nights more and more often these days.
“Jenel has broken our ancient alliance,” she had gone on, even though they knew it already. “And Maak and Shalai have broken it further by refusing to aid us. Jenel has the aid of a powerful wizard, and their armies have already taken the southern passes. How long they have planned this, I cannot say, but they have struck hard and fast. Our need grows great, so I have called you here.
“The dragons are our most powerful defenders, but as of now they are too few. Those under the age of sixteen must remain behind, and those women who are pregnant. The rest of you…make your farewells.”
And so it came to this. One by one, they walked to the Dragon Stone, exchanged the ritual words with her…and cut their own throats. One by one, her kin gave up their lives in exchange for Caden’s protection.
One by one, new-made dragons rose into the air.
Let it be enough, she prayed, watching them. Jonaglir was decimated by this act, and it would be many generations before they recovered in number.
If they lived to recover at all.
Jenel
Present day.
“I am not pleased, wizard.”
Ax glanced up from a crystal basin on a pedestal. Power rippled and danced like sunlight on the water within the basin, showing flashes and glimpses of far-off images. Most of them were half-obscured by smoke or dyed red with blood.
Fellrant, King of Jenel, stood before the only window in a high tower, looking out over his domain. A flowering vine had climbed the outside of the tower to form a curtain that hung over half the opening, perfuming the room with its purple flowers. The slow drone of bees came from without, accompanied by the singing of birds. If not for the ring of the smiths’ hammers and the cries of practicing warriors, the scene outside would have seemed nothing more than a sleepy spring day.
Ax’s sharp blue eyes narrowed slightly, but he hid his irritation well enough. “And why is that, Your Majesty?”
Fellrant cast an annoyed glance over his shoulder. He was a small man, but he nevertheless radiated a regal air that confirmed Ax’s choice to boost him to the throne. Impatience snapped in his blue-violet eyes, but years spent as a Northern lord, plotting first for survival and later for power, had taught him to curb his temper. “Why indeed, wizard? Let us think. Over the last year, both my winter and summer palaces have been destroyed, so that I must make due with the leavings of a dead lord. Segg, my capitol, is nothing more than a burned ruin. Argannon is attacking from the North, apparently having struck an alliance with Jenel’s so-called ally Maak that allowed Jahcgroth to simply march armies through the kingdom without a fight. Shalai will send us no aid, and Undah is too distant to care. Is there anything else?” Fellrant pretended to think, his youthful features twisting into a frown. “Oh, yes, that’s right. My only rival for the kingship has gone missing.”
“If Lord Auglar survived the fall of Segg, then he is most likely dead by now,” Ax pointed out testily. He disliked being reminded of Auglar, whom he had once backed before learning that the lord had betrayed Jenel by marrying a Wolfkin. Only humans had the right to Jenel’s throne—for a potential king to breed with a half-beast was nothing short of treason.
Fellrant’s eyes narrowed. “I will remind you that he is no longer a lord. I stripped him of all titles and lands. He is nothing more than a homeless vagabond at best.”
“And therefore nothing for you to worry about,” Ax pointed out soothingly.
“And the Aclyte? Yozerf?”
“Dead.”
“Are you certain? He had power.”
Ax snorted. “None worth mentioning, Your Highness. He was nothing more than the bastard heir of blood long spent. His minor tricks were not enough to save him. All the portents say that he was killed in the destruction of Nava Nar.”
And good riddance. Yozerf had once been a useful tool, but those days were long over.
Footsteps rang on the stair outside, and a moment later a man appeared in the doorway, heavily armed and dressed in mail. Crossing the room, he dropped to one knee before his king.
“Lord Tybalt,” Fellrant said, acknowledging the soldier. Until a few weeks ago, Tybalt had only been a minor thane. But with the deaths of most of the Jenelese lords, Tybalt had found himself not only a lord, but also commander of the King’s armies.
“Your Majesty,” Tybalt said with the worshipful air of a man who had no doubts as to the origins of his good fortune. He was a big, burly man, his hair cut short to fit under a helm, and he made an interesting contrast to the small, beautiful Fellrant. “The armies are gathering. Your lords have brought every trained soldier they could spare from the defense of their own keeps.”
Fellrant nodded. “And the conscripts?”
