“What’s the situation?” Janine asked, hogging ration after ration like a famine victim.
Everything itched. Her fur stirred without a breeze, wounds tried to close, stomach juices bubbled, digesting calories instantly and demanding more, as if her body were a separate sentient creature aware and trying to take advantage of safety. She tried her best to brush off these sensations, but the cold sent shivers down her body, shattering her feeble attempts at a dignified appearance.
Wolfkins and Ice Fangs flanked the survivors, escorting them safely to the temporary camp. The Voidrunner knight-captain wisely shut down any attempt at an apology, understanding the brewing enmity between the groups, and spoke through action, ordering his knights to offer their tabards and cloaks to the former prisoners, and Janine accepted, wrapping herself in a black cloak. Her soldiers followed suit. The field medics worked overtime on the wounded, trying to stabilize the sword saint’s condition, and Thyia informed her superior of the details of their escape.
Even here, shortly after the battle, the Ice Boys combat armor looked pristine; their squires had polished them, and engineers had kept them well-maintained. Gore and dirt mixed with leaves covered the Wolfkins, helping them to blend into their surroundings, and the stench emanating from them perfectly mimicked rotting bodies. Cuts and dents adorned their steel like medals.
A morning mist descended upon the forest, bringing with it an accursed chilly wind and a pleasant rain. Janine’s eyes twitched as the water drummed at the wound on her head, but she welcomed the fact that it helped hide her occasional tears. Who was she crying for? Was it for her betrayal of Bogdan? Perhaps the broken bonds between the two groups, the trapped civilians, the fallen soldiers, or just a natural reaction of her tortured body? Whatever the source, she marched on. She couldn’t be broken. Not when people were in danger.
“Rescuing the civilians and bleeding the Horde wherever we can, ma’am!” Anissa answered, nodding lightly to Ignacy. A warrior closed in, offering him a shoulder at her tap.
“Incomplete,” Janine replied, waving Impatient One away. “Stand guard over the injured civilian!”
A warlord was a pillar! Immovable, untouchable, always knowing what to do and how to act. She will not let her wounds be licked!
“The Horde is trying to cross the chasm in the northwest and is constructing new bridges,” said the knight-captain. “Thanks to the warning of your soldiers, we toppled our own bridge to deny them passage, and our troops bombarded them. A few hours ago, we conceded the artillery duel. On the orders of Warlord Dragena, the Provincial Army and our forces are beginning their retreat to Houstad to conserve manpower. No one has seen the monster that felled the noble Leonidas and mutilated the fabled Macarius, but a bastion on the Wall to the north disappeared. Flattened with a single blow.”
Not a word about my sisters, huh? At least you decided to listen now. Janine swallowed the bile, tracking a scurrying stag. Insults won’t help. Melina. You were right. I was too soft. Forgive me. “What about the southwest?”
“Citizens fleeing Quatindor have taken refuge in the hills, and the militia are doing their best to help them across the bridge and through the underground tunnels,” Anissa informed.
“Militia?” Janine growled. “You left our people unattended?”
“Nothing of the sort,” the wolf hag replied. “Warlords Ashbringer and Onyxia’s packs have arrived in full force, ready to sally forth and ravage the Horde’s flank if they cross to the north sooner than expected. We rotate regulars and packs evenly in the south. Impatient One claimed a skull of their champion yesterday!” Anissa said proudly, and the shaman slapped a paw over a piece of bone covering her armored leg. “The Horde is not attacking strongly there; they do not seem to be too interested in that direction.”
“They know this is a trap,” Janine said. Dragena had her suspicions about a potential traitor in their ranks. Could the two events be connected? No, it made no sense. They formed their plan in the field, which meant that the enemy leader wasn’t stupid enough to fall into such a simple trap.
All the better for the civilians. She took the setback in stride.
“Our forces are in a stalemate there; Packs Kalaisa, Eled, and Onyxia’s wolf hags are wreaking havoc over the bridge today.”
“Kalaisa is acting strangely. There are no dominations in her pack. Zero,” Soulless One said, more thoughtful than complaining, staying in Janine’s shadow. “They fight without their former ferocity, planting mines, baiting assaults, calling artillery strikes, and tearing apart the survivors. A wolf hag from the former Pack Eled challenged Kalaisa, wishing to find atonement in a glorious last charge. The girl simply held the smaller woman down until she submitted, rather than rending her to near death, as usual. The two packs later sneaked into a Horde camp and blew it up. She incorporated Ygrite and Onyxia’s technique into her own style.”
