“Lucky. She is alive.” Marty holstered her revolver and hugged Janine, sniffing her. “You look like shit, Jani.”
“Feel like one too. But I’ll live,” Janine said. “Ice Fang,” she addressed Bertruda in an even voice. “Add the Wolf Tribe IDs to your identification systems immediately. We have brought your traitorous kin with us. One of them is badly wounded. To the infirmary with him. Warn the doctors: if he dies, your skin is mine. Next, the Malformed, former slaves and deserters, came with us. The Malformed are our trusted allies; the civilians are to join our citizens in the evacuation, but assign someone to keep an eye on the deserters…”
“Cousin…” Bertruda began talking.
Janine’s fist left a crater in the wall next to Bertruda’s head, sending ripples across the smooth surfaces and causing nearby technicians and guards to jump in alarm. A sage tried to intervene, and Marty stood in his way, as if by accident.
Bertruda did not try to defend herself, further infuriating Janine. She needed to see her elegant snout broken, her entrails spilled, and her skull crushed under her fingers. But they were at war, and the Sword Saint was an ally. Any blood spilled here threatened to widen the rift between the two groups, and divided, they would fall.
She glanced to the side, where a golden sunlight crowned the tops of the trees. They shuddered, losing leaves as the mortars continued to fire and smaller animals scurried in panic to dig beneath the roots. A group of regulars returned from patrol duty, and the tenacious Ice Fang medic attended them, applying a tourniquet to a nasty wound on an arm left by a pulse rifle. Cursing under her breath, she called a nearby Wolfkin to help her carry the soldier to the infirmary. Anissa and Impatient One watched their leader warily, ignoring Ice Fangs’ engineers asking for assistance.
Choices. Brood Lord laughed in her head, and she shook it, banishing the bastard’s ghost. That’s right. Bertruda. She is a living being who also lost comrades. Forget the past. Concentrate on the present. You are better than this, Janine. Lives depend on our unity. Would Bogdan want any of that?
“Sorry.” Janine took Bertruda by the collar of her shirt, dusted it off, and stepped back. “Nerves playing tricks. I guess being tortured didn’t help me stop being a barbarian.”
“I fully accept the guilt, Warlord.” The sword saint tried to kneel. “Because of our actions, we have brought much pain to you and our kin of the Wolf Tribe…”
“A pox upon my pain. My son has died. My sisters are no more,” Janine said simply, holding the woman up.
She wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and together they stepped inside the mobile fortress, and behind them Anissa responded to the requests of the engineers and reluctantly summoned several males to aid the Order.
“I see the world how it is at long last, Sword Saint,” Janine continued. “But a question burns in my soul. Why? Why the betrayal? I briefly skimmed through the reports of casualties. What could your kind possibly have gained by making such an utterly illogical and dishonorable decision?”
Knights and sages met them in the belly of the metal beast, paws on sword handles. Marty glowed at them, but Janine couldn’t find the strength to care about the insult. She was done treating the Order with the cubs’ gloves.
“I…” Bertruda paused, facing Janine; genuine anguish appeared in her eyes. “There was no betrayal,” she forced the words out of herself.
“Even now you lie,” Janine stated.
“It is true, Janine,” insisted Bertruda. “The Wolf Tribe has always kept us at an arm’s length.”
“Bullshit!” Martyshkina said. “You abused Jani’s trust to steal her title. Marco is friends with that girl, what’s her name…”
“Cordelia Sunblade,” Janine prompted. “The girl with the pizzas. How is her health?” she asked in a softer tone, not finding the strength to hate or distrust a cub.
“Marco asked us to inquire. She is recovering,” Bertruda said. “In four to six months, it should be safe for her to return to complete her training. Not all their friends were that lucky.”
“Another debt for the Horde to pay.” Janine staggered with exhaustion, and Marty took her under the paw, helping her stand.
“We bled for you on the battlefields,” Martyshkina continued her accusations. “Accepted Camelia Wintersong as an ally, saved the Ironwills back in Houstad. I just… Answer. What was the Order’s reason?”
“It’s directly related to the fact that we always sat in the back while the Tribe led from the front,” Bertruda answered, unafraid of the rage boiling in Janine’s eyes. “No, not glory. May the Twins curse me if I utter a lie. We were afraid that you would command us to stay and guard Houstad while our children were in the Knight Academies, exposed to the invasion! Leonidas convinced us of his plan, and First arrived too late to change anything…”
“Convenient. Blaming everything on a dead man,” tossed Marty.