“Every able-bodied male peasant found is being brought in as well. They will make useful foot soldiers if nothing else.”
“Excellent.” Fellrant folded his hands together and smiled. “Take your forces North, then, Lord Tybalt. That is where the main threat of Argannon comes from, despite their trickery in Segg. Supply yourselves as you may—the army is the most important consideration now, do you understand? If any village refuses you food, take it by force. And if any village is found to be housing sympathizers to Argannon…burn it to the ground.”
“Understood, Your Highness.”
Fellrant dismissed Tybalt and went to stare back out his window. Ax turned his attention back to the bowl in front of him. Jenel was wracked by war, and refugees were already beginning to stream across the Kellsmarch from their burning villages. It was a desperate time, and it called for a strong king like Fellrant, who would not hesitate to do whatever was needful to turn back the invaders. Ax had made a good choice indeed.
Chapter One
The sound of feet on the detritus of the forest floor pulled the wolf from an uneasy rest. It had been some time since he had truly relaxed. At first, his battered, broken body had been so injured that he could do nothing except sleep, but as time had passed and he began to heal, the agony intruded even on his dreams. A sharp pain stabbed his side with every breath, bright light made his left eye water, his skin was raw and red where patches of fur had burned away, and the rest of him ached with bruises that went to the bone.
An unbelievably filthy girl appeared at the opening to the little hole under a half-fallen tree where they denned together. Her hair might have been the sort of coppery color that humans called red, but it was hard to tell under the mix of dirt and decayed leaves that matted it together. The original color of her tattered clothing was equally indeterminate, covered as it was in mud and the wolf’s blood. A pair of bright blue eyes peeked out of her grimy face; from what he could see of her features, he guessed that she was no more than eight years old.
Despite her incredible state of filth, the wolf thumped his tail weakly at the sight and smell of her.
Cub. Pack mate.
A pouch and a pottery jug hung from her shoulder; she took them off and poured a little water from the jug into a wooden bowl. “Here you go, Smoky,” she said soothingly, holding it out to him. The wolf gratefully lapped the water up. “Good boy,” she whispered. “You want some more?”
When he had drunk his fill, she opened her pouch and sorted through it. Unfortunately, both of their diets were limited to what she could catch or find with her bare hands. An assortment of mushrooms, roots, lizards, frogs, and two pathetically-small crayfish came out of the pouch. She gave him the lizards, frogs, and crayfish, and ate the roots and mushrooms raw and dirty. Her collarbones stood out in sharp points, and the skin drew tight over her skull.
After their makeshift dinner, she crawled down into the den with the wolf, curling up against his flank. He licked her hair once or twice, without making it noticeably cleaner.
“It’s going to be all right, Smoky,” the girl said quietly as the sun went down on yet another day in the forest. “You’re getting better. Maybe when you’re well, you can hunt for us. You’re so big—I bet you could take down any deer in Jenel! And then we’ll eat and eat and eat.” She sniffled and wiped at her face, streaking the dirt on her hand. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
Her voice broke and her little body began to shake. Despite his own pain and exhaustion, the wolf felt concern. He knew, somehow, that this was not right—she should not be making these noises. Maybe she was hurt, too?
Not knowing what else to do, he licked the salty water from around her eyes. That made her giggle—a good sound. It also cleaned a little of dirt off, so that two circles of paler skin ringed her eyes. In the semi-dark, it reminded him of an owl’s face.
You’re a little owl, he thought, and it seemed to him that he should be able to communicate this to her in some way. But how?
She sighed, snuggled deeper into his thick fur, and relaxed into a sleep characterized by fretful twitching and soft whimpers. As he lay beside her, unable to sleep himself, the wolf for the first time began to wonder about the black void in his mind. It was as if he had sprung to life in the forest, as if there was nothing to know before then. But somehow he knew that was not right. There had been other things before the forest. He had been….
Something. Something that was now gone beyond his reach.
Letting out his breath in a soft whuff that ruffled Little Owl’s hair, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
* * *
“It’s the end of the world, I tell you,” muttered a surly man as he took a wooden cup of ale from the innkeeper.
Yes,Suchen thought bleakly, it is indeed.
