A Gift

It wasn’t long before their destination became clear--a small copse of trees, one of many near the camp. The rest of the pack surrounded the copse, their black forms mingling with the trees’ shadows. The trees themselves were larger and thicker than most in the Ashen Lands, the leaves green as opposed to yellow or faded brown, and the foliage provided cover for whatever waited within the grouping of thick trunks.

“Jugular,” she called to the hound, who was pulling away from her. Frula didn’t expect him to respond, but he slowed down, ear raised. “Can he hear me through you?”

The hound paused, one ear cocked and his head to the side as if he didn’t understand.

“Krave, you ash-blighted fool, can you hear me?” she asked. “Now isn’t the time for whatever this is, however well-intentioned it might be. Except, I don’t know what this is, and against my better judgment, I’m following a hound.”

As if channeling Krave’s spirit, Jugular seemed to grin, flashing his long sharp teeth. Like a pup, he wagged his tail and pranced about, almost taunting her or inviting her to play before racing away into the copse ahead. Without the hound for escort, Frula considered turning back to the clan. The crowd was dispersing, so Krave had already missed his opportunity to revel in any glory he had earned. It aggravated her more than it once would have. Frula’s moods had grown erratic recently.

Calming herself with deep breaths, Frula closed the distance between her and the copse. Shadows moved, revealing themselves to be hounds enjoying a rare break from the heat. As they so often did when she approached, the hounds raised their heads, tongues lolling, but knowing she posed no threat and seeing she didn’t have any scratches or treats to offer, went back to lazing in the shadows.

Before entering the trees, Frula took a moment to appreciate how much life clung to the gnarled trunks and branches. Birds rested on the branches and sang to each other in pairs nestled close, their notes low and conspiratorial. Beetles stood out as quick flashes of movement, and there were even a few wisps, which were so incredibly rare in the Ashen Lands. She admired the twinkling of their lights and tried to guess where they might reappear each time they teleported.

Through the trees, she had a strong sense of deja vu. Unaffected by her dallying, Krave stood in the center of a rough circle of trees, wearing the same face-splitting grin from the day they had become chosen. It was unique among his smiles, the biggest and least reserved expression of joy, which he seemed to set aside for special occasions. She had only seen it a handful of times and could clearly remember each event associated with its appearance.

She had been thinking about that smile a lot recently. It was too early to tell, but she suspected Krave’s seed might finally have taken root. When she knew for sure and told him, she imagined there would be a moment of disbelief or shock. Then she would watch that grin spread across his face, curling up like wings, lifting his happiness to new heights.

It was difficult to be angry with such a blissfully happy man, but Frula felt all her previous frustration returning without explanation. Before she knew it, she was nearly shouting.

“I have a feeling you could hear me through Jugular,” Frula began. “Not images or vague impressions. I think you shared a body or mind with Jugular just now and clearly heard every word I said. Don’t bother denying it or hiding behind your tamer secrets. But are we in the habit of ignoring each other? How many times have I counseled you to challenge Krave? Not only do you shy away from doing so, now I find you secreted away while the clan celebrates a hunt. They’ll think you a pup with your tail tucked between your legs.”

She had never spoken to him with such raw anger. They had small disagreements and could annoy each other as a natural result of sharing their lives, but this was something else. She felt like one of the firemounts, hoarding its stores of liquid fire until they poured across the land, expelled in destructive eruptions.

Krave flinched.

It nearly broke her heart to see his smile fly away as if slapped from his face. She wanted to hunt down the words she had said, hack them to pieces with her axes. But Krave didn’t falter. Stoic and calm, he answered her challenge.

“I heard your every word through Jugular. I’ve now betrayed the tamers by admitting that. I can do so because betraying you would be a greater sin. Ignoring you would be the same. Every word you say is etched upon my heart, and a single one carries more weight than a thousand words spoken by any other.”

He tapped his hand to his chest, sealing the words there. Though it pained her, Frula did the same. She would never forget this moment--her impetuous anger and the ability of Krave’s love to overcome it.

“We will speak of my glory and whether I plan to challenge Semit,” he continued, “but there is a more pressing matter.”

“What?” she asked, voice weak. Ashamed.

“I promised you a gift before we entered the mountains,” Krave said.

“That’s what this is about? We were...it was after…”

“You think I make you empty promises after the throes of our lovemaking?”

Frula couldn’t remember having ever seen such shock on her chosen’s face.

“No,” she blurted. “By Chaur, I don’t. But I thought it was a sweet idea. A romantic gesture.”

He studied her for a moment, and then his smile returned. Not the all-encompassing one, but a familiar lopsided slant. The one that made him look like one of the hounds.

For some reason it made her want to cry. Should she tell him of her suspicion that she might be with child? No, she would wait until she was sure.

During the brief respite in their conversation, Krave must have communicated with the hounds because a large male she couldn’t name approached, trailed by a few nearly-grown pups. The male carried a cuirass in its mouth, holding its head high enough to keep the piece from dragging across the ground. Each pup seemed to have an accompanying piece. Frula could already tell they were expertly made. And beautiful.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

As the hounds approached in turns, Krave took each piece of armor and laid it gently on the ground between them. They were all dark and shone with an inner light in the copse’s shadowy interior. The cuirass bore the mark of their clan, two crossed hand axes, burned into the leather high to one side where it would cover her heart. The pups gave Krave pauldrons and bracers for her lower arms and upper legs.

“It’s lurker hide,” he said. Only a handful of Untamed owned the rare pieces of armor, most of them schels.

“How?” was all she could think to ask.

