Private We’ve been looking for you.

[Voice of Naé]

Islimore. A world ready to plunge itself into war. What peace remains does so only by the barest threads of fate.

In the capital of Blackbrook, despite protestations from The Fayth and overtures from the crown prince himself, the king Levander Sabathian remains reluctant to declare open war.

Reluctance to name a thing does not prevent the thing from happening, however. Blood has already been spilled on both sides and blood now threatens to wash over the whole of the continent held back by only the parchment thin barrier of the will of a weak man who happens to sit in the most powerful seat in the world.

The King at present finds himself beset on all sides by those with influence and power who call for a continuation to completion now the war with the monsters. Monsters long thought to have been extinguished to a point of a destruction so finite that the monsters who did remain were confined to the frozen wastes of the north.

The King or his counsel had failed to take seriously or believe fully that the monsters had returned.

But returned they had, with vengeance and reclamation in their hearts and minds.

Once driven not just from their lands but the world entirely. The Lupo who had long lived their lives, generation after generation on Islimore before the very first Sabathian ancestor touched a toe on the planet had returned.

They were a ragged and unimpressive bunch of would-be conquerors. Undisciplined. Unorganized. Untrained. But among them were the names and blood of legend and myth. Threist. Lögr. Lechner. Drage. Svard. All had returned to the lands of their father's fathers to restore the world to its rightful way and at the head of them all was Aelin Erevos. The blood of the greatest Lupo hero and a leader who had in her own short time had shown herself to be the greatest among them. A captivating leader who commanded loyalty and inspired her followers to greatness.

Legendary names and a leader blessed by the Gods. The Lupo had come for war and in The North they prepared for it. Planning, healing, training. They had been on the verge of revealing to those that fed off their ancestor's land that they were no longer safe, when fate intervened.

It has been now, bare over a year since Aelin, Anasai, Ruler of her people, had disappeared in the blackest of night as her people stood on the precipice of history.

There have been those who have stepped up in her place. The North and Clan Kanaka stand now as the pillar around which the Lupo people rally. Børre, Alpha of Clan Drage has become the voice and beacon of those wolves who traveled the stars with Aelin. Newly formed Clan Threist has seen upheaval with the young pack headed by a new Alpha. The former Alpha, Brynjar The Loyal, has never given up his search for Aelin and in this quest he is aided by The Alpha of Clan Lögr, the legendary Baramoðn

Unknown to them all, another hunted for the lost queen as well.

The bonds holding back the great beast of war were frayed and all it would take now is one final act to see them shed in whole:

Three-hundred men traveled the red river road south-east to the capital. Spring sunlight dappled the ground through soft-swaying branches, reflecting brightly from patches of rimed snow, winter's last hoar-frost kiss on this high mountain woodland. Men of varying sorts. Cooks, grooms, squires, blacksmiths, scribes, a sculptor, dress makers, a vintner, singers, poets, a falconer and some more yet beside. There was even a baker and two candlestick makers. Men of ringed iron. Men of cloth. Men of steel and silk. Two young women could be counted among their number. One caged and chained in iron. The other whose cage cushioned and gilded, her fetters cast in gold.

The procession thundered through the woods with abandon. Secrecy forgotten for speed. What need had they of secrecy when these lands were theirs and they had been safe there for three centuries?
The red river road had once been a full river in truth long long before even these men's forbearers landed on this world and by the time they had the river had run dry leaving a weaving path of soft red clay through the wood until eventually reaching the Ølv.

The travel was slow. The red road had been no more a tributary even at its full strength. Those who traveled afoot could do so only with four men stood abreast and for those mounted on Orbak it were only two. Nearly all the party of three hundred marched on foot. Only a tenth were mounted. Their steeds were steeled and silked as befit their knightly station.

The party was slowed not just by the size of their chosen path or the number of them that traveled. They carried with them as well, a dozen wagons, filled with steel, tools, bread, and more with three carriages and their passengers.

The first of these carriages, ivory colored and embellished with gold accent rode at the front with thirty of the thirty knightly riders near. All save for one were wrought in steel plate covered with silk jerkins in the color of the royal family. The one man who stood apart from the twenty-nine others did not wear plate but ringed mail made from song-steel. His silk, shirt and cape both were deep green. The man who commanded this company was not the young man in green but a knight of forty-five years called Ser Gregor.

Ser Gregor was balding and stout to the point of being portly. He hardly cut an impressive figure but any knight of the capital who had crossed blades with the man in the lists or melee or even just the practice yard found him a fierce and sly enemy to face.

The other carriages were of far plainer decoration and traveled with no knightly escort save for one.

Ser William he was called, as so many of them were. A knight in his thirties with long blonde locks that spilled out under his helm. Ser William was also in ringmail. Black iron and spotted with rust. The fame and fearsomeness if Ser William had yet to be tested.

After many days of traveling through the forest the procession came to the white marble bridge that would allow them to cross the Ølv and be that much closer to home. Little did the party traveling west to east know that on the other side of the bridge, laying in wait was that which they feared most.

Aelin Erevos Brynjar Threist Gustaf Lögr

 

[Yasmine of The Wilds]

Beneath a starry sky she sat amidst a smoking shroud staring into the center of her fire searching for sign or symbol amongst the shadow and smoke.

It had been her mother who had first taught her how to read the flames. More so encouraged than taught for her mother had no skill in it. Yasmine did however. Since before she could split her skin she could peer into the fires, any fires, from the flames that raged from war, to funeral pyres, even the lowest of candle wick flame and see…something. Many things but it was not until after her mother was dead and Yasmine had made a new life that she learned how to understand what it was she saw.

A cool, fragrant breeze stirred the leaves, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth, mingling with the faint, sweet aroma of night-blooming flowers.

The air was alive with the soft symphony of the night: the distant hoot of an owl, the rustle of small creatures moving through the underbrush, and the gentle murmur of a nearby stream, its waters glistening like liquid silver under the moon's watchful gaze.

Beneath the ancient boughs, the forest seemed both timeless and ever-changing, a realm where spirits and sprites may yet tread lightly upon hidden paths, and where the echoes of ancient songs lingered in the stillness. It was a place of quiet wonder, where the veil between the seen and unseen grew thin, and the magic of the world whispered just beyond the reach of understanding.

"How many were there?!" A voice asked excitedly.

Yasmine sat alone yet hers was not the only fire in the night and wolf ears missed little. Lupo ears even less.

"Six…seven hundred. For a certainty." A second voice answered.

She knew the second voice as belonging to her cousin Rolf. Dark of skin, bald of hair, and hard as iron, Rolf was an intimidating creature in spite of his youth. Hardly twenty winters old and Rolf already found himself among the king's most valuable captains having the distinction of leading his own warband. The Marcálite.

Called The Marked in basic, Rolf's band was fifty wolves strong and named after their particular and peculiar habit of scarring their bodies when most Wolves, even those of the Wilds, marked themselves with ink tattoos.

Fifty of them. Fifty against seven hundred and none of the Marcálite were older than thirty winters. They were pups. Savages every last one of them but pups all the same.

The King favored youth over experience, it seemed.

No, that was not wholly accurate, she knew. It was not youth the king favored but devotion.

There were many many Wolves amongst this newly formed pack who had once showed their bellies to Rik the Gallows King who had ruled a pack not even a tenth of a tenth the size of this king's pack and many more Wolves beside who had called Yasmine's father King. For them subjugation came naturally, almost comfortingly, but the king knew as well as she did that many of the elder Wolves thought his reign to be as fleeting as the others had been. It was the young that truly took the king's deeds and declarations into their hearts.

The King joined her at her fire.

This king who had once been thought dead and gone.

This king who before taking any title or claiming any crown had ruined her life.

This king who had not long ago returned from death by appearing from the stars.

This king who had been her brother for the briefest of moments.

"You seek prophecy…" she let the statement float between them as if it were an accusation.

"Prophecy," he said the word as if he was tasting it for the first time. "Signs and portents. Words and Will shaping what is to come. It means naught to us." He waved his hand as if he was brushing away smoke. After a pause to drink deeply from his wine skin the king went on "No, it means naught to them." He gestured to the rest of the camp. "It means everything to us."

Yasmine did not interrupt.

"To Wolves like you and I. Prophecy is our legacy."

"You and I?" She asked.

"You have no taint. Not a drop of blood that cannot be traced back to the true Cailleadh. An unimaginable rarity amongst our people."

The King began to fiddle with a small black stone he had taken from his pocket. It was a strange thing, the stone seemed to drink the light of the fire rather than be touched by it like everything else. It was a shade so black that it stood out even in the darkness of the forest at night.

"It's our people now is it?" She mocked sharply.

She saw his face change through the flame and she knew she would regret her words. His hand closed around the stone and In a flash his arm struck like a snake and the back of his hand bit sharply into the side of her face. It was not enough to knock her from her seat but it was plenty hard enough. Her face would bruise if it had not already.

