Chapter Nine
It was still dark when Shaine and his dragon escorts reached the flat mountain top known as Aio’s Table. As they’d flown south, the clouds had thinned enough to allow the moon to bathe the mountains in soft, silvery light.
Keeping low to the ground to avoid being spotted, Brax and Jaire headed out of the mountain range. They swooped over the forested hills above Falkrag, seeking a likely place for a camp. The dragons eventually landed in a clearing in the middle of a heavily wooded hillside overlooking the estate.
Shaine climbed down off Brax’s back. “I’ll just pop back to your hideaway and fetch Vorri, shall I?”
Jaire shifted and went straight to Brax’s saddlebags. “It’s not my hideaway,” he said with a grin, “though I must admit, I use it when I want some privacy. We built it for Ambris and Kian, when we were still worried about the Wytch Council finding them.” He dragged some clothing from the saddlebag and began putting it on.
“Jaire…” Shaine hesitated, uncertain how to phrase his thoughts, then blurted out, “I’m not convinced you coming with us is a good idea.”
“Nor am I,” said a voice that was far too deep to belong to Jaire.
Shaine looked up to see Brax in his human form, naked and shivering in the cold night air as he stepped out of a tangle of harness, saddle, and saddlebags.
“I’m responsible for your safety, Your Highness,” Brax continued, “and I agree with Prince Shaine. We should head back to Altan. I agreed to bring Prince Shaine here because I couldn’t see any other way for him and Vorri to carry out their mission, but accompanying them puts you in unnecessary danger.”
“It’s not as if you’ll be able to do much,” Shaine said. “Vorri and I will be scouting the area in rhyx form. You’ll be stuck here in camp, and I hate the thought of you here alone. You’re too noticeable as a dragon, and too vulnerable as a human.”
“And we’re in enemy territory,” Brax added. “You have far too much sensitive information for us to risk you being captured.”
Jaire scowled as he yanked on his breeches. “Everyone always thinks I need taking care of, or I’m not strong enough,” he grumbled. “I won’t be captured. I can sense people coming, you know.”
“Ai?” Brax gave him a dubious look. “Even if they’ve taken that drug the Wytch Council’s developed? The one that makes people invisible to the mythe? Word among the border guards is they’ve already caught spies doped with the stuff trying to cross into Altan.”
“Brax is right,” Shaine said. “A drugged soldier took Mikhyal down last summer, and not even Dirit was able to sense the man. And anyway, the point isn’t so much for you to be here with me and Vorri as it is for Garrik to think you are. What if you and Brax go back to your hideaway? I can take you right now.”
Jaire shook his head. “It’s the first place they’d look. Garrik and Ilya both know I use the place when I don’t want to be bothered.”
“All right, what if…” Brax hesitated, as if debating with himself, then let out a heavy sigh. “What if I take you to my mother’s cottage? She lives on the outskirts of a little village in the foothills of the Dragon’s Spine. If we went there, you’d be safely within Altan’s borders, but your brother will think you’re in Ysdrach, at the Falkrag estate. Will that do?”
“That’s brilliant, Brax!” Jaire exclaimed. “Absolutely brilliant! Yes, I’ll agree to that.”
“And you’ll ride on my back in human form, yes?”
There was a long, tense pause before Jaire said grudgingly, “All right. I’ll ride.”
“Thank the Dragon Mother for that,” Brax muttered. “His Majesty will have my balls for breakfast when this gets out.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Jaire said dismissively. “I’ll handle Garrik.” He turned to Shaine. “When you and Vorri are finished here, you can tell Garrik where we are, and he can send someone to fetch us. He’ll be so relieved that I’m all right, he won’t remember to be angry.”
Shaine and Brax exchanged a dubious look, but neither said a word to contradict Jaire.
“Go on, Brax,” Jaire continued, “Shift back before you freeze. I’ll get your harness and bags back on. Shaine, why don’t you fetch Vorri? I’ll be a few minutes unpacking the saddle bags and getting Brax’s harness sorted out.”
Shaine did as Jaire suggested, and when he and Vorri returned to the little clearing, Jaire had unpacked their supplies and was just lifting the harness over Brax’s head. Shaine went to help him.