“That?” Janine gasped, clutching her chest. “That is all? Is this the reason Bogdan died? You thought we would let your cubs die?”
“Janine, I understand how you feel…”
“You don’t. Your son, he lives, right?” Janine asked numbly.
“Evacuated to Stormfiend,” Bertruda answered carefully.
“Good.” She took her by the shoulders. “Good. No mother should outlive her cubs. It’s... a part of my soul is dead, Sword Saint. I pray you never share that knowledge. Leonidas paid with his life, and Macarius with his limbs for their folly. Those traitors at least tried to rectify the crimes they committed. But you…” She released Bertruda. “You ran. How will you pay?”
“In any way I can,” Bertruda replied sternly. “Name your price, Warlord. Anything to mend the broken bonds between our people.”
“Nothing can repair what the Order has broken. Left arm, now!”
Bertruda readily offered it, and Janine began painting. A claw slipped from her finger, plunging into the skin of the unflinching woman, inscribing names. Bogdan. Predaig. Eled. Melina. And more. The warlord wrote the name of every Wolfkin who had died as a result of the stubborn refusal to cooperate or in captivity, tarnishing the sword saint’s perfect body and turning it into a manuscript of remembrance. She didn’t discriminate, adding even those Ice Fangs she knew.
The sword saint raised her other paw, motioning for her private guard to stand down and stopping any attempts of aiding as the bloody chronicle continued. Bertruda’s once rich and carefully combed fur had lost its former beauty, and the letters reached her shoulder. Janine acted carefully, avoiding damaging any muscles, bones or cutting veins, but she had made a point of ravaging as much skin as possible, tearing through swaths of fur. Once done, she called the nearest doctor to clean and bandage the arm.
“I will never remove these scars,” Bertruda promised.
“Irrelevant. You are dead,” Janine told her. “Either the war sees you perish, or after it, you and I enter the circle. This time to the death and damn desires of the Blessed Mother. The tribunal may seek to preserve your life, but I will have my retribution. Justice will be served. To the command center, ally.”
A nervous Ice Fang wearing a doublet of gold and white approached them, almost fainting at hearing a growl. She stopped, recognizing him as a non-combatant, and the butler pointed to the ragged cloak wrapped around her body. Janine tore it off, and the man snapped his fingers, calling for several Normie maids who skillfully measured the warlord’s height and girth while medics treated their leader. Confused, she consented and received a fresh set of black pants and a white shirt. Their fabric caused no irritation when pressed against her healing injuries, nor did it soak up her bodily fluids. The maids dressed her, treating the warlord like a cub as she cringed at Marty’s wide grin. A proper military coat, brown and emblazoned with her pack’s emblem, followed last, and Janine spread out, confident and certain in her course.
She had more accusations and curses to hurl at the Ice Fangs and their blasted Order, but at the sight of a cub, smaller than Marco, standing in a doorway, she stifled her venom. Yes, this young one will grow up to be a traitor. But that didn’t excuse her snapping and maiming the cub’s supposed leader before his scared crimson eyes.
“I’ve seen you…” he stammered. “Well, not you exactly, but you know. Our cousins. When they came to help Sword Saint Bertruda after she rescued us from those monsters.”
“That was very noble and brave of her and her soldiers,” Janine said.
“And of you! If not for the Tribe we wouldn’t… I wouldn’t. You two are the heroes!” The boy pressed his small paws to the chest. “So why did you hurt an ally?”
“There are times when a person makes a mistake while doing an undeniably good deed. They realize their actions were wrong, but the damage is done, and there is a price to pay.”
“I don’t get it,” the cub said.
“It’s okay,” Janine assured. “Not everyone does.”
“Couldn’t you just… forgive?”
“Too hard. Take the boy,” Janine snarled at a knight, softening her voice when the cub flinched. “He’s seen enough cruelty.”
Shame drilled into her. Perhaps the boy’s parents had died, or maybe his friends had failed to escape, and here she was, indulging in senseless torture. Who was she becoming, Alpha? What was the point of scarring Bertruda? She wouldn’t understand; the Ice Fangs were incapable of thinking of anyone but themselves, and she had wasted precious time when they could have been strategizing, confirming the Order’s worst fears and prejudices about the Tribe. Choices indeed.
Every action had a reaction. Many Normies and New Breeds already feared the Tribe. Did her actions help improve it? A lack of cohesion, her acting in Brood Lord’s manner, risked potentially leading to insubordination at a crucial juncture, bringing only a tragedy to rival the one already caused by distrust.