She should feel anger at his chastisement or at the least offence and yet…

"You will not fail, Anasai. Tomorrow you shall look upon her face again."

Will she recognize you?

His face hardened again but he lifted his arm only to take another drink "Pray your flames do not lie." He told her.

"They never do, Anasai."

"Tomorrow then, Witch."

 

[Brynjar Threist]

Weapons: Heddwch and Medelwr
Appearance: The Warrior
Tags: Aelin Erevos | Declan Durinson | Gustaf Lögr

The day had come.

He had spent too long on the hunt. He had gotten lost and wasted far too much time hunting down leads that went nowhere. Leads that only cause him further frustrations and fury. Leads that ensured many suffered, many died and many felt the wrath of the Beast. There had been whispers, rumours that he was crazed, that his bloodlust and cruelty to the humans was a small step away from madness. That he was just as likely to turn on his own kind if they dared to stand in front of him as he was to murder the humans. Brynjar had accepted the title of the Beast, he had even accepted others simply calling him that and no longer using his name. It was more accurate. He was a beast, he was a monster. He killed and maimed any and all humans who were daring to keep Aelin imprisoned and ensuring she was harmed.

He was ready to face exile. To know no Lupo wanted him near but knowing Aelin was safe. He had long stopped taking care to wash, to clean the blood off him. He was more animal than human now and he fully embraced that aspect of himself. He could feel his grip on the axes tighten and he could barely hold himself still. Today was the day.

This caravan held Aelin.

The Baramoðn was beside him on the embankment and his gazed was fixated on the caravan, attempting to see where Aelin might be held and which humans he would need to deal with to ensure their victory. He was not the oldest in terms of age but his recent experiences and hunts had turned him from someone with moderate experience into a veteran. He had burnt down villages and towns in his hunt. It was only when Gustaf found him and helped him that his targets were less discriminating and his path more focused. Brynjar seemed to have many skills and one of his best was getting very lost in his hunt for Aelin. He seemed to have been travelling further away from his goal than heading in that direction, so he had been reluctantly grateful in Gustaf helping to guide his fury.

Breathing in deeply as he held himself still, he looked to Gustaf. "I... I cannot sense Aelin. I think it will be best if I draw attention with an attack and you locate her. Call me when you find her and I'll make sure she gets far from here." Brynjar growled, his voice seemed in a constant, deep growl that was on the verge of being aggressive. He waited for the caravan to position itself at the most vulnerable spot. One where it would be near impossible for them to flee. Feeling the power of the Gods flowing from him and pooling into the axes he held tightly. Causing them to glow bright blue with energy as they reached their maximum potential.

Once he spotted the caravan in their weakest position, Brynjar leaped into action. The Beast revealing himself as he howled for the humans to hear the roars of the Beast coming to hunt them. His axes glowing bright as slammed them down to the ground and powerful blasts of energy pushed forward, rippling the air as the power of the Gods sent people and several carriages flying back.

The Beast smirked darkly as he began his attack.

 

[Declan Durinson]

"They're so loud!"

"I bet half the herds in The Wilds have run off hearing this noise."

Declan smiled. The black yronwood forest called The Wilds was leagues and leagues away in the vast northern wastes. It was he Declan blood of Durin who had taken the Wolves of The Wilds and brought them further south than any king had before him.

"They think themselves safe." Declan told his hunting party

They were half a hundred Wolves hunting after three hundred men. These men, knights, serving men, men at arms, they walked through Blackwood forest as if they belonged here; as if they owned it.

They think think they own whatever land they land on
As if it's just some dead thing they can claim
But every rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name.

"That one!"

A dark hand hovered in front of Declan pointing.

Declan shook his head. "No, not that one."

"You said that the human's best fighters would be the ones mounted and covered in steel." Rolf said.

A proud smile came over Declan's face. "I may have."

"There must be fifty of them right there!"

"Thirty," Declan corrected.

"If your southern queen is to be found, she must be there."

Rolf was young. Barely twenty winters but he was sharp. Sharp of eye, sharp of mind, and sharp of tooth.

The procession of humans had come to the ancient marble bridge that would allow them to continue on their route heading east toward the capital. At the front of the host were thirty or some knights clad in their plate or mail and mounted on similarly steel and silk draped orbak. The knights seemed to be guarding a regal looking ivory and gold carriage.

Declan watched as they began to cross. He was making the bet that one of the other carriages held what he sought. If he was wrong however he may be watching his prize slip away.

"Not. that. one." Declan said again.

Rolf huffed and said some curse under his breath.

Declan now addressed his hunting party with a deadly seriousness. "It is far past time we remind the humans to fear the woods."

Unarmed and unarmored, Declan left his place of ambush and appeared along the procession's path as if from nowhere, letting loose a howl that could wake the Gods.

Suddenly they were all there, all his fifty Wolves had split their skins and changed to their true wolf form. Man and orbak alike caught sight and scent of the wolves and panic set in amongst those caught still on the western bank of the Ølv.

It was total chaos. Within moments Declan's ambush had become pandemonium. Declan had waited until nearly half the caravan of men had crossed the bridge before launching his attack. With a river between them and the bridge full of men trying to cross with wagons of supplies, the knights were cut off from coming back to lend aid to the more numerous but less skilled men at arms who were now under assault.

Cries of pain and fear filled the air along with the scent of human waste and hot blood. Wolves cried out as well and Declan howled again, his only concession to the creature within him that wished to be let loose.

His prize was one of the carriages that remained on his side of the Ølv and he would need hands for that.

All that stood between Declan and his prize was some blonde knight in rusty armor.

The Knight moved to strike and joy filled Declan's heart. The knight charged and slashed at Declan's face only to strike air. He slashed again and once more came up empty, three more times the man tried to cut Declan down before he became bored with him.

The knight lunged stabbing with his sword. Declan sidestepped the attack and got a hold of his enemy's wrist disarming him and stabbing him through the abdomen with his own sword all in one motion. A bubble of blood burst from the knight's mouth leaving little specks of red in his lips with each shallow breath. The knight dropped to a knee and Declan turned from him.

Declan's fingertips brushed gently against the iron handle of the carriage door when from behind he heard the unmistakable and ever intoxicating sound of steel on bone. Declan turn around to see the previously impaled knight pulling his sword from the wound in his midsection.

"Come at me then creature!" The knight declared.

Declan obliged. He advanced on the wounded knight whose sword moved like a steel whip. A large cut was carved into Declan's chest where a large chunk of his flesh now flapped in the open air, blood streaming down his side.

Declan half screamed and half laughed with exhilaration. The knight advanced again with a downward cut. Declan avoided it easily. The blood loss had made the knight sloppy though no less brave. He swung again and Declan dodged under his cut tackling him to the ground. Declan found the knight's dirk in his belt, removed it and replaced it sharp side first under the man's chin. His true death was only a matter of seconds after that.

His business with the knight concluded Declan used the god gift, commonly called The Force, to rip open the carriage door.

He smiled.

"Litla systir. We were looking for you."

Aelin Erevos Brynjar Threist Gustaf Lögr

 

[Aelin Erevos]

The Cry of Wolfsong

It all seemed to have been for nothing.

When she'd first started on this journey, after ripping the blood-soaked Gods Gems from the death grip of her traitorous uncle, Aelin had felt sure of her path — something instinctive and fierce urging her to return to this world, the very world her ancestors reforged. She'd thought it was her blood, the blood of Aerðs calling for her to save and reunite the Lupo people the same way Thorir had once done. To do whatever it took to bring their species back from the brink of destruction. To alter the course before it was too late.

And after losing nearly everything, after all of the humiliations and sufferings that she and her sisters endured, Aelin foolishly believed it was the Gods way of finally giving back. That after all this time they'd woken from their long slumber to answer their children's plight.

Instead, she'd been chained, muzzled, humiliated, and caged. Beaten within an inch of her life and paraded through the land like a trophy, a symbol of the Prince Alasdair Sabathian 's victory over the Lupo rebellion — a cause that would die before it had the chance to begin.

Throughout the course of her grim procession, the human spectators took part and pleasure in her suffering, taunting her with the charges she faced, both real and fabricated, a litany of sins painted in the blackest of strokes. Some days, the bolder among them would prod her through the bars of her cage with crackling spears, while the more cowardly hurled stones until the guards would finally chase them off.

Thankfully, only the smallest ever found their mark, and even those were sharp enough to occasionally draw blood.

The experience made one thing abundantly clear: the Gods, perched high in their heavenly abodes, cared little for her or her suffering... or for the indignities that the Lupo were forced to endure and would continue to endure.

..All but one..

Her thumb traced the familiar lines of the symbol burned over the top of her right hand, the mark of Vatyn. It had not hurt when it was placed there, though the skin was raised and red, giving the appearance of being seared with a hot iron. At first, she'd thought her encounter with Aerðs' consort to be nothing but a fever dream, a fracture in her mind brought on by the seizure of her children. But when the last the mists of sickness finally lifted from her eyes, she'd known in her bones that something old and powerful had stirred in the depths, something that had slept for ages.