“Oh?” Janine grinned. “Good for her for finding her own way. It’s a shame it took her so long, but let’s be glad our sister stands on equal footing with us.”
“The Provincial Army is setting up preparations for their stand against the Gilded Horde on the road to Houstad to give us and the civilians time to reach the city unopposed,” the Voidrunner said uncomfortably. “Their commander and Warlord Dragena ordered us to stay away.”
“They will be slaughtered,” Soulless One stated.
“Yes.” Janine nodded, hearing the distant thudding and screaming of projectiles through the air. Shells and rockets flew overhead, fired from the west. “And so do we when we fight in the open field. Their sacrifices will not be forgotten or denigrated. From this day forward, the Provincial Army is our kin in spirit and blood.”
“Warlord, such a decision is not for you to make…” Impatient One began, and the elder shaman placed a paw on her shoulder.
“The Spirits speak through her, sister. Let it be.”
“I am no saint!” Janine insisted.
“We agree on that, Warlord,” the knight-captain said. He tilted his head, heard a rumble, and took a ration from his belt. “If I may be so bold…”
“Yes!” She didn’t bother arguing, snatching it from his paw.
The field rations of the Ice Fang Order were… magnificent. There was no better way to describe them. Introduced to the ranks after the rediscovery of the Old World’s almost miraculous methods of food preservation, the rations had the appearance of a tasty brown bar in a special wrapping that could not only preserve food and smell for hundreds of years but also retain heat, creating the perfect illusion of eating a freshly prepared meal.
And what a meal it was! A steak containing vitamins to aid digestion and reinforce the immune system, topped with a thin layer of fish paste and seasoned with spices. It invigorated her body and soul; the taste of meat from the Order’s selectively bred and genetically enhanced animal stock brought her heavenly bliss. It seemed impossible that the ration bar, barely the size of her finger phalanx, could sustain an Ice Fang for days, but her stomach assured her otherwise. Janine obliged her stomach and gulped more of the divine feast.
“Anything else?” she asked, licking her fingers.
“The Ice Fangs kept denying us access to their communication systems and databases, claiming the information stored there was classified.” Anissa’s claws tapped together. “They could see through our lenses, but we lacked this privilege.”
“I apologize for that decision,” the Voidrunner scowled. “I fully understand and share the frustration, but Sword Saint First…”
“Not here, I take it,” Janine sighed. “I’ll solve it.”
“No need!” Her daughter smiled. “Warlord Martyshkina spoke several heated words to Sword Saint Bertruda, and we were given full access.”
“First has a lot to answer for.” Impatient One closed a fist.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Sword Saint First,” the Voidrunner corrected her. “Please understand, our communication systems…”
“Not of interest,” Soulless One interrupted him. “You don’t know who he’s hiding. A curse on all your Sword Saints. Shame, as if! How dare you treat a kin that way!”
“What are you talking about?” Thyia asked, speaking for the first time since their journey began. The woman dressed in ill-fitting clothes donated by the medics. “Whom is First hiding?”
“Something we should know?” Janine asked.
“Not sure,” her friend replied. “Shamans’ area. It concerns the sensitive subject of the Order. Let the Blessed Mother judge.”
“I insist on elaborating,” asked the knight-captain. “If Sword Saint First has committed a crime, the Dynast must know.”
“It is not a crime. Nor is it illegal. Are you aware of the less-than-stellar origins of your people, soldier?” Soulless One asked in a softer voice, and the Voidrunner nodded. “Never let anyone shame you for it. It is a sin that has no bearing on any of you. But where there is a first, there is always a second.” Soulless One looked away, refusing to explain further.
Thyia looked at the Voidrunner, expecting an explanation, but he shrugged, lost in thought.
“What forces do we have at our paws?” Janine asked, breaking the silence.