Jaire grinned as Shaine approached. “Thank you. It’s much faster with two. Did you douse the fire in the cottage?”
“Ai. I knew you wouldn’t be coming back,” Shaine said.
“I left if just as I found it,” Vorri added. “It was very comfortable. Thank you.”
Once Brax was harnessed, Jaire climbed up into the saddle and Shaine helped him strap in. “How long do you think you’ll be, Vorri?” Jaire asked.
“We’ll scout the estate today and see if we can find out where my pack-mates are being held,” Vorri said, “but I don’t know how long we’ll need to release them.”
“Good luck, then,” Jaire said.
“You, too,” Shaine said. “Be careful, Brax. And fly fast. Best if you can cross the border before sunrise.”
Brax snorted and bobbed his head, and moments later, he launched himself into the night sky.
“What if someone sees him?” Vorri asked.
“They’ll follow the mountains and fly low,” Shaine reassured him. “Don’t worry. Brax knows what he’s doing.” He watched until he couldn’t see Brax anymore, then turned to see Vorri going through the things Jaire had left them.
“Did you see all the things Prince Jaire packed for us?” Vorri asked, looking up from one of the packs. “I don’t know what he thought we’d be doing. We’ll be spending all our time in rhyx form.”
“He probably didn’t realize that. And if he’d stayed with us, he’d have needed more than we would.” Shaine eyed the sheltered space, glad his rhyx form didn’t feel the cold like his human form did. “All we really need is a place to hide our clothing and to meet if we should get separated. This will do. Are we close enough to Falkrag for you to have a clearer sense of your pack-mates?”
“I’ve been trying to reach them. They’re just over the hills a little way.” Vorri pointed toward the east. “They’re still muffled, but… I can feel their desperation. And their anger. They can’t sense me at all, so there’s no way to let them know I’m here.”
“They’re probably drugged, or… or more likely, collared.” Shaine felt sick, recalling what one of Anxin’s horrible collars had done to Mikhyal.
“Collared?” Vorri whispered.
“To stop them from Jumping. The Wytch Masters have collars called blood-chains that cut off access to the mythe. If they’ve used them on your pack-mates, they won’t be able to Jump, and if they can’t sense you, then they probably can’t communicate with each other, either.” Shaine’s heart wrenched at the thought of the poor hunters, trapped in rhyx form and rendered mute. For creatures used to being constantly aware of one another, it had to be torture. “That’s horrible.”
Vorri made a tiny, whimpering sound in his throat, and a wave of distress crashed through the pack-sense. “I’m going down there now,” he said in a trembling voice. “Before I think too hard about all the things that could go wrong.”
“Wait.” Shaine took hold of his arm. “We need to scout first, and for that, we need to wait until sunrise.”
Impatience and frustration joined Vorri’s distress, amplifying it. “Why?”
“Because we need to see what we’re dealing with. One of us — me, since I can cloak myself in the mythe so they can’t see me — needs to go down there and have a look at things. But before I do that, we have to make sure my cloaking works while I’m in rhyx form. That’s one thing we haven’t tested.”
There was a long silence before Vorri said in a small voice, “All right. But every hour we wait hurts them more.”
Shaine pulled Vorri into his arms. “I know, Vorri, I know,” he whispered. “We’ll help them. I promise.”
Vorri pressed his face into Shaine’s chest and held on tight.
* * *
The sky was mostly clear at dawn, but the air was cold, and a line of clouds over the mountains suggested the weather would soon change. Curled up in rhyx form with Vorri’s warm weight resting against his side, Shaine was warm and cozy. They’d spent the past few hours snuggled together, trying to catch up on the sleep they’d lost.
Shaine’s clothing lay on top of the packs, bundled up in his cloak along with his boots, and tied with a bit of rope, which had been looped and knotted in such a way that he’d be able to carry it in his jaws as he made his way down to Falkrag.
Vorri indulged in a long stretch which ended in a toothy yawn, then shook himself. Shaine, too, rose and stretched before padding to the edge of the trees and staring down at the estate. It was quiet, but he thought he could make out several dark-clad figures moving about outside.
