31: AWAKENING THE WOLF
“LOWER YOUR BLADES!” the Raven Queen shouted. She’d drawn up Dorka and turned her around to face them. “The faerie creatures are here to help.”
Alar’s heart started to pound. Of course, they were—here to helpher.
Lara urged her horse forward, flanked by Bree and Cailean. Her face was flushed, her skin gleaming with sweat, yet anger burned in her gaze. “What trick is this?”
“None,” Mor replied, meeting her gaze calmly. “Our band is small … so I sent for reinforcements. These imps will ensure we actually reach The Shattered Crown.”
No sooner had she spoken than the approaching swarm slowed. Panting, the powries and trows drew to a halt. Their eyes, some amber, others disturbingly red, glowed as they swept their gazes over the weary group of travelers.
“Why didn’t you warn us?” Alar demanded.
Mor’s gaze cut to him. “Because I knew you’d refuse.”
“With good reason,” he shot back. “These creatures areyourallies … not ours.”
“Not this evening.” Mor stared him down, tension shivering through the air. “Tonight, we’re all on the same side. Admit it, we need them.”
Growling an oath, Alar shifted his attention from Mor then and looked at Lara. Her features were strained. Their gazes met. Wariness glinted in her pine-green eyes.
His fingers flexed around the handles of his fighting daggers. She was right to be wary. Mor’s secretive behavior had just driven a spike through their band. Roth and Cailean drew their weapons as the Ravens urged their elks and stags forward, forming a semi-circle behind their queen.
“Perhaps I should have warned you.” Mor’s voice sharpened. “But don’t look for betrayal where there isn’t any. You can trust us.”
“Can we?” Lara dragged her attention back to the Raven Queen.
Mor held her gaze. “Aye.”
The Weeper’s wail reverberated through the gathering dusk then—a sharp reminder that they had to keep moving. There wasn’t time to debate this further. Mor had forced their hand, but the boulder was rolling down the mountainside now. They couldn’t stop it.
All they could do was press forward.
“Let the powries and trows take the lead,” Vyr said then, his tone brisk.
Mor nodded, relief flickering over her face. Her cousin was focusing on practical matters, reminding them all why they were here. Not that Alar needed reminding. “Lara is vulnerable,” she added. “We must close ranks around her to ensure she reaches the crown safely.”
Lara shifted uncomfortably on her horse’s back. Her brow furrowed, and then she drew her iron dagger. “I can fight.”
Mor pulled a face. “I’ve no doubt … but you’re struggling. Let the rest of us look out for you.”
Thunder rolled across the Darkmere.
Not from the sky, but from the earth. Hoofbeats and boot-strikes hammered out a rhythm. The war cries started next: powrie shrieks and trow bellows.
Alar crouched low over Reedav’s neck, daggers already slippery in his palms. The stag’s muscles bunched and released beneath him with each long stride.
His gaze snapped right, to where Lara leaned forward over her mare’s neck, her jaw set. Wind tore at her braided hair, whipping loose strands across her face. Her mount’s hooves drummed the packed earth, matching Reedav stride for stride. Bree rode at her flank, longsword raised and ready.
Keep her safe.Heat pulsed in Alar’s gut.Whatever it costs. Whatever you must do.
Screams knifed through the air. His head jerked up. The western sky had turned black, not with clouds, but with bodies. Writhing limbs and tattered wings, smoke-hair streaming as the Slew descended in a swarm.
Then singing that was both beautiful and terrible joined the cries of The Unforgiven.
Pale figures glided across the loch’s obsidian surface, arms outstretched like loving wives welcoming their husbands home. Their mouths moved as they sang an eldritch melody that made Alar’s breathing grow shallow. Loch-Bhàns. One touch and they’d steal everything from you—your memories, your identity, yourself—leaving nothing but an empty husk. You’d breathe and walk, but you’d remember nothing.
Movementinthe water caught Alar’s eye then. Slippery skin glistened in the dying light. Fish-eyes gleamed. Fuath dragged themselves onto shore, bog wights with webbed fingers and eel-like teeth.