“Ashbringer, Onyxia, Martyshkina, the remnants of Eled, Predaig, and our packs. Mountaintop, Summerspring, and Voidrunner packs. Three thousand guardsmen, several more of their camps to the north, eight thousand of our own Normie and New Breed allies, and an ever-growing host of civilians.” Anissa put her paws behind her back. “There are too many of them, so I took the liberty of organizing escorts to Houstad, using shamans and scouts from the packs as guides and protectors. Since the flood of refugees never stopped, I asked the hunters for help. The warlords and Sword Saint Bertruda approved my decision, yet my hide is yours, Warlord, if I…”
“Stop apologizing!” Janine said. She despised the thought of her soldiers working side by side with the traitors, but what was the alternative? Let the civilians suffer? Not an option. “Wise decision, Anissa.”
The joyful news of the survival of so many of the state’s troops angered her instead of making her happy. They had a force capable of bringing low to several countries, and all they did was cover, saving the occasional civilians and engaging in artillery duels while sitting on their asses and letting the Horde take the initiative. No longer. This was their home. The time for inaction was over. The Gilded Horde will not reach Houstad unscathed. There was more than one way to skin prey.
“Warlord,” the Voidrunner began when her finger scratched at the crust of dried blood on her head to ease the itch.
“Stop this idiot already!” The field medic from earlier pushed forward. “She’ll infect her wounds! If you can’t leave the injuries alone, at least let me apply the medical gel.” Janine sized her up, wondering where to slap her to scare her off without bruising or breaking bones. “Don’t you glower at me, dick. Each patient is my responsibility, you black-furred asshole.”
“You have a very peculiar method of asking for a beating, Ice Fang,” Janine sighed. If it were Maxence, she’d respect the effort.
“Let me handle it,” Impatient One snatched the gel from the medic and boldly approached her warlord, rubbing the cool substance over the entire length of the damaged surface. Janine tapped her own hip, enjoying a wave of relaxation washing down from her head as Impatient One covered the wound with waterproof bandages.
“Permission to speak freely, Warlord?” Anissa asked.
“Granted.”
“Bogdan. What happened to my brother? Where is he?”
“He died as a hero, saving lives. He was killed because of my mistakes and failures as a leader.” Janine replied bluntly. She sensed how Impatient One tensed, releasing the tips of her claws that touched the warlord’s skin. So, some familiarity remained.
Let it happen. Let Anissa and Impatient One hate her more than the Horde. It will keep their minds clear and perhaps give them closure on a day when a new warlord will dominate her. Not to mention, it will keep the Malformed and Deserters safe. Sure, her cubs were no Terrific; they were better, kinder, and smarter than Janine ever was, but she wanted to protect them from temptations.
Brood Lord’s life was hers to take.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, though Anissa and Impatient One slowed their pace, flanking Ignacy and letting him lean on them. Janine heard their whispers, but couldn’t make out the words, and let her cubs mourn in peace. She interrupted them once to ask about Marco and breathed a sigh of relief when she learned he was staying at headquarters, under Elzada and Marty’s supervision.
No longer experiencing it in her armor, Janine found herself liking the grounds of the Core Lands. It was nothing like the solidified, overheated, jagged rocks of the blessed Ravaged Lands or the cracked dust fields of the Wastes. The soil here was soft, not exactly soggy enough to swallow her legs, but her heavy feet left footprints with each step, and the contact with the grass reminded her about a restored nature circling through the region. If not for the cold, she’d called this forest a paradise.
The knight-captain handed her his helmet, and Janine mounted it over an eye with difficulty and summed HUD, reading through the reports.
They lost so many. Bertruda’s personal guard, her elite knights, had not even half their former numbers. Of Leonidas’ elite task force, the Hoplites, three still lived. The rest lost their lives trying to reach their liege. Madness! House Voidrunners had suffered the heaviest losses, losing four hundred knights during the retreat. All but one of Eled’s shamans were gone. Predaig’s pack fared slightly better, losing one of its four shamans. Talents, promising lineages died out, robbing both sides of their future. Her own pack… Janine read the names, walked close to the traitor, the cables of his armor connected to the helmet.
I’ll prepare a pyre worthy of your devotion. Janine promised her soldiers, reading the report of prisoners captured by Ashbringer, and the idea began forming in her mind.
