“Filth.” Claws raked across the sage’s snout, opening it to the bone from cheek to the nose. “Scum.” An elbow smashed into the woman, flinging her into the wall with enough force to knock the air out of her. “I gave you the order.” Pure, unadulterated hate shone from the amber eyes. “Why didn’t you report his disappearance the second you lost him?”
“We assumed that Marco had gotten lost somewhere around here,” the sage said, clumsily grabbing a railing and trying to stand up. She coughed out a red blob. “I never imagined that the boy would dare to sneak onto a transport…” Her words changed into a shriek of pain as the foot slammed into her forearm, shards of bone piercing the bone on either side of the kick.
“Dare?” Janine whispered. “You blame him?”
“I meant…” The sage choked on her words as the warlord grabbed her by the throat, yanking the woman into the air.
“He is a cub! You are an adult!” She punched the sage in the stomach, ignoring the vomit mixed with blood splashing on her head. “It is your duty, your obligation, to watch over the young generation! I entrusted you with our precious gift as we risked ourselves to save the Order’s cubs, and this is how you treat our future?”
Janine dropped the sage, fuming in rage, and claws slowly slipped from her fingers. She stood, dumbfounded by what she had just heard, drool dripping from her jaw, her nostrils widened and still bleeding from the open wounds. The warlord had refused all offers of treatment, forcing herself to maintain composure near the civilians and rescued cubs while she sent Anissa to rush Marco to the medical bay alongside every other injured and assigned a sage to find the dead boy’s parents. Then she had checked the thinned ranks of her troops, not ignoring the traitors, deliberately ignoring the bowed sage whose duty it was to watch over her own cub.
Otherwise, she would’ve murdered the female on the spot.
Kirk had tried to hide a wide gash on his arm to avoid medical attention, and Janine kicked him, sending the infuriating male flying toward his destination through the corridors. The rest of the survivors got the memo and stopped fooling around.
“Marco is not to blame for what happened.” The sage frowned, the claws of her good arm scraping against the wall. She had a narrower snout than the most Ice Fangs and bronze-incrusted studs pierced her brow. Lumie was written on her badge, but Janine immediately refused to use that name. “I would’ve never laid the blame on him. I tried to…”
“Warlord. You injured my soldier,” Bertruda said. “Step away from her, and let’s discuss this as reasonable people.”
“If she can’t use her arms to protect the cubs entrusted to her, then she doesn’t need them.” Janine raised the paw, her fangs chattering a tune of anticipation, and an urge gripped her stomach, demanding sustenance. “If she can’t use her eyes or her brain, then she has no need for them, either.”
Claws met the blade, failing to reach and scoop the top of the sage’s head. The warlord’s arm bounced off Elegance’s flat, and its edge swayed, pressing against her neck in a single, smooth, almost instantaneous motion, dancing just outside of adding a cut to her neck.
“You dare?” Janine asked in disbelief, raising her arm to stop Martyshkina and the packs from charging the Ice Fangs. They couldn’t begin a civil war, not here. “We fought for you. Our sisters and brothers died to save your cubs. We deserve retribution.”
“And I have nothing but eternal praise for your actions,” Bertruda responded calmly, not removing Elegance. Their eyes locked. “This incident will be settled in a civil court…”
“To the Abyss with your gratitude!” Martyshkina roared. “The sage was given an order and a ward! The price for the sin of complacency is death!”
“This is not the Ice Fangs way.” The stubborn sword saint refused to budge. “I will not let my people be slaughtered like cattle.”
“Instead, you would risk an open war between allies.” Janine grabbed Elegance under the blade and pulled the spear down, easily overpowering Bertruda. She spoke without anger now; the seething rage in her soul pushed her beyond any reasonable limits of fury. “Had I’ve killed you upon returning, Opul’s victims would’ve died. I was wrong to act rashly and scar you.”
“Janine…”
“Silence. Listen to me, Sword Saint,” she interrupted her. “Everything has its limits. Think. Think with that prideful skull of yours. You see us as savages, worse than dirt. What if you are right? What if in trying to stop what must be done, in refusing to sacrifice to placate, you spark bloodshed? How many of your kind will die?”
“And how many of yours?”
“Less than yours.”
“Are the lives of your people so cheap to you, Janine?” Bertruda asked.
“They are precious enough for us to die trying to bring justice. I treasure them so much that I am willing to work alongside traitors if it means honoring their principles and legacies.” Janine tensed.
“Then prove it!” Bertruda insisted. “Janine, I didn’t understand you. Not at first, and I was wrong. You are, to me, an ideal of duty and devotion, an awe-inspiring example of what we can be! Don’t betray it,” she whispered. “Please. Stay true to what is just.”
Am I supposed to sacrifice again? Janine’s grip tightened, her fingers twitching against her will, and blood spurted from her neck. Never before had a leader of the Wolf Tribe tried to stop a punishment by an officer of the Order by threatening violence. Sure, the lesser ranks and even the warlords and sword saints fought each other all the time, often violating the Blessed Mother’s decree and even occasionally dying in duels.
