Pawn Among Wolves

Pawn Among Wolves-Finale

"But true wolves will fight, to the last breath, to defend their very right to fight."

The air was still, waiting.

Then a heavy wolf snarl rolled from the Aster Warlord's throat: Mortefio, the challenge for single combat, to the death.

Eyelids flickered among the Alphas flanking the Chinese Warlord. Tzo responded with a swift, angry stride forward.

"Do not so honour yourself, whelp," he barked harshly. "You fight merely to protect the wereem pet with whom you're besotted, and her people." Mac's fighters drew a hissing breath, although the Alpha remained impassive.

"You, defend wolves?" Tzo said scathingly.

"You stand by while humans pollute our rivers," he accused. "You fight for legislation to protect them while they pass legislation that will destroy us."

Tzo's voice was thundering with equal passion: "Patio, Montanore, nanoparticles: do you feel no shame at their steady poisoning of our people? You stand back and allow that. Now stand back and allow me to defend wolves," he ordered, power resounding in his voice.

A murmur of unease ran along the walls, the defending wolves shifting uneasily.

Mac waited in silence while his allies quieted, staring down at his enemy. The remaining defenders had volunteered, and they knew what they were getting into. Both what they were standing against, and standing for.

He had also known that the Tzo would not accept the mortefio. The Chinese Warlord had the longer claw, and would be a fool to hazard his advantage in a one-to-one fight. Yet Mac had so hoped to keep his wolves out of this.

"What is in those barrels, Tzo?" he asked, his quiet voice easily audible in the waiting silence. "Over three thousand years have passed since Xerclides, when the Four gathered on the wasted battleground with the remnants of our people, and vowed never again."

More than eyelids flickered among the Alphas surrounding Tzo this time, one of them so far lost his impassivity as to glance sharply at his Warlord, seeking reassurance.

"Move aside," growled the Tzo. "I have no wish to do so, but if you force me to, I will fight with all I have," he vowed. "To defend the freedom of all wolves. Do not seek to deny me, Mackeld. I will fight for the right to defend them to my last breath."

Mac hissed out a frosted cloud in the chilled air. "As will I," he said coldly. "You would enslave their minds, to protect their bodies."

"You would destroy them all, with your love of humans," the Tzo replied. He turned and stalked back beyond the line of loaded catapults, his entourage trotting uneasily in his wake.

The line of defenders settled with a sigh, casting wordless glances between themselves. Some were shivering, but all stood firm.

Twin? Mac's conveyance was simply an affirmation. The arguments had been shaken to death and smothered hours since, well before Ulf had left through the hidden tunnel, leading his small scent-masked force. Mac absorbed the pulse of raw feeling that was punched back at him from his natal. Words were superfluous, they had shared sense and emotion long before they had known how to describe them.

Natasha tentatively laid her nose across Ulf's bristling neck. He didn't shake her off, and Mac let out a quiet breath. Twin.

The rope creaked as the bucket of the last trebuchet was secured, and quietly Jorgen intoned, "Nine," when the casket was carefully lowered into the sling.

Silence frosted along the wall.

Gemma? Mac's voice was calm in her head. He was so calm. So adamant. Tears were rolling down her cold cheeks as one last time he sank into her awareness, sharing the crispy chill of the snow den in which she lay curled, feeling the flakes melt on her nose. The dread within her was colder than the snow, unbearable, but this was who he was.