And it had marked her as its own.

It'd been a faint hope she clung to through the last few weeks, that perhaps the Gods hadn't fully turned their backs on them. That not everything was entirely forsaken. That maybe, just maybe, there was a chance she might even see her children again.

But as the days turned into weeks, the milk in her breasts dried up and the flesh fell from her bones until she was nearly as lean and hard as the first time Børre Drage found her all those years ago. The miles dragged on and on, the sun rose and fell, and hope began to falter. With every jolt and jounce as they journeyed across the Ølv, it seemed to slip further from her grasp. Any day now, they'd be arriving in Blackbrook And Aelin could not help but wonder... would it vanish entirely, lost in the endless expanse of water and time?

The Gods would at last answer, in the cry of wolfsong.

A swirling wind gusted, drawing a high shivery scream and the call to defend the carriages. Men at arms rushed around her, the hooves of horses beat, and in three heartbeats, the scent of charred wood and the blood-soaked wails of the dying filled her senses.

The sound of an impact outside her door caused Aelin to back into one of the corners, fumbling with the restraints to try and free herself, heedless of the bruising metal, desperate to escape. Would she be freed, or would she be killed before anyone could get to her? Or worse, crushed accidentally in the wreckage of her prison?

Another impact echoed, this time followed by the screech of splintering wood as the door of her prison was pulled from its hinges.

Without thinking, Aelin gracelessly leapt from her spot, throwing her shoulder and all her weight into whomever it was without a second thought.

The feeling of wet blood soaked her already filthy clothes as she landed against the hard planes of her would-be savior—or potential assassin—pressing the chains of her manacled hands into their throat with as much force as she could muster, until what she heard and the reality of what she saw, finally caught up with one another.

"Litla systir. We were looking for you."

Golden eyes blinked rapidly, disbelieving, and the sound of something between a whimper and relief fell in a half-sob around the metal bit forced between her teeth.

Her true family.

Finally, they'd come for her.

Declan Durinson | Brynjar Threist​

 

[Declan Durinson]

"Shh shh shh." Declan said softly.

A breathless laugh slipped past his lips.

Aelin. Litla systir. Captivity under the humans had left her thin, hard, dirty, beaten, bruised, bloody, but not broken. No, she was not broken and if she were…

I will help put the pieces back

"Sit down." He told her kindly, taking her by the shoulders and helping her to sit. He sat next to her.

His large heavy hands worked deftly at the iron bit in Arlin's mouth to no success.

"A moment, litla systir. Try to not to go anywhere."

Declan left her to return to the body of the blonde knight with the rusted armor. When he returned to where he left Aelin he did so with newly bloodied hands and he had brought company.

Yasmine of The Wilds had joined her king as he sat in the dirt and bloody mud that surrounded the cage Aelin had been kept in.

Again his hands returned to working to free Aelin. A much easier task now that he had claimed the key from the dead knight. Red sticky blood smeared the iron bit and Aelin's mouth as Declan removed her bonds with utmost care.

"Here,"

Declan wrapped his King's Cloak around Aelin and placed a skin of water in her hands.

The sounds of battle continued around them. Howls and barks, the crackle of fire, the beating wings of crows that circled above waiting to take advantage of the carnage. All could be heard when not drowned out by the screams of dying men and orbak.

"Slowly," he suggested of the water when Aelin pressed it to her lips. "Too much too quick and it will all come right back up again."

There were still armed men all around them but Declan, Aelin, and Yasmine went as noticed as ghosts. Most of the men's eye were drawn to the actual wolves that prowled among their numbers savaging soldiers all over and many had rushed toward the bridge hoping to cross the river. The bodies of those unfortunate enough to fall in the water could be seen dead and drowned among the river stones, the weight of their armor dragging them to an ignominious end.

Declan placed a blood covered hand gently on Aelin's leg and smiled at her. "We can speak when you are ready. This butcher's work should not take long." He told Aelin.

Aelin Erevos

 

[Aelin Erevos]

The Cry of Wolfsong

The chains fell away, the metal rod removed, all of it clattering against the ground with a hollow ring. Her wrists were red and raw and chafed from the unyielding metal. Sores had broken out where the manacles had rubbed, some weeping and some crusted. Yet it was a pain she could hardly register, especially once water was offered, so great was her need.

Desperate, Aelin took the skin and raised it to her cracked and bleeding lips, feeling the cool liquid splash into her mouth. Headless of Declan's warning, she gulped greedily, as if fearing the gift he'd given would be withdrawn at any moment. Excess water spilled down her chin to mix with the crusted blood and dirt on her face, creating pink rivulets that ran along her neck. It wasn't until her thirst was sated that she lowered the skin, yellow bile immediately rising from her stomach to spill out on the stone and splintered wood beside her.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her shaking hand, she steeled herself to try again, this time letting caution temper her need.

Finally steadying herself, Aelin looked up at him as he moved to wrap his cloak around her, heavy with the scent of wolves – of pack. Of power.

She knew even before it fell against her shoulders that many pelts had gone into its making, the stench of death and violation clinging to it like a miasma. The skinning of wolves, the stitching of their hides together into this monstrosity... it was a blasphemy against the Gods themselves. In any other time, she might have demanded to know how her dear brother came by such an abomination, why he wore it like a badge of honor. But as she burrowed deeper into its embrace, she could not summon the outrage she knew she ought to feel and found the will to care... dwindling. It was warm, and that was all that mattered in this moment.

"Thank you," she rasped, voice like a rusty gate as her gaze slid from his to take her first cursory glance at the carnage beyond. Her tormentors, those who had brought her so low, were nothing but playthings for the giant beasts that now shredded the metal men with both tooth and claw, turning them into nothing more than bloody ribbons.

"Where did they all come from?" she inquired, voice becoming a little stronger as she nodded her chin towards the wolves. The scent of the North carried on the wind, but none of those in her immediate vicinity were familiar to her. Aelin had spent enough time in the North to learn of the able bodied warriors of Hardhaven, and she knew the packs of her own Clan well enough. They were strangers, these.

And Yasmine... Her gaze flicked to the woman standing silent and unobtrusive at Declan's side. Why was she here, of all places? Shouldn't she be in the North? A dark and unthinkable thought entered her mind, churning her belly.

"Did Dorian send you... or... is he?"

Declan Durinson | Brynjar Threist ​

 

[Brynjar Threist]

Weapons: Heddwch and Medelwr
Appearance: The Warrior
Tags: Aelin Erevos | Declan Durinson

"Surround him." A knight adorned in shiny armour called out to others as they attempted to encircle the beast.

His eyes were burning fury but he was calm, this was where he was a master. This was fighting and there were few who dared to match Brynjar, especially when he was as brutal as he was. His knuckled whitened as he clenched the axes in both hands. He could sense they saw him as a wild beast, nothing more than animal. In many ways he was, but he was the apex predator and they just didn't realise that his preferred prey was human right now.

The Howl of the Gods roared through his body, flowing into his axes as they began glowing a brilliant deep blue. Crackling with electrical energy as Brynjar poured everything he could into the blades, he only smirked to the knights. The dead men walking.

With swift, lightning fast movements, he threw Heddwch and buried the axe blade deep into the chest of one knight. The Howl then exploded out and blasted several others into carriages and trees, knocking them out at best. Medelwr slammed into the ground and a blast of intense lightning struck the knight who gave the order to surround him. Recalling Heddwch into his hand, he sliced through the rest as if he was carving through butter. Their space metal, their special armour, it provided no protection against the powerful and sharpness that his axes held. The Gods had made these axes to a quality no human could match.

At least that was Brynjar's belief.

He roared as he stood covered in the blood of his enemies. The roar blasted carriages over and destroyed several more. Killing many who were not soldiers. Just people standing in the way of the beast. His ears picked up the voices of Declan and Aelin. Sheathing his axes, he raced over to where he heard Aelin's voice with reckless abandonment. Ignoring the other Lupo and the humans, he knew Aelin was here and he knew she was alive. He at least prayed she was alive and that she was still here.

Reaching Declan and Aelin, he saw how fragile she looked. The humans had imprisoned her and attempted to break her physically as well as mentally. It outraged Brynjar. He could feel the beast roar inside him to kill more. To slaughter them all. But he focused and looked at Aelin then over the Declan. He was not sure why the other man was here, Declan had vanished for a long time, leaving them behind and refusing to keep in touch. Brynjar had tried reaching out, tried keeping a connection but it was a hard thing to do. For now, he didn't ponder too much on it.

"Aelin needs to get out of here. Too dangerous." Brynjar grunted, his voice hoarse and rough since he had barely used it since Aelin had been gone. There was little need for the Beast of Islimore to speak. "I take her. You finish here with your people." He growled, offering a hand to Aelin to lift her into his arms.

