Ula nodded. “All of us must approach together. Follow my lead.”
The pirate had indeed gotten exactly what they needed back at the market to make contact. Information on where to go next, the necessary purchases for offering, and, for Luca, a jug of antiseptic sagardon—medicinal-grade sagardoa ideal to treat his wounds and any more injuries that might come.
They stowed their horses within the farm’s meager stable, then collected their saddlebags and the sack Ula had used at the market, and approached the house. Ula steadied herself and knocked five times in a certain rhythm, as she’d been instructed.
“What is your intent at this hour?” A man’s voice.
Ula answered, “We come to feed the missing.”
“What do they eat?” he asked.
Without skipping a beat, Ula switched into old Torrentian. “Hitz ematen dizut.”
I give you my word of honor, Luca translated. His found Ardenian family of Maialen, Abene, and old Zuzen had taken pride in teaching him the ancient language, though he only ever used it with them. Until this moment he didn’t know Ula knew any of it at all.
The door opened a crack and a candle shone between themselves and the darkness of the interior. Ula knew this was coming, too, and was ready—she leaned forward and pulled down the neck of her tunic, revealing her paw print.
The door opened wider, revealing the man—and a woman. Both were of Torrent, and gray with age, their skin worn from the sun and work, but their eyes brilliant and bold. Without another word, they ushered the group inside and closed the door tightly. Then they revealed tattoos of their own—more paw prints.
Luca swallowed, his heart beating fast as he read the faces of these hardy people. His people. Truly. It was all so dizzying.
“We have obtained the items requested by the resistance,” Ula continued, and gestured to Urtzi, who held the sack aloft.
The man nodded. “They are in need. I shall leave at once.”
Ula had explained this before their approach. This was an operation that ran on a phased set of expectations—it was as crucial as it was high risk and high reward. The basic system was simple, not efficient. If a person or persons wanted to connect with the main line of rebels based in the Torrent, they first must fulfill a list of supplies. Next, a verified rider would deliver those supplies to the last known location of the resistance—which seemed to be as nomadic as the rest of the Torrent. Then, once the supplies were accepted, the request for a meeting was either confirmed or denied. If confirmed, the rider would then return and escort the new rebels to the resistance.
Luca could barely believe the operation had remained intact so long without the Warlord’s disruption. The previous outpost had been turned to ash in a raid, and thus it was easy to believe the Warlord knew of the system, yet the rebels claimed the renewed system had worked without disruption since then—two years running.
By luck or design, only the Warlord really knew.
The man immediately began donning clothing that served to protect travelers in the Torrent—hat, bandana, double-dagger belt—all in the faded fabrics that blended into the sand-scoured landscape and with the people who lived there. When he was finished, he looked exactly like any of the men Luca had seen in his travels with the pirates and Amarande.
It made him wonder exactly how to tell friend from foe.
“I will return under the cover of night—less than a day.” He accepted the sack from Urtzi and a kiss from his wife.
“Before you go, we have one more crucial piece of information for you to bring them.” The man and woman paused, caught on Ula’s tone.
Ula nudged Luca forward, her golden eyes alight. “Come now, don’t be shy.”
Luca’s heart began to pound again, as he looked into the faces of people who had put everything on the line each day of their lives the past seventeen years to help keep the resistance alive.
As the Otxazulo burned, his mother had escaped to Ardenia, told them her name was Lygia, and hidden him away. Surely King Sendoa knew who was hiding in his stable. Surely he had a plan to help them win it back—the Warrior King always had a plan.
Maybe the plan had died with Luca’s mother. With Sendoa gone, too, he would never know.
All Luca knew was it was now up to him.
And after this, there would be no going back.
Breathing deeply, he came forward, unlashed the laces at the breast of his black tunic, and yanked down the fabric to reveal the entirety of the wolf tattoo on his chest.
Five points. Snout, ears. Unmistakable.
The woman dropped whatever was in her hand with a crash and a gasp. The man rushed forward, candle held aloft. Suddenly, Luca felt more exposed than he had ever been—his blood on the outside, rendered in thick black streaks.
“Hitz ematen dizut,” Luca said.I give you my word of honor.