Vorri came up beside him, pressing his great furry body close to Shaine’s. <Are you certain they won’t see you?>
<I’m certain,> Shaine said grimly. <I’ve walked right into secret meetings of the Northern Alliance — rooms full of Wytch Kings and the Wytch Masters allied to them — and none of them ever suspected. I’ve no doubt I can stay hidden from the guards down there, even if they’re Drachan. I’ve fooled them before, too.>
<Drachan? You mean the Wytch Council’s troops?> Vorri’s fear drifted through the pack-sense. <The elders tell horror stories about them… they say some of them can even weave the mythe.>
<Maybe, but they’re still just men. And I’ve yet to meet anyone who can see me if I choose not to be seen. Let’s just make sure it works when I’m shifted, shall we?> Vorri still looked uncertain, but he nodded slowly. Shaine padded away from him, wrapping the mythe around himself as he went. He circled Vorri, who followed his motion, turning to track him perfectly.
Disappointed, Shaine dropped the cloak. <You saw me.>
<No, but I saw your tracks in the snow. You will have to remember that. I couldn’t see you at all, but that doesn’t mean the Drachan will be fooled. Just because no one’s ever noticed you before doesn’t mean no one ever will.>
<I know. I promise I’ll be careful.>
<I’ll get your things.> Vorri slipped back into the trees and emerged a few moments later, Shaine’s bundled clothing dangling from the rope handle he held in his teeth. He dropped the bundle in the snow, and Shaine took the loop of rope carefully between his own teeth. The boots and the thick, fur-lined cloak made the bundle heavy and awkward, but if the opportunity to free Vorri’s kin presented itself, he’d need his human form to deal with the cages, collars, and locks, and it was far too cold to do that with no clothes on.
When the bundle was secure, he padded toward Vorri and rubbed his head against Vorri’s neck.
<Don’t be too long.> Vorri’s anxiety was a low vibration in the back of his mind. <I’ll worry the whole time you’re gone.>
<I’ll be as fast as I can.> Before Vorri could say anything more, Shaine wrapped himself in the mythe and headed down the slope.
At the ground-eating pace of an adult rhyx, it didn’t take Shaine long to reach Falkrag. He circled the estate far enough out that no one would notice the paw prints appearing in the snow. On his initial sweep, he counted eight soldiers patrolling outside the high wall surrounding the house and grounds, all dressed in the uniform of the Council’s Drachan troops. Two of them guarded a heavy, ironwork gate, and the rest patrolled the exterior of the wall. The presence of Drachan suggested the presence of a Wytch Master. That thought sent a fresh chill of fear rippling down Shaine’s spine.
Don’t think about it. You’re safe now. Vayne removed every trace of Anxin from your mythe-shadow. Nobody can just reach into your head and take over.
He had to force himself to draw in a few deep breaths of the crisp air before his mind cleared enough to consider his options. Getting inside the walls was the first order of business. He would need to observe, find out how many men patrolled the grounds and whether or not they had some sort of predictable schedule. Shaine edged closer to the elaborate iron gate. If he could get a glimpse inside, he could Jump without having to worry about the noise he’d make trying to scrabble up the wall in rhyx form.
A paved drive which had been cleared of snow led up to the gate, and it was here that Shaine decided to shift and dress himself. It felt odd doing it in clear sight of the guardsmen, but he kept himself cloaked in the mythe, and none of them appeared to notice anything out of the ordinary.
Dressed and in human form, Shaine approached the gate. Beyond the wrought iron monstrosity, the drive led up to the massive front doors of the house. Walkways on either side curved around the house toward the gardens in the back. These, too, had been cleared of snow, which was an immense relief, as even cloaked in the mythe, Shaine would still leave footprints.
Keeping one eye on the guards, Shaine approached the gate. When no warning was shouted out, he focused on the center of the walkway and Jumped. In the blink of an eye, he was standing inside the high wall, halfway up the drive, in plain sight of four of the guardsmen, none of whom appeared to have noticed him.
