Chapter Four: Sacrifices

"What drives you so hard to live, Galvin?" The werewolf lifted Galvin's chin with one pointed claw of his half human, half werewolf hybrid form. Galvin opened one eye as far as he could under the mass of bruises. Blood dripped down the bridge of his nose to the tip. A large drop was forming there. Galvin blew with what breath that he had and shot that drop of blood into the werewolf's black fur.

Malik smiled. "You have given me the gift of your blood a great many times. You really should not waste it so. I doubt that you have much left."

Galvin closed his eye again and sank against the chains that bound his hands to the damp stone ceiling. His chest heaved from the pain and the cold. He was a healer by nature, he knew he had broken bones and burns from the chains where Malik loved to enchant them to great temperatures.

"You wait for your friends to rescue you. You think? They won't. They had a meeting with Caul. They are probably dead by now. Arnjolt, Gavião, Gaius, Riyor, and let us not forget Callas. Poor little Callas, so young to the head of an order, so many mistakes to be made, like sending her second to investigate my little boating excursions." Malik ran his hand down the side of Galvin's face, black fur rustling softly.

Galvin mumbled something.

"What was that you said? Something about Callas, her poor bloody body broken in Romania somewhere. That means I have the new head master of the Order of Epona. Joy and happiness be with me." Malik danced a little jig around Galvin. In the fur of his chest, gold gleamed, catching the lamplight. It was identical to the one that Malik had put on him, something to do with sharing emotions. All he knew is that he was not only subjected to the pain of the torture, but Malik's unholy glee in it. There were others in the link, well, had been others. Now there was just one more, someone new. He'd felt the curiosity at first, then horror. Whoever it had been was sleeping now, he thought.

Blood started to drip from Galvin onto the floor. New lines of cuts welled up and bled down his chest, coating the amulet that Malik had put on him with blood.

"Sorry, when I get excited, my claws just shoot straight up. There is no stopping them." Malik bared his muzzle full of teeth.

Galvin mumbled again.

"You really are going to have to speak louder. I can't hear you." Malik leaned in closer.

Galvin whispered, "I said that I would see you skinned on my floor for a rug and I will clean my muddy feet on you every day."

Malik looked shocked, surprised and in mock horror, then started to laugh. "I have heard that line a thousand times. Look who is still here and who is hanging by the cuffs. Though I have had a human skinned for a rug once. Not all that useful, a couple of uses and it tears horribly. Nasty business."

"Malik." Another werewolf hybrid entered the room. "News from Caul."

"Tell me already, Janeus." Malik said, "Can't you see that I'm busy?"

"It is not the sort of news you want in public." Janeus replied.

Galvin listened intently and took a quick look at Janeus. She was also in her hybrid form, the grey on her muzzle an indication that she was older than the mad werewolf who had been torturing him for the last week. She looked, somehow, wilder than Malik. More feral. Less predictable, and certainly nowhere near as mad.

"Bah, can't be that bad."

"As you wish, Malik. Caul is dead. The orc army has been decimated. They have allied with someone far more powerful than they are, it seems. The only good news is that, as far as we know, the Headmistress thinks that Caul was working alone."

"Stupid girl, anyway. How much more obvious do we have to be? Caul, oh well, he was a snake after all. Slimy, scaly nasty, yucky things." Malik slumped into a corner and mumbled, rubbing his hands together, faster and faster. Then he abruptly stood up.

"Traitor in the midst. Only answer. Caul's body?" Malik nearly shouted at Janeus.

"Not ressurrectable." Janeus answered.

Malik moved his hands around, gesturing like he was casting a spell, "No, mess with the gods and have repercussions. There is no coming back. Nice to know, thanks Caul."

Malik grabbed Janeus by the throat fur. "More ships, put his," Malik pointed at Galvin, "into action. I think I left it at the Copenhagen docks. More werewolves, spread them across the world. I want to hear everything through them. No corner left, no place unturned. Find them quickly, find them all quickly. No more artifacts, no more people that think they can kill us, the new gods." Malik turned around, "What the hell are you still doing here?" he yelled at Galvin.

"You think I'm going somewhere, you loon?"

"Janeus, two silver arrows." Malik said.

Janeus pulled out two arrows. Malik plunged one arrow into his thigh and pulled it back out. The wound sealed almost instantly. "Still works. Others got different things, I got this."

The second silver arrow he plunged into Galvin's right armpit. Galvin passed out from the pain. Malik put a head to his chest.

"Damn, he still lives. What do you think it is, Janeus? What makes him not give in?"