No more immature behavior. I am in control. Janine promised herself and followed Bertruda.
Exquisite and pristine carpets covered the floors in the main corridor of the supermassive vehicle. Janine skirted their edges, surprising both her guide and Marty. But she couldn’t bring herself to step on them, respecting the skill of the unknown carpenters who had immortalized scenes from the past. One rug depicted the Twins firing arrows at the approaching tanks, and then the scene changed to them clearing a path for the Blessed Mother. In the closing section, the three stood together, and Ravager extended a paw to a child ruler of a long-integrated nation, uncertainly accepting a peaceful reunification and the boy’s thanks for saving his subjects from the invading marauders.
The unknown artist poured their soul equally into their gorgeous progenitors, somehow creating a vivid image of their gleaming, ruby-encrusted mails, but also conveying the genuine joy and disbelief on the Blessed Mother’s snout that mirrored the Twins’ smiles.
Marty slapped Janine on the back of the head and stepped on the carpet against a warning cry. Bertruda smiled and pointed a finger at the expanding footprint. Elastic bands of a low-powered force field flickered into reality, collecting particles of dust and forming a protective layer over the artwork, preserving its beauty.
“Amazing,” Janine said honestly, not caring if this was decadence or not.
Ancient suits of armor, long out of use, vases, musical instruments, and relics lined the halls, positioned so as not to interfere with the awe-inspiring paintings on the walls. Precious exhibits of antique history and artifacts of fabled champions behind screens of reinforced glass drew eyes to them. Sturdy and smooth wood panels, wide corridors, and the surrounding opulence granted The Mountaintops’ prized battle engine an appearance of a mansion or a museum, with servants readily serving refreshments to the startled and flabbergasted officers of the Provincial Army in the midst of their discussions on the prosecution of the war.
The deeper they went, the more surprising the place became. Cubs of all races played in the game rooms, supervised by social workers and nuns. Knights and soldiers prayed in a spacious chapel of the Planet, illuminated by the artificial light filtering through the stained glass windows, where images of the Blessed Mother and the Twins solemnly beckoned souls to be better.
“Yeah, I call bullshit on that,” Martyshkina said. “Ain’t no way Commander was ever that calm.”
“Looks cute, though,” Janine observed. “What did the shamans say about that?”
“They called it supreme blasphemy and demanded that we stop trying to merge two different faiths,” Bertruda answered.
Marty kicked Janine in the side, pointing at a wide compartment on the left, housing an actual habitat. Several translucent spheres divided the place into several separate rooms, containing different biomes. Squires and young cubs tended to the plants and young trees on a patch of lush green field; amidst the rocky, mimicked surface of the Outer Lands; trudged across the heated desert sands to water cacti.
Marco, dressed in a long, thick, elegant fur coat, worked in the snow biome, cowl pulled almost to his nose and steam leaving his mouth at every exhale. Two Ice Fangs youngsters were eagerly guiding the enthusiastic cub through the pruning and care of a strange tree and snow roses. Janine quickly passed by the compartment, unwilling to disturb her son with her current appearance. Her first instinct was to break in and drag him out of this cold Abyss, but seeing him having fun calmed her, and she didn’t want to ruin his day with the news about Bogdan’s fate for a while. Let him have his measure of happiness and broaden his horizons. Maybe it’ll convince him to go into exile.
Tokens, money, and wealth, like any power, were a means to an end. The tribe used them to survive and excel in their duties. The Order fiercely pursued economic, cultural, and military growth with another goal in mind. Preservation. Their knights assisted the state’s scientists, stood guard at the distant terraforming facilities, and invested colossal sums in various time capsules and nearly indestructible bunkers containing historical records and repositories of knowledge in the event of another Extinction. They paid for simple space rockets, launching similar packages to the outer reaches of the system.
The Order did not do this out of pure altruism. Their explorers competed against Iterna’s explorators, often calling on the Wolf Tribe for help in staking claims to the best mines. Their combined growth swelled, filling the coffers used to purchase and build factories and laboratories, securing a prosperous future in the Reclamation Army and the best possible equipment for their scions.
Statues of the Twins and Sword Saints stood at the turns, recounting the Order’s accomplishments. One painting depicted Sword Saint Leonidas and the late Mountaintop striking bravely to save the Wolf Tribe’s village from the hordes of Malformed. Janine had expected to see her kin as savages, but the unknown artist had portrayed the Wolfkins as loving and caring parents, holding their cubs in the rear while Leonidas duelled with the enemy leader.
