Fenris was apparently in no rush, and seemed more interested in working through years of pent up words. His forthcoming knowledge of history and gods sent Dorius in and out of bouts of curiosity. Some of Fenris’ explanations went well above Val’s head, she didn’t have the context to know what was groundbreaking revelation or known fact, but Dorius seemed frequently overwhelmed. Despite this, his questions kept on streaming and Fenris happily conversed as he lay about the fire naked as a babe. His wolves napped, or amused themselves chasing after Val as she wrung out her outer clothing, setting a scaffolding of branches by the fire to help things dry. She offered Fenris something other than his wet pelt to wear, but the boy waved it off. Apparently, along with his immortality, he felt no cold.

  The winged horse stood apart, cropping the grass at a distance close enough to hear a call if they needed her.

  “How did the Monarchy fall?”

  “Haha, in complete and utter chaos! Abrigale took the throne during a succession crisis. She slaughtered her rival in combat and sprung off a civil war that essentially eliminated any bloodlines with magic remaining. Her partner and infant child were both believed dead in the aftermath, and she had some huge fight with what remained of the High Council.”

  “How am I related to her if her child died?”

  “I’m not omnipotent. I said ‘believed dead’ - obviously the kid lived.”

  “What was magic like?”

  “Damn useful. A High Earth Councilor carved the entire Citadel in less than the cycle of a moon. Just sung straight rock right out of the ground.”

  “Are there other gods like you?”

  “Three. Me, two others. They’re both older, physically and they’ve been around a bit longer than me as well.”

  “You didn’t all get… made at once?”

  “Nothing forms out of nothing. The gods sort of come about as the Weave spins them together. Maybe we happen by chance?”

  “What does the Weaver do?”

  “Ah, poor old Bahgrilus. He’s still stuck keeping things ticking along. Free will’s not worth much when reality requires you keep it turning and you get trapped in a chair.”

  “These things are literal? The Weaver is on a stone throne with a thousand tails?”

  “Don’t think too hard about it. Yes, he’s real, yes, there is a chair, yes, he has one thousand tails. But not in the same way we are real.”

  “What about the Mountain god?”

  “He’s right here? What do you mean ‘what about him?’ If he had feelings they’d be hurt. The non-living gods were the first, who knows where they came from, they can’t speak to tell it.”

  “Do gods die?”

  Fenris made a face, “What kind of question is that? Yes, they have.”

  “But you're immortal? How did they die? Who?”

  “His name died with him. I think it's likely he killed himself, or maybe he was eaten? He was the first great change. The world was cruel back then, apparently, just fire and dirt and dusty air. He died, his blood filled the world, and now we have water.”

  “Apparently?”

  “I obviously wasn’t there for it.”

  “What do you think of us… of the Pentarchy?”

  Fenris sniffed, “What do I care about you?”

  Dorius hesitated, “Are we good leaders? Are the people doing well? Or did the diminishing leave us less as well?”

  Fenris blinked, then somewhat coldly said, “You’re no different than you were as I knew your people, as you’ve always been. Full of pride, delusions of grandeur and perceived slights, prone to violence and madness, full of greed that can never be slaked. The greater the power, the greater the cruelty.”

  Dorius was quiet, and folded his hands within his robes.

  “What are your plans?” asked Val cautiously, she’d mostly tried to keep out of their conversation.

  “You’re our guide?” deferred Dorius uncertainly.

  Fenris stretched in front of the fire and scratched his crotch, “I’m not walking around with my bollocks getting a chill. We’ll wait here for the night, see if Abrigale makes another move.”

  “Couldn’t you be a wolf?” suggested Val, the wolf pelt was thick and slow to dry, she kept ruffling the fur to let the fire’s warmth between the hairs.

  “And miss out on the only conversation I might get for the next century? No.”

  “You might put some clothes on then?” said Dorius sternly.

  Fenris stared back at him, cocked his hip, and farted. Doubling in two, the teen collapsed into laughter, waking his wolves napping nearby who beat their tails excitedly with his enjoyment.

  Dorius’ face contorted into a sneer, and he got to his feet to put some distance between himself and the laughing wolf-boy. Val handed him a flask to fill and give him an excuse to leave the fire, “Upstream from where we were washing,” she said sternly, before releasing it into his hands. The water ran quick, but she had no desire to risk drinking the filth off her own clothing.

  “He’s a maniac,” whispered Dorius under his breath at her.

  Val shrugged, and mildly replied, “You’re used to being the most important person in the room. Even the Company can be a little like this some days.”

  “They’re like this around you?”

  “No.” Val’s reply was chillier than she intended.

  He will only wear his own skin. The Laon Matriarch keeps some coverings for him, when he walks in this form.

  Val raised her head and looked over at the winged mare, it had been the first words she had said in their company since first appearing. The mare did not even lift her head as she said them, continuing to crop the grass with her back to them.

  “Do they all wear those furs in case he turns up naked?” spat Dorius, and took the flask to fill it. The mare merely flicked her ear in reply, and Val felt an odd sort of unspoken sistership with the horse. She wondered what her relationship was to Fenris.