"It has been my experience, Malik, that only two things make someone want to live through something like this. Revenge."

"Revenge. Sweet tasty revenge. That's it, Janeus! That's it. He wants to make a rug of me." Malik skipped from the room. "When he wakes up, pull the arrow out." Malik sang out from down the hall.

"The other is love, you idiot, far stronger than revenge. But who does he love?" Janeus said to no one. She used a cloth that Malik had discarded on a nearby table to wipe the blood from Galvin's face. "Damned ugly thing he's doing. The worst of it is that amulet. Why I'm still here...

Callas woke, gasping. Gavião's hand was on her shoulder, and he was shaking her awake. "Lass, it's all right. Just another nightmare. Wake up, Callas."

She sat up, blinking in the dim light. Something hurt--what? Something hot, against her sternum. She felt at it and she could feel the outline of the amulet she'd forgotten to take off under her shirt. She pulled it out and said, "Gavião, feel this."

He did so and frowned. "I wonder why it's warm like that? It seems to be fading, but I wonder if it had something to do with your nightmare. What were you dreaming about? The usual?"

"No, it was different this time. I was dreaming about Galvin, captured by werewolves, being tortured by one who was completely...mad..."

Completely mad. Like the mad presence connected to the amulet. And the person being tortured...Galvin was wearing one of those pendants.

Oh dear goddess.

Her breath caught in her throat. "Gavião. It wasn't a dream. It was a vision, I think. Galvin's in the hands of the enemy. They're torturing him."

"Are you sure?"

She pressed one hand to her mouth, willing herself not to begin sobbing. "I saw it. And felt it. He was wearing an amulet like this, and so was the werewolf. We have to go get him, Gavião. My orders led him into this. He's waiting for me to come get him."

She felt Gavião's arms encircle her shoulders, and she leaned into him, grateful for the warmth. "Any idea where he is?"

"Near Copenhagen. It's very cold, and he's in a cave. There's an army of werewolves surrounding him. And..."

"What is it, lass?"

"Malik. I saw him, the werewolf who was torturing Galvin. He's immune to silver, and heals wounds instantly. And he is insane, completely mad."

The knight sighed, tightening his arm around the frightened priestess. "We'll figure out something when we get there, lass. Go back to sleep, now. We'll leave for Denmark in the morning."

She nodded, sliding back into her blankets and closing her eyes. Gavião settled down in his usual place beside her, intending to catch a few more winks while he could.

But sleep came hard to both the cleric and the knight. Both lay awake in the cold darkness, wondering what the next few days might hold.

The human who they'd been talking to scratched his beard. "Come to think of it, the wolf activity's been most concentrated on the shoreline about five miles south of here. There's a ship moored there, and people who've sailed past have said they'd seen wolves running up and down the beach. We just keep the kids indoors at night now, is all; they don't seem to be taking livestock. Yet."

Gavião thanked the man and came back to the group; Callas was trying to do a quick repair on some of Riyor's tack. "I don't know what you do, but you need to stop whatever it is. This saddle's going to be nothing but stitching soon."

The elf shrugged. "Don't know what I do. Nigel's used to it, and so am I."

"Hrmph. Any news, Gavião?"

"A lead, I think. Ship moored five miles to the south, lots of wolf activity."

She brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Well, it's a place to start. Shall we go--Aiden! Arnie! Whoever you are! What the hell are you doing?"

A reply floated down from a nearby pine tree. "Looking around! You were taking care of the ground, so I thought I'd look at this tree. There's a nice bird's nest up here. And some wolves. Well, not up here, that way." If the rest craned their necks, they could see a dwarven hand pointing south. "Should we go say hello?"

Gaius peered into the branches, entranced. He said to Callas, "Nobody ever told him that dwarves don't climb trees, did they?"

"No, and don't tell him now. He might believe you and fall out." She raised her voice. "Come on, we'll go say hello and look for Galvin."

The drow in the dwarf's body was retrieved from the tree, Arnie gaining control once more and looking in disbelief at the pine tar staining his hands. "Damn drow. If he had a body, I'd strangle him. Climbing trees! What if somebody saw me?"

Callas refrained from pointing out that they had, actually, witnessed it with an effort of will.

Five miles south, they tethered the horses loosely a bit inland and went creeping in on foot. The beach backed up to dunes that changed into cliffs a little farther down, and was wide and empty except for the cargo ship moored a bit offshore. It matched the descriptions they'd been given of the mysterious vessels that had been plying the local seas for the past six months. There were plenty of wolf tracks but no wolves in evidence.

