Silence of the Wolves (28 page)

Sleeping Ugly was clearly a well-trained fighter, whereas brunette looked gaunt and zombie like.

Tam would put money on who was more likely to put up a good fight.

Acting quickly, she aimed her knife and, without hesitation, threw the thing at the brunette’s head. She would need the time it took for Shaven to wake up to shut her in the cell.

Fear leapt to the surface as deadly cool concentration took her over.

She didn’t flinch as the knife thudded into brunette’s skull; her eyes fluttering up to meet Tam’s own eyes for a brief minute before closing for all eternity.

She didn’t feel guilt or sorrow, even as the shaven-haired girl woke with a start, a hand reaching up to her face as if it was in pain.

Only then did Tam notice the almost hand-shaped bruise running the length of shaven’s face.

To her credit, the woman came to her senses quickly, she whipped around, her eyes widening as she took in the knife sticking out of her friend’s skull. She was on her feet in seconds. Tam reacted hastily, slamming the barred door shut and hefting the stone against it, readying the three knives she had left on her belt.

The woman tested the door briefly, giving it a little kick. The thing would take a greater force to open, and she realised this quickly, diving behind the small table to avoid Tam’s first knife, that went flying towards her head. It hit the wall behind with a clap before it clattered to the floor.

The shaven-haired bitch dived forward to grab at the knife, but it was too far away. As she reached out, she exposed herself, allowing Tamriel to aim quickly with her second to last knife, throwing the thing hard and fast.

It caught her right in the side of the stomach, sinking deeply into her abdomen. The shaven-haired woman outright screamed, lunging quickly back behind the table, and using brunette’s body as a shield.

Tam used this brief pause in combat to reach for her bolo; she’d slid it away when she’d gotten her smaller knives out, but now she had just one remaining, she would need the bolo.

As she bent down to grip the handle, something shuffled in the cell. She realised her mistake but a second too late.

The shaven-haired bitch had picked the knife up from the ground and aimed it directly at Tam; she jerked her body sideways, rolling to the floor, but it wasn’t fast enough and the knife thumped straight into her shoulder, ripping through flesh and hitting bone.

Tam threw her one remaining knife, the metal landing solidly in the bitch’s thigh. She let out another scream, and lunged for the blade sticking out of brunette’s skull, with a tug the knife came free and she didn’t hesitate; she hurled the thing straight at Tam. There was nowhere she could move to, she was already on the ground against the wall; the knife was coming straight for her chest.

Out of options and nowhere to go, she threw up a hand, roaring in pain as the blade went straight through her palm and into her chest.

She gulped down a few breaths and tested the wound. Her hand was agony, the cold metal contrasting horribly with the heat of her skin. She kept her eyes closed, and forced herself to calm down. To play dead. Shaven had calmed down somewhat, and was carefully shifting her way out of the cell. She likely thought Tam
was
dead.

Thankfully, her palm had stopped the speed of the blade, though it had caught her chest, it had only sunk the tip into her boob, nothing fatal.

Tamriel sent a prayer of thanks up to whoever it was in the heavens that she had a heavyish chest.

Otherwise, the injury may have nicked something vital.

The shaven-haired bitch was out of the cell. She threw a heavy kick at Tam’s legs, spitting on her as she did it.

What kind of person kicks and spits on a supposedly dead person? That’s just disrespectful.

The shaven-haired bitch was clearly a tuhrned
,
mind you, did she really expect anything else? They were infiltrating the Circle turned Council’s headquarters, after all. But there was something else, something she recognised. A scent that made her heart sing. Leyth’s scent. She could smell her male all over that bitch; she smelt of fear and hate. Of sex. The sickly stench filled her nostrils, making her stifle a gag. What the fuck had she done to her male? She just couldn’t imagine Leyth would willingly sleep with a tomb.

Disgust and hatred raged through her, making her see red; it was all she could do not to launch herself at the bitch and rip her apart. Tam forced herself to stay still, to remain ‘dead-looking’. She was waiting for the right moment, until the girl reached down – presumably to search her pockets – before she opened her eyes, swinging the bolo up and slicing the bitch’s head off in one clean sweeping movement.

