Dragonsbane (Book 3) (9 page)

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From what Kael could gather, the shapechangers were in the middle of some sort of war: the shamans hunted the Abominations, and the Abominations hunted the shamans.

Apparently, they’d been warring all spring — though Oakloft had seemed peaceful enough. He found it hard to believe that an entire village could carry on without knowing there was war raging all around it.

“Shapechanger battles are quiet affairs,” Kyleigh said when he mentioned it. “They kill precisely who they mean to, and they kill them quickly. There’s hardly ever any burning or pillaging. You wouldn’t have even known there was a battle going on, had you not wandered into the middle of it.”

“I was
chased
into the middle of it,” he reminded her. “And since we’re already here, we might as well do something about it.” He turned to Graymange — who was busily stripping the feathers off the carcass of a large goose. “What can we do to help?”

“This is the shamans’ task,” Kyleigh said firmly before Graymange could reply. “It’s none of our business.”

The halfwolf inclined his head.

They were hunched inside Graymange’s den: a shallow bowl dug into the earth beneath a bramble patch, forming something like a makeshift cage. It was the very early hours of the morning. Pale, grayish light leaked through the gaps in the thorns. Baird’s muttering drifted in an endless stream from where he lay curled up against one of the thorny walls, still soundly asleep.

Kael watched as Graymange stripped the last of the goose’s feathers away with a quick, practiced swipe. He cracked off one of the legs and offered it to Kyleigh. He offered the second to Kael.

“You don’t have to eat that,” Kyleigh said when he took it.

He’d always dreamed of being able to sit among the shapechangers. If Roland were here, he wouldn’t hesitate to join them. So Kael didn’t hesitate, either. He took a bite of the goose and the raw flesh squished inside his mouth. It was wet and chewy. He’d been half-expecting it to taste like death, but it didn’t. If anything, it was slightly bland.

“I like this human,” Graymange said approvingly. Then he sunk his teeth into the goose’s chest.

When the meat was gone, Graymange went to work on the marrow. Kael tried not to stare as the halfwolf cracked the bones between his teeth and sucked their juices dry. He decided to give it a shot — and very nearly cracked a tooth in half.

Kyleigh didn’t even bother. Once she’d picked her bones clean, she tossed them back into the pile.

“Why do you never eat the marrow?” Graymange said.

She shrugged. “I’ve never much cared for the taste.”

Kyleigh sprawled out on the ground, hands tucked beneath her head, and Graymange’s eyes roved over her. “Does it feel odd to you?”

She shrugged again. “A little, I suppose.”

“Does what feel odd?” Kael wondered.

“Not long ago, the Fangs and the Manges fought over the same hunting grounds,” Graymange said.

“You were enemies?” Kael guessed.

“Friends and enemies are human things. Wolves are loyal only to their packs — and what isn’t food is merely competition.”

Kael was still confused. “But I thought you were the wolf shaman.”

“I am. And when the sun sets upon my life, a new shaman will be born among the wolves. He will stay with his own pack, whether it be Fang, Mange, or Howl. And in the spring, when the wolves come together and live peacefully for a time, he will perform the ritual on all of their young — so that they may be reborn into their second shapes.

“The Fangs have been unbeatable for many passings of the sun, as you can imagine,” Graymange said, nodding to Kyleigh. “But Bloodfang was fair. After his pack had their fill of prey, the Fangs would leave for a time — giving us all a chance to hunt on the best grounds. Other alphas wouldn’t have been so generous.”

The mood grew solemn quickl
y at the mention of Bloodfang. Guilt chewed at Kael’s heart as the silence dragged on.

“I’ve been told what you did for him. I know that you sent Bloodfang to the eternal woods.”

Kael raised his chin and immediately found himself snared in the unreadable lines on Graymange’s face.

“It was a mercy,”
he whispered. “Being caged is what we all most fear: to have our claws tied, our voices hushed, to be trapped with nothing but stone beneath our feet —
that
is death. Bloodfang’s pack was gone. He was chained and alone. Now his spirit is free to roam the wilds once more, free to hunt with those he loves. It was a mercy.”

Kael wasn’t
sure what to say to that. He was afraid that if he tried to say anything at all, the thing that struggled inside his chest might punch its way out. So he clamped his mouth shut and nodded.

He was thankful when Graymange’s eyes went back to Kyleigh. “I knew the moment you set foot among the trees. The forest sang with your coming, as it always does.”

“It’s good to be back,” she murmured. “I thought the shamans had abandoned the Grandforest.”

Graymange inclined his head. “When the King drove our people into the swamps, we had no choice but to flee. Our magic must be kept safe,” he said, touching the wooden medallion at his chest. “But I sensed a strange black cloud over the forest this spring … a great and terrible storm riding on shadowed wings. Something had changed — our order had been interrupted. Now I see why.” His fingers curled around the goose’s ribcage. Its bones snapped into little pieces as he clenched his fist. “Blackbeak has loosed Abomination into our world.”

“Who’s Blackbeak?” Kael said.

“The crow shaman,” Graymange barked. Then his head swung to Kyleigh. “I caught the scent of the bear not long ago. The shadow of the hawk follows me. The fox and lion won’t be far behind. It seems the black cloud has called to all of us. With their help, we’ll put an end to Blackbeak.”

Kyleigh nodded, her eyes on the ceiling.

Kael did a quick sum: that was only six. He could’ve sworn that Baird had said there were seven shamans. “What about the … sandpipers?” he finished lamely. He couldn’t bring himself to ask about Kyleigh’s family — not when he saw how very pointedly she was glaring at the briars.

“Sandpipers?” Graymange rumbled.