“I traded my place on several hunts. Before you say anything, it increased my honor rather than diminishing it. A few of the warriors traded me the materials I needed, and Smul agreed to do the work after I allowed his daughter the chance to become blooded. Smul’s daughter, Ula, killed two warriors in my stead. That was months ago, during the final clash with the Ashdevils. You see, I already had the idea back then.”

“How can I ever be worthy of such a gift?” She would stand out on the battlefield. Foes who recognized the armor would seek her out, assuming she had accomplished great deeds and hoping to steal her glory by taking her life, then looting the armor from her corpse.

“By nurturing my seed,” he said with a shrug. “It’s the only gift I would have of you. That, and your presence in my life until we are too old to lift our axes anymore.”

Frula wanted to shout with joy and beat her axes together. She also wanted to cry. Instead, she closed the distance between them as quickly as her feet would carry her, nearly tripping over a root, and wrapped Krave in her arms. Their lips met like rain on parched soil, nourishing any slights and allowing new buds of appreciation to grow.

“Try on your armor,” Krave said after pulling away. “I would have you on full display during my coraig with Semit.”

III.

Frula crouched over a thin iron pot amidst a crowd of warriors in the late afternoon. Though the assigning of glories was finished, they were still celebrating the successful hunt. Many among the clan took part in cleaning, skinning, and dividing the grommel meat while others, like Frula, watched while preparing a soup from some of the tubers they had gathered. She felt oddly apprehensive, shifting in place, wondering when Krave would arrive. He had bade her to return without him, only promising that he would announce the coraig after everyone had a good look at her.

And they were looking.

She had feared derision and disbelief when she rejoined the clan. Surely she wasn’t worthy of the armor in their eyes. Krave had long been blinded by his feelings for her. But the clan would take one look and declare her unfit to wear such a prized set of armor.

To her utter surprise, some of the warriors who knew her best had clanged the flat sides of their axes together. Many others had nodded and beat axe handles together, a moderate show of respect but far more than she had anticipated.

“By Chaur,” a familiar voice purred beside Frula. “Too bad Krave doesn’t have a brother. I’d make him my chosen before the sun sets if I could expect even a fraction of the adoration he shows you.”

Her sister Nit was tall with both sides of her head shorn. A single dark braid hung down her back. Younger than Frula, she had been pursued by countless young clan members though she had refused them all so far.

“Half the eligible warriors in our clan would promise you this,” Frula said, tapping the dark cuirass, “and more if they thought you’d have them.”

“Are you going to lecture me about my fickle tastes and wandering attentions?” Nit asked, frowning in a way that made her even more beautiful.

“I’d not waste the breath, knowing you wouldn’t listen.” Frula sprinkled a bit of ragweed into the soup and stirred it.

A few of the men nearest them had slowed in their work, cleaning a cut of grommel hide, in order to cast glances at Nit. The younger woman had noticed their attention and was doing nothing to discourage it, watching their work with an appraising eye. With a quick flick of the soup spoon, Frula launched a few boiling drops of broth in their direction. Though they yelped, the pair quickly returned to their work.

“You’re wrong,” Nit said, turning back to face her sister. “I would listen. I just wouldn’t heed.” Looking around, she seemed to notice an absence. “Where’s Krave? He deserves my compliments for gifting you with such a prize. Ashes! The other female warriors are going to be jealous, and their chosen are going to resent Krave when they can’t follow through with similar gifts.”

“I know,” Frula groaned, still embarrassed at the idea of Krave having set her above so many other warriors.

“So where is he?” Nit repeated.

Before Frula could answer, Krave announced himself.

From somewhere amidst the milling crowd of warriors, a single axe spun end over end through the air and landed blade first in the ground near Semit’s feet. As befitted warriors of the Cleaver Clan, all those near the thrown axe immediately leapt back, hands on their weapons. A breath later, they realized what the axe signified.

A tense excitement rippled through the clan. Semit, meanwhile, assumed a relaxed posture as warriors parted around Krave. He walked a few paces forward while those nearest him backed away, forming a ring for the coraig they knew was coming.

“Only a coward would declare coraig after a hunt in which he didn’t take part,” Semit said by way of greeting. He scoffed, “You can have the slight advantage that affords you, but it won’t make any difference. I’ve been chosen by Scheltor Ash to lead our clan.”

Krave listened patiently and didn’t show any emotion when those loyal to Semit raised their voices. Between clangs of axe heads and handles smacking their support for Semit, they called Krave a “coward” and “honorless cur.” Two of the loudest, Renel and Quint, were the only other members of the clan wearing lurker hide armor. As Semit’s most trusted, they would need to be watched even after the schel’s defeat.

They fell silent when the first hound entered the clear space. Jugular approached from behind Semit and growled fiercely as he passed the schel. Muscles rippling and head held high, the hound stalked toward Krave, as deadly a warrior as any in attendance.

Another hound entered the ring from opposite where Jugular had, quickly followed by more until all the alphas were present. Each repeated Jugular’s display, passing by Semit and showing various signs of disrespect--biting the air, gnashing their teeth, swatting his leg with a tail, or growling. They joined Jugular, nearly a dozen alphas standing in a loose bunch beside and behind Krave, bodies pointed like arrows at Semit.

In a clear voice, Krave announced, “By Chaur’s legacy and the will of the land, I demand coraig against Semit for the right to leadership.”

The hounds barked three times in unison, their bodies otherwise still. The majority of clan members cheered the announcement, only the small group loyal to Semit quiet, glaring daggers at Krave.