Silently, Wurhi and the hunting cat darted into the room with both sword and teeth bared. The guards at the entrance only had time to whirl about when a silver blade pierced one through the neck and massive jaws pressed down on another’s skull-

Slptch.

-popping it like a rotten grape.

The Zabyallan eyed the room, but found no more opponents. She recalled more guards when she had been taken to the arena - but it seemed that Milos’ planned ritual required the presence of most in the cult.

She smiled. “Lucky me.”

“P-please,” a voice moaned. A group of trembling slaves, the ones used to open and close the pits, pressed against the wall on the opposite side of the chamber. “D-don’t hurt us!”

“Hurt you?” she blinked, then her grin widened. The little thief drew herself up, trying to mimic the same easy confidence of the Sengezian. “I’m not going to hurt you.” She wiped the silver of her blade free of gore. “We’re breaking out.”

“What in all the-Rat?!” a voice like scratching glass shouted from one of the holes. “Rat! Is that you!?”

Her grin widened further until her cheeks hurt from it, and she scurried over to the hole where it had come from. Through the tied logs, Merrick, Saxa, Gannicus and Agron stared up at her.

“Wha…I…I thought you were dead!” the Hawk cried. “Some guards were saying they fed you to that big, toothy ca-”

The titanic sabre-toothed tiger padded up to her, peering curiously into the pit.

“-aaaaaaaa Oh bloody piss in hells and heavens!” he shrieked, stumbling backward in and nearly tripping over his feet.

Now she widened her grin purposefully to the point where she knew it would be unnerving. “Turns out.” She nearly bounced in glee. “My friend here hates ‘master Milos’ almost as much as we do!”

The beast growled upon the mention of the name.

“Or maybe more.” She shrugged. “Can’t ask.”

“What…” Saxa had paled as though a corpse had leapt up before her and started cackling. “…of course you ‘can’t ask’, he can’t talk!”

“Oh right, watch what you say. He understands us.”

“What?!” Merrick demanded.

The chamber grew louder. The presence of the tiger had driven the other beasts into a frenzy, and they roared and clamoured up the ramps, throwing themselves against the logs sealing their prisons.

“Ooookay, we had better be moving.” She looked to the tiger. “Can you help me move these stones…oh right, you don’t have hands.”

The cat looked at her, then casually batted a massive rock aside as though it was a mere ball of wool.

“…fair enough.” She shrugged. “All of you!” She pointed to the slaves. “You come help too! Faster we move, the faster we’re out!”

The slaves looked to each other, unsure of what to do.

A growl sounded from the tiger’s throat.

They quickly became sure of what to do.

Between them, the great beast and Wurhi - though her help counted for little in her human form - they easily moved the stones and logs aside. Captives quickly mounted the ramps and sprang from the pits, tasting freedom. Some had dwelled in these hell holes for only a short span of time, but others were sallow and thin from their long imprisonment in the dark.

Many wept.

Many collapsed in shock at their sudden liberty.

Yet, others were quiet. Their jaws set and their eyes focused in barely stymied wrath. Were weapons placed in their hands, they would have set off to slay their tormenters at once, which was a good thing, for that was what Wurhi intended next. “Alright, here’s what we do. We’ve gotta get out of here. But we’re going to need weapons.”

Gannicus stepped forward. “Why? We should just get out of here!”

“Really? ‘Just get out of here’?” she slapped her forehead as if in sudden revelation. “Just get out of here! Why didn’t I think of that!?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Right, they’ve gathered for their ritual, so we can-”

“-run into acolytes in the tunnels, get the alarm raised and get trapped again?” she offered.

“Well, we-”

“-get smelled by the wolves and have our guts ripped out when we’re trying to fight back with our hands?”

“No! We-”

“-get lucky,” Merrick jumped in. “Get into the valley and freeze - because it’s bloody winter - or get seen from their watch posts on the mountains and get hunted down like little rabbits?”

Gannicus frowned. “Alright, fine, we need weapons.”

“But how do we get to them?” Agron looked up to the ceiling. The chanting and booming resounded through the stones. “The only armoury we might be able to find in this damned maze is the one next to the arena, and most of the damned cult’ll be there.”

“He’s got a point, Rat,” Merrick agreed.

Wurhi frowned. “I’m working on something-”

There was a tug at the top of her ripped tunic.

The sabre-toothed tiger was looking toward the pits.

The ones they had not opened.

The ones containing beasts.

Wurhi smiled. “I’m done working on something. Help me move some more rocks.”

----------------------------------------

“Lycundar! He who consumes himself! He who is destined to consume the sun! Bless us with your curses! Through strife we are made strong! Through struggle we are forged! The primal that was lost is gained once more through your bite! Your children who fall will feed those who survive! Their strength begets our strength! Our strength begets your strength! The pack lives, and tonight we witness ascension! Lycundar! He who consumes himself! He who is-” The chant repeated endlessly, with each beginning consuming the previous ending.