Iron Lord and Brood Lord. These two did not cooperate…
The Ice Fang did not lie. His traitorous mistress had requisitioned an actual mobile fortress for this war. Built in the pre-Extinction era, these massive war engines and destruction moved on massive tracks. The hulls of these monstrosities could withstand bunker bombs, absorbing the kinetic impact and distributing it evenly over the surface to spare the compartments within. Four large-caliber mortars and artillery batteries were speaking even now, providing cover for the soldiers on the other side of the chasm, and a sophisticated array of detection systems and radars ensured no enemy could approach unnoticed. Nanomachines coursing across its outer hull mimicked the vehicle’s color to that of its surroundings and reduced its thermal output, making it a pain in the ass for the Gilded Horde to pinpoint and return fire.
The state, or rather, the Order, had one behemoth for each noble house, though several had been lost in the previous wars. These vehicles, found by the Twins, were inferior to the crawlers in every conceivable way. No energy weapons, no shields; the maintenance bay lacked space and was smaller... But their speed compensated for these shortcomings. Capable of reaching speeds of up to 300 kilometers per hour, these nasty mounds of steel served as a natural extension of the Order’s best qualities, surprising many opponents.
Bertruda squeezed her mobile camp between two hills, and two regiments of hunters, hidden by their camouflage cloaks, watched the area. Janine waved to one as they approached the camp, surprising the woman, and pointed to her nose, answering the silent question. Wolfkins’ scents filled the forest. They roamed in ravenous packs, murdering and devouring any hordemen located by the hunters or those clever enough to slip through the outer defenses.
“Your soldiers have proven to be incredibly adaptable to their new environment, Warlord,” the Voidrunner praised politely. “Warlord Martyshkina’s pack had found and rescued the SAMs’ launchers, which drove into the swamp, ended their pursuers, and returned the guardsmen along with a damaged battle tank.”
“I expected nothing less from her,” Janine responded, returning the helmet, approaching the ranks of cheering soldiers, and stepping through the humming force field maintained by several generators around the camp.
Refusing to return the false gestures of the traitorous Ice Fangs, she warmly greeted the newly elected warlord of Pack Predaig. The woman tried to introduce herself as a shaman, then remembered her rank after Zolushka elbowed her. It must have been difficult for her to give up her former rank, regain her name, and use a ranged weapon. Pack Eled still had no warlord, as no wolf hag would usurp their leader’s position without giving her a proper burial.
“Visit me at the first opportunity. I will tell you about their last stand,” Janine told them, deciding to leave nothing for later. Predaig and Eled deserved to be remembered and to have a clear end to their legends.
The warlord allowed the packs to cheer their return passionately, tossing both Wolfkins and their unexpected allies several meters into the air, catching them only to hurl them even higher. Soulless One hastily assured the former slaves that there was no reason to worry; the hordemen inquired if this was the way the Tribe honored the sky, and the Malformed simply took it on the chin.
Elzada, scarred and limping, embraced Ignacy, and Janine’s heart sang with joy. The two spoke a few words before the wolf hag unceremoniously dragged the precious boy to the infirmary, accompanied by the team carrying the wounded. Wolfkins started singing, thanking the Spirits for the return of their comrades. Without hesitation or questions about the presence of the unexpected allies, scouts brought in food and drinks, and the welcoming party fled to the safety of bunkers built at the base of the hills.
Janine lifted a mug full of booze and expressed her own gratitude, relieved that the patrols weren’t goofing off and maintaining their vigilance. A sudden attack was the last thing she needed. She excused herself and stormed up the ramp of the mobile fortress, baring her fangs at the figure in front of her against her will. Bertruda. Dressed in an officer’s parade uniform, her yellow cloak fluttered with every heavy boom of mortars. Marty stood beside her, casually unloading and reloading a revolver.
Don’t look at her. Janine commanded herself to focus on Marty’s snout to calm her nerves. Master your temper.
Oh, how she desired to trample this shrew and grind her bones to powder! To hear faint screams under her claws, to strangle the life out of that traitorous body. It had never been the Wolf Tribe’s style to bottle up anger, and Janine sweated, forgetting the cold of the Core Lands for a while. Kill. Rend. Retribution.
Then the visage of a trickle of blood snaking across the pavement in Quatindor returned to her. They must work together to prevent it from happening elsewhere. Even if it meant fighting at Bertruda’s side.
War. Then the reckoning.