She sat at a low table with her companions, taking only sparing sips of her ale and trying not to look around at the little inn. They were in the village of Hyytr, which had grown only more squalid and desperate in the time since she had last been there. Then, she had been with the Sworn of Lord Auglar, the young noblewoman Trethya…and Yozerf.
Her heart flinched away from the memory, as if it had been pressed against a hot poker. It had been only a few weeks since they had escaped from Segg and joined the flood of refugees pouring North, away from the riots and chaos that had all but destroyed the city. Only a few weeks since the night when they had left Yozerf to hold back the Red Guard and human soldiers, so that they might escape.
Since we left him to die.
Other refugees wandered around the inn, drawing hard looks from the locals. A man armed with a scythe stood at the door; apparently, there had been attempts to loot and rob the place sometime before Suchen and her companions arrived. Auglar had been forced to show the door guard money before they were allowed inside.
Money that they could ill-afford to spend, actually. But Auglar had suggested that they go to the inn in an attempt to gather information. To find out what Fellrant—King Fellrant—was doing, where the Argannese forces had attacked last, and what were the conditions on the Great Trade Route that crossed the vast plains of the Kellsmarch.
Buudi and Brenwulf had naturally followed their lord—they were his Sworn, after all. The only Sworn left to him, unless one counted Gless, who was safely back at Kellsjard waiting for them. All the rest had died or betrayed him.
Peddock.
But the memory of her brother, who had abandoned them to follow the woman he loved, even knowing that she was a Red Guard, was another thing too painful to touch.
Londah…Suchen did not know why Yozerf’s mother had stayed with them. She sat to Suchen’s right, a hood drawn up to shadow her beautiful features from prying eyes. She wore a baggy tunic and trousers, like a male peasant, but openly displayed the sword strapped to her side. As always, she sat alert, ready for any disaster, and her presence seemed to comfort everyone else. It would take a great deal of men and luck to kill her, or to kill anyone she protected.
And as for Suchen…she came because she had nothing else to do. Nothing mattered anymore; she simply drifted through the days, going where she was led because to do otherwise would require an act of will.
Setting her cup aside, she bowed her head, resting it against her hands. The short ends of her hair tickled her face, making her skin itch. Yozerf had always loved her hair, despite the fact that it was too fine to be put into anything resembling a fashionable style. It was soft, he had insisted, as if that was the only quality that could possibly matter. So one day after he had died—she wasn’t sure exactly which—she had cut it all off with a knife and flung it into the fire. When her companions asked her why she had done it, she had said that it was so she could pass as a boy, something safer in these times than a woman. With her figure and men’s clothing, such a deception wouldn’t be hard. Whether they had believed the explanation or not, she did not know.
“Are you all right, daughter?” Londah asked in a low voice, touching Suchen’s shoulder.
“Yes,” Suchen lied, because it took less effort than telling the truth. How could she possibly be all right ever again? Somehow, she managed to force herself to appear interested, to raise her head and turn to Auglar, as if he could say anything that would make any difference to her. “What’s the news?”
Auglar looked as though he had aged a decade since their flight from Segg. The stubble of a beard darkened his pale skin, his long, black hair was lank from dirt, and shadows ringed his blue eyes. No onlooker would ever have guessed that he had not only been one of the most powerful men in Jenel, but that he had almost been their king.
“News, rumor, wild speculation,” he said tiredly. “I’ve talked to a dozen different groups, and none of them have given me the same story twice. Fellrant is going to surrender Jenel to Argannon. Fellrant is fielding an army. A village was destroyed when Jenelese soldiers stole all their food. Or maybe it was Argannese soldiers.” He shook his head. “The gods alone know what the truth is.”
“The truth is that people are desperate,” Londah said, taking a judicious sip of her ale. For an instant, Suchen caught a glimpse of her cold, gray eyes beneath the hood. “And that things are going to get far worse as the war continues. Segg was only the first city to fall. Soon Jenel will be full of homeless, hungry people who will do anything to survive.”
“Then we have no choice but to get back to Kellsjard as quickly as possible,” Buudi said grimly. His once-black hair had gone almost entirely gray, and lines scored deep creases around his eyes and mouth.
Brenwulf nodded. He was the brother of Sifya, Auglar’s wife. Like her, he was Wolfkin, although none of them had known it until those terrible last days in Segg. “We’ll be safe there.”