Milos smiled, glancing to the massive statue of Lycundar above. He might have imagined it, but its twelve heads seemed to be pleased.

Nearly all the cult had gathered in the arena.

The acolytes in seats above.

The pack-brothers standing proudly in a circle on the sand.

Their Sacred Alpha, standing among the circle - bathing in the pride of their gods’ chosen. New recruits were being lead into the arena - with sacks over their heads. None would ascend into lycanthropy tonight, but a full five would begin as acolytes beneath the sight of their wolf god.

Yet, despite this joyous occasion, a misgiving deepened in Milos’ belly. His animal instincts twitched within him. There was a wrongness in the air. Some portent of trouble. Perhaps the events of the last set of days had simply made him overcautious.

Or perhaps not.

“We are under attack!”

The chanting ground to a halt.

At the top of the chamber, an acolyte bent over himself, his breath ragged and his robes stained from sweat and snow. “Some demon climbs the mountain! It speaks with a woman’s voice, but its words curl into many tongues in our ears! We…we cannot stop it! It is coated in metal and a golden light that melts flesh like snow!”

Berard gasped nearby.

Milos looked sharply to him. “What is it?”

“The woman!” the massive lycanthrope hissed. “From the pleasure temple! The one with impossible strength! That is her! The same golden light surrounded her and ate flesh and bone!”

A cold sensation froze Milos still, but his mind began to move very quickly.

Very quickly indeed.

He glanced up toward the great hole in the ceiling: the wind masked the sound from outside, even now though the arena had fallen quiet. If that woman had found them…

“I need ten volunteers to face the woman on the peak!” Milos barked.

“Sacred Alpha!”

Half a score of pack-brothers stepped forward at once, including Berard and Adelmar.

“Not you, Berard,” Milos commanded. “I need you here. The rest of you, take a score of acolytes and throw her down the mountain. Slay her at once!”

“Sacred Alpha!”

The pack brothers summoned eager acolytes down from their seats and rushed into the tunnels near the top of the chamber: passageways that would wind up the mountain and lead to corridors near the summit.

The red jewel glinted around the neck of that cur, Haldrych Ameldan, as he followed Adelmar into the passage. Milos could not help but glare after him. If the boy survived, he would need greater punishment. The price of his foolishness was rising.

“Sacred Alpha?” Berard came to the cult leader. “What can I do?”

Milos leaned close to the larger man. “You and I must organize the rest of the cult. We leave the mountain tonight.”

The bear-like lycanthrope gasped. “Sacred Alpha? But what of our work in the city? We have made connections and forged alliances-”

“-that are likely already shattering,” the Sacred Alpha pronounced grimly. “If that woman found us, then there is a strong chance that others know too. If Duke Kirinius is informed, there will be an army in our valley in haste. We must prepare to quit this place.”

“But what of Jairus?”

Milos grimaced. “He might already have gone to the after-world. If we have received no word of him by sunrise, we will-”

He paused, his brows drawing together in a frown.

“Do…you hear that, Berard?”

He turned, his gaze circling the arena in dread.

“Do you smell that?”

Sniff.

Berard’s eyes went hard. “Blood…and beasts?”

Cries sounded from the lower passages that lead to the audience seats. Cries of men in dying throes. Cries of beasts filled with rage…and fear?

Another roar sounded. One that shook the stones and caused Milos’ breath to catch. His tiger? Why was-

A blood-caked acolyte stumbled from one of the passageways. “Beware! They are free! They are killing-"

The arena exploded into chaos.

Acolytes shrieked as hulking cave bears, wild cave lions, and dire boars rampaged into their midst, crashing through the black robed figures in a ruinous red tide. Men were leapt upon and mauled or gored in their seats as they tried to stand. Half-starved, frightened and furious, the beasts tore into them with berserk abandon while their human quarry could only try to flee.

“Sacred Alpha!” Berard cried in alarm, his face mirroring the shock of all others on the arena floor.

Milos blinked, his mouth agape as though he were a village fool. “What…what in Lycundar’s teeth is happening?”

----------------------------------------

The last of the guards died in the tunnel beneath Wurhi’s sword. The others had been pulled down by the unarmed captives, and stomped into blood and pulp, while their spears were snatched to finish them off.

Down the hall, the sabre-toothed tiger bounded back toward them, having finished herding the beasts into the cult’s very teeth.

With a vicious snarl of triumph, Wurhi gave it a loving scratch on its massive flank.

She stopped when it stared at her.

“Alright, folks,” Agron lifted the bar from a door close by and kicked it open.

The armoury for the arena awaited within.