“Couldn’t be further from the truth,” Martyshkina noted. “Ain’t no way our people would stand like cusacks to be slaughtered. They would either scram or pick shardguns and fight.”
“It is an interpretation of the old events,” Bertruda said defensively. “It isn’t meant to be fully truthful.”
“No complaints here,” Janine said, glancing at the painting of Terrific and Dragena dispatching the Steel Menace besieging an Ice Fang convoy.
Why did you throw it all away? Janine pondered, passing sages and knight captains who formed a welcoming party on their way to the bridge. Once she would have been honored by them. Now she saw the Ice Fangs for what they really were. None of them had ever trusted the Wolf Tribe. That bothered her more than she cared to admit.
Normies and New Breeds worked behind the terminals in the command center, receiving updates and coordinating artillery support and operations in the war zone. Located deep inside the ship’s belly, tons upon tons of alloys protected the place, preventing even a hint of outside noise from entering the dome filled with the chatter of officers and operators.
“Janine,” Ashbringer said. The woman smelled of smoke; notches and dents covered her combat armor. “My condolences.” There wasn’t a hint of usual berating or poison in the woman’s speech, and the warlords clasped their paws.
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“Welcome back, sister,” came from the shard of darkness in the command center's corner. Onyxia sat on a seat, shadowed despite the direct light falling on her, and the display behind her showed icons of Kalaisa, Kirk, and Eled’s granddaughter. She alone bore no signs of damage.
“Granny!” Kalaisa sang through the ringing shots, her voice brimming with energy. “Happy to have you back with us.”
“Granny? W-wolf Hag, you are not a w-warlord; tone down the familiarity. Welcome back, Warlord Janine,” hurriedly added Kirk, and Janine laughed.
“Just this once I’ll allow it, Kirk. But if she tries it again, I’ll break her nose. Wolf Hag Kalaisa, what’s the situation on your side?”
“Ma’am!” Kalaisa’s voice changed to a serious tone. “Yesterday, the Horde was content to pelt our position, and neither side advanced seriously. This changed half an hour ago. A large unit has left the front line in the north and is rushing to our positions. They are two clicks away from us; artillery bombards them, but I don’t see any way we can stop them.”
“We tried, Warlord!” Kirk added. “Our forces have mined the area. The grenadiers are firing nonstop, and we are sending every APV full of refugees through the bridge. Only they are fast enough to slip past the Horde’s snipers and artillery fire.”
“Volunteer miners show the rest where to hide in the mines.” Added Eled’s granddaughter. “If you order it, we’ll gladly lay down our lives here, but for little gain. Bad terrain, ma’am.”
“I would much rather have you live it fully and with use,” Janine grumbled and stepped toward the empty dais, sitting in the command chair and ignoring Ashbringer’s glare. “Then we have returned not a minute too late,” she announced. “We have a force to crush nations at our paws. Let us use it. Bring up the operations map on the screen!”
“We don’t have the manpower to stop the Horde here.” Ashbringer towered over her. “Dragena ordered us to retreat to Houstad. Do not replicate the mistake of disobedience.”
“We don’t have the manpower to make a stand and survive,” Janine corrected. “But we have the means to stop the Horde. Temporarily. I heard you have captured prisoners. Bring their and the deserters’ leaders here.”
She was tired; her mind demanded sleep. Janine pushed through the fatigue, biting her own tongue to gain clarity. A Horde unit had indeed moved from the construction site in the north and rushed through Quatindor to reach the south. They lacked proper numbers; the Gilded Horde kept destroying their drones, but getting stuck in that quicksand was out of the question.
“Wolf Hag Kalaisa! Initiate immediate retreat. Pack Anissa and Impatient One will hurry to your aid in twenty minutes,” Janine commanded, and an operator relayed her orders. “The mobile artillery of the Mountaintops is to accompany them. Once our forces cross the bridge, bring it down.”
“That will cut off the civilians,” Onyxia said, not arguing or complaining, just stating a fact. “They’ll get killed upon being found.”
“If they stay there.” Janine zoomed out of the map.
“You can’t suggest that!” Onyxia stood as an icon flashed in the south.
“What? What insanity the warlord is suggesting?” Kalaisa asked eagerly. “I see the map, but there is nothing on it in the south besides mountains and narrow passages!”