He scanned the grounds and sank his awareness into the pack-sense, seeking the desperation and anger Vorri had said his pack-mates were feeling. There… behind the house and to the right… beyond another stone wall with a gate…
Walking slowly to maintain his silence, Shaine followed the cleared walkways and made his way to the walled garden. The gate was chained and locked, but beyond the decorative ironwork vines and leaves were several large metal cages, and within the cages, Shaine saw movement.
Rhyx, but not. The creatures were the same rhyx-wolf hybrid as Vorri. A muffled sense of agitation and fear reached him through the pack-sense as he studied the cages and the creatures within. The cages were as tall as a man, and ran the length of the garden, each containing two rhyx, for a total of ten animals.
No — not animals. Humans, trapped in animal form. Did the Wytch Masters even know the nature of the creatures they’d imprisoned?
Would they care if they did?
Not if they were anything like Anxin, they wouldn’t.
Some of the shifters paced restlessly, others lay curled in the corners of the cages, their fur matted and dirty, their eyes dull and listless. All of them wore collars that had a similar feel to the blood-chain Anxin had forced Shaine to lock around Mikhyal’s neck.
Shaine’s heart skipped a beat. If he could remove those collars, the rhyx would be free to Jump home. He could do that. Even if the collars were mythe-locked, he was certain he could. Anxin had shown him the pattern to unlock a blood-chain when he’d been under the Wytch Master’s control.
He started toward the nearest cage. He’d only gone a step when something sharp and intensely cold pierced his back. Burning ice raced through his body, shockingly fast. He tried to Jump, but the mythe wouldn’t respond to his will. In a matter of moments, his limbs grew heavy and his vision began to blur.
“Shaine of Rhiva.” The voice came from close by, and it was chillingly familiar. Shaine swung his head around, but all he could make out was a dark shape against the bright morning sky. His limbs were stiff and heavy, as if the cold burning through his flesh had frozen him in place. “You might be invisible to your allies, but not to me. I wondered if your father would send you back to us as a spy.”
Wytch Master Faah. Anxin’s partner in crime.
The last thing Shaine heard before the ice consumed him was Faah’s cruel laughter.
* * *
Despite Garrik’s suggestion that they get some sleep, Mikhyal didn’t rest at all well that night. He kept getting up to check Shaine’s room, in case his brother decided to reappear.
Tristin sat up with him and tried to convince him that Shaine and Jaire were really quite sensible young men, and that even if they had gone off to Falkrag, he was certain they wouldn’t do anything stupid.
Mikhyal was not comforted.
Eventually, Tristin drifted off to sleep, but Mikhyal sat up for the rest of the night, brooding and worrying.
By sunrise, the worst of the storm appeared to be over. The sky was still grey, and nearly a foot of snow had fallen in the night, but when Mikhyal peered out the bedroom window, he saw only a few flakes drifting past. He’d only just finished tying off his plait when there was a knock at the outer door of the suite. He hurried to answer, hoping it was Garrik, but found instead a very pale, very worried Wytch Master Ilya.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen Jaire and Garrik anywhere?” Ilya asked before Mikhyal could even invite him in.
“Garrik’s gone, too?”
“Too?” Ilya arched a thin, coppery eyebrow.
“Garrik came to see me last night to ask if I’d seen Jaire,” Mikhyal explained. “Shaine and Vorri are gone, too. Dirit confirmed that they’ve all gone off to Falkrag to rescue Vorri’s kin before we send the dragons to raze it to the ground. I thought Garrik was going to wait until morning, talk to everyone… but you’re saying he’s gone?”
“He never came to bed last night,” Ilya said. “I assumed he was working late, but when I woke this morning, his side of the bed was undisturbed.” The Wytch Master appeared to sag. “He’s gone off after Jaire, then.”
“I know he’s not the patient sort, but would he really take such a risk? And through the storm?”
“If Jaire is involved, he would.” Ilya gave him a faint smile. “Garrik’s always been rather unreasonable where his brother’s safety is concerned.”
Now that he thought on it, Garrik had seemed rather determined last night. “He never intended to wait until morning, did he?” Mikhyal said. “He probably left here, shifted, and went straight to Falkrag, storm be damned.”
