War of the Animum: Wolf in the Fold: Ch 3
Feb. 26th, 2011 11:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: At last we have an update! I'm sorry it took so long but I'd been focusing on other things. The next update will probably be just as long as I haven't started it yet. Again, I apologize. Please enjoy!
Title: Wolf in the Fold
Series: War of the Animum, Fourth Story
Warnings: language, character death, slash erotica, graphic violence
Summary: Questions stack upon questions as Sleet and his barely-allied group of companions head further north, seeking out the last animus before Balaam can find them.
(Ch 1)(Ch 2)
‘Aesir must have a sick sense of humor,’ Alaris muttered under her breath as she paced back and forth across the campsite, short bursts of movement that did little to ease the agitation inside of her.
A low, male chuckle echoed from the bright corners of her mind. Why so?
Alaris rolled her eyes. ‘Did he honestly think Sleet would make a good anima, much less a decent human being?’
I’m sure he had his reasons, Hephaestion responded, with the air of one long suffering. This wasn’t a conversation they hadn’t had before. Alaris had questioned every addition to her motley band of heroes. Considering what she had been presented with, Alaris often questioned Aesir’s sanity.
A thief. An apprentice mage. A weaver’s twin sons, and the athletic one taken by Balaam. The most battle-useful member of her team was Raven and he was the one not bonded to an anima! This was the crew destined to save the world? Did Aesir want them to fail? Or did it amuse him to watch them struggle?
Alaris snorted. ‘Reasons beyond us mere mortals, I suppose,’ she retorted, and continued to pace, her feet wearing a path in the dirt and twigs. She knew that the others were probably watching her with curiosity. She didn’t care. ‘He’s going to get the rest of us killed. As if we needed any more complications.’
He’s trying.
‘No, he’s figuring out what the best advantage is for him in any given situation,’ Alaris countered, her loose hair swinging back and forth across her back. She clasped her hands behind her back, to keep them from gesticulating wildly.
That’s human.
‘That’s selfish.’
He’s human, Hephaesion replied, as though he had all the patience in the world. And if there was a touch of humor in his tone, Alaris chose to ignore him.
Alaris sighed and was pulled from her inner conversation when Raven spoke up, always one to interrupt when Alaris was otherwise occupied.
“Yo, Alaris! While the brat’s busy, let’s get some business taken care of!” he called out, making her stop, mid-tread, to turn and look at him. “So we can figure out where we’re going.”
She rubbed a her forehead, a purely unconscious gesture that she’d gotten in the habit of even when her head didn’t ache, and looked at her companions. The supposed saviors of the world.
Tungsten was perched on a log – the same one abandoned by Sleet – absently chewing on dried jerky as he stared off in the direction Sleet and Beryl had gone. His youthful face was pinched with worry, worry that Alaris considered wasted on either thief. Raven appeared disgruntled more than anything from his seat next to Iblion on another log, a map stretched between them that had seen better days. On the other side of Iblion, Ashur was again huddled in a blanket, as wordless as he’d been since waking after the battle, and staring off into space.
These are the people – missing two that hadn’t been located and Sleet – that were going to stop Balaam and save all of mankind from utter destruction. Why couldn’t Alaris feel relieved?
“I’ve told you,” Alaris said, forcing herself not to speak through gritted teeth. She wandered closer to the fire, holding her chilly hands close to the warmth of the flames. “I don’t know for certain. But I have the feeling we’re where we need to be.”
“Are we going to have to enter Shadowglade?” Tungsten asked, and even his concern couldn’t hide the hint of excitement in his voice. For all his uncertainty, the mage could be rather adventurous at times.
Alaris wasn’t sure. She only understood the feeling in her gut. The one that said they were on the right track. “Perhaps.”
Raven grunted. “That’s not a good idea,” he said, taking his map away from Iblion and rolling the tattered parchment up carefully.
“I never took you for being superstitious,” Alaris retorted, lifting her eyebrows at him. And she’d known Raven for quite some time. He was almost fearless and quick to dive into battle. “Surely a forest doesn’t scare you.”
He grunted again, ever so attractive, but Alaris had given up on teaching him some manners. “Shadowglade is no mere forest. We should make sure we’re on our way by morning.”
“Easier said than done,” Alaris said, curling her fingers away from the flames as the heat started t become uncomfortable. “I’ve still no certainty to the direction of the animus. I think he – or she – knows.”
Tungsten blinked, turning away from his thoughtful stare into the forest. “Knows? What do you mean?”
“I think he knows he’s an animus,” Alaris clarified, and frowned, watching the orange and white of the fire as it flickered in a hypnotizing dance. “I think he knows and he’s trying to hide it or conceal it which is why he keeps dancing in and out of my senses.”
“Why would someone want to hide it?” Ashur asked, voice hoarse and distant, but at least it proved he was paying attention. Alaris was beginning to worry the poor boy was going to go catatonic without his brother around. Alaris had long learned that when it came to twins to expect the unexpected.
Alaris shrugged, turning away from the campfire to sit back down against her chosen log for the evening. “Many reasons. He – or she – might be like Sleet, unreceptive to what their anima has to offer. Or they might be afraid of the future. Or they might even think they’re going crazy, as you said you and your brother initially thought.”
“But you’re still sensing him correct?” Tungsten asked.
“Yes.” Alaris nodded, briefly chewing on her bottom lip. “In small bursts. We’re close, but I don’t know how close. I can’t tell if we should go east or west or further north.”
Raven harrumphed, sliding down to sit on the ground and lean back against the log. “Further north into Shadowglade you mean,” he muttered, poking at the fire with a long stick.
“Yes,” Alaris agreed, and across the campfire, Iblion echoed her sentiment, two fingers stroking his chin in thought.
“I’m not as sensitive as my niece, but we anima do have an affinity for one another,” he said slowly, as though working out some difficult problem in the back of his mind. “Even with my senses muted as they are, I can still feel the presence of another deity nearby. I think we should venture into the cursed wood.”
Raven’s poking disturbed one of the logs, causing it to roll over with a puff of ember and smoke. “I think the both of you are insane.”
“We’ll do what’s necessary,” Alaris corrected. “Besides, we can’t leave until Sleet is… ready to travel.” She chose her words carefully to avoid saying what she really meant. More for Tungsten and Ashur’s sake than anyone else.
Once again, she questioned Aesir’s wisdom. Alaris could have used a dozen warriors and mercenaries and mages and priests. Not two innocents who knew so little about the world they might as well have been children. Tungsten was kind and helpful enough, certainly willing to put himself in harm’s way, but he was only going to get himself killed. They all were.