“Our cubs should know history better. Have you ever wondered why we do not have the Wall in this region, Wolf Hag?” Janine’s fingers intertwined. “Decades ago, there was an... incident known as the Union. Three champions, Devourer, Hive, and Lightbringer, joined forces to bring another New Breed low and rescue Zero. Long story short, this unusual alliance succeeded in defeating the vile S-Class. Her spawn remained, and Devourer showed them mercy. In exchange for keeping our border safe, we left the region untouched. The time has come to call in the debt of old.”
“They are Malformed!” Onyxia insisted, stepping closer. “And not of the civilized sort! Inbred, vicious, and territorial. Bone stakes stand at the top of their lairs, and flags of human flesh flap in the wind. We should not expose our civilians to the literal cannibals!”
“Either we take that risk, or they’ll die.” Janine faced Onyxia, unafraid for the first time. “I’ve been in the Horde’s prison and know how they treat their prisoners.” She touched the bandaged part of her face and turned to Bertruda. “Sword Saint, your Order has ties to the wyrms,” she said, zooming in on the mountain resort in the far south of the Reclamation Army, a place reputed to be a utopia to rival even the finest Iternian cities.
“Yes, Janine. But their numbers dwindled in the war started by the madness of their previous ruler. They won’t fight,” Bertruda cautioned.
“No one is asking civilians to join our war,” Janine assured her. Two hundred wyrms. This was all that remained of their proud tribe, and the Dynast reluctantly accepted their adamant refusal to join the military, content with those who had enlisted in the Third. “Please make a request. I don’t know any nice words, but I trust in your expertise. Ask them, on behalf of the Blessed Mother, to send a delegation to our Malformed friends to keep our civilians company. Surely it’s not much. Let’s introduce our allies to cultural diversity.”
“And the presence of a hill-sized wyrm is bound to keep the hotheads in line.” Onyxia smiled, showing her perfect fangs. “I can live with that. Warlord Onyxia supports the idea!” She dropped to her knees, and Janine’s blood froze.
“Ashbringer supports Janine!” Ashbringer knelt.
“No arguments here.” Martyshkina was the last to join them, and Janine tried to jump from the seat.
“Stay where you are, sister,” a voice rasped from a display screeched behind her. “Your perilous journey is over, and you are so exhausted you have forgotten who leads in the field,” Alpha said without a hint of irony.
“Spirits inspired her, sister!” Martyshkina grinned and dodged Janine’s kick.
“Stop blaspheming!” Janine demanded and said, without turning. “Sister, forgive my insolence.”
“I enjoy it when my subordinates show courage and initiative.” Alpha’s purr came as a grinding of fangs against a bone. “Next time, ask permission first. Alpha stands for Janine.”
“Why aren’t you here, Warlord?” Janine asked, eyes on the map.
“The Horde spilled into our lands like oil into honey, even though their main force is still stuck. Their parties strike hamlets and small towns, organizing hunting parties to raid our convoys. Their teleporter occasionally opens his pathways, bringing more troops. My pack culls them,” Alpha replied, and red dots filled the space between them and Houstad.
“So close to Houstad…” Janine whispered. “Warlord, is it safe?”
“Dragena is competent enough to maintain peace. Its evacuation is underway and on schedule, despite the influx of refugees. There have been attempts to open portals,” Alpha chuckled. “Have you ever seen the result of a failed teleportation? I haven’t, but apparently inversion is an apt term to describe it. Enough of that. I sense you had more planned, sister. Why have you called for the hordemen?”
“To stall the Gilded Horde,” Janine said.
She waited for Caikhatu and the female raider to arrive and asked for the attention of the Provincial Army, explaining her plan in detail and pointing to the edge of the forest near the main road to Houstad. Such a simple place. There was no reason for anyone to enter it. Unless they could give an enticing reason to do so. She prayed they would not argue, for according to the scouts’ reports, the Horde would have their bridges ready in a matter of hours.
“Ambitious,” Martyshkina whistled. “But if there are civilians hiding in the forest…”
“They’ll die.” Janine closed her eyes briefly. “Better to perish in an instant in the purifying flame than to wither at the hands of a torturer.” She faced the hordemen. “Your part depends on my suggestion of a schism between Iron Lord and Brood Lord. If I am wrong…”
“You are not.” Caikhatu smiled. “They hate each other, Khan.”
“And how do we know if you won’t betray us?” Martyshkina asked, voicing Janine’s concern.
