Page 150 of Vasmora

Glancing around the forest, I caught a flash of gold in the distance. Wisps of blond hair. I twitched, my breaths turning shallower by the second.

“Maevyth,” General Loyce’s voice carried like the hiss of a snake. “I will not let you escape. You will die alongside me in hell.”

Eyes darting, I scanned the forest for her, anxious to keep her in my sights.

“She’s here,” I whispered. “She isn’t dead.”

“Maevyth.” Zevander’s calm voice broke through my thoughts, and I jerked against him. “What do you see?”

Again, I searched the trees, but found nothing. No sign of her. “She was …. She was there a moment ago.”

Daelan shook his head and swept his finger toward the adjacent woods. “Trust me, you ain’t seeing, or hearing, anything before those wolves. They can sniff out an intruder miles away. ‘S’why the Solassions don’t stand a chance. Even the times they’ve tried to fool ‘em, masking their scent, wolves still sniffed ‘em out.”

“They didn’t sniff out the mage that made his way into camp.” Zevander’s tone was flat and mocking.

“Only because he wore Andalone’s skin. They were suspicious, though, particularly the alpha.”

“The point is, they can be tricked,” Zevander sneered.

“How did you form an alliance with razorwolves?” I asked, desperate for distraction.

“Ah, well, that goes back to when one of ‘em tried to eat Lothare. He’d just stepped into manhood when he first arrived in Kestellias. Didn’t know a damn thing about this land, or its forest.” Daelan glanced back toward the end of the group. “Was starving. Poor. Chased a rabbit into the woods hoping for dinner, and found himself surrounded by a pack of razorwolves. Most would’ve shit themselves. Maybe even taken a blade to their own throat. Wolves sensed he was just a boy, though. Tried to scare him off. He stood his ground, the deranged bastard. Just as the wolf tried to sink his teeth in for a bite, Lothare heard their voices. That strange, silent language they speak in their heads. First time I heard it, thought I’d lost my senses.”

I frowned. “You hear it, too?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fairly fluent in it now. But prior to Lothare, no other mancer had ever communicated with them before.”

“So, their language … it can be learned.”

“Takes a bit of time, but yes. You have to know what you’re listening for. Most of us ignore the sounds that carry through the air.” He paused, his eyes trailing back and forth as if he were listening for something right then. “Anyway, that’s how Lothare befriended the wolves.”

“What do you imagine will happen to the bloodbinder?” I glanced around Zevander to where he stumbled along, his arms and shoulders bound by chains.

Daelan sighed. “Might have to put him down, if he doesn’t settle. Wolves are very structured, see. His violent nature could get them killed. Might challenge the alpha, and they’d all be at risk.”

“So, how would he be put down?”

He shrugged. “I suspect they’ll rip his throat out.”

* * *

Hours of riding came to a merciful end when we arrived at a small clearing where the forest butted up to a sloping wall of rock, with a plateau that served as a perch for the wolves to keep watch. It also served as a barrier from the chilly wind that’d brisked up over the last hour.

“We’ll make camp here.” Lothare slid from his horse, his head on a constant swivel. “Got another few hours until we reach the coastline.” He’d accompanied the wolves on a perimeter check through the adjacent woods, while one of his men lit a fire big enough for everyone, including the female wolves and pups, to gather around. The male wolves paced at the camp’s boundaries, leaving me to wonder when they slept.

I plopped down on the piled blankets Zevander had laid out, my legs and backside aching from the ride. When a figure stepped into my line of view, I lifted my gaze to see the woman from the cave, the unmated female that Drefan had turned, offering a piece of bread. With an appreciative nod, I accepted the food and gracelessly tore away a bite.

When she plunked herself beside me, my muscles tensed. Tearing away a chunk of bread with her teeth, she sat silently for a moment, chewing.

Chewing. Staring. Chewing.

“I’m Verena.” She ripped another chunk of bread away, and a scar at her shoulder caught my attention. One of the many stab wounds I’d watched Drefan inflict on her.

One of the pups darted toward us, the runt I remembered from the cave, and she nodded toward him. “That’s Rhovyn. We call him Rho.”

“Rho.” I smiled, offering him a piece of my bread.

“His mother was my sister.” Her voice carried a somber ache, and the smile on my face faded.