“My father is the best warrior in the clan. He is our savior and the most honored of the generals. I am blessed.”
Mrest Eser put his hand over his face.
“Prepare a feast and bring out the best wine. Today is a day of celebration and reunion. I shall honor my father, and we shall sing of his achievements. Tomorrow, we go to war.”
And it would be a brutal and quiet war, fought through trade, spies, and assassins.
“What is your name?” Digi asked.
“You may call me Maggie.”
“Give Maggie anything she asks for. Let it be known that she is our ally and should be treated as such.”
I rose. “The wisdom of theorsiknows no bounds.”
One of the guards stepped forward and bowed to me. “This way, honored guest.”
I limped after him, outside, with Lute holding my elbow just in case. The doors closed behind us.
The guard took us to a smaller door on the left side. We passed through it, cleared a hallway, and exited into a smaller courtyard. An older man sat under a tree, drinking green wine from a wooden cup. His coarse dark hair, salted with gray, was pulled back from his face in a half-ponytail, falling to his shoulders. Short for an Okulan, with a broad build and powerful arms, he seemed grizzled like an old bear. Scars marked his face, one across the left cheek, and the other on the right temple, where something must’ve tried to bite off his ear. He looked like he could lift a small car all by his lonesome.
Two large dogs lay by his feet, panting. They looked like an oversized, prehistoric version of a German Shepherd with long legs and thick lupine fur. Two pairs of golden eyes stared at me. The fabled Harzi hounds.
“The orsi wishes to gift a mordok to this ally of the clan,” the guard told him.
I understood spoken Harzi. I wasn’t even surprised anymore.
The man sipped his wine. “The orsi should have told me in advance.”
“She didn’t know, nura,” I said. Nura was an all-purpose honorific used to address older Harzi men. Beastmasters enjoyed a lot of prestige among the Harzi. Being polite usually helped.
The two men spun to me.
The guard cleared his throat.
The beastmaster sighed and continued in Harzi. “And now they speak our language. What is the world coming to? You come at a bad time, foreigner. I have only one mordok available, and she is a terrible creature. She screams. She bites other mordoks. She bites the dogs. She bites the hand that feeds her.”
“But can she track?” I asked.
“What do you have of your prey?”
“A bloody chunk of hair and a blood-smeared shirt.”
“Does your prey use magic?”
“He does.”
The gamekeeper shrugged. “Good enough. She will track him. Do you know how to handle a mordok?”
“I do, but I would beg you to honor me with a lesson.”
“This one has some sense at least,” he muttered. “Follow me.”
He rose and went to a door on the left. The dogs stood up and trailed him, trotting at his heels. I was next, then Lute, walking side by side with the guard. We passed through the door into a large courtyard. Deep spacious stalls lined the walls on both sides, segregated by bars, wire mesh, or wooden partitions. Creatures moved within, hidden in the shadows. Some were eating, others slept on the straw. A dozen animal smells floated in the air, mixing with a trace of manure.
A howl echoed through the stables, a ululating call that was like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I almost cringed on pure instinct.
The Harzi guard made a face.