“Beryl-san hasn’t come back yet either,” Tungsten pointed out as though it was a fact none of them had noticed up until now.
Alaris had, but had chosen not to comment. Whatever the thieves chose to do in the privacy of the forest was no business of hers. Which didn’t account much for Sleet’s taste, but to each his own, she supposed. Beryl was at least a step up from chasing after their worst enemy.
Ashur made a confused face, slowly emerging from the cocoon of his blankets. “Why would Sleet do… that with him? I thought they hated each other?”
Raven rolled his neck, staring at Ashur in disbelief. “You really are a kid, aren’t you?”
“Raven,” Alaris warned, hoping that the mercenary would quit antagonizing the only people willing to help them for once.
He rolled his eye at her. “You can’t hide him from the world forever. He’s supposed to be a fighter, isn’t he?”
Alaris sighed and rubbed at her forehead again. One day, she would have an impression of her fingers in the flesh at her temple. And it would be caused by all the men she was forced to travel with. Why couldn’t Aesir have chosen a few more women? Well, to be fair, Raven’s sister had been one but she was no longer an option. As had Byakko’s animus. Both of whom were destroyed by Balaam now. Had he gone after the women first, thinking them the weakest? Or was that just pure bad luck?
“Someday, I must meet this Frost,” Tungsten said musingly, and popped the last of the deer jerky into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before adding, “And the real one. Not the one who keeps trying to kill us.”
Raven stared at the mage. “Why on Lieve would you want to do that?”
Shrugging, Tungsten pulled out his casting rod, running his fingers over the etched wood. “Because Beryl-san and Sleet-san are so devoted to him. It makes me wonder what kind of person he must really be.”
The mage had a point, Alaris had to concede. Aside from the fact that he was Balaam’s chosen, Frost had already had charisma of his own. Sleet claimed his whole purpose for being on this quest was to find Frost for some reason understandable only to Sleet. Beryl claimed he was here to follow Sleet and subsequently, find Frost. And it was only recently that Balaam and Frost had begun to truly bond, which begged the question as to how Frost was able to control Balaam’s minions so easily from the beginning. Alaris also strongly suspected that Frost was no mere thief, though getting answers from either Sleet or Beryl would be harder than teaching Sleet and Raven to get along.
Suddenly, above Raven, Karasu cawed and abandoned his perch with a rustle of leaves and branches. The bird’s unusual behavior attracted their attention and Alaris looked up, watching as Karasu circled the air above them, incredibly dark against the star-spotted black of the sky.
Raven rose to his feet, frowning. Karasu had been the one to announce Beryl’s presence as well. Alaris had learned to appreciate the bird’s finely tuned senses. Not to mention that the horses were snorting and snuffling in their tethers, Flurin especially pawing the ground.
There was no magic in the air, no feeling of an attack from Balaam. Alaris stood, noticing that the other men echoed her action, Ashur’s blanket pooling forgotten at his feet. Iblion reached up behind himself, fingers curling around the shaft of one of his axes, his pale eyes searching the brush and darkness.
“What is it?” Alaris demanded in a low voice, working her way around the fire to where Raven had held up a hand, encouraging Karasu to land on his forearm.
The bird cawed again before banking down and curling talons around Raven’s arm as he landed. Karasu was twitchy, head cocking from one side to the other, feathers all fluffed as though he were annoyed.
“Not Balaam,” Raven said, eye narrowed. “We’re surrounded.”
Surrounded? By what or whom? Alaris hadn’t even known they were being watched to begin with! Nothing lived in this area. At least, nothing she knew of. Sure there were rumors, just as there were superstitious tales of Shadowglade, but nothing Alaris had put any stock in.
Tungsten was looking a little worried, his fingers running over and over his casting rod. “Alaris-san?” he asked, and frankly, Alaris was surprised that he didn’t stutter.
She shook her head. “Do we run? Fight?”
“Neither. It’s too late,” Raven said, and no sooner had he spoken than bodies cleaved from the shadows, stepping into the ring of light provided by the campfire.
Alaris froze, feeling Hephaestion’s surprise echo within her. Had she any attack magic, Alaris would have had it burning at her fingertips, but the best she could do was hope her abilities – healing specifically – wouldn’t be needed.
More than a dozen men and woman appeared from the forest, their skin amber in the light of the campfire, and every one of them displaying long hair in various twists, braids, and designs. Bows raised arrows, aimed at the five companions without hesitation. Alaris had never seen anything like them.
“The Kurai,” Raven growled in a low tone to her left, his fingers twitching as he slowly moved into an attack stance. Karasu clicked its beak as though nervous, shifting around on Raven’s other arm. “I didn’t think they’d dare crawl from under their rock.”
“Who?”
Raven wasn’t given a chance to answer before the man – who was obviously the leader – stepped forward and barked something at the five of them, startling Tungsten and making Ashur give a squeak of surprise. The language was unlike anything Alaris had ever heard – similar to the ancient tongues written in the older texts at the Temple of Hephaestion, but not close enough that Alaris could even begin to translate.
“Alaris?” Tungsten asked nervously, lifting his hands to show he was no harm. “What do they want from us?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, and looked the leader in the eye.
He was taller, taller than Raven even, his black hair swept back from his face with a pair of braids and twisted with bird feathers. His eyes were equally dark, his jaw square and firm. He, like the rest of his companions, wore thick pants and a thick, long-sleeved shirt, both overlain by a sleeveless robe belted at the waist. Their feet were booted and their weapons varied, but they were all armed.
They did not look like savages. They looked civilized and intelligent.
‘Hephaestion?’
He was quiet for a moment, long enough that the leader again made that gesture toward her, the sound of bows creaking filling the uncomfortable silence. It was obviously a threat of some kind, though Alaris couldn’t be certain.
“Drop your weapons.”
Now that was coherent. Alaris startled, looking past the obvious leader to the man who had given the quiet order, standing on the other side of the leader. He was a few inches shorter, noticeably different by the color of his hair –the silver of age—and the vivid shade of his eyes, an eerie, cat-like gold. Other members of the surrounding strangers had the odd shade to their hair, but no one else displayed that eye color.
“You speak Common?”
“In as much as was made necessary,” the man said, incredibly well spoken. He looked to his leader, whose stormy expression did not look pleased. “Drop your weapons.”
There was something in his gold eyes that was familiar to Alaris. Something that pinged on her senses. She cocked her head to the side.