“Most probably,” Ilya said dully.
“We can send out a search party.”
“To what purpose? If he was wounded during the storm, he could heal himself by shifting. No, he’s gone. He’s either halfway across Altan by now, or… or dead.” Ilya had gone very pale.
Mikhyal gripped the Wytch Master’s shoulder. “Garrik’s far too stubborn to die,” he said encouragingly. “Come on. Let’s go and see Bradin. Garrik said he was going to speak to him before he went to bed. Perhaps Bradin can tell us something.”
Ilya perked up at that, and the two of them headed down the hall to Ambris and Kian’s suite, where Prince Bradin had been staying with his youngest brother while Wytch King Edrun and Prince Ferrin were in residence in Miraen’s guest suite. Mikhyal suspected Bradin and Ferrin didn’t get along very well, and his observations over the past few weeks had supported that, with Ferrin treating Bradin more like a messenger boy than a brother.
Ambris opened the door and gave them a wry grin. “Who are you looking for? We’ve already had Ferrin in search of Bradin, and Vayne in search of Jaire.”
“Bradin’s gone, too?” Mikhyal glanced at Ilya, who shrugged.
“Garrik stopped by late last night,” Kian said from behind Ambris. “He and Bradin left the suite together, and we’ve seen neither of them since.”
“Did either of them give any hint as to where they might be going?” Ilya asked hopefully.
“No, they didn’t.” Ambris said. “All Garrik said was he needed to speak with Bradin urgently. They left before anything was said about what it was, though.”
“Garrik’s gone, too,” Ilya said.
Ambris’s golden eyes widened at that. “Gone where?”
“We think he’s gone off to Falkrag, after Shaine, Vorri, and Jaire,” Mikhyal said. “There was some talk at yesterday’s meeting of sending a wing of dragons to raze Falkrag before the Wytch Council could initiate any more rhyx attacks. Jaire was there. We think he warned Shaine and Vorri, and the three of them took off. The only good thing I can see about the whole situation is that Brax was with them, and he’s got a level head on his shoulders, even if none of the others do.”
“Poor Brax,” Kian said. “Imagine being stuck between Jaire’s orders and Garrik’s.”
“Knowing Jaire, he didn’t give Brax a choice,” Ilya said drily.
“Come on, then, Ilya,” Mikhyal said. “We’d better get to Garrik’s study. We need to figure out how we’re going to deal with this mess.”
Ord, Edrun, and Drannik were already waiting in the library when Mikhyal and Ilya arrived. Predictably, Ord’s first suggestion when Mikhyal explained the problem, was to send a wing of dragons to Falkrag.
Drannik immediately disagreed, and then the shouting began.
Ilya listened to them, growing increasingly agitated, and finally slammed his hand down on the table. “Enough!” he bellowed.
A shocked silence descended, and they all stared at the usually reserved Wytch Master. “We wait,” Ilya said calmly, meeting each man’s eyes in turn. “I am as unhappy as any of you with the situation, but we cannot change it. We must work with what we have, and that means we must give them a chance to do as they intend. Shaine and Vorri may very well be successful. And if Garrik can find them, he may be able to help them.”
“If the folk of Ysdrach see dragons, it’s all over,” Ord declared. “We need to act before they do.”
“Ai, but we’ve no way of knowing if they’ve seen dragons or not,” Mikhyal said. “I agree with Ilya. We should send messengers to inform our border guards to keep watch for them, and wait to see what happens.”
“Mikhyal is right,” Drannik said. “The worst thing we can do right now is stir things up by sending an army of dragons into Ysdrach.”
Ord was not at all happy with this idea, but Edrun, at least, could be persuaded to see reason. He helped convince Ord to at least wait a few days before sending any dragons out to hunt for the wayward princes and the impetuous Wytch King.
By the time the orders to the border had been drawn up and sent, it was nearly lunch time, and Mikhyal had another pounding headache. He waited until the others had left the library before sinking down on a chair and putting his head in his hands.
“Thank you, Mikhyal.” Ilya’s voice came from behind him. “I appreciate your support. And your father’s.”