  “Are they nearby? The Laons?” she asked.

  There was a pause, long enough she wondered if the mare had heard her. Then the mare snorted.

  Yes. You will need to cross to the east if we continue to track the Dragoness. The tunnels through the Mountain’s heart will be easier progress for you.

  Val looked at her bandaged hand, and nervously tucked her damp hair behind one horn.

  As Dorius returned, he handed back the flask. Val tucked her hand out of view and took it back with her good one.

  “He’s interesting, but I’m not certain everything he says is the truth,” mused Dorius. “Some of his stated history rings true, and fills gaps I was sure were filled with assumption, and some of it doesn’t match up. My family are noble blood, with strong matrilineal lines. I do not believe this child of Abrigardius went missing without trace, although I will believe knowledge of our relations before the Unrest got messy.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “What do you want to do?” asked Val cautiously, a little nervous he might say he wanted them to venture on their own without the wolf guide. He did seem highly knowledgeable on the dragon they hunted.

  “We need to push onwards. Everyday we spend up here gives Sylus room to move, the Citrine Snake a chance to gather his courage. I will be first. And I will be successful, unlike the Carmine Snake.”

  “He mentioned baiting her? Save us walking further north,” suggested Val.

  Dorius ran his fingers through his hair, and frowned with thought. She caught him looking at the winged mare, before chewing on his thumb.

  —

  Val leaned on her axe, and watched the silvery stallion dive. His wings were each almost twice his own body length, brilliant white in the crystal moonlight of the early morning. He tucked them against each side, forelegs held tight against his body, and head first plummeted into free fall. At the last minute, they snapped open again, legs kicking out, and he swooped upwards and winged his way between the jagged ridges of the cliff towards them.

  The blue roan mare waited intently, her own wings tented over her body as if she yearned to join him. The stallion finally approached, flaring his wings as he landed at a canter and slowed with great beats of his wings. In the dark, chill air he seemed to steam, and his hide was foamy with white sweat. His huge chest heaved and nostrils flared as he caught his breath.

  We are in luck, she has turned south in the night. Said a deep male voice, it was not breathless like it would be if he spoke with his mouth. Another few days, and she may be as far south as the Thoracic peaks.

  We will need to get the two leggers through the mountain first. Is she showing any sense?

  I call to her. She keeps her mind closed. The stallion pawed nervously at the earth, digging up great clods of dirt. I must rest.

  “There’s a mountain steam,” offered Val, and shrugged on her axe towards it.

  The stallion watched her with odd blue eyes, and turned in the direction she indicated without thanks or another word. She was beginning to think more and more that the cold aloofness of the Fae had nothing to do with her personally, but more to do with their own nature. It was an odd thought, that as withdrawn as she was, she was essentially a good-natured extrovert compared to some of the Fae she was meeting.

  She nursed her throbbing hand apprehensively and watched the brightening sky wordlessly with the mare. The pain was not subsiding. With a sigh, she turned back to their camp to prepare her charges for the day.

  She was no cook, and their supplies were designed to last rather than for flavor. It took a good deal of prodding to rouse Dorius and get him eating the plain gruel that was made from the dried tuber biscuits. She did her best to add texture with the nuts in their supply, but he was obviously missing the sweeter foods his palate usually sought. At least he rarely complained, and she left him hunched in his blanket while she rinsed their equipment and repacked their supplies. She finished by unbinding her hand and prodding the puncture wounds. Purple and yellow bruising circled each, and her hand was swollen, red and hot, making moving her fingers difficult. She cooled it in the stream, and rebound it with fresh bandages. She was lucky it was her off hand, so she could fight if she had to, but she was used to throwing her axe around using both hands to make the best use of her strength. It was not a weapon that one handed, finessed strikes made sense.

  She resisted asking Dorius for help as she fumbled with folding their clothes, there was no need to worry him while there was still a chance her hand would come good with another day or so. And if it did not, she would think about what to say then.

  Fenris had disappeared into the night in his great wolf form instead of sleeping in their camp with them. It seemed that was another thing he did not need. His wolves had gone with him.

  Val sat with Dorius, who was bleary eyed and barely awake, while she finished his leftovers again and watched the black wolf make his way down the side of the mountain from further up the stream. Rocks she would have struggled to climb, he bounded down thoughtlessly, his wolf companions picking their way via alternate paths as flashes of silver grey between the brush.

  As he approached, the surge of magic buffeted Val again and his form shrunk to the boy. Always his belt of blades and chains shifted with him. His face was oddly still as he joined them, Val held out his pelt for him to wear as he looked over his shoulder up the peak again in thought.

  “Could I change shape like you if I tried?” asked Val as he adjusted his chains around the improvised garments.

  He raised one eyebrow and looked at her. “I don’t think so. That sort of thing is more a human skill.”

  “How did you learn it?”

  He gave her a toothy grin, “I was human. It’s the only magic I ever learnt.”

  “It would still be helpful to know a little more. The Vigilants told me it was a skill associated with living magic, that we were all connected to it?”

