Reiter froze, hands gripping the thick fur of the beast’s throat, as three shots slammed into its side. He squeezed his eyes and mouth closed as a fourth shot went in behind its jaw and sprayed hot blood over his face. He’d got his eyes closed in time. His lashes had already started to stick together, so he forced them open and heaved the body off to one side. Rolling up onto his knees he spat, dragged his sleeve over his mouth as he stood, and refused to think of some of the more lurid stories.
“You okay, Cap?”
Easy enough to hear what the sergeant meant, even over the screaming.
Did it break the skin?
He shoved a hand under his clothes. “Didn’t get through the jacket,” he said, bending to retrieve his bicorn.
“Good.” Sergeant Black finished reloading his musket with silver shot, and yelled, “Behind you!”
The creature dove off the top of the carriage, blood on its muzzle, fur gleaming gold in the filtered light.
They fired together, muskets snapped up to their shoulders, and it crashed to the ground, eyes wild even in death.
Reloading, Reiter swept his gaze over the road, saw another three dead beasts, a small cluster of sobbing servants, one holding an infant, and five women on the ground at the lieutenant’s feet, hands clutched to their heads, breath coming in pained gasps.
Reiter hadn’t expected the mages would all be women. Young women. Young, terrified women. Although their sex did provide a simple explanation of how they controlled the beastmen….
“This one’s had pups,” Sergeant Black grunted, heaving the golden body over with the toe of his boot. The extended teats protruded through the thick fur.
“Leave her alone!” One of the servants broke from the group and threw herself down beside the beast, cradling its head on her lap and bending to sob against the bloody fur. The woman holding the infant wept against the child’s hair.
Uncomfortable, and unsure why—he was a soldier, death was his job—Reiter looked away, dragged his gaze across to the old beast who’d attacked him, and realized it wore a pair of gold hoops in its ears.
Young women. Old women. The rulers of Aydori had always been named beastmen. They were to take their women back to the empire to control them. This wasn’t…
“Where’s the sixth?” The lieutenant held a tangle in his hand. “We need all six!”
“I forbid it!”
Mirian rolled her eyes and slipped out of the carriage and into the brush at the side of the road. With her father trying to calm her mother’s hysteria, she’d managed to shout an order to stop that Jon had chosen to obey.
“Mirian! Do you hear me? Get back in the carriage this instant!”
“Mirian!” Her father leaned out the open door. “Your mother…”
“Wants me to join the Pack.” She turned and threw the words at him. “You want me to join the Pack. This is what the Pack does.”
The words meant nothing in and of themselves; the Pack had no monopoly on doing the right thing, but they were the words her mother needed to hear to stop shrieking and the words her father needed to hear to nod and sit back.
“I will accompany you, Miss Mirian.” Barrow climbed down from his seat beside the coachman and twitched invisible wrinkles out of his immaculate black coat. “You should not go alone.”
Barrow had been with them as long as Mirian could remember. Some years older than her father, he’d recently stopped tying back his thinning gray hair and had cropped it short in an old man’s style. Fitting, she acknowledged, given that he was an old man. But Jon had to hold the ponies and her father was clearly not going to leave the safety of the carriage and Barrow was all there was if she was not to go alone.
There had been shooting. And screaming.
In all honesty, Mirian didn’t want to go alone. She nodded once and the two of them made their way quickly back to the top of the hill. Slipping off the road and into the trees, she motioned for Barrow to follow as she cut across the arc of the curve until she could see back the way they’d come. Dropping to her knees, she crept forward as far as she could. To her surprise, Barrow dropped to his knees in turn and threw himself down beside her.
The wolf’s-crest carriages had been stopped and were surrounded by men wearing deep purple jackets over black trousers and boots. They wore black bicorns on their heads and held muskets. Imperial army uniforms. Imperial army weapons. The one gesturing, gold glittering as he waved both hands, was so pompous, even at this distance she knew he had to be an officer. She could see two wolves on the ground, one of the coachmen under guard and all five women of the Mage-pack kneeling in the circle of men, bodies bent and twisted, hands clasped to their heads. They looked to be in pain, but she couldn’t be sure as she couldn’t see their expressions. As she watched, Lady Hagen dropped her hands to the fabric of her skirt and straightened, the effort obvious even to Mirian’s less than perfect eyesight.
A breeze lifted Mirian’s hair, and she heard Lady Hagen’s voice as clearly as if she were kneeling with her.
“You have us bound, so kill us and be gone.”
Bound. Magically bound, or the Mage-pack would not be kneeling there waiting for death.
The officer waved his hands again. It looked almost as though he was sprinkling gold dust from his fingers. He had to be responding, but Mirian couldn’t hear him. Did he speak Aydori? Lady Hagen was speaking Aydori, but that didn’t necessarily mean she expected the enemy officer to understand her.
“We are only five.” She sounded angry. Imperious. Not stooping to insult him personally even while her tone insulted his entire nation.
Mirian strained to hear what the Imperials replied, hoping hearing at distance meant she was finally showing some of the mage-craft everyone seemed to think she had. The breezes refused her command. It must be Lady Hagen then, not bound so tightly as they thought and doing what she could.
The officer raised a hand as though to strike her. The man beside him, covered in enough blood for it to be visible even at a distance, grabbed his wrist.
“The emperor? What does Leopald want with us?”
What did the emperor want? Mirian hoped Lady Hagen was stalling for time because it should be obvious to anyone what the emperor wanted. Control the Pack Leader’s mate. Control the Pack Leader. She had no idea how the emperor’s men had managed to neutralize the Mage-pack—although the gold she could still see glinting in the officer’s hands was so out of place it had to have something to do with it—nor did it matter.
She leaned in close to Barrow’s ear. “The Pack Leader must be told his mate’s been taken. He has to stop them before they cross the border!”
Barrow, who was, after all, sensible above all else, nodded and then proved he was after all not as sensible as all that when he said, “Go back to the carriage, Miss Mirian. I will find the Pack Leader and give him this information.”
“You won’t be able to get near him. I will.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then he nodded. “Jaspyr Hagen.” Seated on the outside of the coach, Barrow’d had a better view of her conversation with the Pack Leader’s cousin than her mother had.
“Yes.” And a run to the border would probably kill you. She couldn’t say that, but neither could she have it on her conscience. “Tell my parents where I’ve gone and then get them to safety.”