Brotherhood

Chapter 1

In this part of the city, the darkness was absolute. But the darkness was Geric's ally. It not only prevented him from being seen, but it also masked his identity, which he felt grateful for. Even though he had been living in this village just outside the King's Seat of Colmar for the last ten years, his neighbors still feared him, as they feared all of his kind.

He could remember a time when it hadn't been this way. It was long ago, before the current line of kings had been established, before anyone currently living was born. The wolves and the humans had lived side by side in peace and harmony for centuries, the wolves acting as guardians and protectors. But all that had changed when Warrick the Wrathful had arrived. He had been one of the king's most trusted advisors and had rarely been seen without him, but it was all a plot. Warrick used his position of trust to start a civil war, pitting the wolves against the humans in hopes that he could depose the king and take the crown for himself.

It had been a bloodbath for both sides, Geric remembered it vividly. So vividly that it haunted his dreams to this day. Warrick had also tried to turn the king's only son against him, turning him into one of the wolves during the civil war in hopes that the prince would side with him. It hadn't worked, and Warrick in his rage, had killed the king and any surviving members of the royal family before finally being pierced with a silver arrow himself.

The wolves, once they had been turned, were essentially immortal. The aging process ceased once they turned and they could not be killed in their human form. They were both at their most powerful and their most vulnerable when in wolf form, the only known way to kill them was with silver through the heart. Since the Great War, as it had come to be known, the new royal family's guards were all outfitted with silver weapons. Silver blades, silver spears, even silver armor, although Geric wasn't quite sure what the point of that was. Silver armor would not protect the guards and soldiers, as they had found out all too often.

Drawing the folds of his cloak closer to his body, Geric took a deep breath and stepped into the tavern, careful to keep his eyes on the floor. Most of the townsfolk knew him well enough to regard him with no more than guarded suspicion when he encountered them, but he never missed that little bit of fear in their eyes each time they met his.

Geric couldn't blame them. He had wolf's eyes, the same startling shade of amber as all the others who had been turned. Most of the villagers lived in fear of the wolves, and he understood why. Small bands of rebels still roamed the kingdom, killing humans and pillaging their belongings. Geric had taken the only work he could as the blacksmith's assistant. Which meant that while the blacksmith caroused with the local women in the tavern, he was the one in the forge, sweating over the fire making horseshoes and sometimes even silver weapons.

He sometimes wondered while making these weapons if one of them would be used someday to end his life. He had done his best to blend in, but he didn't fit in either the human world or the world of the wolves. Most of the wolves regarded him with disgust at his attempts to fit into the human world and most of the humans regarded him with distrust because of what he was.

Still, it was better than nothing and it paid for his room and board at the only inn that would house him. This one to be exact. Berta was the only person in the kingdom who didn't fear him, which was part of the reason he continued to stay here even though he could afford a small cottage far away from here. It was comforting to have a friend, even if it was only one.

"You look like you've been through the mill," Berta commented, sliding a grog across the counter toward him. "What happened?"

Geric just shook his head, the news of another attack on a small village just south of here made him sick to his stomach. The worst part was that it intensified the fear all over the kingdom. Mothers would pull their small children to the other side of the road when they saw him approaching, shop keepers would mysteriously melt away if he entered their establishment, soldiers would grip their swords nervously when they saw him coming. When he chose to think about what his life had been like before he had been turned, and he rarely did because it was depressing, he wondered how it had come to this.

"Nothing, I'm fine," he said, taking a swig of the grog. "Just tired."

Berta eyed him curiously but said nothing. She was not a woman of many words, which was part of the reason Geric enjoyed her company. He wasn't one for talking either. She began wiping out a tankard, turning away and walking to the other end of the bar. Geric took another swig of his grog, surveying the room carefully. Sure enough, a group of soldiers in the corner had their hands on the hilts of their swords and were muttering tersely to each other. He looked away, his stomach clenching. He was lucky he hadn't been killed yet, he had heard rumors that soldiers would attack any wolves they saw after another killing. He hadn't seen it yet, but that didn't mean anything.

He drained the last of his grog and stood up, trying to ignore the stares that followed him as he left. He wasn't tired, not yet. Instead, he made his way to the outskirts of the village where the forest loomed, dark and foreboding. It didn't frighten him the way it did many of the villagers. He was probably the most dangerous thing in there most nights anyway unless a rogue pack decided to put in an appearance.

His senses heightened as he stepped into the trees, his gaze sharpening, and his sense of smell growing more powerful. The transition to his wolf form had been difficult and painful at first, but now he enjoyed it. The muscles in his back lengthened and stretched, his fingers and toes curling into paws. It felt as though he was being released, moving away from the suspicions of the humans and scorn of the other wolves. Here he was free.