The two were perfect infiltrators. One served the dishonored and fallen Mungke and could theoretically pass as a desperate glory hound disillusioned by the Reclaimers’ offer and wanting to return. Iron Lord used Caikhatu as a pawn to test the Reclaimers’ defenses, so it would be natural for him to want to get into Brood Lord’s inner circle. Iron Lord was an unknown factor as they knew him from Caikhatu, while Janine had met Brood Lord in person and formed her own opinion of the khan’s vices. If they could have fooled anyone, it had to be him.
Caikhatu took his imprisonment in stride, eagerly trying to worm his way into Ashbringer’s council, sharing any information requested and willingly teaching the language. The man was almost too helpful, but no one noticed any attempts by him or his men to contact their former leader.
In the short term, it didn’t matter. Even if they betrayed the trust of the Reclamation Army, it would be too late to escape the trap. But her true plan depended on their loyalty.
Hearts and minds. That was the lesson she had learned from Terrific, when her adoptive mother had converted entire bands of raiders to a life of peace through the iron grip of fear and the terrifying examples she made of their leaders. Janine refused to follow the same path, but she had learned enough. Her thoughts drifted to the Brood, how the poor cubs felt trapped in their inevitable fate until they were given a choice. The deserters chose to abandon ship, wisely understanding that Brood Lord will grind them underfoot without any thought.
The Gilded Horde worshiped the Sky. Janine intended to sow a different kind of storm, a tornado born out of consequences to tip the scales.
“My khans, I have seen enough of your news to know the Dynast’s reach.” Caikhatu bowed. “Why should I trade a loyal ruler and a quiet retirement for sleepless nights in anticipation of a dagger in my back?”
“Sign me up for anything that screws up Brood Lord,” the woman stated. “But I have one condition. The freak can kill us for fun, even after we give him the information. My men go free whether I succeed or die.”
“Only after the Investigation Bureau clears them.” Janine pointed at the agent in the black leather coat. “If their crimes against our nation are purely military, their freedom is guaranteed. Otherwise, prison.”
“Accepted,” the hordewoman said.
“I believe it is the beginning of a fruitful cooperation,” Caikhatu told her.
“You take our potential doom too lightly.”
“Not in the slightest!” His eyes widened. “Either we’ll be cut down, or we’re in for a most intriguing game. Isn’t your blood burning with anticipation to know?”
“Concentrate on not getting immolated yourself,” Janine said to the man. “Now for the Cusack Team. The chances of anyone returning from this mission alive are close to zero. I will take that assignment.”
“Negative, Warlord,” said Lugal-marada, the lieutenant of the Provincial Army. “I quite like these odds and have my own score to settle.”
The man stepped on the dais, hands behind his back, scars and freshly stitched wounds covering nearly every millimeter of his body, giving him the appearance of a walking patchwork doll. He and his troops had faced the Gilded Horde’s invasion first, and the man had used his power to the last, helping his soldiers retreat and collapsing from exhaustion near Quatindor. His soldiers had ignored orders to abandon him and had carried the lieutenant to safety.
“You are even in worse shape than me,” Janine said.
“I’ve recovered enough.” He cracked his neck, blood seeping from a stitch in his neck. “Not going to claim familiarity with the Wolf Tribe, but we can face each other in this circle of yours if you need proof,” he said icily, and his pupils transformed, filling the eyes with darkness. “It won’t be pretty. Regional commanders are hand-picked for our powers.”
“Let’s not fight among ourselves,” Bertruda asked, standing between them. “We cannot afford to give such presents to our enemies.”
“The sword saint is correct,” declared Alpha. “Lugal-marada will lead the Cusack Team. First will provide us with a suitable vehicle.”
“Where is he, anyway?” Janine grumbled, irritated at having to back down. She didn’t dare argue against Alpha, even here, far away from the strongest warlords; shreds of fear touched her body and elicited a surprised gasp.
An operator called up a video on the display, showing First gathering the Wintersongs saved by Alpha under his command. Camelia’s retainers desired revenge for the coma into which their leader had been put, and the firstborn of the Twins gave them this opportunity by unleashing his own cruelty on the hordemen. A single declaration, an arrogant demand for surrender, had been issued, and when the larger raiding parties laughed it off, the grandmaster masterfully dispatched them, splitting their ranks with the precision fire of his artillery. His hunters prepared ambushes along the retreat routes, taking the lives of those who fled, and First himself, Sunblade in paw, cleared the northern forests of the hostile presence to the cheers of the locals.