Alaris. Don’t be so hasty.
Ah, so that explained the strange feeling in her gut.
At her side, Raven started, as though intending to move but her hand snapped out, fingers curling around his arm and holding him back. “No, don’t fight them,” she hissed, refusing to take her eyes away from the leader or his silver-haired companion.
Raven snarled, muscles coiling with adrenaline beneath her grip. “Why the fuck not?”
She lowered her voice. “The animus is among them.”
“I thought you couldn’t feel him!”
Alaris shook her head, that whispering feeling inside of her growing stronger. “I can’t. I just have a feeling.” She looked at their other companions. “Do as he says,” she said, in a louder voice this time. “Iblion, Tungsten, do as the man says.”
“What?”
She squeezed his arm. “Raven, just trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”
Raven growled, grey eye burning with frustration, and then his arm twitched. Karasu took off into the night, cawing loudly, and he jerked his sheath off his back, tossing it to the ground.
“You had better,” he spat, as the sound of Iblion’s axes hitting the earthen floor echoed through the night. Tungsten and Ashur had no weapons but they continued to hold up their hands, to show their lack of threat.
One of the men swung his bow over his shoulder and then darted forward to collect their weapons, despite Raven bearing his teeth at the man. The mercenary was treated to a dispassionate, secure look before the tribesman returned to the side of his people, currently keeping the companions enclosed within their tight circle.
“We’ve done as you asked,” Alaris said coolly, addressing the leader, but her eyes kept shifting to the man beside him, the one who knew their language and felt just like an animus. “What do you want?”
The leader spoke rapidly in their strange tongue, gesticulating something, but it was his companion who spoke. “You are on Kurai lands. Why?”
“Maybe we’re just travelers passing through. You ever think about that?” Raven demanded, ignoring the looks that Alaris sent him to be quiet. He wasn’t going to help matters being his usual belligerent self. In fact, Raven was more likely to get them killed.
The gold-eyed stranger lifted both brows. “Travelers do not come this far north. Travelers do not approach Shadowglade unless they want to enter it. I repeat, why are you here?”
“We’re looking for someone,” Alaris answered, holding his gaze evenly. “Someone specific to be exact. We don’t know his name or his face, but I’ll recognize him when we meet.”
He stared at her, as though trying to discern whether she told truth or lies before turning to the leader, conversation passing rapidly between them. Alaris might not have understood their language, but even she could see that it didn’t look like things were going well. In all likelihood, the two were probably debating whether or not to kill Alaris and her companions.
“This is a bad fucking idea,” Raven growled, glancing over his shoulder at the arrows still perfectly trained on them, ready to let loose at any moment. “They’re just going to kill us.”
“I don’t think so,” Alaris lied. In reality, she could only hope so.
That golden-eyed man… he knew something. He spoke Common when none of his fellows did. Alaris wondered why, just as much as she was certain the animus was among the Kurai as Raven had called these people.
No matter how much she searched her memory and the books she’d read, Alaris could not recall a tribe by the name of the Kurai. Then again, her lore on Shadowglade had been spotty at best. She could only guess how Raven knew. He was far more well-traveled than she.
‘Hephaestion?’
The animus is among them, he confirmed, and shifted restlessly in her mind. He was worried and trying not to show it. He’s here.
‘The man with the gold eyes?’
That would be my guess, Hephaestion said, and sighed, a gusty sound that never failed to tickle her in a strange way. He’s blocking it. I’ve never seen someone with such enormous mental strength before. It’s incredible.
Their disagreement grew louder until the leader whipped his hand through the air, forcing his silver-haired companion into silence. A look of stormy disapproval twisted the gold-eyed man’s features before he jerked his head into a terse nod. A sharp rebuttal fell from his lips that made the leader narrow his eyes, but speak nothing further.
Alaris waited with breathless anticipation, Raven like a coiling serpent waiting to strike at her side. He was a man of action. This waiting was driving him insane.
“You will come with us,” the man finally said, his tone cold and terse. “If you struggle, you will know the skill of a Kurai archer.”
Alaris nodded slowly, silently willing Raven to keep his damn mouth shut for once. “We understand,” she said, cutting glances at her other companions, warning them to follow her lead. “We will do as you say.”
“This is such a bad idea,” Raven growled under his breath, but nevertheless, he allowed the Kurai to bound his wrists behind his back.
Alaris was patient as they did the same to her, and was relieved when her other companions didn’t fight back either. Ashur was pale and tight-lipped, still recovering obviously, and Iblion looked as disgruntled as Raven, but neither of them were as reckless as the mercenary. Tungsten, for his part, kept glancing worriedly at the forest, as though Sleet would spring from the shadows at any moment and find himself made a captive as well.
“Where are you taking us?” Raven demanded, a question that Alaris had considered holding until they actually arrived.
Gold eyes conferred with his leader briefly before cutting his eyes at the mercenary, dismissing him in a moment. “Reiran. So that you may stand before Chieftain Adlai.”
None of it sounded familiar to Alaris, but she assumed that Reiran was the name of the Kurai’s home and Chieftain Adlai was self-explanatory. In other words, Alaris and her friends were not to be killed… yet. The future might prove to be a little different, but they would live for now. Alaris hoped they lived long enough to prove their mission and get through to their elusive animus.
Lord Aesir must derive great amusement from watching their struggle. Did he actually care for the fate of the war and his world? Or was it all some big game to him? Alaris supposed that being the king of the gods, he could just wipe everything and everyone away, start anew if he wished. Not even Hephaestion’s reassurances that Aesir was more benevolent than that could completely comfort her.
The warriors surrounding them lowered their weapons, though not once did Alaris consider them no longer a threat. The fact remained that they could raise them again and a lot quicker than any of her companions could consider putting up a fight.
The leader and Gold eyes conferred again, moving together toward the forest as the warriors clustered around their captives. Alaris and her companions were prodded along, forced to follow as they entered the dreaded Shadowglade. Raven muttered under his breath, something about being forced to enter the cursed wood, but he was largely ignored.
“Sleet-san is still out there. Shouldn’t we be worried?”
Raven snorted before Alaris could even form a proper answer. “Are you kidding? That brat’s probably already been captured and is sitting pretty, waiting for us to storm to the rescue. He’s an accident waiting to happen and you all know it.”
Alaris sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, Raven was probably right.