She sensed the packs’ aggression, watching them shift from leg to leg out of the corner of her eye. Paws reached for shardguns, claws flashed, fangs bared, Martyshkina’s fingers drummed on the revolver’s handle. Bodies crouched, hungrily planning an attack. More Ice Fangs showed in the corridor, sages and defenders, and behind them the hunters blatantly raised their rifles, taking aim.
So much for the claims of kinship.
What would Marco and Bogdan have wanted? Janine stopped herself from decking Bertruda. These Ice Fangs, this filth… They had little ones and family waiting for them at home. How would they feel if they learned that their loved ones had died senselessly in battle against the Wolf Tribe while the enemy was knocking at the gates?
There is no honor in what you desire. They lack the strength of will to bear the sense of loyalty needed to satisfy a monster. But are you a monster or a human? That voice again. She wasn’t sure if the loss of blood was causing her to hallucinate, but Janine thought she heard the Commander speaking in her ear. There was no inquisitorial insistence or condemnation, the Blessed Mother asked thoughtfully, serving more as a witness to verify any answer.
And Janine chose. Damn the truth and damn being right. There would be no winner and no future for the state if the Wolf Tribe were to abandon unity. Janine brought Elegance to her neck, deliberately wounding herself against Bertruda’s attempt to remove the edge.
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“You still have an arm left,” Janine said to the sage, not bothering to look down at the sage. Her full attention was on the cold blade sliding up and down her neck, soothing her despite the pain.
“Janine. Stop,” Bertruda said.
“That’s what you wanted, traitors. To see us hurt. Savor it, then, deceivers.” She grinned. “You will fight beside Normies, stripped of your family name, dishonored, ranked lower than the lowest of your foot soldiers. Should you survive the war…” She pushed Elegance away from her neck and tore the metal lodged in her arm, dropping it before the sage. “Do as honor dictates. Whatever you decide, never approach the villages of the Wolf Tribe or our offspring. Otherwise, devouring. Thus I declared.”
“And so it is heard,” Impatient One announced from the rear. “There will be no further vengeance or discontent. Any fool wasting their energy or infighting shall pay the ultimate price. The shamans stand with Warlord Janine!!”
“The warlords join their sister!” Martyshkina thumped her chest and spat at the rising sage. The woman didn’t wipe her face and tried to pick up the blade before medics forcibly led her away.
“The sword saints hear and obey the decree.” Bertruda saluted, nodding in thanks. She stomped, breaking the chunk in the silent answer.
“The verdict has been recorded and added to the Order’s database,” Albert said as technicians wheeled away the half-ruined suit. Janine wordlessly wished him a speedy restoration and many worthy battles.
“Speaking of wasting their energy…” She thrust her arm into the ranks, grabbing her petulant daughter by the neck. Impatient One squealed and tried to bite the warlord, and Martyshkina chuckled, blocking the shaman’s kick. “Come ‘ere!”
“I will not be humiliated, Warlord!” Impatient One snarled, trying to pry away the fingers.
“Then you should’ve obeyed the order. Insubordination from the males I understand, but of you I expected better. Fine, if you want to be treated as a little one, I will treat you as one!” Janine laughed, easing the tension.
With a possible massacre averted, Martyshkina howled, long and hard, stretching her voice to the limit, and the packs joined in that cry, begging forgiveness for those they had to leave on the battlefield and mourning the comrades they had lost. Bertruda knelt, encircled by sages and her elite guard, then by knight-captains and knights, and the lesser ranks formed the outer, third, circle. She led a more intimate prayer to the Twins and the Blessed Mother, holding a paw to her chest and intoning the oaths and the names of the fallen while the sages held smoking censers over her head. Several defenders and foot soldiers joined in the wailing, but the sword saint did not reprimand them.
But the mourning did not last long. After a howl of sadness, there was a burst of jubilation. They felled the enemies, saved the cubs, and several civilians. Sages and surviving shamans of the Martyshkina pack had to physically restrain the scouts, wolf hags, and even several Ice Fangs from dragging the shocked cubs into the celebrations, following the ancient ways. The sages handed out stern disciplinary punishments, while the shamans let their claws do the talking.
Tables were dragged into the hangar, and drinks—bottles of vodka, cognac, sodas, and juices that the Wolfkins had grown fond of during their stay in Houstad—began appearing on them, brought in by the cooks. Tasty-smelling carcasses of genuine cows, bulls, and deer followed, piled high for the soldiers to eat, and the exquisite meat of a white stag that scouts had found. The locals claimed this beast was a sign of luck, so the Wolfkins sent out for food, prioritized hunting it, and now it crowned this feast of excess. In a show of solidarity, Bertruda and Martyshkina broke the softest meat of this rare beast together, raising their fists high in the air to the delight of everyone, but Janine noticed a glimmer of hatred in Martyshkina’s eyes.