More sword saints flocked to his banner, and he had petitioned for a chance to join the Provincial Army in its final stand. Dragena had denied his request, ordering the Ice Fangs to hurry from the exposed plains to Houstad, and First had accepted.
“He’s been busy.” Janine blinked the tiredness from her eyes and returned her gaze to the map.
“That town in the north,” said Martyshkina, guessing her thoughts. “Can’t they evacuate in time?”
Magoda. A thriving town to the north of Quatindor. It had no defenses worth speaking of since a wall’s bastion stood so near, and its police force served as an adequate stick to stop organized crime, but against an invading small army, they stood no chance. Fifty thousand troops, at least two divisions supported by heavy vehicles, advanced from Quatindor at a rapid pace, paying no attention to Houstad. Their goal was to capture the gate leading to the Outer Lands, a perfect chokepoint to keep the Second at bay. In theory. In practice, Devourer demolished every fortification in his path, and this time, the Reclaimers received warning. The Provincial Army will not lose.
But the town will suffer. Its mayor wasn’t a dolt, and he had already called for the relocation of its citizens to the Outer Lands, using force if necessary. Similar to Houstad, this town also had vast farmlands owned by Oaksters and smaller families. Thousands worked there, and it hadn’t been possible to gather them all in time, and the shock of hearing about the destroyed bastion and the invasion spread panic, paralyzing the evacuation.
“Damn it.” Janine slammed her paw against the armrest. “We have no way to help them. The sword saints’ forces are the nearest; perhaps if…”
“They won’t make it in time,” Bertruda said, and Janine nodded, accepting the bitter truth.
Families. Mothers, fathers, young, old, and all the rest. Stuck in the trap, waiting for help that will never come. She exhaled, her paw twitching. They didn’t deserve this.
“There is a way,” Dragena cut through the noise of the command center, and the warlord appeared on the display, flanked by Jaquan and Lacerated One. “I have the shaman’s permission.”
“Them?!” Janine pulled herself up, earning confused and worried looks from everyone present. They didn’t realize what Dragena had just said. “Don’t do it. If you let them into the Core Lands, it’ll be a massacre for everyone. They can’t be controlled for long, they can’t be reasoned with, and it’s impossible to contain them.”
The Ice Fangs had a wealth of vehicles and technology at the Order’s disposal, entire private teams of mercenaries working explicitly for them, further increasing the Ice Boys’ influence. The Tribe had a secret weapon of its own, and the mere thought of using it forced Martyshkina to take a step back; her trembling paw reached for the pounding heart in her chest. Ashbringer shut up and stood in silent support of Janine’s objection, and even Onyxia’s darkness seemed to shrink, trying to hide in the joints of her armor.
What was Dragena thinking? Ravager would’ve never allowed it! No one, not even the Horde, deserved to face the Fallen. She had nightmares as a cub, listening to the shamans’ vivid tales of how the two queens of carnage, Ravager and Alpha, had summoned their blessed kin and turned the deserts red with an ocean of blood.
“It’s like using a nuclear missile to stop a squad,” Martyshkina said.
“You have a nuclear missile?!” Bertruda turned to her.
“Worse. So much worse,” Janine said. “Every legend about the barbarism of our Tribe is about to be proven true tenfold… no, a thousand times over. Dragena, reconsider.”
“The decision is mine, sister. Concentrate on your plan and retreat to Houstad with all haste.” Dragena’s muzzle, cold and distant, showed no hint of worry. “Alpha. Send the call and order them away once the deed is done.”
“I obey, Dragena,” Alpha rasped.
“Before we conclude this war council, I have a request,” said Jaquan and smiled at the look of Lacerated One. “Our forces are scattered, and our people are frightened. I give speeches every hour, but they would appreciate a word of encouragement from our brave defenders.”
“Was ‘the black-furred savior’ not heroic enough?” Martyshkina chuckled.
“He is! The news is inflating and creating a glorious list of achievements to use as propaganda…”
“Please don’t,” weakly asked Kirk through Kalaisa’s bombastic laughter.
“But we’d like one of your leaders to address the nation,” Jaquan ignored Kirk.
