Given a choice, Halithe was where she wanted to be.
After pulling on tunic and trous, she sat back down to put on her boots.Maybe she was too quick to dismiss those lessons.After all, she’d learned, at the hands of experts, how to flirt, how to make conversation.
You want a man to talk?
Ask him to explain something to you.
Halithe rose and gathered her things.“Done.Let’s get back.”
Bright Fang jumped up and led her to where Aramal and Ritathan had made camp.Ritathan was already wrapped in his bed roll.Aramal was feeding sticks to a small fire, heating kavage.
At her look, Aramal shrugged.“Wood is becoming scarce.I brought some charcoal, for when we get higher up.Rocks don’t burn.”
“Depends on who ignites them,” Ritathan muttered.
Bright Fang yipped at them, then turned and disappeared up the trail.
“He’s scouting,” Aramal said.“Checking on those scent trails.”
Halithe settled on her bedding.“I have a question.”
Both men stiffened.
“About Bright Fang,” Halithe kept her tone light and innocent as she watched them relax.“So the vore language, it’s made up of sounds and body movements, yes?”
“Yes.”Aramal handed her dried meat and a nut bar.“Eyes, ears, fur, and teeth.Not everyone in Athelbryght understands it as well as those who interpret, but everyone has a basic understanding.”He glanced at Ritathan.
“I’ve forgotten more than I remember,” Ritathan said.
“You were born here?”Halithe asked.
“Fostered.”Ritathan bit off the word.
Aramal cleared his throat.“Some of us are better than others at the nuances of the language, but the vore are patient with us.”He chuckled.“For the most part.”He poured kavage into mugs and handed them around.
“And they live forever?”Halithe asked.“Fog said she remembered the time before the Mage Wars.”
Ritathan stared at her.“You spoke to Fog?”
Halithe nodded even as Aramal said, “They have remarkable healing abilities, but they can die.”
“The vore are magical constructs,” Ritathan sat up in his blankets, ready to launch into a lecture.
“But how did they survive the Wars?”Halithe asked.“You know, the ones that destroyed all the magic in the land?”
Ritathan shrugged.“That’s not something they will tell us.”he said, giving Aramal a side glance.“Unless things have changed.”
“No,” Aramal ignored him, looking at Halithe.“I can tell you how they came to be in Athelbryght,” and at her nod he continued.“The story goes that long before the Empire of Xy rose, the vore were rescued from being enslaved to the foul blood mage who created them.Their savior bore the birthmark of the Chosen.In return, the vore swore fealty to the mark of the Chosen.Since that time, Athelbryght has been under the authority of a Chosen and the Packmoot.”
“What’s a Packmoot?”Halithe asked, tearing into the dried meat.
“A gathering of the vore, where decisions are discussed and debated.The Chosen takes the advice of the Packmoot in all things, but she has the final word.”
“Had,” Ritathan pointed out.“Although, I’ve often thought that deciding on who should lead based on a birthmark was not a good way to choose a leader.”
“How is that different from a blood right?”Aramal demanded.
“Well, with a blood right, you can have multiple heirs,” Ritathan said.“Instead,yousend people out scouring the countryside for a babe with a special birthmark.”
