Mark had been pleased to see the acolytes practicing the moves he had shown them, even if it was mostly to show off to one another. At least they seemed to have learned something. And more importantly, he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself.

His thoughts trailed back to their supplies. Meat was running low again. The rigar bark had been coming in faster than he could have expected, but when winter came, they would need to feed everyone and keep morale up, which would be hard if he expected them to get by on the bark alone.

Pulling his coat over his wire-lined Imperator suit, Mark made for the wall. It had become his morning routine. As the sun crept over the horizon, sending streams of light piercing through the surrounding treeline, Mark watched the ferals and acolytes alike rise.

The thin, barely visible motes of smoke that trailed up from the huts puffed with renewed vigor as their occupants threw fresh fuel on their fires, and the cries of waking babies joined the cacophony of chickens and dog barks.

Pets and livestock were of great value here. Unlike towns of the Imperium, owning a couple of chickens, and or a dog made you wealthy for a feral.

The new arrivals, taking refuge under the sheets of cloth stretched from the outer walls, huddled together and ate breakfast. They would be the first to work, pushing themselves to finish their cabins before the weather got too bad.

Mark sipped a tea Mira had prepared. The taste was foreign but not bad—a little bitter and tangy. It was meant to be invigorating. And while it was no coffee, it gave him enough of a kick to start his day.

He eyed the gate on the outer wall. It was almost time to head out. Every morning was the same. He stood by the gate for a few hours. By now, it seemed most ferals knew what the deal was. If you wanted to get in quickly, you came in the morning while Mark was on watch.

For now, only he was to permit ferals into the walls. But if ferals did come after he had retired for the day, the acolytes would call for him. However, that meant standing around in the open. While no incidents had yet occurred, it obviously made the ferals—seeking shelter and protection—uncomfortable because, after the first few times, they made sure to come during Mark’s watch.

Their moods were completely different when the males went out searching for rigar bark and other resources. With their children secured behind the walls, the men confidently marched out to work. This surprised Mark, seeing the fear in their eyes as they came to the fort. However, even though hiding your children from the cultists often came with death threats, it had been made clear to Mark that the average feral was quite cowardly. These people were, after all, outcasts.

Many ferals were not born without a clan. They were thrown out for various reasons. Failing to uphold honor and duty was the most common among them. So, even if there were ferals loyal to the cultists spying on the fort, armed men without prizes were poor targets. Anything short of a virgin girl wasn’t worth the risk.

Three men prepared to head out, were waiting beside the gates. One carried a small hatchet for defense, while the other two had daggers—which were closer to shivs. It was a reminder that he needed weapons. Especially if he was going to recruit tribunes with authority.

They had spare crossbows, swords, and spears in the fort, but he didn’t want to risk creating another uproar with the acolytes and masters by giving away equipment meant for Imperials to feral barbarians. No, that wouldn’t do. He would need to source new weapons and maybe even armor for them if he could.

If only a merchant would wander by and solve his problem for him, he thought. Then again, he probably didn’t have enough spare supplies to trade for quality weapons, even if that did happen.

They had plenty of timber, though. Unfortunately, iron was beyond hard to come by in the frontier. And supplies from the Imperium seemed unlikely.

He could probably get spears crafted—at least their shafts. Daggers were also common among the ferals, and he could smelt them down if he got hold of a bunch. Still, he’d rather iron. And he didn’t want to disrupt the work going into the new cabins right now, anyway. When there was more free manpower, he would revisit this idea.

He watched the acolytes on the wall open the gate for the ferals and sighed. I guess it’s time to get down there.

***Acolytes—Erin***

Erin squinted as she tried to make sense of the blurred shape before her eyes. A groan escaped her lips, and her head rang.

The chuff and snort of a horse awoke her senses, and she realized she bounced atop the back of a saddle. She looked down at her bloodied hands and realized they were bound and tied to her legs by a rope that hooped beneath the horse’s belly.

She blinked, closed her eyes, and opened them—trying to force the blurred shapes around her into solid figures. Hooves crunched through the snow, and she recognized footsteps among them. Her gaze shifted to her right.

