Rhaif glanced back to the flames and smoke. The Kethra’kai must have failed to draw off the cats, or at least not for long enough. The tide of people flowing out of the town around them slowly drew to a fearful stop, miring their progress forward—then slowly that current reversed, fleeing from those screams and hunting cries.
“Faster!” Rhaif hollered.
Their wagon and horses followed the receding tide around them. They sped quickly through the streets. Llyra fought to stay abreast, kicking and whipping people around her. But the press became too much. Her mare suddenly toppled under her, tripping over bodies that had been trampled.
She leaped from the saddle and sprawled headlong toward the wagon bed. Rhaif caught her and drew her around.
She panted in his arms. “I knew you’d end up killing me one day.”
“I can only hope. But let’s still pray that’s not today.”
Llyra rolled free and stared ahead. “Where is she taking us?”
The answer appeared ahead as the scouts expertly rounded their steeds near the base of an ancient alder, so old that most of its bark had been shed, leaving only age-polished wood. Its girth was as wide as one of Anvil’s huge chimney stacks. So far, the tree had remained untouched by any flame, spreading a golden bower above, as if trying to hold back the smoky sky.
The wagon ground to a hard stop between the two scouts.
“Why are we stopping here?” Llyra asked.
It was a fair question.
Pratik craned at the massive tree. There appeared to be no doors in it. Still, the Chaaen seemed to recognize it. “Oldenmast,” he mumbled.
Xan allowed no other inquiries and offered no explanations. “Out! Quickly!” she commanded them, then turned to the tribeswomen and spoke in a blur of Kethra.
Nods answered her. They stopped singing to Shiya and reached to her shoulders, preparing to lift her out. Rhaif went to help, but Shiya rose on her own, weakly, trembling. The tribeswomen helped guide her to the back of the wagon. It seemed the singing of the Kethra’kai must have filled a well inside of Shiya. Maybe like topping off an oil lamp, allowing her to move on her own. Still, from the shaking in her limbs, that strength would not last long.
One of the scouts came around and helped Xan out of the wagon. She then supported herself with her staff. Rhaif saw that her cane’s polished white wood was the same hue as the trunk of giant alder. He also spotted a line of sculpted seashells imbedded along the cane’s length, representing the faces of the moon.
He felt a chill, remembering Shiya’s fixation with the same.
Xan joined the bronze woman as Shiya dropped from the wagon and teetered on one leg. The other limb, bent crooked at the knee, served as no more than a crutch. The women gathered around her, bracing Shiya’s arms and back.
Rhaif clambered out with Pratik and Llyra.
Xan guided Shiya a few steps away, keeping their backs to the massive tree.
“Where do we go?” Llyra asked, searching around.
To the right, another huge alder climbed into the smoke. It rose from a sprawl of timbered structures with tiled roofs. At its base, tall doors stood open under a sign of a gold-leafed tree. Despite the chaos, firelight beckoned within. A scatter of fleeing townspeople ran for those doors, seeking shelter inside.
Even Xan hobbled with Shiya in that direction, accompanied by the four tribeswomen.
Rhaif followed. “I think we’re supposed to—”
All the women stopped in the center of the square. Xan leaned on her cane and lifted her face. She began to sing. The others joined her—even Shiya. She raised her bronze features to the smoky skies, her cheeks shining with a coppery brilliance. Her eyes flashed, and a piping flowed from her throat.
The chorus grew and spread like wings through the air, wafting high and wide. It seemed impossible that so few voices could raise such a volume. The air appeared to shiver around the cluster, pushing the traces of smoke away, as if trying to open space for another.
Their call was answered by a leonine howl.
Into the square, a massive shadow stalked. A huge paw swiped at a fleeing man, sending him cartwheeling through the air in a spray of blood. The cat hissed and loosed a bollock-icing scream. Its lips curled high, slavering with drool, exposing impossibly long fangs. Its yellow eyes glowed from under a steel helm.
Rhaif knew about those alchymical-crafted caps. Each helm was attuned to its master’s unique pitch and voice. They limited another from using bridle-song to ensnare their beasts.
Still, the song in the air seemed to hold the beast at bay for now.
Or maybe it was simply waiting.
A second scyther sidled around the first’s haunches, assuming the same threatening posture, shoulder to shoulder with each other.
Rhaif edged away, backing into the wagon.
Those gathering around Shiya remained standing, still singing, as if oblivious to the threat.
What are they waiting for?
One of the scythers had enough. It bunched its haunches and leaped with a scream of fury. It flew with its forelimbs wide, paws outstretched, extending bloodied claws.
Before it crashed into the women, a dark shadow sped out of the inn’s tall doors. It struck the cat’s flank and sent it rolling to the side. The two tumbled across the packed dirt. When they finally stopped, a muscled beast with striped fur crouched atop the scyther. Its jaws were clamped to the cat’s throat. It ripped back its muzzle, tearing out fur and flesh. Blood flew high as it leaped away.
The cat on the ground writhed and mewled, coughing out gouts of its life.
The attacker ignored those death throes and faced the other cat. Its entire form bristled with challenge.
Llyra gasped, “What’s a vargr doing here?”
Rhaif squinted at the women around Shiya.
Had they somehow summoned this beast to their defense?
The answer to Rhaif’s question arrived. A young woman, flanked by oth ers, stepped from the firelit shadows of the inn. She sang out at the square, her melody joining the others, falling into perfect harmony.
Rhaif struggled to understand who she was.
Pratik seemed to know and mumbled with awe, “Du’a ta.”
47
NYX SANG TO the beasts in the square. As she did, she added her voice to the chorus of women outside, while drawing their strands back into her. She cast herself out along those threads, like a spider dancing across a web. She did so delicately, unsure, still tentative about such a talent.
She recognized Xan by the silvery threads in her voice, Dala by the fire of her youth. The other Kethra’kai added their strength with every note. Somewhere she even sensed the faint chords of a lullaby.
Yet, wound through them all were thin cords of bronze, so ancient that they seemed to glow with tarnish and verdigris. From the corner of her eye, she spotted the source, a woman with painted bronze skin. She appeared to be wounded and fading. Yet, there was also something unnerving about her. With no moment to spare, Nyx shied from such strangeness for now.
Instead, she settled where she felt the most familiar, into the heart of a feral beast, tamed only by the warmth of a shared pack.
Aamon’s challenge flowed across the square. His low growl, commingled with a high-pitched chittering, shivered the hairs on her arms. Still, his was a song in its own right, as beautiful in its savagery as any sweet melody.
Recognizing this, she added her song to his. In a breath, her heart became his, and his lusts were now hers. She stared through his eyes and her own.