Hanging around on invited risk of harm or reinforcements, Brynjar's main priority now was getting Aelin far from here and making sure that she was somewhere safe to rest and recover.

 

[Declan Durinson]

Declan watched Aelin tip back the water, heedless of his advice in the face of her desire. As predicted she hardly taken the bottle from her lips when she spewed the contents of her belly. A soft smile crossed his face when she went back for more.

Aelin was not one to give up but she was one who learned. She took more measured sips now after learning what giving into passion was rewarded with.

Her injuries were numerous. Some more recent than others. A handful that even now oozed with pus or blood. More yet that were faded and healed.

You look like me now, litla systir.

The wound on his chest continued to spill blood as flesh hung in open air.


Aelin had questions. Of course she did. Simple as they were, Declan took a moment to consider how he would answer them. Declan returned to his seat in the mud and blood next to Aelin.

"Your wound Anas–" Yasmine began before Declan cut her off.

"See to it then." He barked at her. Yasmine knelt in front of Declan and from a small pouch at her side she produced a fish hook and a strand of animal gut. Declan could not say for certain which sort of animal it was.

Her hands were calloused and rough but her touch gentle and she worked to close his wound.

"Here is what is to happen now, yes?" Declan said turning his attention to Aelin. "I am Anasai." He said in answer to her question on where his Wolves had come from and in some way it was an answer to her question about Dorian as well.

"I hear you are as well, little sister, but you are currently under my protection so it is my law that rules here and rules you." He was not harsh with her but nor did his tone allow for any argument.

"Yasmine has some words for you. You are to listen and you are forbade from killing her and I mean this. I beg you not compromise the love we bear one another." He turned now to Yasmine. "Tell her, Witch."

Yasmine's hands never stopped stitching. If she chafed under his command one would never know. Yasmine did not so much as flinch. It was admirable, truly, and it gave Declan some insight in what Durin had found so alluring in her.

"I must confess to you Anasa," Yasmine began. She looked Aelin in the eye the whole time. Again Declan was forced to confront a growing admiration for the red headed witch.

"I had some not insignificant part to play in your capture. You see I along with the Alpha of clan Thierst and his mate plotted to have you removed. What their motives were for doing such a thing I could not say. I did not care to ask. As for mine own motives I'm sure you find no solace in knowing it was not personal in any fashion. In fact, I did not truly think of you at all, if that in some way takes the sting off. Though I imagine the specifics hardly matter."

Yasmine's hands were making quick work on Declan's wound.

"I simply put something in your tea that put you to sleep. It was they who put you in the hands of the humans. And Dorian who delayed in your rescue. Who delays still. It was–"

"Enough." Declan said. Yasmine's mouth snapped shut.

Yasmine examined her stitch work. She muttered some holy words and flame sparked in her hand. She took the God fire and seared closed Declan's wound.

"Brynjar! Bróðir!" Declan said grinning from his seat next to Aelin. "The Gods bless us to see your face again, brother."

A blessing to be sure but hardly a surprise. Of all the Wolves to be found among this carnage hundreds of miles from safety, all to save Aelin, it was Brynjar.

This however, was not the Brynjar Declan had known last. That Brynjar had been changed. A Wolf of deep thinking and deeper contemplation. A Wolf with a vision and a hope,

This Wolf. The one before them now was a creature born of the blackest dreams of the Fayth. Covered in blood and grime, some new but much of it old and crusted. The smell of him alone told a tale, a long and tearful one at that.

He was a savage, clearly.

It suited him.

Aelin needs to get out of here. Too dangerous." Brynjar grunted, his voice hoarse and rough since he had barely used it since Aelin had been gone. There was little need for the Beast of Islimore to speak. "I take her. You finish here with your people." He growled, offering a hand to Aelin to lift her into his arms.

"No." The King said. His eyes grew hard and his voice was made of ice. The implication was clear. He would not see any other claim her. Not now that he had already done so.

Declan's eyes softened. "No harm will come to her her. I swear it upon all the Gods. Yasmine will keep her close." Declan pushed himself from the ground, mud oozing between his fingers.

"See to her hurts." The King commanded of Yasmine.

"Brynjar and I will see an end to the blood and begin coordinating our march. Remember, no fucking killing her." The King said to Aelin.

Declan leaned over and gently placed his head on Aelin's "I will be back soon. Half an hour. An hour at the longest. I'm here for you now." He spoke softly as if the words were for her and her alone though Lupo ears missed nothing.

Aelin Erevos Brynjar Threist

 

[Aelin Erevos]

A Cry of Wolfsong

She knew the pack laws well enough, the rules of hospitality, yet the notion of bending to Declan’s rule grated against her spirit as harshly as the iron chains that once bound her wrists.

You left me, she wanted to shout at him. You fucking left me in the North with nothing but a damn note. Now you want me to obey?

But her words went unsaid as Declan pressed forward with another matter.

"Yasmine has some words for you. You are to listen and you are forbade from killing her and I mean this. I beg you not to compromise the love we bear one another." He turned now to Yasmine. "Tell her, Witch."

Aelin watched as Yasmine obeyed and knelt before Declan, clean porcelain hands defiling themselves with blood as she dressed his wounds, her voice taking on a detached, almost clinical tone as she recounted her treachery. It was as if she spoke of nothing more consequential than the vagaries of the weather, and not the acts that had brought about so much suffering.

“As for mine own motives I'm sure you find no solace in knowing it was not personal in any fashion. In fact, I did not truly think of you at all, if that in some way takes the sting off. Though I imagine the specifics hardly matter.”

How many lives have those dainty hands cut short? Aelin found herself wondering, a cold fury rising to match the burning ache in her heart. It gave her the strength to push herself to her feet, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You… you knew the price.” she accused, her voice a low growl. “You knew what became of your husband... what was destined to become of me. And yet, you paid it willingly.”

“I simply put something in your tea that put you to sleep. It was they who put you in the hands of the humans. And Dorian who delayed in your rescue. Who delays still. It was–"

From where she stood—jaw firmly set, chin lifted proud and strong—her eyes raged with wildfire, so great was the ache and fury inside her. She had made the traditional sacrifices and oaths, given herself to the gods and to Dorian on the sacred night of Månenøye, had set men to scour the length and breadth of the land for the Kanaka Alpha, sent Gustaf Lögr with them. Yet it was clear to her now, her life was of little consequence. Perhaps it was true then, that Dorian had only taken her in out of idle curiosity, boredom… if what Yasmine said about his delay was true.

And Yasmine? She’d seen her life as nothing more than a bargaining chip, something to be used and discarded at will.

To what end? Aelin still didn’t know.

A red haze of rage and hatred closed in around her until it seemed she could scarcely draw breath.

"Because of you, my children were taken. Dorian's own blood. Children born to the gods." All knew that a child born to an Alpha that was conceived on Månenøye was a great blessing to the parents and clan, imbued with the gods' favor, a rare gift...

But Twins born of two Alphas? They were as good as Gods reborn.

She wanted to fly at Yasmine's throat, to rip it out with her bare teeth and bathe in the arterial spray.

Declan had the nerve to command her not to kill the treacherous witch, but Yasmine was near enough that Aelin could reach her before any could intervene. Even in her weakened state, her reflexes were still honed to a deadly sharpness, it was one of the many reasons the humans kept her feet shackled at all times, a mistake they’d learned from early on. But what would be the point of that? To add one more corpse to the tally? It would not restore her stolen children to her arms.

What then, would be an appropriate punishment?

The question didn't have time for an answer, before yet another familiar voice was added to the mix.

"Aelin needs to get out of here. Too dangerous. I take her. You finish here with your people."

Finally, she blinked and glanced up just as Brynjar pushed his way towards them, blood and entrails covering him like a grotesque tunic, sweat beading on his brow, his beard and hair more wild than even the first time they’d met. He hardly looked like the same man she’d left over nine months ago.

It seemed the darkness that’d accompanied her, had touched him too.

Her mouth opened to answer, but not before Declan cut her off.

"No. No harm will come to her. I swear it upon all the Gods. Yasmine will keep her close. See to her hurts." Declan commanded of Yasmine. “Brynjar and I will see an end to the blood and begin coordinating our march. Remember, no fucking killing her." The King said to Aelin. Declan leaned over and gently placed his head on Aelin's. "I will be back soon. Half an hour. An hour at the longest. I'm here for you now."

Aelin scoffed at the sentiment, the sound harsh and bitter, and shut her eyes, lips smashing together to form a grimace. “And what good is that now?” She asked, pulling away from his touch and turning to address Brynjar, her voice a little softer. “I will stay, for now. If you want to serve me Brynjar, help Declan and the rest of these wolves take care of the caravan and the Prince's people.”

Her eyes shifted to look at her bloodied wrists, before glancing back to Yasmine. “Put your hands on me and I’ll gouge your fucking eyes out and feed them to you.” She’d spent most of her young life washing crusted crimson and pus from her father’s wounds, to know enough of how to tend to her own.