“Huh?” She made a pained grunt and raised a brow. Two ferals followed after the horse. One—a bent-nosed man with wiry hair—was staring at her, while the other seemed lost in thought.

“Where are you taking me? Please, stop,” she said. Her voice was weaker than she had ever heard it.

“Ahh, ye gone and waken back there, have ye?”

“Please. I didn’t do anything.”

“No, no… ye haven’t.” the feral shook. “But I can’t. It ain’t gonna happen. I’ve been blessed by the wolf; I have. I can smell it a league away. Floatin’ on the wind. Ye, a virgin, yes you are. A sweet, sweet offerin’ to tha warg, you’ll be. Gonna get rewarded, I am. Maybe they’ll make me a priest. Fancy that. Old Jinghorn, a priest of the wolf.”

“The warg,” Erin mouthed. “No–no, please. I’m not a feral. I’m an Imperial. This is a mistake, please!”

“No mistake, missy, now shut it. Warg don’t care where ye from. Warg just want virgin. And ye a virgin. Get it? I don’t be making mistakes with me nozzle,” Jinghorn, the feral hiding the horse, said, tapping his nose.

What happened? Erin thought back to the hut. It took a moment to shift through the blackout and her hazy memories, but then she saw.

“Lucky wargs,” one of the following ferals said, running his tongue over his dry, purple lips. “I’d love a taste of that, I would.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Keep ye filthy hands off. Virign goes to tha warg, or I’ll slit ye throat.”

The feral snorted and shook his head, his creepy eyes burrowing into Erin.

Crinkling her brow, she looked away—in a way, glad for the warg.

They continued to march silently through the forest. And gradually, her gaze drifted back to the ferals following them. There was something interesting about the feral walking beside the grotesque man. He seemed nobler than the others, not that it was hard. A high-held, square chin. Plaited, blonde braids. A strong brow. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, pride. He reminded her of the young, noble boys who would visit the inn on occasion, looking to escape the rules of their station. Not only that, but the wolf pelt he wore over his shoulders was far nicer than most ferals—with an iron button holding it tight.

He’s not a normal feral, is he? Her gaze narrowed on the iron buckle that held the fur around his shoulders. What is that? As they stepped through a sparse patch canopy, through which light pierced, she caught it. Wolf heads. Seven of them.

***Acolytes—Callum***

Callum approached Erald as he skittishly looked around, hidden at the back of the cabin beneath the shadow of its eave.

“What do you want? You know you’re not meant to be walking around yet,” Erald said, glancing over his shoulder again.

“I just wanted to know what you told the Imperator. I need this, Erald. It’s my fault she’s out there,” Callum said, pointing across the wall.

“Says who?”

“Come on, Erald. You know as well as every other acolyte who beat me. And you know why she did what she did. Now, just tell me what you know.”

Sighing, Erald took another look around and inched closer. “Look, I don’t know where she is, okay? There’s a tree not far from the wall. It's a big oak. That’s where we were. But that’s all I know, swear it. And even the Imperator couldn’t find her when he went searching, so what chance do you have? And I shouldn’t need to remind you again that you need to be healing. How many times does Master Mira need to tell you?”

“Damn it,” Callum kicked the log cabin beside them. “That’s it? So, she’s gone then?”

“Are you even listening to me? You’ve got yourself to worry about. Let the Imperator figure Erin out.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Well, you can always ask the ferals if you’re deadset on running yourself into trouble,” Erald softly chuckled. “I hear she was staying with one of them.”

Callum looked at the gangly boy with a raised brow and turned.

“No—wait, I wasn’t being serious,” Erald extending his hands. “It was a joke, Callum!”

“Gotta go. Thanks, Erald,” Callum gave a two-finger salute as he ran off.

“What have I done... Master Mira’s going to kill me.”

***

Callum had already heard about the ferals that Erin brought to the fort. Everyone was talking about it. They didn’t say much about the woman, but the man was said to be a giant with thick, black dreadlocks.