Kellsjard. Homesickness stabbed through Suchen, making all the miles they still had to travel seem like an impassable barrier. But at the same time, she wondered if the feeling was not simply an illusion. Kellsjard was where she and Yozerf had become lovers. Where they had been happy, if only for a little while. Did she somehow think that returning to Kellsjard would undo everything that had happened since they had left?
“Safe? For a while. Until Fellrant comes looking for you,” Londah said mildly, as if she commented on nothing more serious than the weather. “That is the first place he will search. Will you endanger all those within by going home?”
Auglar hesitated, but then shook his head. “I don’t see any other choice. If I believed that my absence would save anyone…then I would stay away. But do you truly think that Fellrant will simply leave my wife and my heir alone, just because I am gone?”
“Perhaps. But I fail to see how your presence will make them any more safe.”
Auglar’s expression tightened, but he did not dispute her words. “I can’t abandon them.”
“At the least we have to warn them,” Buudi added, giving Londah a harsh look. “These are our friends, our family. We can’t just disappear without trying to do anything for them.”
Londah said nothing for a moment, her face expressionless, like that of a marble statue, cold and remote. “As you will,” she answered at last, but Suchen had the feeling that she thought them all fools.
Auglar sighed and rose to his feet. “Come on,” he said wearily. “We need to find a place to sleep tonight.”
* * *
As the days passed, the wolf continued to grow stronger. Although his side did not get any less painful, some of the other aches started to fade, and the sight began to return to his left eye as the swelling around it went down. One morning, he even managed to crawl out of the den and stand erect for a few minutes, before weakness overwhelmed him and he had to lie down again.
Owl stayed close by, except when she had to go out and forage for food. She frequently played with sticks, apparently using them as a substitute for dolls. When the wolf was strong enough, he lay outside the den on a bed of ferns that sprouted at the base of a tree and watched her play.
“La la la, look at all the people,” she sang tunelessly, waving her sticks in the air.
People. Yes, there were other people in the world; he remembered that. There were humans, like the girl, and others.
Owl was a human cub. And cubs belonged with their packs, not alone in the woods. Was she lost? Where should she be instead? He tried to recall, tried to push back past that black void in his mind. For a moment, an image formed in his mind’s eye: city streets, cobblestones, garbage, filth, tears, blood. An intense feeling of shame, fear, and helpless anger surged through him, making his pelt stand on end and a growl creep out of his throat.
But why? Where were these images and feelings coming from? As the raw intensity faded, the wolf shook himself slightly, resettling his fur. A quick check on Owl showed that she was oblivious to his momentary fear, which was good. He did not want to frighten her, especially when he didn’t understand it himself.
“Look, Smoky!” Owl exclaimed, distracting him. She had used a vine to tie some to the sticks together into an odd design. “It’s you! See—there’s your legs, and there’s your tail, and there’s your ears.”
The wolf did not see how a collection of sticks and vines resembled him in any way, but he sniffed at it politely when she held it out for him to see. Soon three other collections of sticks had joined it. “Look—here’s me,” she said, displaying the smallest of the three. The other two she stuck upright in the ground. “And this is a man and a woman.” She took the wolf-figure and the Owl-figure and hopped them along the ground, as if they were walking. “Why look, Smoky, there is a man and a woman! Will you be our Mama and Papa?”
The wolf’s ears perked up slightly. Mama?
Images of swords, of daggers, of black wings and a shadow on the stars.
Owl grabbed the tallest stick and bent it over the first two. “Greetings, little girl,” she said in a deeper voice. “We will be your Mama and Papa. But what about the wolf? We are afraid of him.”
She switched to the Owl-figure. “Don’t be scared. Smoky won’t hurt anyone. He is my friend.”
Back to the man-figure. “Then he can live with us, too, and we will always be nice to you.”
She fell silent, staring at the stick dolls for a while. Then she smiled. “That’s what it’s going to be like, Smoky,” she said, absently petting him. “As soon as you’re better. We’ll find a Mama and a Papa, and they’ll never, ever be mean to us, and we’ll always have plenty to eat, and they’ll keep us safe from the bad men.” Her lower lip trembled a bit, and she wiped at her eyes. “Won’t that be wonderful?”
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