Greywolf - The Council

The Shadowlands have remained quiet all the way to the White Horde encampment.

As we walked through the detailed shadows of trees and shrubs, Karl told me the story of his rescue of Lys. Once she'd been stripped of her gold and the enchanted amulets keeping her quiet, she'd been thrown into a mass grave by the Etruscan guards and left to die... or so they'd thought. A crowd of people had watched in silence, including Karl, and after night had fallen he'd snuck back and pulled her out, taking a gamble that, alive or dead, she'd be worth something.

Instead, Lys changed his life. "It's been a strange journey she's led me on," he'd told me as we'd crossed the stone bridge over the dry, in the Shadowlands, river next to the enormous camp. "Still, it brought me here to the People, who welcomed us and gave me an honored place among them."

"As a mercenary recruiter," Lys had said while we passed through the open gate leading inside. "You need to find a wife so they will make you a member of the tribe."

Karl had looked up over his shoulder at her with an expression of surprise. "This is new. If I did that, who would carry you around like a princess on a palanquin?"

Lys grinned back with her smile like shards of black ice. "I've been making plans of my own." He'd raised his eyebrows, but let it drop as we walked down the road towards the center of the encampment, Karl weaving his way around the barely moving shadows of people and the objects they use, while I walk right through them.

He stops us several paces away from the two large warriors guarding the Khan's enormous tent. "They warned the guards we were coming, but probably forgot to mention how we'd arrive."

It wouldn't be the first time. "If you keep your hands out so they can see they're empty, they usually calm right down." Usually. A gate forms in front of us and we step through...

Into the world of color and sound. The two warriors jerk and brandish their axes as Karl holds out his hands and begins speaking in their harsh language. They calm down at once and lower their weapons, both of them talking to him for a few moments before the taller one heads for the large tent. Karl looks at me and chuckles. "I pretty much got told not to scare them like that again."

"In graphic terms," Lys adds as the taller warrior motions for us to enter. Lys back flips off of Karl, landing barefoot on the ground and strides ahead of us into the tent. I follow Karl inside.

Karl and I give the guard our weapons as Lys strides onto the carpet and up to Khan Khingla, sitting on his throne with two guards on either side. She bows, and begins speaking to him in their language as Karl and I reach the far end of the carpet and stop. The scent of almonds fills the air, overlaying the smell of sweat and steel from the large group either sitting on cushions or standing behind the ones being honored.

There's two groups, actually, one on either side. The ones on my right are Tartaros warriors in boiled leather armor, but all of them have Artifact plates instead of steel, so well placed that I imagine arrows would have a tough time punching through. It's strange to see so much Artifact armor, I wonder... yes, there's at least a half dozen men with dark red hair and a blue stone with a silver spiral in their left ear. They're Blood mages, a type of magic meant to strengthen and keep them alive when they're badly hurt, but they can also channel their mana through the blue stones to craft items as well. All of them look tough as old tree roots.

The ones on the left have to be the nobility. Their faces aren't as harsh or as scarred, but are far more refined, wearing fine tunics and trousers of different colors, with intricate embroidery at the hems of their sleeves and fur lining the tops of their stout boots. Bearded Prince Timur is sitting on the first cushion, with his two Bloodguards behind him, while on the second is a younger and much thinner version of him, probably a brother, wearing a sky blue tunic and trousers. Is his hair a dark blue color as well? It's hard to tell in the lamp light, but I think it is. From the third cushion on down the men are older, their clothing far more sober than the young men standing behind them.

Lys finishes and steps aside as Khan Khingla beckons with his hand. "Karl, bring Greywolf forward so my warriors can take his measure."

My heart's in my throat as I walk beside Karl towards the Khan, everyone in the tent watching me with eyes hard as stone. I've come too far to bolt into the Shadowlands now; brace up, and stop quivering. I stop as Karl does, my bow half a heartbeat behind his as the warrior on the first cushion, a big man with a long scar running down his face, grunts. "Not much to look at, is he?" He speaks in a voice like rocks being ground up together. "From all the stories I heard about Asena, I thought he'd be bigger."