Brynjar Threist | Declan Durinson​

 

[Brynjar Threist]

Weapons: Heddwch and Medelwr
Appearance: The Warrior
Tags: Declan Durinson | Aelin Erevos

As soon as Declan said no, Medelwr was raised and the blade directed at the other Lupo's throat.

"It was not a request." Brynjar stated in a voice cold and coated in barely contained fury.

Brynjar had spent months hunting for Aelin, alone. He had killed many, too many, in his desires to free her from captivity. He would not let another attempt to hold her hostage or against her will. Especially since remaining here for any length of time was a risk.

"Aelin comes with me if that is what she wishes." There was only one person that could change his mind on what were the next steps and it was not Declan. "I do not leave her side unless she commands it. You can go help your pups if you wish." Brynjar had not looked Declan in the eye yet, his gaze was focused on Aelin, making sure she was safe, that she was not being held hostage by another. Declan had vanished on them for months, for too long, and Brynjar could not hold onto the beliefs that the man he had once considered a brother, a man he loved more than his parents, was still the same person. Especially since Declan had made no attempts to help Brynjar in his hunt for Aelin.

His gut did not trust the intentions of Declan.

However Aelin's words came and she requested he did as Declan requested, he looked at her, not questioning her order but making sure she was safe. That she truly wanted this and did not feel forced in this direction. If Declan was standing in her way to freedom, he would butcher the man and his pups, sacrificing his own life to ensure her freedom was secure. "If that is what you wish, I will do it." He nodded to Declan, letting the other lead the way. Before leaving Aelin with great reluctance, he placed Heddwch beside her, "your axe returned to you." He stated, pulling a shield out and adjusting to a single axe and shield style of combat.

Brynjar moved back to where the fight was the thickest and howled loudly, deeply as he threw himself into the combat. His axe slicing and blasting everyone close to him backwards. His mind focused on ensuring that death was brought to those that attempted to slaughter the woman he loved, the leader he knew the Lupo needed, the hero that brought them together in their darkest hour. He fought like the unshackled beast that he was now.

 

[Declan Durinson]

"It was not a request." Brynjar stated in a voice cold and coated in barely contained fury.

Declan barked a laugh at the Wolf who was once his brother. It may not have been a request but it was no command. Brynjar was Alpha of nothing and held no more power than what those were willing to concede to him. Declan no longer conceded anything. If Brynjar was willing to make this a matter of blood then so be it. He had lost other brothers, what was one more?

“And what good is that now?” She asked

What good was it ever? He thought.

“Perhaps you prefer the cage?” The King questioned her harshly.

Aelin and Brynjar. They were his family. He was closer to them, held more love for them than he did any living Wolf who shared his blood and yet they turned from him; Rejected his goodwill and love.

He spilled blood, his enemy’s and his own in service of Aelin’s freedom, the thing they both wanted above all, and his reward for this? To be dismissed and discarded as if he were still the gutter rat on Nal Hutta or the dog on Coruscant.

It was fitting.

"I do not leave her side unless she commands it. You can go help your pups if you wish."

“Stay if you wish it.” The King said. “She,” he pointed at Aelin “is going nowhere.”

The need for violence disappeared with Aelin’s words—a tragedy. Brynjar was owed.

Brynjar nodded his acquiescence to Aelin and then to Declan. Declan hawked a glob of phlegm at Brynjar’s feet and turned his back on the little reunion heading into the fray.

He wore no armor and carried no arms. He was barefooted and bare-chested. Using The Gift, The King called to his hand the sword that had belonged to the knight in rusty armor.

The handle was slick with blood both the knight’s and The King’s. Under the blood, the handle was wrapped in sweat-stained leather that was cracked and aged. The blade however was razor sharp and clean of any blemish beyond the blood it had spilled today. Declan took this sword and went to work.

First, it was a man at arms. He wore simple boiled leather over ringed mail. He swung a cudgel in place of a sword and regretted that as soon as he was faced with The King and his bright new song-steel blade.

Declan made a downward slice from right to left, a hand length of song-steel took the man at arms in his face, which exploded in a spray of red and teeth. Two more men at arms came at him and Declan made as short of work of them as he had the first.

This continued to be the way of things as Declan carved his way up the column of soldiers, making his way to the marble bridge. All around him howls of joy, yelps of fear, barks of pain, all rang out as his Wolves did their bloody work.

When Declan reached the bridge he was covered anew in mud and blood, a dozen new cuts, all minor, there were wagons overturned, some even lay under the water having somehow been thrown from the bridge. The ivory-colored carriage that Rolf had pointed out before the attack was perched precariously half on the bridge and half not. Twenty men at least had taken hold and were attempting to pull it back on firm footing. Declan screamed a horse and feral cry of bloody challenge to them.

A knight in green stepped from among the men at the carriage and drew steel. He and Declan met.

Their swords screamed a symphony of steel song as they struck simultaneously, a storm of sparks swirled with each savage strike. The green knight feinted to his right and instead backslashed at Declan’s face. Declan barely avoided the chance, the blade coming so close he could have kissed it.

And again they met in a struggle that in times was equally as beautiful as it was savage. Amid that savage beauty, the knight lost his sword. Undeterred the knight pulled the dirk from his belt and stood between The King and the carriage. Declan threw his own sword away and flew at the knight, howling. The crashed together again but now all the beauty was gone and all that remained was savagery.

A steel fist slammed into Declan’s collar. His own fist found the soft flesh of the knight’s face, burying into the man’s eye. A grunt of pain escaped the knight but he continued his assault. The knight’s forearm crashed hard into Declan’s chest, the dirk in his hand narrowly missed being buried deep in Declan’s face. Declan shoved hard until they slammed into the side of the bridge. An armored elbow crashed hard into the side of his head. Declan bent and wrapped his arms around the knight’s legs and lifted.

Declan yelled out in pain. The knight went tumbling over the edge. Declan thought he may have cried out as he fell into the reddening water below.

‘El or perhaps go to hell’ he could not say, too focused was he on the dirk that had been stuck in his back and the effort it now took to breathe.

There were yet more men and more knights. Perhaps Brynjar would make his way here soon and even the odds or perhaps not. It mattered little to Declan now.

He howled again waiting to see who would try him next.

Aelin Erevos Brynjar Threist

 

[Yasmine of The Wilds]

“You… you knew the price.” she accused, her voice a low growl. “You knew what became of your husband... what was destined to become of me. And yet, you paid it willingly.”

And I would do so again, a thousand times. Yasmine thought.

If the Anasa, no, if this girl thought her chastisement enough to shame Yasmine, she thought herself far more important than she was.

Yet, of course she did. Aelin was blood of Thorir, the supposed savior of all Wolves. She jumped from mistake to mistake to tragedy with every step she took. She led them blindly through the thorns and no matter how much blood was spilled nor how many scars they would collect whilst following behind, no Wolf dared question her right to lead.

Yasmine felt no such compulsion.

Children?

More than one?

Yasmine never took her gaze from Aelin as she spoke, not betraying the panic that was rising in her chest.

When The Beast Brynjar arrived on the scene and took Aelin's attention, Yasmine ventured to look at Declan. She stared into the green eyes of her king, her fear plain in the face of his rage.

No words were exchanged between them nor any violence. A relief. A disappointment.

After some minor negotiation, Declan and Brynjar left to go spill more blood.

“Put your hands on me and I’ll gouge your fucking eyes out and feed them to you.”

Yasmine's face did not change. She had no fear of this Anasa when she was whole and certainly felt none now that she starved and beaten and chained

Yasmine waited a minute or so after The King had left to speak to Aelin.

"You are right to hate me. I fear, Declan is right as well. You should let me look at your injuries."

Yasmine had some talents at putting people back together again. Yasmine was however no fool. She made not a single step to move toward the Anasa and the axe that now lay beside her.

"Aelin, where are the pups?"

A bold question coming from Yasmine. Many in her situation would be likely to avoid reminding the aggrieved of their part in doing wrong to them. Yasmine

Suddenly, Yasmine's pristine presentation evaporated, replaced by fear. Her voice had been still as stone when she confessed her involvement Aelin's predictimate but now it were as if a gate had been open and her words came out with the stink of panic all over them.

"I would keep a careful eye on your savior. I do not know him as you do but he does not seem quite the Wolf my brothers and my mate had described to me." Her voice was hushed. "He spends much of his time drunk on lychanberry wine and…and…"

Yasmine hesitated. "He has…"

What The King had remained a mystery. Before Yasmine could say the words, she and Aelin were accosted by three ring mailed men at arms. All with iron in hand. One man carried a dirk, another, a sword, and most concerning was the man with the clever. She could not say why he stuck out so among them. They were all plain featured and pock marked. They stank of shit and fear. Of death.