“Ord would plunge us into outright war if he had his way,” Mikhyal said wearily. His lack of sleep the night before was beginning to catch up with him.
“I only hope we can keep him contained until we have some word of what’s going on out there,” Ilya said.
“We’ll do our best,” Mikhyal said grimly. “Even if Ord manages to swing Edrun over to his way of thinking, as long as Shaine is out there, I think my father can be counted on to see reason.” He stared out the window, wondering what his brother was up to at this moment, and whether he would make it back to the palace before Ord insisted upon more drastic measures.
* * *
Vorri hated letting Shaine go down to the estate by himself, but with Shaine’s ability to cloak himself in the mythe, it made sense that he should be the one to do the scouting. Without a backward glance, Shaine slipped into the trees with his bundle of clothing in his mouth. After a few moments, Vorri padded after him to the edge of the forest, where he settled on his haunches and stared down at the estate.
Falkrag sat on a hilltop overlooking a small, snow-covered village. There was no sign of Shaine, except for his paw prints in the snow. The pack-sense showed him no hint of Shaine, either, but when he concentrated hard, he could feel his pack-mates, so very close, and so unaware of how near help was.
He itched to follow after Shaine, to see his kin, to let them know they hadn’t been forgotten. Instead, he found a sheltered spot under a big fir tree from which he had a clear view of the estate and settled in to wait. The line of clouds over the mountains had spread across the sky since Shaine had gone, and between the dull light and his white fur against the snow, Vorri was confident he’d remain hidden.
It wasn’t quite midday when Shaine’s panic ripped through the pack-sense. Vorri tensed, casting his awareness about to see if he could determine the nature of the threat.
Cold… Shaine was icy cold and terrified, and then he was gone.
Vanished as if he’d never been.
Had he been killed?
Heart pounding, Vorri scrambled to his feet, staring down at the estate. At this distance, he could see only the dark bulk of the house and the stone wall surrounding the grounds. His sense of his pack-mates hadn’t changed, but they were so muffled, he wasn’t sure if he’d sense anything more even if they were terrified.
He closed his eyes and focused inward, hardly daring to breathe as he sought the slightest whisper of Shaine’s presence. He’d nearly given up when a tiny spark caught his attention. There… Shaine’s thread still pulsed through the pack-sense, but it was even fainter than the threads of the hunters.
Drugged, collared, or dying, it hardly mattered which; Shaine needed help. His pain and his fear had triggered something deep inside Vorri, a protective instinct stronger than anything he’d ever experienced.
There would be no rest for Vorri until Shaine was safe.
Flexing his claws, he started down the slope toward the estate, mind racing even as his agile rhyx body ran lightly over the snow.
If Shaine had been in human form when he’d been captured, he would be inside, and Vorri’s chances of getting him out would be slim. But the few impressions from the hunters leaking into the pack-sense suggested they were being held outside. If Shaine had been in rhyx form when he was captured, he might be outside with the rest of the pack.
There was only one way to find out. Vorri would have to get inside and investigate. And he’d have to do it without Shaine’s ability to cloak himself in the mythe and move about unseen, unsensed.
As he drew closer to the estate, Vorri slowed, scanning the walls and the grounds for the guards Shaine had said would be there. He saw no one, so he checked the pack-sense.
Kavarr and the others were close now, maybe on the other side of the wall. Vorri scanned the area once more, and when he saw no sign of movement, moved slowly toward the wall.
He was only a few body lengths from it when something slammed against his right flank, sending him sprawling across the snow with a yelp. Shouts came from the wall. Vorri tried to get to his feet, but his right hind leg collapsed under him, sending pain shooting through him and blood spilling out onto the clean snow beside him.
Two men were coming around the corner, running toward him.
Vorri clenched his jaw against a whimper and Jumped back to the campsite. For several minutes, he simply lay under the fir tree, panting and struggling to remain conscious. The crossbow bolt was still lodged in his leg, and an alarming amount of blood covered his fur. Before he could even begin to formulate a plan, his vision began to darken.
He needed to Jump to safety.