Karl places his hand on my shoulder, silencing me with a look. "War-leader Kula, Asena has lived several thousand years, and Greywolf's not even reached his third decade. In time, he will be as gigantic as an Ogri and even more fierce."

Kula grunts again. "Long after we're only memories and bones. Can he fight?"

Lys puts her bone thin hands on her hips. "Kula, do you think I would entrust my life to him if I thought he could not? I have no intention of tangling with Shadow creatures that frighten even me."

Karl smirks down at her. "My delicate little flower."

"Eat shite and go bark at the moon." Everyone else around me laughs, even the Great Khan, and the frostiness seems to drop a bit as Lys turns towards the throne. "Great Khan, in the shadow of a dead tree in the Shadowlands, I watched Greywolf take on a Shadow Raptor while the Daemo Shadow-walker of Prince Timur's ran away. We need him for this raid to succeed."

"Great Khan," Prince Timur says, "the raid has a better chance of success using the Daemo. This boy," contempt dripping off the word, "is rash, while the Daemo is cautious. She will remain with the group instead of rushing headlong to her death. If Asena truly is thousands of years old, and after listening to her tell war stories I have no reason to disbelieve her, then this boy is no more than a little child. Great Khan, we do not send little children into battle when the lives of our warriors are at stake."

"I'm not a child," I snap at him, ignoring Karl's hand tightening on my shoulder. "I've fought Shadow Raptors in the Grey, along with men and other creatures in the real world."

"The wolf cub barks," Kula says behind me as Karl shrugs and lets go. My cheeks are getting hot as Kula adds, "Though looking at your armor, I can see you know how to use your teeth as well." I begin to turn as he gets to his feet. "Remain as you are so I may inspect it." I stay still, Kula looking it over front and back. "These are Artifact back plates, yet they've been shorn through like a sharp knife through leather."

"Night Hags attacked me while I was luring out the trolls out of their cave." I barely repress a shudder. "I had to bounce back and forth between the real world and the Shadowlands to outrun both."

"So now he admits to being a coward as well," Prince Timur sneers, "unable to stand up against scary old women."

My hands clench into fists. "No one fights Night Hags unless they've got no choice. Papa has seven ghost ravens from the seven Shadow Raptors he's killed, along with the ghost of a Shadow Daemon he killed deep within the Grey, and he won't attack Night Hags." It's like I'm being stung by hornets as he sneers again, so I add, "I killed one of the trolls without help."

As Prince Timur opens his mouth to insult me again, a young male voice calls out, "Great Khan, may I enter your council and question this Greywolf myself?"

Khan Khingla looks towards the nobles. "Avitohol, as my heir, I will allow it."

Karl drops down to one knee and I follow suit as the nobles standing near the throne give way to a boy perhaps ten summers old but broad shouldered, wearing a blue tunic and baggy black trousers tucked into his fur topped boots. Unlike his older brothers, his face is that of a Tartaros warrior, though yet unlined, and we're at eye level as he stops in front of me. "Karl," his dark eyes remaining fixed on my face, "did you see Greywolf fight this troll?"

"We were too far away, my prince," he answers, "but I did see the wounds the troll left on his shoulder."

"I want to see them for myself." Avitohol motions with his hand towards my chest. "Remove your body armor." Karl helps me unbuckle the straps and remove it, then I strip off my faded black fighting tunic. Avitohol waves Karl off when he reaches towards the cloth and removes my bandage himself. "How did you manage to kill a troll?"

"It was a small troll, my prince. It impaled itself on my sword, and as we wrestled, I stabbed it through the eye with an Artifact knife."

He probes the wounds with calloused fingers. "These are almost healed."