Apparently it was now a reflex to decapitate. What had her life come to? As bile rose, and her stomach heaved, Tamriel found herself utterly relieved at the reaction. She hated the idea that one day she might be comfortable with killing; the disgust and gag reaction was what she needed, she needed to be scared of the consequences of her actions. She needed to regret the loss of life, no matter how zombie-like or terrible the people she fought with were.

She staggered to her feet, her body screaming in pain, and slid the knife out of her hand which was still pinned to her chest with one of her own knives. Her arm throbbed and her chest ached. She couldn’t tell at this point which pain was hers, and which was Leyth’s.

Going into the cell she looked at the table and gagged again. It was covered in trinkets, necklaces, rings and pictures. All from the dead in the cells, she had no doubt. There were several bloody items of clothing scattered about, some of which were Leyth’s. She picked up the bloody T-shirt and hugged it to her chest, inhaling his scent. Something hard nudged at her foot and she bent down to reach it. A vial? The glass jar was huge and the shimmery contents sparkled in the light. Her stomach dropped. Liquid silver.

She hadn’t been a wolf all that long, but she sure as hell knew what silver would do to one. Injecting this would surely kill him! Fear struck her as she remembered the tingling pain working its way up her arm, from her shoulder to her chest. Leyth.

With a war cry, Tamriel launched herself out of the cell and towards the barred door at the end of the dungeon. He had to be there, she
had
to find him! She shook the metal door; it was locked though and wouldn’t budge.

With a curse, she let go of the metal as a bright light flashed from her palms, singing her skin, the hot metal blistering her. The barred door swung open, clattering against the rock wall on the other side.

Tam spared a confused glance at her palms, which were red raw from the heat. These little bursts of energy really took it out of her; she made a mental note to make sure to spend more time training with Sapphire when this was over.

Shoving confusion and fear aside, Tam pushed on, all but running down the broken stone steps that led from the dungeon.

There were voices up ahead and Tamriel forced herself to stand still, to take a deep breath, to listen intently. Leyth might be running out of time, but there was absolutely no point her rushing in and getting captured and killed too; what good would that do?

‘
Start the ritual,
’ she heard someone say, though his words were ragged and muffled; it was almost like he was talking with his hand over his mouth. Blinding pain hit her in the chest; it was Leyth’s pain. It must be the silver.

As she reached the bottom of the jagged steps, the rock opened up to reveal a large open space; torches lit the cave and the flickering light bounced off the walls. Slowly, she peered around. The space was huge.

There were several magi; the three she counted were rushing around lighting candles and sprinkling herbs all over the place. There was a large pentagram drawn on the floor, with a candle at each point, and a fourth magi was at the side, stirring something in a large bowl. She hesitated as she looked at him; his shoulders filled the space he was in nicely, and his skin was healthy-looking compared to his friends, who were all gaunt and grey.

But there was something about him. She’d never seen that man before in her life, but the way he held himself, his mannerisms were so familiar, that she almost couldn’t help but grin at him. Who was he? Why did she recognise him?

Why did the sight of him make her inner child do a stupid happy dance and bring tears to the surface? Tears and age-old pain?

She shoved those thoughts and the strange happiness mixed with pain aside. Now was not the time for confusion.

At the head of the pentagram was a large stone chair in which sat a gaunt, haggard old magi who was gingerly fingering his mouth. Blood was pouring from it, running down his chin and dripping onto his robe.

Tamriel slapped a hand over her mouth to hold in the gasp she couldn’t help but let out.

In the middle of the pentagram was a large stone slab, on which was a very naked, very unconscious Leyth.

He was absolutely covered in blood, his body marked with large cuts and bruises. His right arm appeared to be free, but his left was slowly turning grey, lifeless. They must have injected the silver into that arm.

‘My lord, the ritual is nearly ready,’ the magi leaning over the bowl announced.

‘
Good. The silver is nearly at his heart. Once he dies, bring me to him so I can drink.
’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Tam was running out of time, but hell only knew what she could do. She was outnumbered five to one, and she had only a bolo as a weapon.