But where did safety lie? In Altan, where they’d send dragons to burn Falkrag once they learned Jaire was safe? Or home, in the valley, where he faced exile for disobeying Grandfather?
Black spots danced before his eyes, and in the end, it was instinct, not reason, that guided his Jump.
He ended up on the floor of the healing cottage. The last thing he heard before darkness claimed him was his mother’s cry, followed by a muffled sob.
* * *
Shaine woke with a start and blinked into the darkness. His head was pounding and his body ached. Cold seeped into him, and he cautiously extended one hand to test the ground. His fingers encountered rough stone covered with a thin layer of scratchy straw.
A dungeon?
He rolled to his side and sat up slowly, taking stock.
The pack-sense was intact; he felt Vorri’s pack-mates nearby, though their threads were faint. So they hadn’t drugged him, other than to shoot him with whatever it was they’d used to take him down.
He smiled ruefully in the dark. Of course they wouldn’t bother drugging him. Faah had recognized him, and as far as Faah knew, Shaine’s only skill was cloaking himself in the mythe, hardly useful once he was locked in a cell. Especially if Faah could see him while he was cloaked.
He sent his awareness out farther into the pack-sense, seeking Vorri, but there was no sign of him.
Was he with the others? No… Shaine made a mental count, coming up with the same ten individuals he’d sensed before. None of them felt like Vorri, although he supposed he might not be able to identify Vorri if he’d been collared.
Had he tried to come after Shaine and been captured?
Or worse, killed?
Shaine’s stomach lurched, filling with boiling acid. Panic burned through his limbs as he pulled himself slowly to his knees and felt about the dark space. It was indeed a cell, with four solid walls of stone and a heavy, metal door.
Locked, of course.
No matter.
He could Jump. And maybe, just maybe, finding his cell empty would give them pause, make them wonder if they’d underestimated him. Was he still in there, cloaked? Or had he slipped out?
Shaine cloaked himself in the mythe and Jumped to the cages where Vorri’s kin were being held. Except for the elaborate ironwork gate, the garden was surrounded by a high wall. As long as he stayed well away from the gate, the guards wouldn’t see him when he stepped out of his cloak of mythe-energy.
He knew from Vorri’s description that his brother Kavarr was a large, black rhyx, and once he was close to the cages, it wasn’t hard to identify him. He was the biggest of the lot, a powerful creature with impressive fangs. Seeing him caged and collared and knowing it was a human mind trapped inside the magnificent creature wrenched Shaine’s heart. What if it was Mikhyal, trapped in his dragon body?
Did the Wytch Masters even know what they had?
Kavarr prowled back and forth across the length of the cage, pacing the same pattern of steps over and over again. Shaine dropped his cloak of mythe-energy and faced Kavarr, who had just turned away to pace the length of the cage yet again.
“K-Kavarr?”
The rhyx swung around and fixed him with pale eyes the color of glacial ice.
“M-my name is Shaine of Rhiva. I’m a friend of Vorri’s, and I’m here to help you if I can.” At the sound of his voice, the other rhyx all got to their feet and crowded as close to Kavarr’s cage as they could get. Shaine stayed back, out of swiping distance. He’d seen the damage those cruel claws could do back in Rinwyck, and had firsthand experience of it, too.
Kavarr’s eyes narrowed as he studied Shaine. Even though Kavarr couldn’t speak, Shaine read the questions in those eyes as clear as day: Where is my brother? How do you know him?
“Vorri is here,” Shaine said. “Well, I mean he’s up there.” He pointed in the direction of the mountains. “I came down here alone because I can cloak myself in the mythe so no one can see me. Vorri and I met… it’s a long story, and we don’t have time for it now. Not if I’m to free you before anyone notices. If you’ll let me try, I might be able to get those collars off of you so you can Jump back to the valley.”
Some of the other hunters whimpered, and the muffled sense of despair and anger threading through the pack-sense immediately shifted to curiosity and the tiniest thread of hope. Kavarr moved as close to the bars of the cage as he could get and settled on his haunches, lowering his head so Shaine could more easily reach the collar around his neck.