"By tomorrow they'll be only bruise marks, though I'll probably have another set of puncture scars." He raises his eyebrows and I touch a pair of white indentations just above my collar bone. "Bite marks from a Vampyre."

Prince Timur rolls his eyes. "Seriously? Great Khan, the boy is clearly spinning a tale to puff himself up."

"Then why not ask the Keeper of the Spirits to read him?" The clean shaven man beside Prince Timur is looking at him with a sardonic smile. "I would attempt a reading myself, but you would scoff at my findings worse than you are scoffing at young Greywolf right now. Or are you afraid of what she might say?"

Prince Timur turns and glares at him. "Varsena, do not push me too far."

The sardonic smile remains. "Or you will do what? Great Khan," Varsena's gaze moving towards the throne, "as a Guardian of the Spirits, I ask for Yasataar to be summoned to this council, so she might perform a reading upon Greywolf."

As muttering begins among the assembled nobles and warriors, Karl sucks in his breath through his teeth. "If the Great Khan allows it," he whispers, "speak nothing but the truth to her. She's canny."

Avitohol gives me a quick nod in agreement as Khan Khingla says, "There is no need to summon her, for she has been listening to the council speak among themselves before I even arrived. Yasataar, if you would?"

"As the Khan commands," an old woman's voice says. A moment later, from a shadowed corner of the tent behind the nobles, an old woman wearing deerskin robes dyed black reaches the far end of the carpet and shuffles towards us. She'd be a tall woman except that she's hunched over, her tangled hair covering her face down to her chin. I'm not sure how she sees. "Karl, be a lamb and fetch Greywolf's Artifact knife so I might examine it." He rises to his feet and walks past her as the low mutter of conversations begin among the men. He takes it from the rack of weapons set next to the tent flap, leaving it in its sheath as he strides back to where the Keeper is grasping her hair and flipping it back behind her. Looking at her wrinkled face, I gasp.

She has no eyes. Beside me, Avitohol whispers, "Anyone destined to be a Keeper of the Spirits is born with empty sockets where their eyes should be. You get used to it."

I'm not sure I ever could, but I keep my mouth shut as Yasataar draws my knife from its sheath and examines it. "Blood slides off of steel, but Artifact is only transmuted wood. And wood remembers." She turns towards the throne. "Khan Khingla, there is troll blood on this blade, and Vampyre essence as well as Daemo ichor." She slides it back into its sheath. "Young Greywolf, did Asena make this blade for you?"

"No, Mistress Yasataar. It, ah, was a gift from the Daemo merchant Ryla, whose caravan we were guarding. The Carpathian mountains are lousy with Vampyre nests, and during an ambush, she threw me the knife as a Vampyre bit me." I shrug. "I guess it expected me to fall under its spell and become its servant, because it drew back and waited. Instead, I stabbed it through the heart."

"And the Daemo female gave you the knife as a gift." I nod, and the old woman gives the dagger back to Karl, who takes the weapon back to the others as she shuffles forward. "Khan Khingla, the young Oldenblood speaks the truth." Still on my knees, I remain still as she stops in front of me and places her hands on my shoulders. "Greywolf is Asena reborn as a male, for I sense only Oldenblood stock within him. And yet, there are changes to his nature which make him different than her."

Avitohol says, "Like his being a Shadow-walker?"

Without eyes, her smile is ghastly. "That is the most obvious of them. Young prince, you should consider making Greywolf your first Bloodguard before too much time has flowed past."

What? Avitohol and I share a startled look as Prince Timur barks out a laugh. "That is perfect: a child guarding a child. Oh, how our enemies will tremble."

Varsena's sardonic smile returns. "Jealous, brother, that Greywolf has killed a troll and you have not?"

Prince Timur's bearded face darkens like a storm cloud. "All the Keeper knows is that this Artifact knife was used to stab a troll, and nothing more."

Yasataar turns her ghastly smile upon him. "Prince Timur believes in the troll he sees, yet misses the troll he does not. Tell me, eldest son of our Khan, have you slain your troll?"