Sleet was in the middle of scrubbing his breeches in a stream Beryl had sniffed out when the rustling of bushes made his skin prickle more than the chill of the water itself. A few paces away, Beryl lifted his eyes to Sleet, silent communication passing between them. It could have been anything, a rabbit or owl even, but Sleet’s senses were afire. A beast had not made that rustle.
He forced himself to tug on his soaking breeches, the cloth wet and clammy against his skin, but better than facing some horror half-nude. His boots were still on the bank, unfortunately, and his daggers lying alongside them. All he had was an agile frame and the voice in the back of his head. Which had been oddly silent as of late.
I was making myself scarce until your business had concluded, Erebus retorted, sounding miffed, as though Sleet had offended him in some way.
Sleet ignored him, focused on the rustling bushes. The sound of a broken stick carried through the night, and Sleet whirled to face it, the stream splashing around his feet. Beryl hissed at him to be quiet, but it didn’t matter. Whatever was out there already knew where the two thieves could be find.
“Beryl--”
Forms shot out of the dark, swooping down on Sleet so quickly he hardly had time to react. They were cloaked with the night, difficult to tell apart from the looming trees, and he ducked under the first reach, falling to his knees in the freezing water. It was only a foot deep, but it was cold, and a startled shout fell from Sleet’s lips.
Many feet splashed and Beryl, too, cried out. An epithet as he fought off against his opponents. Hands reached out, latching on Sleet’s arms, pulling him to his feet. He kicked out against one opponent, striking what he thought to be a knee, and something rose out of the dark, striking him against the head.
It made his ears ring, and stars danced in front of his eyes. Sleet sagged in the combined grip of his captors – he assumed them to be men judging by the lack of talons, teeth, and immediate consumption of his human flesh.
He heard Beryl shout something about being let go immediately followed by cursing, before Beryl went abruptly silent, either killed or knocked out. Sleet hoped for the latter. He might not like Beryl very much, but he wouldn’t hope for the blond thief’s death.
His head aching, Sleet didn’t put up much of a fight as they dragged him from the river to the bank. By this point, he figured he had been attacked by a bunch of men for some reason unknown to him. Maybe this was their forest and he was trespassing. He couldn’t even begin to guess. He did, however, catch sight of Beryl, the blond slung over one of their shoulders, unconscious by all estimations.
Someone grabbed his hands, winding a rough twine around his wrists and binding them together. Sleet felt a little nauseous, his head pulsing and something dripped against the back of his neck. Fantastic. He was bleeding.
They jabbered over him, in a language Sleet didn’t understand. But being as they weren’t immediately stabbing him sharp implements, Sleet assumed they were weren’t going to kill him… yet. Not that such a thing served as any comfort.
‘Now would be a good time to show off your godly abilities,’ Sleet informed his parasitic companion.
I’m not a parasite, Erebus all but growled. And we’re not sure of the situation just yet. Something’s going on with the others, too.
Sleet rolled his eyes, momentarily distracted when his captor jerked on his bound hands and pulled him forward, forcing Sleet to follow at a stumble. ‘What makes you say that?’
I don’t have any proof, if that’s what you mean.
A hand shoved at Sleet in the middle of his back, making him stumble forward. Sleet whirled to glare in the general direction of the man, and the abrupt movement made his head spin. He swayed on his feet, more stars dancing behind his eyes. Apparently head wounds were nothing to laugh off.
Knees wobbling, Sleet swallowed down a sudden surge of nausea. Someone else gripped his bonds and there was more jabbering before Sleet felt himself unceremoniously lifted from his feet. He squirmed and wriggled like a fish out of water, but it didn’t stop them from slinging him over someone’s beefy shoulder. An equally beefy arm clamped around the back of Sleet’s upper thighs like an iron bar, pinning him against the stranger.
Well, this was just great. He could just hear Raven now, loudly muttering about how Sleet had gotten himself in trouble again and Raven would have to come bail him out again. It was only a small consolation that Beryl was tied up in this mess, too.
His captors chattered around him, a conversation Sleet didn’t even pretend to understand and he sighed, relaxing as much was possible against the meaty shoulder that served as his resting place. His bare toes wriggled in the cold air and it was of small amusement that his wet breeches were currently soaking his captor’s clothing.
The group of men bearing Sleet were much more silent as they walked through the forest, steps a bare whisp of sound across the leaf-strewn ground. He wondered if the noise they had made in their initial attack had been intentional, because at the moment, they were displaying skills that Sleet – as a thief – envied.
And then Sleet’s ears picked up other noises – footsteps less skilled than his captors. He perked up, lifting his head to peer into the darkness. At first, he saw nothing, but then the glow of a lantern came into view, carried by a member of another group of strangers. This shed some light on the situation, giving Sleet a better glimpse of the men who had made him a captive.
They were well-dressed, looked intelligent even, hardly the sort to be creeping around Shadowgalde. Sleet had expected mindless savages not… these men.
Even more surprising were the five men and women that trailed along in a tight clump in the center of the other group of strangers. Sleet’s very own companions, hands bound behind their backs, trudging along, very obviously prisoners.
Of course, Sleet’s luck had never been grand so it was Raven who first spotted Sleet in his current predicament, both groups quickly making an acquaintance. Their captors conversed in their own language, leaving Sleet to reunite with his companions.
“Well,” Sleet drawled, striving for nonchalance despite his less than flattering position astride someone’s meaty shoulder. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Alaris sighed, the sort of sigh she seemed to give often that spoke plainly of her disappointment. “Mr. Underwood, why do I fail to be surprised?”
“Because getting captured and/or in mortal peril is so far the only thing he’s good at?” Raven said with a snort, his single eye rich with his own sense of humor.
Sleet rolled his eyes. “If I’m not mistake, you seem to be in the same position as me. So much for your own ability to remain uncaptured.”
“I’m glad that you’re all right, Sleet-san,” Tungsten called out, before Raven’s growl could emerge in something less than flattering. As it always did. “What about Beryl-san?”
As best he could, Sleet gestured with his head toward the unconscious thief, slung across another meaty shoulder. “Down for the count. I guess I have a harder head.”
Raven made a sound that was a cross between a choke and a cough, but he kept his comments to himself. Whether or not it had anything to do with the heated glare Alaris was tossing his way Sleet could only hazard a guess.
They were saved from further conversation when their captors started up the march again, the separate groups converging into one. Sleet took small comfort in knowing that Alaris didn’t seem too concerned at the moment. Perhaps she knew something that he didn’t.
Sighing to himself, Sleet wriggled on his captor’s shoulder and tried to get settled in, prepared for what was certain to be an uncomfortable journey.