  Fenris cast a quick glance at Dorius, and Val was suddenly aware that despite his appearance of carefree forthrightness, there were some things he might share with her that he had no desire to have heard by the Prince. Conscious suddenly of a growing gap within herself between her understanding of Fae and human, she added, “If here is not the place…”

  Fenris patted her oddly on the head between the horns, the motion was almost fatherly. And she lifted a hand to touch the back of her head as he withdrew. Then he planted his hands on his hips and barked, “Up! Sleepy hume! I have scouted us a path through the mountain that I think your little legs might have a chance travelling!”

  Dorius groaned, and stumbled to his feet stretching his lower back.

  “What about the winged horses?” asked Val.

  Fenris lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the rising dawn sun, and looked over at them grazing, “Oh, Whitesmoke’s here! Would you walk, if you could fly? They’ll catch up,” and turning back to Dorius continued his jeers, “Up up!”

  Val hovered to put out their fire, beginning to cover the low coals with dirt as she usually did, and Fenris whispered to her under his breath, “Put it out properly,” then continued to entertain himself chasing Dorius.

  Val paused, thinking on what he had meant. She could feel no connection between her core and the fire, not like she did through her own body. It didn’t feed off her energy either, sustaining itself with blackened wood instead. Its song was quiet, tired and dying from the dirt, gasping still for life.

  A silver wolf butted his head into her hand while she thought, and she flinched at the unexpected touch. He whined, and leaned against her leg, and she touched him gently behind the ears. When he leant into her to encourage the touch, she gave him a little scratch, feeling how soft the fur around his ears was. Not sure how to progress, she continued kicking dirt over the fire, and felt a little sad as it smothered the fire’s song. The wolf walked at her side as she shuffled their supplies onto her shoulders, and followed Fenris and Dorius up the side of the stream where she’d watched the giant black wolf emerge earlier.

  —

  Fenris sent one his wolves ahead of them as the day continued. They followed what seemed to be a game path, heavily overgrown where it passed between the trees, and skirting the edges of clearings as they worked their way further north and less focused on gaining height. Val wrapped her injured hand under her armpit as a cold wind blew in, and the weather turned grey. With a forlorn shiver, she somewhat wished she could have the pelt back to keep warm. Compared to the previous days conversation, they were mostly quiet.

  A bleating goat broke their silence.

  The scouting wolf came galloping down the track, tongue flapping from his mouth as he ran. He circled them and doubled back to gallop back the way he came while his twin snuffled and whined but did not leave Fenris' side.

  Ahead emerged two Laon riders on the backs of shaggy goats, the wolf excitedly jumping up at the riders.

  “Your orders Wolf!” spoke the first rider, and Val recognized the drone Za’kel. His second was the first female soldier Val had seen, she’d been beginning to think like the maidens and drones the soldiers and workers were also specific to each gender. Like the male soldiers, she was tall with twin head horns, and while undoubtedly well built, like them did not have Val’s musculature.

  Za’kel pulled his steed's reins, eyes wide when he saw Val and Dorius, the goat skipping nervously as the wolf jumped up its side. He patted its neck in reassurance and began to spin his steed, “The path widens further ahead. We can rearrange ourselves there.”

  True to his word, after another few minutes the space between the trees opened enough for the Laons to dismount and greet them properly.

  “You’re a surprise,” commented Za’kel as he dismounted, most of his arrogance gone from their first visit.

  Val shrugged without comment, watching the soldier pick Dorius up at the hips to lift him to the back seat of the second goat.

  “Will we pass through your colony?” she asked.

  “No, the Wolf requested passage through to the east only. There is a system that will suffice without having to travel back down to the mother caves that we mostly reside in. Speaking of,” he stretched on his toes to pull down a packaged from the back of his saddle. Unwrapping it, a set of oddly woven black garments was revealed. He tucked it under one arm and approached Fenris.

  “The goats are naked!” cried the wolf-boy in exasperation as he changed, “The wolves are naked! Why is this a problem?”

  “I have no desire to hear your childish complaints about your genitals shrinking in the cold,” commented Za’kel dryly, which elicited the mad cackle Fenris gave at his favorite jokes, and Val smiled slightly as she realized he was familiar with Fenris' antics.

  The garments went a long way to giving the impression of divinity the boy lacked as a human. They were seemingly felted from his own fur, and cuffed with silvery hairs at the collars and wrists. They’d been embroidered with silver thread, tracing designs of wolves and elk, leaves and saplings, rabbits and vultures. The neat pleats and crisp shape of the silhouette matched the outfit they had loaned her at the Vigil chapel, just with no matching armor. The Laons obviously cared deeply for him to have crafted such finery, although she wondered how he supplied them with so much of his fur, and much of it with skin still attached and preserved.

  Val bundled their supplies up onto Za’kel’s goat, the drone helping her wordlessly when he noted her wrapped hand and her fingers struggling with the buckles, and he used a large boulder to remount instead of waiting for his soldiers' help. With clicking noises, they urged their goats off again, the wolves trotting ahead to lead the way, and Za’kel, Fenris and Val trailing behind.