Prince Timur's eyes narrow as his expression slides into suspicion. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Yasataar leaves me and shuffles close to Prince Timur. "Trolls can take on many forms. When your father, the Khan above all other Khans of the tribes, disinherited you and gave the future of the People to Prince Avitohol, I saw your troll enter the hollow cave in your soul, where it remains."

Beads of sweat pop out on his forehead. "There is no troll." Yasataar raises her eyebrows above empty eye sockets, and Prince Timur snarls, "I renounced my claim to lead the People. Three times you asked me, and three times I renounced it in favor of the child. What more do you want?"

"For you to answer my question: Prince Timur, have you slain your troll?"

"And I tell you, there is no troll."

"No?" Yasataar regards him for a moment. "A Reaver Knight slew Jebe, one of the People and your Bloodguard, yet instead of avenging his death, you rewarded the Reaver by giving her Jebe's place at your side."

"Jebe did that to himself," Prince Timur says in a voice filled with disgust. "I told him not to be stupid, but he went and did it anyway. Amazonia is ten times the warrior he was."

Avitohol glances at me with a questioning look, and I nod. "Jebe was an idiot," I whisper, "but Amazonia didn't give him any choice."

Prince Avitohol's face grows thoughtful as Yasataar says, "The Reaver Knight is far more than just a warrior. She stinks of Daemo sorcery, her and the Chaldean Wardogs bound to her sword. Death follows her like a storm cloud of ravens... and you already know that. Prince Timur, I will not ask you a third time, for the third time sets your vow in stone, and I wish to give you a chance to think upon all that I have said before you seal your fate. I say the same to all of you," her empty eyes seeming to see everyone as she turns first to one side, and then the other. "Two choices stand before the Tribe of the White Boar, two choices that will affect all of the other tribes in thrall to us, and many other nations besides. Avitohol or Timur."

"A child or a proven warrior," a harsh voice says from the Tartaros side.

Muttering comes from both sides of the tent, the Great Khan's face darkening with anger as Yasataar shakes her head. "Your choice will not be for a person but for which path the People will follow. Prince Avitohol now has an Ogri to advise him, Titan, who remains the world's greatest living general, yet is heartsick of war and desires peace. Under his guidance, Avitohol will grow into a wise king, and a wasteland will bear fruit and prosper."

Without thinking, I blurt out, "But that means people will have to change."

I shudder as she turns her ghastly smile upon me. "The young speak the truths old men fear. The People of the Eternal Sky will have to settle down, build cities and grow crops. Their warrior traditions will remain, for other nations will struggle against them and be struck down, yet in the end there will be peace, and a golden age for a kingdom spanning the leagues between the nations of east and west. This is the path Avitohol will lead you down."

War-leader Kula asks, "What of the path Prince Timur would lead us down?"

"Battle and war," Yasataar replies. "Death will ride with the People like a great raven, and the sky itself will seem to burn from the fires of the cities they will raze."

Prince Timur is sitting up on his cushion with an eager expression. "What of glory? Will my name be remembered?"

"Oh yes," Yasataar's words ending in a hiss, "the name of Timur shall be remembered. Empires will rise or fall based on the choices you make, and your deeds will be chronicled and debated by wise men and fools long after you are dust. Prince Timur, the Reaver Knight and her Chaldeans will stand at your right hand, while the Fae of Shadows shall ride upon the shoulder of your left, and between them you will transform the People into the White Horde in truth. For she holds secrets that shall give you power at a terrible, terrible cost." She seems to sigh. "Yet, there will be glory, oh prince, I promise you that. And your name will always be remembered."

Muttering breaks out on both sides as Khan Khingla says, "Yasataar, speak plainly so we might better understand."

She only shakes her head as she covers her face with her long, grey hair again. "I will speak no more, my Khan, except to say this to your people: choose wisely. For trolls live in many hearts."

Yasataar turns around and slowly shuffles away.