* * *
Title: Wolf in the Fold
Series: War of the Animum, Fourth Story
Warnings: language, character death, slash erotica, graphic violence
Summary: Questions stack upon questions as Sleet and his barely-allied group of companions head further north, seeking out the last animus before Balaam can find them.
(Ch 1)(Ch 2)
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Chapter Three
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Chapter Three
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‘Aesir must have a sick sense of humor,’ Alaris muttered under her breath as she paced back and forth across the campsite, short bursts of movement that did little to ease the agitation inside of her.
A low, male chuckle echoed from the bright corners of her mind. Why so?
Alaris rolled her eyes. ‘Did he honestly think Sleet would make a good anima, much less a decent human being?’
I’m sure he had his reasons, Hephaestion responded, with the air of one long suffering. This wasn’t a conversation they hadn’t had before. Alaris had questioned every addition to her motley band of heroes. Considering what she had been presented with, Alaris often questioned Aesir’s sanity.
A thief. An apprentice mage. A weaver’s twin sons, and the athletic one taken by Balaam. The most battle-useful member of her team was Raven and he was the one not bonded to an anima! This was the crew destined to save the world? Did Aesir want them to fail? Or did it amuse him to watch them struggle?
Alaris snorted. ‘Reasons beyond us mere mortals, I suppose,’ she retorted, and continued to pace, her feet wearing a path in the dirt and twigs. She knew that the others were probably watching her with curiosity. She didn’t care. ‘He’s going to get the rest of us killed. As if we needed any more complications.’
He’s trying.
‘No, he’s figuring out what the best advantage is for him in any given situation,’ Alaris countered, her loose hair swinging back and forth across her back. She clasped her hands behind her back, to keep them from gesticulating wildly.
That’s human.
‘That’s selfish.’
He’s human, Hephaesion replied, as though he had all the patience in the world. And if there was a touch of humor in his tone, Alaris chose to ignore him.
Alaris sighed and was pulled from her inner conversation when Raven spoke up, always one to interrupt when Alaris was otherwise occupied.
“Yo, Alaris! While the brat’s busy, let’s get some business taken care of!” he called out, making her stop, mid-tread, to turn and look at him. “So we can figure out where we’re going.”
She rubbed a her forehead, a purely unconscious gesture that she’d gotten in the habit of even when her head didn’t ache, and looked at her companions. The supposed saviors of the world.
Tungsten was perched on a log – the same one abandoned by Sleet – absently chewing on dried jerky as he stared off in the direction Sleet and Beryl had gone. His youthful face was pinched with worry, worry that Alaris considered wasted on either thief. Raven appeared disgruntled more than anything from his seat next to Iblion on another log, a map stretched between them that had seen better days. On the other side of Iblion, Ashur was again huddled in a blanket, as wordless as he’d been since waking after the battle, and staring off into space.
These are the people – missing two that hadn’t been located and Sleet – that were going to stop Balaam and save all of mankind from utter destruction. Why couldn’t Alaris feel relieved?
“I’ve told you,” Alaris said, forcing herself not to speak through gritted teeth. She wandered closer to the fire, holding her chilly hands close to the warmth of the flames. “I don’t know for certain. But I have the feeling we’re where we need to be.”
“Are we going to have to enter Shadowglade?” Tungsten asked, and even his concern couldn’t hide the hint of excitement in his voice. For all his uncertainty, the mage could be rather adventurous at times.
Alaris wasn’t sure. She only understood the feeling in her gut. The one that said they were on the right track. “Perhaps.”
Raven grunted. “That’s not a good idea,” he said, taking his map away from Iblion and rolling the tattered parchment up carefully.
“I never took you for being superstitious,” Alaris retorted, lifting her eyebrows at him. And she’d known Raven for quite some time. He was almost fearless and quick to dive into battle. “Surely a forest doesn’t scare you.”
He grunted again, ever so attractive, but Alaris had given up on teaching him some manners. “Shadowglade is no mere forest. We should make sure we’re on our way by morning.”
“Easier said than done,” Alaris said, curling her fingers away from the flames as the heat started t become uncomfortable. “I’ve still no certainty to the direction of the animus. I think he – or she – knows.”
Tungsten blinked, turning away from his thoughtful stare into the forest. “Knows? What do you mean?”
“I think he knows he’s an animus,” Alaris clarified, and frowned, watching the orange and white of the fire as it flickered in a hypnotizing dance. “I think he knows and he’s trying to hide it or conceal it which is why he keeps dancing in and out of my senses.”
“Why would someone want to hide it?” Ashur asked, voice hoarse and distant, but at least it proved he was paying attention. Alaris was beginning to worry the poor boy was going to go catatonic without his brother around. Alaris had long learned that when it came to twins to expect the unexpected.
Alaris shrugged, turning away from the campfire to sit back down against her chosen log for the evening. “Many reasons. He – or she – might be like Sleet, unreceptive to what their anima has to offer. Or they might be afraid of the future. Or they might even think they’re going crazy, as you said you and your brother initially thought.”
“But you’re still sensing him correct?” Tungsten asked.
“Yes.” Alaris nodded, briefly chewing on her bottom lip. “In small bursts. We’re close, but I don’t know how close. I can’t tell if we should go east or west or further north.”
Raven harrumphed, sliding down to sit on the ground and lean back against the log. “Further north into Shadowglade you mean,” he muttered, poking at the fire with a long stick.
“Yes,” Alaris agreed, and across the campfire, Iblion echoed her sentiment, two fingers stroking his chin in thought.
“I’m not as sensitive as my niece, but we anima do have an affinity for one another,” he said slowly, as though working out some difficult problem in the back of his mind. “Even with my senses muted as they are, I can still feel the presence of another deity nearby. I think we should venture into the cursed wood.”
Raven’s poking disturbed one of the logs, causing it to roll over with a puff of ember and smoke. “I think the both of you are insane.”
“We’ll do what’s necessary,” Alaris corrected. “Besides, we can’t leave until Sleet is… ready to travel.” She chose her words carefully to avoid saying what she really meant. More for Tungsten and Ashur’s sake than anyone else.
Once again, she questioned Aesir’s wisdom. Alaris could have used a dozen warriors and mercenaries and mages and priests. Not two innocents who knew so little about the world they might as well have been children. Tungsten was kind and helpful enough, certainly willing to put himself in harm’s way, but he was only going to get himself killed. They all were.
“Beryl-san hasn’t come back yet either,” Tungsten pointed out as though it was a fact none of them had noticed up until now.