This was the dangerous part. Shaine couldn’t focus on the cloaking pattern and the locking pattern at the same time, so he’d have to keep his ears open.
Trembling, Shaine stepped up to the bars of the cage and reached in, fingers sifting through Kavarr’s fur as he sought the mythe-stone controlling the collar. When the pad of his index finger brushed over the slick, icy surface of the stone, he said, “You’ll have to be patient. These are complex patterns, and if this collar doesn’t use the one I know, I may have to improvise a bit.”
Shaine closed his eyes and began building the pattern required to open the lock. The pattern Anxin had shown him wasn’t quite right, but it was close — he could feel it nearly sliding into place. He’d have to make some adjustments. Sweat formed on the back of his neck and trickled down his spine as he focused on the pattern.
In his quest to use Shaine as a spy, Anxin had taught him much about locking patterns, and Shaine had an understanding that went beyond simply visualizing the pattern needed. He’d learned how to take cues from the locking stone itself to make subtle changes to a pattern to make it fit.
The mental equivalent of picking a lock.
Each of the differences between the pattern used by Kavarr’s collar and the pattern Anxin had taught Shaine had to be dealt with individually. Time stretched as Shaine made minute adjustments to the pattern. While he worked, he tried to keep one ear on the world around him, in case someone saw him and raised the alarm.
Finally, the patterns matched, and the collar clicked open. Shaine pulled it off and dropped it to the ground at his feet. <Can you hear me?> he sent through the pack-sense.
Kavarr’s eyes widened. <I hear you, Shaine of Rhiva. Are you pack?>
<I… I don’t know. Maybe. I can feel your pack-sense, and I can shift like you can. Go, Kavarr. Free yourself. Now that I’ve found the pattern, it won’t take me long to free the others.>
Kavarr disappeared, but moments later, reappeared outside the cage, and placed himself between Shaine and the gate, standing guard while Shaine worked.
Through the pack-sense, Shaine could feel not only Kavarr’s burning need to question him, but also his acceptance that questions would have to wait until they were safe.
Shaine moved from hunter to hunter, removing their collars and setting them in a pile to be taken with him so they couldn’t be used on anyone else. When the last collar fell away, the rhyx shifters all Jumped in unison, leaving Shaine alone with the pile of collars. In their eagerness to return to their valley, they hadn’t even asked about Vorri.
It wasn’t until the first scream cut through the frigid stillness of Falkrag’s gardens that Shaine realized the rhyx hadn’t Jumped home at all. They’d Jumped to the grounds beyond their prison.
More screams followed, coming from all directions, and Shaine remembered what he’d been taught of rhyx: they scented their prey in the mythe. Hiding from sight, crossing water, disguising one’s scent… none of that worked if a rhyx was on the hunt… And while Lethrian’s shifter soldiers might look more like wolves, they’d been modeled on wild rhyx.
He shivered. Knowing exactly what he’d see, he dared not look beyond the gate.
“Stop!” shouted a voice.
Shaine cloaked himself in the mythe and crept toward the gate. At the back door of the house stood Wytch Master Faah, one hand raised in command. His voice wasn’t the voice of the frail old man he appeared to be, but the command voice, backed by the mythe.
The rhyx froze, and Shaine nearly stepped back, knowing that even if none of the guards could see him, Faah could. And if Faah didn’t even need the collars to control the rhyx—
Then Kavarr started moving toward the Wytch Master, ears laid back, teeth bared. Moments later, the pack surged after Kavarr, surrounding Faah, some Jumping, some pouncing, all of them growling low in their throats.
The Wytch Master raised his arms in a feeble effort to protect himself, but it did him no good. The rhyx were on him, snapping, snarling, rending… Faah had time for one agonized scream, which was quickly cut short. When the pack had finished with him, there was nothing left but a sad little pile of bloody rags.
Shaine took an involuntary step back, stomach heaving as he stared at the torn bodies of Faah’s guardsmen littering the trampled, blood-stained snow. Kavarr was nowhere to be seen. One by one, the remaining rhyx Jumped, winking out of sight, until Shaine was the only thing left alive in the silent, blood-drenched garden.