The men rushed them, eager to recapture or kill their prisoner. Yasmine lept in front of them, crashing into the man with the dirk and knocking them both to the ground. Yasmine was no warrior but she was a Wolf. Her nails carved furious red riveted ribbons out of the man's face. He screamed and cursed her and she went for his eyes. She had one half from the socket when she was yanked off her for by the hair and slammed hard into her back.

Cleaver man now sat astride her, his cleaver raised above his head to deliver a killing blow. From the leather strap around her thigh Yasmine pulled a knife and buried it deep in the thigh of the man atop her. Blade and handle both were no thicker or longer than two of Declan's fingers but it did the trick. Yasmine had grown up in The Wilds, with brothers, she had long ago learned it paid to keep a knife between her thighs.

The man screamed chopped the mud in place of her throat. Yasmine tried to pull her knife from his thigh but the blood made it too slippery to hold. She reached instead for his face clawing at his nose, mouth and eyes. In the struggle she managed to knock the cleaver from his hands before a hard fist crashed into her face. Stars and baubles of blue-white light burst in front of her. Another punch and something in her head cracked, she could feel it. Cleaver man's hands wrapped around her throat and the world was beginning to go dark.

Rasping and with perhaps no sound at all Yasmine tried to call out to them. To The King, to Declan, Brynjar, Rolf, any who may yet live to be able to help Aelin. She had failed but the price of her failure need not be more than her own life.

The dark was closing in.


Aelin Erevos Brynjar Threist

 

[Aelin Erevos]

The Cry of Wolfsong

“Perhaps I would have preferred if you’d not left at all.” she countered swiftly, lips pursing as she watched Declan and Brynjar leave.

"You are right to hate me. I fear, Declan is right as well. You should let me look at your injuries.”

Hate is too soft a word for what I feel, Aelin thought.

“Do your ears not work?” she sat back onto the log. “I said no.” With a vicious yank, she tore a long strip of cloth from her tunic. The fabric rent easily, and she bound the makeshift bandage around her wrist with fingers that trembled like leaves in an autumn gale.

“Aelin, where are the pups?"

She sat frozen, one hand gripping the rough wood beneath her while the other clenched the strip of cloth partially wrapped around her wrist. Her eyes closed as she sat there, a shiver creeping up her neck. After several moments, Aelin cracked her eyes back open. She would not meet Yasmine's gaze.

“Tarsal Fortress.” the words spilled from her lips before she knew what she was saying, her voice sounding funny; hoarse and husky. “Or, that’s where I’m assuming they took them. It’s where they take all Lupo prisoners who they believe might eventually be of use to them. It’s where I’m going next.” Her eyes were open all the way now, but she stared at her knees, where blown drops of water from the skin Declan gave her earlier had dripped like tears. “A boy and a girl, twenty fingers, twenty toes.” It was all she knew of them. That, and the sound of their cries. She could only ever imagine the rest.

Then, there was a sudden shift in topic, a desperation seeping out in Yasmine’s voice. Aelin’s brows rose then furrowed. What kind of game was she playing at?

"I would keep a careful eye on your savior. I do not know him as you do but he does not seem quite the Wolf my brothers and my mate had described to me." Her voice was hushed. "He spends much of his time drunk on lychanberry wine and…and…"

Yasmine hesitated. "He has…"

Whatever warning Yasmine meant to impart was lost as three men-at-arms appeared from the chaos, their gazes fixed on Aelin and Yasmine with the ravenous intensity of hounds on the scent of prey. One wielded a sword, its blade glinting like ice in the fading light of day, another a dirk, its edge wicked as a viper's fang, and the third... the third held a cleaver, its curved blade glinting with a hunger that seemed almost obscene. Yasmine was the first to move, launching herself at the interlopers with the desperate ferocity of a wolf defending her den.

Aelin watched for a heartbeat, then turned her attention to the axe drawing it into her hand. The weight of it was familiar, a counterpoint to the unsteadiness that threatened to send her tumbling back into the mud. Brynjar's gift, returned to her for this very moment. Yet what good was an axe, no matter how well-wrought, in the hands of a girl who was barely more than skin and bone now?

Her gaze flicked to Yasmine, the woman whom Dorian had regarded so well, whom he’d loved.

Who'd betrayed her… who might as well have handed her children to the Fayth herself, a dark thought entering her mind.

She could turn away, leave her to the savagery of these men. The treachery of this creature was well earned, her fate a just reward. The Gods would not begrudge her Yasmine’s death.

And yet...and yet, something in Aelin rebelled at the thought of leaving her to the mercy of these creatures, eyes empty of all that could have made them human. It was the same as the faces of the guards who'd taken such pleasure in her pain, in the pain of all those at Tarsal Fortress. Perhaps, in the end, it was that which decided her.

"Fuck," Aelin muttered, a curse borne of frustration and resignation.

Whatever the reason, Aelin launched herself forward, Heddwch biting deep into the shoulder of the man on top of Yasmine. He was a big bastard, all meat and muscle, and for a moment Aelin feared she’d misjudged her capabilities, feared that she’d only managed to sign her own death warrant alongside Yasmine’s. But then...then something in her shifted. A spark kindled along the marking of her hand, Vatyn’s symbol glowing with a warmth that spread through her body and fingers, skin left glowing like a newborn star in its wake before it passed through the gem, and into the haft of the axe.

For the first time in what felt like an age, Aelin felt... unbreakable.

The blade cleaved through mail and flesh and bone with unnatural ease, the brute toppling from the red haired woman as his body twitched like a marionette with its strings cut.

The second man spun to face her, a look of shock widening his eyes... just before Aelin unleashed a blaze of fire from her fingertips upon the other two assailants, not knowing where the action came from or what guided her to do it. In seconds the men were engulfed, their flesh becoming crumbling parchment, their bones dry wood soaked in tallow.

They danced as the flames consumed them, staggered and writhed and spun and raised blazing hands on high, their fingers bright as torches until their bodies crumpled to the earth as smoldering black husks.

As the last man fell, Aelin dropped to her knees beside Yasmine, the axe slipping from her grasp. Her vision swam, the world tilting drunkenly, and for a moment, she feared she had overextended herself, that her body would give out before she could enjoy the small satisfaction of having saved the life of the woman who had helped destroy hers.

But as she looked down at her hands, she saw that they were whole, the weeping sores and chafed skin... gone. Her wrists, unmarred by the iron that had circled them for so long. And when she looked within herself, she found a wellspring of vitality that seemed almost... boundless.

Then, compelled by some force beyond her understanding, Aelin reached out, pressing her still glowing palm to the wounded side of the other woman’s head, feeling a drop of warm light pass from her body and into Yasmine's.

“Get up,” Aelin grunted, not bothering to ask if Yasmine was whole, nor offer any comfort. "More may yet return, and I would hear whatever truths you have about my brother."

Declan Durinson | Brynjar Threist | Yasmine of The Wilds​

 

[Yasmine of The Wilds]

She was surrounded by darkness. T’was black as ink and tasted of salt. She was drowning in it. Her lungs would not work, the weight on her chest was oppressive, ink bubbled around her mouth and burst staining her face around the edges.

She swam in the dark. Up or down she did not know; Did not care. She could hear the song of Naé’s kingdom and swam harder toward the sounds.

I am so close. She thought, black ink tears rolling down her cheeks.

So close.

Yasmine drew a panicked gasp of air as the world once again was bright. And terrible. She lay in the mud still drowning but the weight was off of her.

The man with the cleaver must be as well.

Another bubble of blood formed at her mouth.

Naé’s song…

She could still hear it here in the land of the living.

Her heart pattered slightly faster before she came to realize there was no song t’tall. She heard only her own shallow breath as it whistled through the crack in her skull.

The darkness was returning at the edge of her sight.

She cursed her brief return to the mortal world. The darkness would claim her in the end. The man with the cleaver had won, dead as he was.

In the dark there was flame. Flame that writhed and screamed. She needn’t her sight to divine this song. It was the song of birth.

“Get up,” Aelin grunted,

“As you command Anasa.” Yasmine said breathlessly. She were no longer dying that much was clear but what Aelin had done to stop it was not so.

"More may yet return, and I would hear whatever truths you have about my brother."

“Would you believe them?” Yasmine asked. She waved away Aelin’s response before the words ever left her mouth. It mattered little and less whether the truth would be truly heard.

“He is still your brother then is he?” Yasmine asked.

She did not judge Aelin for her treatment of Declan. Their being in each other’s good graces meant nothing to her. She however found it curious that Aelin found it within herself now to name him brother when no more than half a conversation after Declan tore the chains from around her wrist and mouth she had rebuked him.

“Are you so blind to what he is, I must spell it out for you?” Yasmine stared at The King’s cloak that laid discarded in the mud.

“A thousand Wolves wait for him Hljóðleva. His Wolves. While Dorian planned your war and while you were among the humans, Declan spent more than a year in The Wilds…”

Burning children

Killing Gods

Dying.