Alaris had, but had chosen not to comment. Whatever the thieves chose to do in the privacy of the forest was no business of hers. Which didn’t account much for Sleet’s taste, but to each his own, she supposed. Beryl was at least a step up from chasing after their worst enemy.
Ashur made a confused face, slowly emerging from the cocoon of his blankets. “Why would Sleet do… that with him? I thought they hated each other?”
Raven rolled his neck, staring at Ashur in disbelief. “You really are a kid, aren’t you?”
“Raven,” Alaris warned, hoping that the mercenary would quit antagonizing the only people willing to help them for once.
He rolled his eye at her. “You can’t hide him from the world forever. He’s supposed to be a fighter, isn’t he?”
Alaris sighed and rubbed at her forehead again. One day, she would have an impression of her fingers in the flesh at her temple. And it would be caused by all the men she was forced to travel with. Why couldn’t Aesir have chosen a few more women? Well, to be fair, Raven’s sister had been one but she was no longer an option. As had Byakko’s animus. Both of whom were destroyed by Balaam now. Had he gone after the women first, thinking them the weakest? Or was that just pure bad luck?
“Someday, I must meet this Frost,” Tungsten said musingly, and popped the last of the deer jerky into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before adding, “And the real one. Not the one who keeps trying to kill us.”
Raven stared at the mage. “Why on Lieve would you want to do that?”
Shrugging, Tungsten pulled out his casting rod, running his fingers over the etched wood. “Because Beryl-san and Sleet-san are so devoted to him. It makes me wonder what kind of person he must really be.”
The mage had a point, Alaris had to concede. Aside from the fact that he was Balaam’s chosen, Frost had already had charisma of his own. Sleet claimed his whole purpose for being on this quest was to find Frost for some reason understandable only to Sleet. Beryl claimed he was here to follow Sleet and subsequently, find Frost. And it was only recently that Balaam and Frost had begun to truly bond, which begged the question as to how Frost was able to control Balaam’s minions so easily from the beginning. Alaris also strongly suspected that Frost was no mere thief, though getting answers from either Sleet or Beryl would be harder than teaching Sleet and Raven to get along.
Suddenly, above Raven, Karasu cawed and abandoned his perch with a rustle of leaves and branches. The bird’s unusual behavior attracted their attention and Alaris looked up, watching as Karasu circled the air above them, incredibly dark against the star-spotted black of the sky.
Raven rose to his feet, frowning. Karasu had been the one to announce Beryl’s presence as well. Alaris had learned to appreciate the bird’s finely tuned senses. Not to mention that the horses were snorting and snuffling in their tethers, Flurin especially pawing the ground.
There was no magic in the air, no feeling of an attack from Balaam. Alaris stood, noticing that the other men echoed her action, Ashur’s blanket pooling forgotten at his feet. Iblion reached up behind himself, fingers curling around the shaft of one of his axes, his pale eyes searching the brush and darkness.
“What is it?” Alaris demanded in a low voice, working her way around the fire to where Raven had held up a hand, encouraging Karasu to land on his forearm.
The bird cawed again before banking down and curling talons around Raven’s arm as he landed. Karasu was twitchy, head cocking from one side to the other, feathers all fluffed as though he were annoyed.
“Not Balaam,” Raven said, eye narrowed. “We’re surrounded.”
Surrounded? By what or whom? Alaris hadn’t even known they were being watched to begin with! Nothing lived in this area. At least, nothing she knew of. Sure there were rumors, just as there were superstitious tales of Shadowglade, but nothing Alaris had put any stock in.
Tungsten was looking a little worried, his fingers running over and over his casting rod. “Alaris-san?” he asked, and frankly, Alaris was surprised that he didn’t stutter.
She shook her head. “Do we run? Fight?”
“Neither. It’s too late,” Raven said, and no sooner had he spoken than bodies cleaved from the shadows, stepping into the ring of light provided by the campfire.
Alaris froze, feeling Hephaestion’s surprise echo within her. Had she any attack magic, Alaris would have had it burning at her fingertips, but the best she could do was hope her abilities – healing specifically – wouldn’t be needed.
More than a dozen men and woman appeared from the forest, their skin amber in the light of the campfire, and every one of them displaying long hair in various twists, braids, and designs. Bows raised arrows, aimed at the five companions without hesitation. Alaris had never seen anything like them.
“The Kurai,” Raven growled in a low tone to her left, his fingers twitching as he slowly moved into an attack stance. Karasu clicked its beak as though nervous, shifting around on Raven’s other arm. “I didn’t think they’d dare crawl from under their rock.”
“Who?”
Raven wasn’t given a chance to answer before the man – who was obviously the leader – stepped forward and barked something at the five of them, startling Tungsten and making Ashur give a squeak of surprise. The language was unlike anything Alaris had ever heard – similar to the ancient tongues written in the older texts at the Temple of Hephaestion, but not close enough that Alaris could even begin to translate.
“Alaris?” Tungsten asked nervously, lifting his hands to show he was no harm. “What do they want from us?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, and looked the leader in the eye.
He was taller, taller than Raven even, his black hair swept back from his face with a pair of braids and twisted with bird feathers. His eyes were equally dark, his jaw square and firm. He, like the rest of his companions, wore thick pants and a thick, long-sleeved shirt, both overlain by a sleeveless robe belted at the waist. Their feet were booted and their weapons varied, but they were all armed.
They did not look like savages. They looked civilized and intelligent.
‘Hephaestion?’
He was quiet for a moment, long enough that the leader again made that gesture toward her, the sound of bows creaking filling the uncomfortable silence. It was obviously a threat of some kind, though Alaris couldn’t be certain.
“Drop your weapons.”
Now that was coherent. Alaris startled, looking past the obvious leader to the man who had given the quiet order, standing on the other side of the leader. He was a few inches shorter, noticeably different by the color of his hair –the silver of age—and the vivid shade of his eyes, an eerie, cat-like gold. Other members of the surrounding strangers had the odd shade to their hair, but no one else displayed that eye color.
“You speak Common?”
“In as much as was made necessary,” the man said, incredibly well spoken. He looked to his leader, whose stormy expression did not look pleased. “Drop your weapons.”
There was something in his gold eyes that was familiar to Alaris. Something that pinged on her senses. She cocked her head to the side.
Alaris. Don’t be so hasty.
Ah, so that explained the strange feeling in her gut.