Riyor was peeking over a dune, and murmured, "There's a door in that cliff down there. Nice path, beaten right to it. They're not exactly hiding, whoever they are. I'm curious what that ship holds, though. Should we check that out first?"

Callas fingered the amulet around her neck, remembering the very vivid dream in which her friend and Second had been tortured by a werewolf who was, as far as she knew, unkillable. Galvin had been chained to a rough stone wall. "Galvin's in the cave, if he's here at all. Look, I'll go in, the rest of you can look at the ship."

Gavião muttered, "Not by yourself, you're not going, lass."

She sighed. "Look. I'll be fine. See?" She said a few words and then watched in satisfaction as her form went transparent. She gestured at herself, being unable to speak in this form, and then began drifting towards the hole in the rock. In the bright sunlight, she looked like an odd patch of fog, moving against the wind; in the darkness, she'd be mostly invisible.

Gavião grumbled and said, "Reconnaissance. Come back when you've found him. We'll wait here."

As she neared the door, threading her foggy form underneath it, she heard behind her the unmistakable sound of Aiden, using Arnie's voice, saying, "Oh, look, wolves on that ship!" She groaned and flew faster.

She pressed herself against the side of the tunnel she was going down as what seemed like all of the werewolves in the whole world ran past her, three by three, all in hybrid form and snarling. The sounds of battle came from behind her and faded as she went deeper into the tunnels, looking in every side room, searching for...ah, there, that looked familiar.

The rough-hewn room looked exactly like it had in her dream, complete with her friend hanging in chains from the far wall. Nobody was guarding him--why would they? He was unconscious, head sagging between his shoulders. Fresh blood and old pooled at his feet, coating his cleric symbol and the amulet that he was wearing that was a twin of hers. Callas stifled a cry as she flew across the room and tried to touch him with wispy hands. She remembered Gavião telling her to come out when she'd found him, but she couldn't leave Galvin here, and her friends probably had their hands full with the werewolves.

She changed back to solid form, canceling the spell and landing on the ground with a thump. The pulse in Galvin's neck was faint but regular, slower than she would have liked. He was shirtless and his leggings were in rags, allowing her to see the extent of what Malik had done to him. With her breath caught in her throat, she checked his hands, sighing with relief when she saw that he perhaps had a few broken fingers, but the damage wasn't extensive. But the rest...there was scarcely a place on his body that wasn't bruised, burned, or both, and Malik had evidently decided that Galvin would look better with a pattern of knife wounds all over his body. Callas brushed her hand against the side of Galvin's face, her brow knit together, saying, "Oh, goddess, Galvin, I am so sorry."

She looked around. She had hoped that there would be a key somewhere, but she wasn't that lucky today. "We do this the hard way, then." An iron rod nearby would do as a prybar, and after working at it a few minutes, she had both metal cuffs detached from the chains. She dropped the prybar as she caught Galvin, staggering under his weight briefly and lowering him to the floor. Callas could feel tears starting in her eyes as it hit her that this was her fault; were it not for her orders, her Second would not have been in this area at all, would not have been caught and captured and put to torture. Were it not for her, this would never have happened.

Think about it later. Do the job now, she told herself sternly. She swiftly checked his body over, sniffing at the flesh torn underneath the metal cuffs that were still on his wrists. "Infected, definitely, and some of these older ones are, too. Damnit. And if I don't clean the wounds out before I heal him, he'll scar worse." She checked his pulse again. This time the thread was fainter and slower. Running out of time. All right. "Don't you dare goddamned die on me, Galvin. Not when you've lived long enough for me to find you."

She gathered herself and slipped into the brief trance she needed for healing. Just a little, just enough to get Galvin conscious and able to move. She sat down and cradled his head in her lap, letting the magic flow from her fingertips into his body. When she felt him stir, she pulled back, breaking the thread. She opened her eyes and watched as the one eyelid that wasn't injured fluttered and he coughed and moaned.

Galvin's eyes opened and met hers, dark with pain. He licked cracked lips and said, "You're...late."

"You were early. How are you feeling?"

"Like a crazy werewolf has been using me to test knives on."

She quirked her mouth. "Well, at least he didn't remove your sense of humor. Let's get out of here. I want to clean those wounds before I heal you the rest of the way."

Galvin leaned on her as she snaked one arm under his shoulders, holding him up as together they limped to the door.

Just outside of it, a hybrid-form werewolf--the one she'd seen before, named Jaenus--was standing, her hands on her hips.