Again and again

“…Now for the first time since entering the Black Forest, the Cailleadh have returned south and they do so only after having named your brother Anasi.”

Aelin spent enough time in The North, enough time with Dorian, to have some idea what it would mean to rule the savages of The Wilds

Yasmine kept to herself the fact that The King was in possession of a Gods Gem.

That he refused to sleep.

That he held council with none aside from the Gem, and his two witches. Yasmine herself, who could read the flames and divine meaning from their shape and the Veiled Lady. A priestess of Vatheum, it was whispered, none had seen her true face save for The King and her own daughter.

That he claimed to visit Skyggeriket.

That he claims to have died a thousand times in that place.

That he had been God touched. Marked by no less a deity than Malkør. The very same God of whom the Gem Declan possessed belonged.

“These are the truths, Anasa. Make whatever use of them you can.”

Aelin Erevos

 

[Brynjar Threist]

Weapons: Heddwch and Medelwr
Appearance: The Warrior
Tags: Aelin Erevos | Declan Durinson

Declan daring to cage Aelin caused Brynjar to tighten his grip on the axe, knuckles turning white. It took everything he had to stop himself from cutting this man down where he stood. He was not the brother that Brynjar had once known, though Brynjar probably wasn't the same Lupo that Declan had seen as brother. He was going to make sure that Aelin got away from here and back to her people safely, no one, no one could stop the beast that Brynjar was from doing that.

The glob of spit was meaningless to Brynjar. The Lupo had a year of accepting he was nothing, he was an animal, a weapon for Aelin. There was nothing else of value that he held, that was fine and Declan's respect was not what Brynjar sought after right now. He had priorities and caring what others thought of him, that was for someone who wanted to be important.

Brynjar gave that up when he relinquished the title of Alpha for Clan Thriest.

For now, he focused on fighting.

The axe imbued with the Howl roared against those who dared to stand against the beast. His shield slammed hard against the head of a knight, the metal shield fracturing the skull and killing the man instantly. Throwing Medelwr, he buries his axe deep into the chest of another knight, as it is buried in the chest of the knight a burst of electricity shocking several more around the dead body. Once the Howl was expended in the axe, he pulled the axe back into his hand and smirked. It was easy. Too easy to kill these humans.

Spotting that Declan was going to get overwhelmed with humans attacking him, Brynjar knew he could try letting the humans weaken Declan enough that he could not stop Aelin from running free. However, he also caught eye of Aelin picking up Heddwch and killing three humans that were attempting to kill her and Yasmine. He wanted to go and protect her but she had the axe and it seemed to be connecting with her in ways only a true Anasi could connect with the God Gem within it.

Seeing her standing strong once again, Brynjar leaped over to Declan.

Throwing a shield, he beheaded one knight and chopped the arm of another with Medelwr. He growled, snarled and roared at each man who dared to near him. Swinging his axe at one man, he gutted them and crushed the windpipe of another with the Howl. He looked around, few were daring to step towards him now. Scared of the beast, the monster that was covered in human blood and guts. Panting hard, Brynjar charged the axe to throw lightning at another being who dared to cross his path.

 

[Aelin Erevos]

A Cry of Wolfsong

"He is still your brother then is he?"

Aelin didn't bother to answer Yasmine's question, in part because she didn't know how to articulate an answer that would sum up her feelings towards Declan and how she thought about him, adequately.

He'd been the first to swear an oath to her, the first to stand by her through the tangled affair with her uncle Vidaar. Together, with Gerwald and Brynjar, they had rescued her sisters Eydis and Miera from the jaws of despair... and when she'd been lost in the wilderness of her own soul, Declan had seen the truth of her, even when she could not see it herself. Yet, with all these bonds of past allegiance, he'd also been among the first to forsake her. When she was lost, grappling with the weight of what to do about Eydis, overcome with grief of her actions at the small village with the Twins, he'd vanished like a shadow at noon.

And when the storm of Volsung's wrath broke upon her people, Aelin found herself alone, her trust placed in the unproven strength of strangers. And when the voices around her surged, urging her to accept Dorian as her consort, when she had sorely needed the counsel of one who knew her heart and spoke without guise or ambition... Declan had abandoned her once more, with nothing but a note.

Was there not room, in love, for a little anger? Or was love one dimensional? Consisting only of undiluted joy and devotion at all times?

As Yasmine continued to speak, Aelin's gaze followed the witches, falling upon the cloak of wolf pelts, the symbol of Declan's kingship. Of the power he now wielded. She hadn't given it much thought when Declan first settled it upon her shoulders, her mind fogged by pain and the need for any scrap of warmth. Now that her mind was more clear, Aelin understood the implication, the horror that Yasmine hinted at. The Cailleadh did not bestow such a title lightly, nor did they name a Wolf Anasi without just cause. For Declan to wear such a thing...it spoke of a darkness in him, a savagery that Aelin did not know how to reconcile with.

Aelin went to gather up the cloak, pulling it from the mud and folding it with the reverence and respect that the wolves who'd gone into its making were likely never shown. She would find a pyre for it, and let the flames burn away its meaning. "Why do you tell me this now, after everything?" Aelin asked, turning to look at Yasmine. "And if you fear him so, if you believe him to be so dangerous...why do you remain by his side?"

Yasmine of The Wilds | Brynjar Threist | Declan Durinson​

 

[Yasmine of The Wilds]

The sounds of battle moved further up the red river road, nearer he bridge than where Yasmine and Aelin awaited the return of The King.

Aelin, it seemed had little to say in regards to Yasmine's warnings. Though 'warnings' feels hardly the appropriate term. Her words were merely council. The least that could be owed to the Anasa.

Yasmine's words may have yet been answered but they did not go unheard. Aelin's vision tracked Yasmine's own, the young alpha's gaze falling upon the wolf pelt cloak. Some understanding seemed to dawn upon Aelin. Yasmine's eyes did not linger there long, however.

Yasmine's eyes narrowed as she looked upon the human who had so nearly taken her from this life.

He was nothing. An absolute nothing.

A waste of divine touch had gone into his creation

She thought as she knelt beside the body.

Quite ugly for being nothing

The human was squat, flabby in the arms and gut, his helmet which had been leather and knocked from in the struggle had his thinning straw like hair in both its thin and brittleness. His face was altogether to small or the features had been placed to close together, like his head had gotten stuck as his mother gave birth. Squished and scarred with craters and pox, Yasmine doubted quite seriously that even a mother could love that face.

Somewhere in the haze of her surroundings Yasmine could see Aelin moving.

A better look showed that Aelin stooped to gather The King's cloak. Her hands worked purposefully, gently and with deftness as Aelin showed a rare bit of deference and respect to The King's cloak.

A small noise of annoyance came from her without her bidding.

There was no mistaking what Dorian saw in Aelin. Yasmine knew that for a certainty. She also knew Aelin did not have enough of what Dorian saw. That was always the way of it. Men see what they wish and discard the rest. It was up to her to see the whole of things.

"That belongs to The King and lest you wish him to craft a new one starting with your own skin, I suggest it be here when he comes back." Yasmine called from the mud.

Yasmine reached for her knife. It was still stuck in her near murderer's leg. She pulled once and he hand slipped from the blood all over the handle.

She tried again with two hands and slipped off once more.

She tried a third time and the blade came free!

The man to moved suddenly, fat hands purple from blood pooling under the flesh reaching toward her throat. Yasmine threw herself backwards scrambling to her feet, she kicked at the dead man, slipped in the mud and landed on her ass.

The dead man had not made any move for her. The body had simply rolled toward her, such was the force with which she needed to use to pull free her blade. Her heart still required a moment to become still.

Yasmine stood again with not the slightest bit of embarrassment. She cleaned her blade on what appeared to be the only part of her roughspun not already covered in mud or blood returning it to the leather strap across her thigh.

"Why do you tell me this now, after everything?" Aelin asked, turning to look at Yasmine.

"I had not the occasion to tell you until now, Anasa."

She considered a moment leaving it at that. It was no true answer but Yasmine had found those with power rarely wanted an answer. They wanted words they could place their own meaning onto.

What power does this one have? She thought eyes flicking to the axe.

"You happen to be the only one to tell. These Wolves are his. They know fully well what he is and what he has done and they love him for it. Your shadow Threist is no better than Declan. Worse in many ways for he refuses to acknowledge the larger picture."

Yasmine shrugged.

"You should know who and what you're involved with. You are owed that much at the least."

Aelin asked, turning to look at Yasmine. "And if you fear him so, if you believe him to be so dangerous...why do you remain by his side?"

"Fear is what brought me to him." Yasmine said laughing.

She recalled the day of her exile

The hour was late. The smell of sunrise was in the off hours away. Yasmine awoke to heavy knocking at her chamber door. Hard and rapid the knocks came as if in a panic. Yasmine threw herself from her bed and naked as a newborn she crossed the cold stone floor of her room and through the solar to the door throwing the heavy oaken thing open to reveal her brother standing before her clad in a newly sewn deep green doublet.