“Then you should have it,” volunteered Janine. She paused, expecting a rebuke, but Dragena nodded in encouragement. “Com’s officer! Relay the following message to our allied forces. This is Warlord Janine of the Wolf Tribe. We have been hurt. The Golden Horde has invaded our lands and broken through our defenses. Many of you have lost comrades, friends, and family. I know and share your pain, and I promise you this. The Horde’s back will be broken at Houstad. We will drive the scum from our borders and rebuild every lost village and replant every burned forest. We will have peace and hear the laughter of cubs again. Proud soldiers! To you falls the task of rallying at Houstad or keeping our civilians safe until a relief arrives. Civilians are to hide and survive. Stay true to the ideals of the Reclamation Army even in these times of tribulations. This isn’t over. Janine’s out.”
“Nice speech.” Martyshkina patted her shoulder. “Leave the command to me and Bertruda. Go get some rest.”
“I don’t have time for it.” Janine ran a paw over her head. “I move out to prepare the trap.”
“Warlord!” Marco shouted, stepping into the command center. “Where is Bogdan?”
How did he get in here… Her eyes widened at Ashbringer’s shrug. Bitch!
“I killed Bogdan, Marco.” She told him the brutal truth, clenching her fists to blood. “What is the boy doing here? All civilians should be housed and watched.”
“Mother!” Marco gulped. “Why are you lying? You would have never hurt Bogdan.”
“And yet he died because of me. Guards!” She raised her voice. “I gave you an order! Take the boy to safety!”
Janine forced herself to ignore the shock of betrayal and anguish in her son’s eyes. She tried to walk past him when another figure stepped through, holding a paw over her bandaged stomach.
“This is a lie,” Elzada said calmly. “Ignacy thought you might try something like that, Warlord. Ignore her words, Marco; our leader is simply trying to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders again. Nasty habit. We should beat it out of her someday.”
“Wolf Hag,” Janine growled, her lips curling up to bare fangs, “fall in line.”
“A pack looks out for its own, remember? Your lesson.” Anissa entered, accompanied by Impatient One and Soulless One. The wolf hag picked her brother and seated him on her shoulders. “The entire pack is outside. Enough of your self-destruction. You sit this one out, Warlord. Show yourself to the medics and have a rest, or we will force you, because we need our warlord alive and well, Janine.”
It took her by surprise. She even sniffed the air to confirm that, yes, hundreds of soldiers assembled in the corridors, shardguns at the ready. In their tribe’s history, rebellions claimed the lives of two warlords. One was Terrific, murdered by Janine, and the other was a callous fool, torn apart by his own pack while attempting to violate a young soldier. Janine secretly dreaded ending up like them and prepared to willingly give her life for any sin committed.
But this kind of rebellion? What could she do? A warlord’s civil duty was to watch over her pack: to rein in the overly aggressive females; to speak words of calm to the troubled; to listen, nurture, and train future leaders. Packs should not have to worry about warlords! Warlords stood at the pinnacle of creation, a step behind the Blessed Mother, all-knowing in war and obedient in civil matters, an ideal for every Wolfkin to strive for. A sign of weakness was not allowed.
Martyshkina gripped Janine’s shoulder, keeping her claws from slipping from her fingers.
“They are right, you know? A wounded warrior is a detriment on a field of battle. Or so my friend taught me.” Marty headbutted Janine mercilessly, loudly cracking the cartilage and keeping her from falling to her knee. “See? Before, that lover tap wouldn’t even tickle you. Heal body and soul, and let your sisters take care of everything, ‘kay? It’s what friends are for.”
“But what about the trap?”
“We’ll take care of that,” Onyxia said.
“Rest, or I’ll headbutt you into a sleep,” Ashbringer said. “I’ve lost enough sisters already.”
Janine touched her forehead and smiled, accepting the reproach. She left Martyshkina’s hold and approached her officers on the wobbly legs.
“Your little insurrection is noted and forgiven,” Janine appeared before them, far faster than their eyes could track. Her jaws opened, drool dripping to the floor, and Impatient One stood before Anissa, nervously returning the aggression. “This time. Try it again, and I will break you, kin or not. At ease, all of you. Elzada, monitor Ignacy and ask the medics to send a doctor to treat my wounds. Any non-Ice Fang will do. I will not accept help from them. Anissa, lead our pack into the field. Return alive.”
“Warlord.” Soulless One bowed. “It is my obligation to provide you with spiritual guidance and protection. But now I feel the inevitable pull. Something is calling me south. Permission to join the pack.”
“Granted,” Janine approved, shaking her paw. “Marco, take me to the medical bay and then show me my den.”
“Mother,” Marco stopped and continued after she nodded. “Where is your room?”
“That’s…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “A wonderful question, actually. Ice Fangs! Where is my den?”