At her side, Raven started, as though intending to move but her hand snapped out, fingers curling around his arm and holding him back. “No, don’t fight them,” she hissed, refusing to take her eyes away from the leader or his silver-haired companion.
Raven snarled, muscles coiling with adrenaline beneath her grip. “Why the fuck not?”
She lowered her voice. “The animus is among them.”
“I thought you couldn’t feel him!”
Alaris shook her head, that whispering feeling inside of her growing stronger. “I can’t. I just have a feeling.” She looked at their other companions. “Do as he says,” she said, in a louder voice this time. “Iblion, Tungsten, do as the man says.”
“What?”
She squeezed his arm. “Raven, just trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”
Raven growled, grey eye burning with frustration, and then his arm twitched. Karasu took off into the night, cawing loudly, and he jerked his sheath off his back, tossing it to the ground.
“You had better,” he spat, as the sound of Iblion’s axes hitting the earthen floor echoed through the night. Tungsten and Ashur had no weapons but they continued to hold up their hands, to show their lack of threat.
One of the men swung his bow over his shoulder and then darted forward to collect their weapons, despite Raven bearing his teeth at the man. The mercenary was treated to a dispassionate, secure look before the tribesman returned to the side of his people, currently keeping the companions enclosed within their tight circle.
“We’ve done as you asked,” Alaris said coolly, addressing the leader, but her eyes kept shifting to the man beside him, the one who knew their language and felt just like an animus. “What do you want?”
The leader spoke rapidly in their strange tongue, gesticulating something, but it was his companion who spoke. “You are on Kurai lands. Why?”
“Maybe we’re just travelers passing through. You ever think about that?” Raven demanded, ignoring the looks that Alaris sent him to be quiet. He wasn’t going to help matters being his usual belligerent self. In fact, Raven was more likely to get them killed.
The gold-eyed stranger lifted both brows. “Travelers do not come this far north. Travelers do not approach Shadowglade unless they want to enter it. I repeat, why are you here?”
“We’re looking for someone,” Alaris answered, holding his gaze evenly. “Someone specific to be exact. We don’t know his name or his face, but I’ll recognize him when we meet.”
He stared at her, as though trying to discern whether she told truth or lies before turning to the leader, conversation passing rapidly between them. Alaris might not have understood their language, but even she could see that it didn’t look like things were going well. In all likelihood, the two were probably debating whether or not to kill Alaris and her companions.
“This is a bad fucking idea,” Raven growled, glancing over his shoulder at the arrows still perfectly trained on them, ready to let loose at any moment. “They’re just going to kill us.”
“I don’t think so,” Alaris lied. In reality, she could only hope so.
That golden-eyed man… he knew something. He spoke Common when none of his fellows did. Alaris wondered why, just as much as she was certain the animus was among the Kurai as Raven had called these people.
No matter how much she searched her memory and the books she’d read, Alaris could not recall a tribe by the name of the Kurai. Then again, her lore on Shadowglade had been spotty at best. She could only guess how Raven knew. He was far more well-traveled than she.
‘Hephaestion?’
The animus is among them, he confirmed, and shifted restlessly in her mind. He was worried and trying not to show it. He’s here.
‘The man with the gold eyes?’
That would be my guess, Hephaestion said, and sighed, a gusty sound that never failed to tickle her in a strange way. He’s blocking it. I’ve never seen someone with such enormous mental strength before. It’s incredible.
Their disagreement grew louder until the leader whipped his hand through the air, forcing his silver-haired companion into silence. A look of stormy disapproval twisted the gold-eyed man’s features before he jerked his head into a terse nod. A sharp rebuttal fell from his lips that made the leader narrow his eyes, but speak nothing further.
Alaris waited with breathless anticipation, Raven like a coiling serpent waiting to strike at her side. He was a man of action. This waiting was driving him insane.
“You will come with us,” the man finally said, his tone cold and terse. “If you struggle, you will know the skill of a Kurai archer.”
Alaris nodded slowly, silently willing Raven to keep his damn mouth shut for once. “We understand,” she said, cutting glances at her other companions, warning them to follow her lead. “We will do as you say.”
“This is such a bad idea,” Raven growled under his breath, but nevertheless, he allowed the Kurai to bound his wrists behind his back.
Alaris was patient as they did the same to her, and was relieved when her other companions didn’t fight back either. Ashur was pale and tight-lipped, still recovering obviously, and Iblion looked as disgruntled as Raven, but neither of them were as reckless as the mercenary. Tungsten, for his part, kept glancing worriedly at the forest, as though Sleet would spring from the shadows at any moment and find himself made a captive as well.
“Where are you taking us?” Raven demanded, a question that Alaris had considered holding until they actually arrived.
Gold eyes conferred with his leader briefly before cutting his eyes at the mercenary, dismissing him in a moment. “Reiran. So that you may stand before Chieftain Adlai.”
None of it sounded familiar to Alaris, but she assumed that Reiran was the name of the Kurai’s home and Chieftain Adlai was self-explanatory. In other words, Alaris and her friends were not to be killed… yet. The future might prove to be a little different, but they would live for now. Alaris hoped they lived long enough to prove their mission and get through to their elusive animus.
Lord Aesir must derive great amusement from watching their struggle. Did he actually care for the fate of the war and his world? Or was it all some big game to him? Alaris supposed that being the king of the gods, he could just wipe everything and everyone away, start anew if he wished. Not even Hephaestion’s reassurances that Aesir was more benevolent than that could completely comfort her.
The warriors surrounding them lowered their weapons, though not once did Alaris consider them no longer a threat. The fact remained that they could raise them again and a lot quicker than any of her companions could consider putting up a fight.
The leader and Gold eyes conferred again, moving together toward the forest as the warriors clustered around their captives. Alaris and her companions were prodded along, forced to follow as they entered the dreaded Shadowglade. Raven muttered under his breath, something about being forced to enter the cursed wood, but he was largely ignored.
“Sleet-san is still out there. Shouldn’t we be worried?”
Raven snorted before Alaris could even form a proper answer. “Are you kidding? That brat’s probably already been captured and is sitting pretty, waiting for us to storm to the rescue. He’s an accident waiting to happen and you all know it.”
Alaris sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, Raven was probably right.
o0o0o
Sleet was in the middle of scrubbing his breeches in a stream Beryl had sniffed out when the rustling of bushes made his skin prickle more than the chill of the water itself. A few paces away, Beryl lifted his eyes to Sleet, silent communication passing between them. It could have been anything, a rabbit or owl even, but Sleet’s senses were afire. A beast had not made that rustle.