"Dorin?" Yasmine asked softly. Her breath caught in her chest as she tried to shake the sleep from her mind. "Is something amiss?"

"Much and more." Had been his reply.

She did not care for his vaugery. She missed Durin's openness. Her Durin. The rest of the boys took too closely to their father; saying little more than was required and often saying not even that much.

"What is your purpose here Ninny?" She asked frustrated.

There was a pained expression on Dorin's face. The boy had always been solemn but she could see the struggle of duty in her brother's brilliant green eyes.

"Out with it Ninny."

"Clan Threist has named you complicit in Aelin's disappearance."

"They lie!" she spat at once.

"They brought evidence."

"What evidence?" Yasmine's heart and mind raced. How could there be evidence? There was no evidence; She had made sure of that.

"Two members of their own pack were laid at my brother's feet, half skinned and still bleeding, professing that you conspired with them to get rid of Aelin." Dorin said.

Yasmine stood horror struck.

"And how do they claim I convinced them to aid in my scheme? Bewitchment no doubt." Said Yasmine, her tone dripping with venom.

"They claim no such thing. Only that you promised them respectable places in Hardhaven and suitable mates. You after all have the ear of the alpha."

I did once

Her heart hammered so hard her head was ringing "What does Dorian say?"

"He bid me fetch you." Came Dorin's reply. She noted that he would not look her in the eye.

"So I am to come with you then?"

"I need only bring you back if I can find you."

"You think I should flee?"

And so flee she did. To The Wilds. She'd never been more afraid to do anything in the whole of her life and fear was no uncommon thing for her. The terror of leaving alone unaware of when she would return, if she would return, it had been a nightmare from that day and every day since.

She had lived alone in the Black Forest for little more than a month, eeking out a meager existence. She moved from winter town to winter town never staying longer than a few days at one place until eventually she was caught. Mercifully she was spared or she had at first thought it a mercy.

That was before she was brought before the king.

"He is Anasai," she continued "we should all fear him if but a little. For who could presume to rule without wealth or fear or love?"

Why do you remain by his side?

The question was presumptuous. Of course it was, Aelin is Alpha, she was Anasa. To live under the weight of another was beyond her understanding. The thought going against her very nature.

Not Yasmine.

Yasmine was zorathi. If not by blood then by temperament, by virtue of where she was born perhaps not to whom. Service was her calling. Calling another 'alpha' and trusting them with well everything…it was comforting for one like her. A heavy blanket to keep out the cold, where for Aelin it was smothering.

"I, like you, am under The King's protection."

Yasmine was sure Aelin would catch her meaning

I go where I am granted leave to go and have leave to go nowhere The King does not.

though it was only part of the truth.

"There is nowhere else for me to turn." She admitted. "Dorian would have my neck in a noose or a collar after learning my part in what happened to you."

That was closer to the whole truth.

She had not truly known what Dorian would've done or said. She fled without ever considering it.

Never hold to the mercy of Wolves.

"The King has promised to reunite me with my son."

And for that she would suffer any indignity

"He, Declan, he has a Gods Gem as well."

Aelin Erevos Brynjar Threist

 

[Declan Durinson]

What men there had been. There were no more. They had been beheaded, disemboweled, bisected, smote with lightning, or worse.

Declan leaned against the side of the bridge where he had tossed over the knight in green. He had for a moment considered facing these men himself, had stood in front of them as a warrior.

They faced something worse now. Not a warrior, who would see these men as things worthy of their death. They faced nature itself and nature did not see them at all. They faced Brynjar and he made no work of them at all. Nary a blade touched him as he carved through some of the human’s best warriors as if they were made of smoke.

Not a man among them died well.

The carriage they had been so desperately clinging to, the carriage made not of sturdy oak like what had carried Aelin but dainty pliable bleached silver pinewood painted ivory and gold, with no one left alive to hold onto it went plummeting into the river below where it alighted upon a rather large pile of bodies that had stacked up beneath the water.

Declan left his spot on the bridge to stand where the carriage had just been, staring down at the thing submerged below.

Rolf joined them. Coming upon Declan and Brynjar from the same direction they had come.

“They have fled,” Rolf said excitedly.

“Well fucking done, Rolf.” The King wheezed, his eyes remaining fixed on the carriage in the water.

“How many have escaped us?” Declan asked.

“A handful perhaps. Less than a hundred I would say. All afoot. The wagons are either in the river or in our hand.” Well-earned pride flavored Rolf’s voice.

“That’s good.” Good? It was miraculous. “We have all the orbak?” He asked.

“All that remain alive, some half as many as were walking to start the day.”

“Our losses?” Declan asked warily

“A dozen of us await, Biórr.” Pride again swelled in him.

Declan clapped Rolf hard on the back, a strained smile filling his face. He’d brought his pack against impossible odds and walked out better than he could dare hope.

“The knights? The men clad in steel not iron?”

“Dead to a man, Anasai. The steel men were as you said, it was only them that managed to slay any of ours and even when outmatched they fought until they could no longer.”

Declan waved away Rolf’s noble awe. There was no time for it.

“If less than a hundred escaped us, the rest lay here among the dead I presume?”

“Most, Anasai; there are some wounded and some who chose to throw down their swords and beg for mercy.”

Declan grunted in acknowledgment.

“Show them the mercy they seek. Have them finish off their injured and dump their dead in the river… downstream from here.”

The bodies in the water would surely do no favor for whatever lands beyond that were watered by the ølv.

“Our people must be buried. I will have the witch perform the rites.”

“Anasai,” Rolf said with a curt nod of obedience.

“Send a dozen of your best trackers out into the forest. See if they can find and slay those who fled before they are able to bring reinforcements. They need be swift about it. Have the rest begin to round up any supplies that were abandoned by the humans. Food and steel are most important, fish the wagons from the water and load them with only what we need.”

“Steel and food," Rolf repeated.

“Aye, butcher the dead orbak if there is time. The humans too if not enough food can be salvaged from the supplies or there is room for more meat. No time to be snobs.”

Rolf nodded again and left to hand out Declan’s orders.

“Collect Aelin and the witch.” The King told Brynjar. "I have words for them. Have them meet me there." Declan pointed over the side of the bridge at the water-logged carriage.

Aelin Erevos Brynjar Threist

 

[Brynjar Threist]

Weapons: Heddwch and Medelwr
Appearance: The Warrior
Tags: Aelin Erevos | Declan Durinson

He stood there panting hard. It was over. It had barely been a fight. It had barely got his blood boiling. There was a bitterness in Brynjar, he had expected more, he had wanted more. A fight where he felt his life was on the line. A fight which would be remembered for generations to come. But that was not this fight and he doubted he would live to see a fight that glorious if these were the best that the humans could throw at them. He felt their blood soaking into his skin, drying on him, dripping from him.

Brynjar dropped the shield and let it clatter on the ground. It was not a shield he had made nor was it one that significance to his family. Holding Medelwr, he looked around and wondered how many he needed to kill. How many would have to die in order for his people to be free? Would he ever feel free once they had found success or would he be trapped by the evils he had to do so others lived in peace? It was a moment of reflection Brynjar could have once the fighting had finished.

His ears twitched and he listened to the conversation that Declan was having his man, someone named Rolf. In this moment of quiet, knowing that Aelin was safe, his mind could comprehend what was going on and not focus on the death of all humans. Was Declan attempting to claim the title Anasi? Taking it away from Aelin... Even after everything they had been through? Even though the man had started as her biggest supporter?

Eyes narrowing and looking from the side over to Declan. Did he truly think his brother was now a traitor? He didn't wish to believe it and he wanted to give Declan the chance to correct his error but when he attempted to order Brynjar, the beast laughed deeply. Brynjar spat at the feet of Declan, offering the same respect the Lupo had given him before they jumped back into the fight.

"Aelin will see you if she wishes to. Not on your orders." Brynjar coldly called back and sheathed his axe. "Remember that we chose her as our leader, you included." Declan had been at the ceremony, he was too late to try claiming the title now.

Walking back, he looked over to Aelin who seemed a lot healthier now, his gaze fixed on the witch as Declan had called her, "your Alpha requests your presence." Making a point that Declan was Alpha and nothing more of this bunch. His gaze softened when he looked back over to Aelin and he lowered his head in respect.

"He also asks to speak with you, Anasi. The decision to receive his council is your choice, but I can tell him you wish time to yourself now and will receive him later." Almost hoping that Aelin would do that, just to make sure that Declan knew he could not make demands of Aelin. That she was Anasi. "We can also leave now. Head back north and meet with Dorian and Børre, if you wish to do that." He held issues of trust with Declan and his very clear attempts to undermine Aelin's authority. It went against their ways, against the honour and respect they held for Aelin and the words they swore to be by her side.

But the decision was Aelin's and he would respect what she wanted to do next.