“I read about them in a story once,” Kael explained. “Quicklegs the sandpiper was the one who saved Iden the Hale from the … uh …”

His story trailed off as Graymange stared at him. There was no softness to the edge of his gaze, no curtain over his eyes. “You speak of an ancient time, human. In the elder days, our talismans were strong. There were many families — so many that every child of the forest could belong to a flock or pack if he wished. As the world of men crept into our woods, fewer of our children wished to undergo the change, and families like your sandpipers died out. The shamans were the first in these woods, and now our families are all that remain.”

Kael was still trying to wrap his head around it. “Talismans?”

Graymange held the medallion from his chest. There was a wolf carved into its surface: its neck was arched back and its mouth opened in a howl. “The token that holds our magic, that allows us to perform the ritual. We shamans only perform it on our own kind — those are the rules. And we’ve never strayed from our law … with one exception.

“Blackbeak gave himself up to the human King many years ago. He traded his freedom for power. He has always lunged for whatever trinket sparkles brightest.” Graymange’s eyes went dark. “Blackbeak has been using the ritual on our children for years, changing them before their time. They often go mad. Some are consumed by their animal souls. Such a deed is unforgivable. But what he’s done now is …
Abomination
.

“Blackbeak has begun to perform the ritual on humans — creatures with no shapechanger in their blood. They are reborn as strange things. Some, like the creatures you saw tonight, are so twisted by evil that they have no place among the worlds of beast
or men. They don’t answer to order, but do only as they’re commanded.”

Graymange sank into a crouch and began moving towards the den’s entrance. “Soon, this will all be ended. Once the shamans have dealt with Blackbeak, there will be no new births. Then we will hunt and destroy the Abomination that remains.” He stopped to look at Kyleigh.

She shook her head.

The halfwolf sighed heavily. “Very well, then. I thank you for your help with the swordbearers, Emberfang. I know you don’t agree with the shamans’ decision … but we are grateful for your help. Return to the road quickly if you don’t wish to fight. The hour has nearly come. Soon the forest will be filled with our war.”

He slipped through the briars and disappeared without another word.

For not the first time that day, Kael was confused. “Why
wouldn’t
we fight with the shamans? Why wouldn’t we help them hunt Titus’s Abominations?”

She gave him a hard look. “You shouldn’t use a word if you don’t understand its meaning. I’m all for fighting Titus — it’s the way the shamans are going about it that troubles me. Perhaps you’ll understand one day … but I hope you never have to. Now get some sleep,” she grunted, rolling over so he faced her back. “We’ve got a long walk ahead of us.”

That was the end of it. Kael knew he would get no more out of her, so he didn’t waste his breath. Instead, he tried to sleep.

He’d had every intention of using his rucksack for a pillow, but its bottom was still sopping from having been dipped in the river. So he grabbed Baird’s instead.

It was a mistake.

Not only did the filthy rucksack reek of mold, but it was also rife with all manner of noisy lumps. No matter how he turned, the pack made some sort of noise: it crinkled or rustled, sometimes it groaned. Sharp corners dug into his scalp.

Finally, Kael lost his patience. He thrust his hand inside and ripped out the thing that’d been crinkling beneath his neck.

It was a letter. He turned it towards the faint beams of light that drifted through the briars, trying to see whom the letter had been addressed to. There was a seal on its folded back. He ran his thumb over the wax and felt something stamped into its surface. He tilted the seal into the light … and the crest of Midlan leapt out.

Kael’s tongue stuck to the back of his throat at the sight of the twisting black dragon stamped into the wax. What was Baird doing with a letter from the King? Had he been right about him being a spy?

The possibilities whirred inside his head as he turned the letter over. He strained to read the words scrawled across its front. Each one was written in dark ink, looped and flourished at their ends. Kael was so mesmerized by how the letters danced that it took him several moments to read the message:

His Majesty, Crevan — Sovereign King of Midlan — bids you open this message immediately.

The words rang inside Kael’s head and down to his fingertips. Before he could grasp what was happening, his thumb slid beneath the fold of the letter. It moved slowly towards the wax seal —

“No!”

Fury blinded him
as someone ripped the letter from his hand. He gasped, trying desperately to snatch it back. “I’m supposed to read that! He says I’m supposed to open the message immediately!”

A pair of strong arms wrapped around his shoulders. He lunged against Kyleigh’s hold, moving her an inch. She said something in his ear, but he couldn’t hear her. All he could hear were the shrilling words of that letter:

Open this message immediately! Immediately! Open this message —!

“You don’t have to open the message,” a new voice said. The power behind it drowned out the shrilling words. “You don’t have to open the message.”

As he came out of his fury, Kael recognized the voice as Baird’s. He had his knobby hands planted on either side of Kael’s head; his bandaged face was mere inches away. He said the words again and again, letting them fade a little each time until they were only a whisper.

At last, the letter’s voice disappeared and Kael’s body relaxed. When Kyleigh released him, he collapsed. “What in Kingdom’s name was that?”

“You shouldn’t fiddle with things that don’t belong to you,” Baird said as he crawled away. He snatched the rucksack up, stuffed the letter inside — and promptly sat on it. “You would’ve gone to Midlan, had you read it. You would’ve marched through those gates and straight to your death.”

“What are you talking about?” Kael said. He was shaking, now. His limbs trembled with the lingering power of the message. There was no doubt in his mind that he would’ve done whatever that letter had said, had Kyleigh not held him back.

Baird
tsk
ed and shook his head. “Just like all the others.”

“What others?”

Kyleigh sighed in exasperation. “The whisperers, Kael. How do you think Crevan got them all to go to Midlan at the end of the War? Did you think he just asked nicely?”

Kael had never given it much thought. He’d always just assumed that the whisperers had gone because Crevan was King, and to ignore him would’ve been treason. He supposed he should’ve realized that such a powerful race wouldn’t have been fooled so easily.