He forced himself to tug on his soaking breeches, the cloth wet and clammy against his skin, but better than facing some horror half-nude. His boots were still on the bank, unfortunately, and his daggers lying alongside them. All he had was an agile frame and the voice in the back of his head. Which had been oddly silent as of late.
I was making myself scarce until your business had concluded, Erebus retorted, sounding miffed, as though Sleet had offended him in some way.
Sleet ignored him, focused on the rustling bushes. The sound of a broken stick carried through the night, and Sleet whirled to face it, the stream splashing around his feet. Beryl hissed at him to be quiet, but it didn’t matter. Whatever was out there already knew where the two thieves could be find.
“Beryl--”
Forms shot out of the dark, swooping down on Sleet so quickly he hardly had time to react. They were cloaked with the night, difficult to tell apart from the looming trees, and he ducked under the first reach, falling to his knees in the freezing water. It was only a foot deep, but it was cold, and a startled shout fell from Sleet’s lips.
Many feet splashed and Beryl, too, cried out. An epithet as he fought off against his opponents. Hands reached out, latching on Sleet’s arms, pulling him to his feet. He kicked out against one opponent, striking what he thought to be a knee, and something rose out of the dark, striking him against the head.
It made his ears ring, and stars danced in front of his eyes. Sleet sagged in the combined grip of his captors – he assumed them to be men judging by the lack of talons, teeth, and immediate consumption of his human flesh.
He heard Beryl shout something about being let go immediately followed by cursing, before Beryl went abruptly silent, either killed or knocked out. Sleet hoped for the latter. He might not like Beryl very much, but he wouldn’t hope for the blond thief’s death.
His head aching, Sleet didn’t put up much of a fight as they dragged him from the river to the bank. By this point, he figured he had been attacked by a bunch of men for some reason unknown to him. Maybe this was their forest and he was trespassing. He couldn’t even begin to guess. He did, however, catch sight of Beryl, the blond slung over one of their shoulders, unconscious by all estimations.
Someone grabbed his hands, winding a rough twine around his wrists and binding them together. Sleet felt a little nauseous, his head pulsing and something dripped against the back of his neck. Fantastic. He was bleeding.
They jabbered over him, in a language Sleet didn’t understand. But being as they weren’t immediately stabbing him sharp implements, Sleet assumed they were weren’t going to kill him… yet. Not that such a thing served as any comfort.
‘Now would be a good time to show off your godly abilities,’ Sleet informed his parasitic companion.
I’m not a parasite, Erebus all but growled. And we’re not sure of the situation just yet. Something’s going on with the others, too.
Sleet rolled his eyes, momentarily distracted when his captor jerked on his bound hands and pulled him forward, forcing Sleet to follow at a stumble. ‘What makes you say that?’
I don’t have any proof, if that’s what you mean.
A hand shoved at Sleet in the middle of his back, making him stumble forward. Sleet whirled to glare in the general direction of the man, and the abrupt movement made his head spin. He swayed on his feet, more stars dancing behind his eyes. Apparently head wounds were nothing to laugh off.
Knees wobbling, Sleet swallowed down a sudden surge of nausea. Someone else gripped his bonds and there was more jabbering before Sleet felt himself unceremoniously lifted from his feet. He squirmed and wriggled like a fish out of water, but it didn’t stop them from slinging him over someone’s beefy shoulder. An equally beefy arm clamped around the back of Sleet’s upper thighs like an iron bar, pinning him against the stranger.
Well, this was just great. He could just hear Raven now, loudly muttering about how Sleet had gotten himself in trouble again and Raven would have to come bail him out again. It was only a small consolation that Beryl was tied up in this mess, too.
His captors chattered around him, a conversation Sleet didn’t even pretend to understand and he sighed, relaxing as much was possible against the meaty shoulder that served as his resting place. His bare toes wriggled in the cold air and it was of small amusement that his wet breeches were currently soaking his captor’s clothing.
The group of men bearing Sleet were much more silent as they walked through the forest, steps a bare whisp of sound across the leaf-strewn ground. He wondered if the noise they had made in their initial attack had been intentional, because at the moment, they were displaying skills that Sleet – as a thief – envied.
And then Sleet’s ears picked up other noises – footsteps less skilled than his captors. He perked up, lifting his head to peer into the darkness. At first, he saw nothing, but then the glow of a lantern came into view, carried by a member of another group of strangers. This shed some light on the situation, giving Sleet a better glimpse of the men who had made him a captive.
They were well-dressed, looked intelligent even, hardly the sort to be creeping around Shadowgalde. Sleet had expected mindless savages not… these men.
Even more surprising were the five men and women that trailed along in a tight clump in the center of the other group of strangers. Sleet’s very own companions, hands bound behind their backs, trudging along, very obviously prisoners.
Of course, Sleet’s luck had never been grand so it was Raven who first spotted Sleet in his current predicament, both groups quickly making an acquaintance. Their captors conversed in their own language, leaving Sleet to reunite with his companions.
“Well,” Sleet drawled, striving for nonchalance despite his less than flattering position astride someone’s meaty shoulder. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Alaris sighed, the sort of sigh she seemed to give often that spoke plainly of her disappointment. “Mr. Underwood, why do I fail to be surprised?”
“Because getting captured and/or in mortal peril is so far the only thing he’s good at?” Raven said with a snort, his single eye rich with his own sense of humor.
Sleet rolled his eyes. “If I’m not mistake, you seem to be in the same position as me. So much for your own ability to remain uncaptured.”
“I’m glad that you’re all right, Sleet-san,” Tungsten called out, before Raven’s growl could emerge in something less than flattering. As it always did. “What about Beryl-san?”
As best he could, Sleet gestured with his head toward the unconscious thief, slung across another meaty shoulder. “Down for the count. I guess I have a harder head.”
Raven made a sound that was a cross between a choke and a cough, but he kept his comments to himself. Whether or not it had anything to do with the heated glare Alaris was tossing his way Sleet could only hazard a guess.
They were saved from further conversation when their captors started up the march again, the separate groups converging into one. Sleet took small comfort in knowing that Alaris didn’t seem too concerned at the moment. Perhaps she knew something that he didn’t.
Sighing to himself, Sleet wriggled on his captor’s shoulder and tried to get settled in, prepared for what was certain to be an uncomfortable journey.
a/n: At last! Plot happens! It's time for another animus as well. I'll introduce him soon enough.
As always feedback is welcome and appreciated.
As always feedback is welcome and appreciated.