Leyth let out an almighty moan, his free arm clutching his chest. Tamriel knew she had to do something.

‘Hello, boys,’ Tamriel said calmly, walking into the cave.

All heads whipped around to her and she cringed under the weight of their gaze.

‘
How did you get here? Kill her. We don’t have time for this.
’

The three magi turned on her instantly, and a wash of magic tingled her skin. She barely had time to move as a bolt of electricity flew past her head.

She ran forward, dodging the blows they were throwing at her; launching herself into a flying leap, she swung the bolo and caught the first bald-headed, grey-skinned magi she came across in the skull. The knife sank through bone and wedged itself into something soft; with a tug, she slid it back out again, pushing down the bile that rose within her.

The magi she’d caught sank to his knees, an almighty scream ripping out of his lungs as blood gushed from the slice in his bald head.

Tamriel briefly wondered how he was still alive; a blow to the brain was supposed to kill you instantly. As the man started to writhe around on the floor, the shadows seemed to engulf him, wrapping around his head, his body. He shook as he began to chant quiet words.

Tam could do little more than gape as she watched the fatal injury heal itself, right before her eyes; the cracked and bloody top of his head re-knitting, becoming whole and relatively healthy once more.

Snapping back to reality, she realised that she’d been standing motionless, staring at the magi on the floor and no one had attacked her.

What’s more, as she tried to lift her bolo to decapitate the bastard, figuring that was her best bet at taking him out permanently, she found her limbs frozen to her sides, unable to move.

The remaining two magi stood on either side of her, holding their hands out. Magic singed the air, caressing her arms, her skin.

The air surrounding her felt thick as mud, restricting her, keeping her from movement. Stuck in mid-air with nowhere to go, she fought the confines of the magic with all her strength, but to little avail. Even her face seemed frozen; it took most of her energy just to move her mouth. ‘Let. Him. Go,’ she bit out.

‘
He’s nearly dead, little wolf.
’ The High Lord sneered at her.

She let out an almighty roar, fighting the magic holding her in place, throwing her body forward, but nothing happened; she couldn’t move.

‘
You must be Tamriel.
’ The High Lord grinned, the flickering light bouncing off his bloody teeth.

‘Yeah,’ she spat, ‘and I’m here to kill you.’ The High Lord laughed, he actually
laughed
, the cold noise crackling its way out of his chest.

Tamriel searched the room for anything that might help her in this ridiculous situation. The magi on the floor was just lying there, sweating and panting but fully healed by the looks of it.

His two companions were deadly focused on her, their stare never wavering, their hands poised and concentrated.

In the far corner there was the other magi. No. He was a male; there was nothing remotely magic about him. She knew that if nothing else. She recognised him right to her very soul, but she just couldn’t work out why.

He was bent over a large bowl and he was going through the motions, adding herbs and grinding them together with liquid into a paste, but he wasn’t concentrating; his attention was focused on her. How she knew that, she wasn’t sure; she couldn’t see his eyes, just the back of his head and his robes. For some reason her heart leapt at the sight of him. She knew this man.

‘Centre yourself, focus on the energy. Use it,’ he whispered, just loud enough for her wolf ears to pick up.

Tears ran down her face as she recognised her father’s voice, the words he had always spoken to her in training when she was young.

‘Dad?’ she whispered, oh so quietly, tears streaming down her face as confusion flooded her. She watched the male intently; slowly, he nodded, only slightly, but enough for her to be sure.

‘
This is the woman that is supposed to bring me down? I think not,
’ the High Lord spat, obviously tiring with the seemingly silent delay.

The magic surrounding her intensified, burning her skin, scalding her.

‘
She’s no threat,
’ he snorted, eyeing her, his bloody mouth twisted into a snarl. ‘
Make her watch.
’

He pointed a bony finger at Leyth, who barked out a curse, rolling his head around in pain. Then, for a second, his eyes opened, looking straight at her. ‘Tamriel, I lov—’ he croaked, reaching out to her; he couldn’t finish the sentence and that near broke her heart, she needed to hear it.