Technicians, engineers, off-duty doctors, civilian officials, black-coated agents, the Brood, and the Horde deserters—no one was shunned away to the curses of the officer in charge. The crowd grew, interfering with the staff’s work, and already the Wolfkins and Ice Fangs began clapping their paws, summoning a knight-captain to tell his story of how he had defeated an ironclad.
And that was well, Janine decided. The Gilded Horde had tried to strike fear into their hearts. Let them know that the Reclamation Army was made of sterner stuff. As soon as the celebration was over, Marty would begin her merciless training in preparation for the battle.
Stepping into the spacious halls of the medical bay, Janine sniffed a variety of scents, ranging from the usual tantalizing blood to the repulsive, pungent odors of disinfectant to the sweet tastiness of rot coming from a farmer’s arm, corrupted by gangrene as the doctors sawed it away, while the burly man joked, wondering if he could install a multi-purpose tool in its place. Next to him was Kalaisa, stripped down to her scarred body, hooked up to the mechanical ventilator with a tube down her throat. Two nurses fought to keep her alive under the guidance of an Iternian doctor who had contacted the convoy from his station on Houstad.
“…Your onboard facilities should be able to synthesize the antidote based on the formula.” The Iternian clicked his tongue. “What a disgusting sight.”
“She was injured in the line of duty! Show some respect, Mr. Diego!” barked the Ice Fang field medic.
“Honey of my eyes, I in no way intend to insult the patient’s deeds!” The display showed the doctor placing a hand over his heart in mock horror. “All women are goddesses and deserve a befitting outward splendor to match their inner beauty. I prescribe the scar removal procedure for our young wolf hag.”
“I don’t think she will agree,” the nurse said.
“Believe me, I know,” Diego sighed. “I’ve had my share of unruly patients here. I even had to stop four of them from escaping by using a tranquilizer. That’s why I spend an entire night consulting lawyers from my home while we read through their contracts, line by line. If we use the excuse of acting in the best interest of the patient’s mental health, we are free to schedule the procedure for a later date, regardless of the wolf hag’s wishes.”
“Is it in her best interest?”
“Would you be satisfied if, Planet spare us, you were ugly, o dearest flower of distant lands?” Diego noticed Janine and stared at her, examining her short legs, long arms, and bleeding wounds, ignoring the shaman writhing in her paw.
“No,” she stated.
“That cannot be tolerated, I agree, my wild furball.” Diego nodded. “I have no patience for suffering patients, mine or otherwise, so I fix everyone.”
“You must be an excellent doctor,” Janine said.
“Sued sixteen times for wasteful spending.” Diego waved his hand. “It’s why they stuck me into Houstad; the Family thought I wouldn’t have a chance to overspend here. Hah! They wish! Now I get to abuse both Iterna and the Reclamation Army’s funds! Titanium… no, it won’t be durable enough to support you… tungsten to lengthen legs’ bones until they grow over the implants naturally, then remove scars to smoothen skin, and finally restoration of the bodily hair… Honey, give me two months and all the men will be yours! Or women, if you swing that way.”
“Not unconscious, not giving my permission. Piss off, weirdo!” Janine threw to the overenthusiastic doctor. The Iternians were weird. And creeps, the lot of them.
She stormed inside, ignoring Diego’s demands, and nodded to Kirk and his family. His sister and brother good-naturedly teased the blushing male about missing the party.
More than the state’s servants worked here. Helpers from the ranks of the refugees joined in, including even four doctors from the Oathtakers. These were the tourists visiting. After they had been rescued, they willingly offered their assistance. Janine knew that she should be grateful for their valiant aid, and she was. Yet at the same time, the sight of a Troll, a type of New Breed very common on the battlefield, tending to the wounded Wolfkins filled her with unease.
“Not a step further!” Dokholkhu jumped from the ceiling.
“The shaman is here to have her wounds treated. I came to visit…”
“Your son, yeah, I know. My condolences; the doctors are operating on him as we speak. It’ll have to wait.”
“It can’t,” growled Impatient One.
“Bite me.” He took them by the arms and grinned as the two refused to move. “You can try to make a scene and be denied patient visits, be maced by the guards, and then have your injuries treated, or you can follow me so we can end the unpleasant procedure swifter. Your choice, Khan.”
“Warlord,” Janine corrected him. “Lead the way. When did you turn into a jerk, Dokholkhu?”
“Hey, it’s not my fault your tribe is so prone to self-harm, Warlord!” His lips twitched, and then the four-legged Malformed, wearing a medical robe wrapped around his waist, tapped nervously. “About your boy. Listen, I am no healer, but I think everything should be fine. Your daughter is already there, so he is not alone if he wakes up.”
“That’s not fair! I am better than her!” Impatient One complained as he led them into a separate compartment and sat them both on the operating tables. “Why is the wolf hag free?”
“She wasn’t hurt that badly. Take better care of yourself, and we won’t have to bother you.” Dokholkhu grinned, used a device on the wall to call for a doctor, and then poked his head into the hallway.
“Thank you for the news, Dokholkhu,” Janine said.
“Just trying to be useful, Warlord. Doctor! Yes, right here!”