It didn’t take long for him to spot a man who stood a foot above everyone else, with round shoulders and thick arms, pulling a log into position for a small cabin.

That’s got to be him.

He pushed through the crowds, dodging children as they ran around with wooden sticks in their hands—which they used to balance a third stick. It was a game they played. A combination of a balancing game with tag. You had to balance the stick as you ran, and if you dropped it, you had to pick it back up before you could continue. The game took tag to the next level.

Callum stood out like a sore thumb as he waded through the ferals in his dirty but still mostly white robe.

The large man hammered a stake to hold the log in place. And his furious blows caught Callum’s breath as he went to speak. Waiting seemed like a better idea than interrupting the man.

The moment he finished, the big man bounded down from the cabin roof and headed to collect another log. Callum chased after, waving the man down.

“Hey, hello, hi!”

“Acolyte—who you?”

“Acolyte Callum,” he grinned.

“I no know Callum.”

“I know,” Callum bobbled, intimidation sinking in from the man who looked like he could choke him out with his pinky. “But I believe we know someone in common.”

“Do we?”

“Yes, a–a young girl. An acolyte, to be precise.”

“Eeerin?”

“I’m not sure she’d appreciate you pronouncing her name that way, but yes. I’m actually searching for her. And I was told you might know where to find her.”

Trayox grunted and shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I think she go cabin. Mine. But I no find when return. I see tracks,” his dark, forboding eyes turned on Callum, reflexively causing him to shrink backward. “Ferals—cultists. They take her.”

“How do you know? Are you sure?”

Trayox nodded. “They tell me. The ferals. Many eyes around. I would go. She help me. But babies need me. She good person. But very annoying.”

“The ferals told you that cultists took Erin?”

Trayox nodded soberly.

“Where, which way did they go?”

“North. They all go north. Go to warg.”

“They’re taking her to the wargs?”

“Yes. All virgin go to warg.”

Right, of course. I’m an idiot.

“Thanks, big guy,” Callum said, already running off as he waved.

What do I do? I can’t just leave her… The Imperator? Callum thought about telling him. But the Imperator was the one who had punished Erin with banishment in the first place. What if he had wanted something like this to happen? What if he had someone keep an eye on him or, even worse, lock him up?

Callum shook his head as he made his way back toward the inner wall. He couldn’t tell the Imperator. It was too risky. If he was kept from leaving the fort, Erin would be left to the wolves.

Sneaking back into their cabin, he grabbed a small store of dried meat he kept as a backup, a knife, and his crossbow. He also had a bag of medicines Mira had left him with to help his recovery, which he took.

Stretching, he let out a sigh. He felt pretty good, all things considered. A little bruising wasn’t going to stop him, and his head only hurt when touched.

I’m not leaving you out there alone, Erin.

He pulled the cowl of his robes up over his head and looked down as he passed through the gates. It wasn’t unusual for acolytes to get around like this. The wind blew cold, and many always kept the cowls up. While acolytes rarely traveled far, many left the fort for various reasons.

Once he had created a little distance, Callum turned to look around. No one was watching. He eyed a line of dense trees and took a deep breath.

One, two, three.

He broke into a sprint, running for the trees without looking back. Acolytes wandering around the grounds surrounding the fort was one thing, but heading out into the forest would no doubt garner suspicion. But if he ran fast enough, he would only be out in the open for a few seconds.

Dashing through the trees, Callum swung around a thick oak and pressed his back against it as he panted. It took a minute before he could hear his surroundings over his heaving breath and pounding heart, but soon, silence filled the air.

I did it. Callum grinned. He could be considered a deserter for this, but he was fairly confident that he would be absolved of the crime for returning Erin from the cultists, and if he wasn’t, he didn’t really care.

Gingerly, he touched at his bandage. There was no going back. No station of any worth would be offered to a man with “heretic” scarred on their forehead, regardless of whether pardoned or innocent of whatever they were accused of. The peasants would see it as a sign, and officials wouldn’t care enough about some nobody to risk promoting someone like that. An outsider’s life was what had been handed down to him, but at least he could still do some good.