Behind her were five more werewolves, none of which looked particularly friendly. Callas opened her mouth to speak, but the feral-looking woman shook her head. "Come with us, Callas de Navarre." She reached out and grabbed Callas' free wrist; her grip brooked no argument. She pulled herself closer to Callas until her muzzle was close to her ear and murmured, "Not all is as it seems. Don't argue. You'll be safe if you cooperate. My name is Jaenus." Callas fought the temptation to say, I know. I saw you.

Jaenus led them down the hallway to another room, where several more werewolves and the rest of her friends waited. Gavião was glowering at her, but she glared right back, and said, "He was dying. I couldn't risk coming to get you. And it looks like a good thing that I didn't."

The werewolf asked, "Are you going to work on your friend? What do you need?"

Callas glanced around. "One of those blankets, spread on the floor. A bowl of water, clean cloths, some wine or whiskey if you have it. I need to clean his wounds, and I need to get these damned cuffs off of him. And I'm going to need someone to hold him down for me."

Gavião said, "I will." As he came up beside her, he looked down at Galvin, who had lapsed back into unconsciousness as soon as he'd been laid back down. "Looks like you dreamed true. Not many men would have survived all of this."

She smoothed the hair back from Galvin's face. "He almost didn't. And it was my orders that brought him here." She shook her head again, and said, "He may not wake up, but if he does I'll need you to hold his shoulders down. What I'm going to do is going to be very, very painful. Jaenus? I don't suppose anyone has a key for these cuffs?"

"I do." The werewolf's inflection was odd; a side effect of the muzzle, Callas supposed. "I'm Malik's second in command. I have a copy of most of the keys in this place--whether he knows it or not." She stooped and fitted a small key into each of the cuffs, pulling them off Galvin. Callas sucked in her breath as she saw the wounds on Galvin's wrists, and sent up a fervent prayer of gratitude that she hadn't simply poured all the healing she had into him. If she'd healed him before cleaning those, the scarring would have limited the mobility in his wrists, impeding his spellcasting ability.

Jaenus stepped back. "We have much to speak of, but it will wait until you're done tending your friend. I have never seen anyone survive Malik for so long."

"What was he expecting to get out of Galvin, anyway?" Callas was dipping a cloth in the water, wringing it out.

"Malik enjoys the pain of others, since he can no longer experience it himself. That amulet let him savor every moment of pain he was inflicting on your Second there." Her lip lifted in a silent snarl. "Before he changed, he was crazy but manageable. Now...the world has gone mad, and him with it."

Callas nodded, and turned her attention to Galvin. For the next half hour, she washed out his wounds, working with a single-minded determination. This was the first time she'd ever worked on someone who had been injured so extensively, and she found herself reconstructing what had happened. Malik had started with heated metal rods and chains; the burns were old enough that she could debride them a bit, removing dead skin from them. The torn, infected flesh on his wrists told her that he'd fought until his endurance had broken. She cleaned that as best she could, but it was going to leave very visible scars, she knew. But, with luck, they would be merely ugly and wouldn't limit his range of motion much. And speaking of scars, as she wiped away blood from his thigh, there were some odd ones there; but she wasn't really interested in wounds that weren't fresh, and didn't look any closer.

The water in the bowl she was using turned dark red as she wrung out the cloth into it, her hands stained with blood as well.

Galvin woke only once, and that was when Callas was moving his shoulder. Malik had broken his left collarbone, among a few other things. Gavião held him down with a firm hand on his chest, and as soon as she'd finished straightening the bone so it would heal properly, he became still once more. She could hear the others talking, but paid no attention. Finally, she finished doing what she could. "All right, Gavião. You can let him go now."

"I've got some healing left, lass. I'll do what I can, and you can do the rest." She nodded. Gavião put his hands on Galvin's shoulders and concentrated. It was always strange to watch flesh knit itself together. Gavião pulled his hands away and said, "All yours, Callas."

She put her own hands on him, closing her eyes and concentrating, opening herself to the power and praying that her goddess grant her this thing. When she was done, all of his wounds were closed except those that were infected, and those were clear of the smell of rot and on their way to healing. She quickly bandaged those, and as she was doing so, Galvin said in a rough voice, "You're stronger than I remember."

"I've had a lot of practice, lately. Feeling better?"

"Those ships were full of werecreatures." He glanced around. "I suppose you've figured that out already. Yes, I'm feeling better. Won't be dancing a jig any time soon, but I'll be all right. Thank you." Callas helped him sit up and gave him a cup of water. "What's going on?"

Callas blinked. "You know, I'm not honestly certain."

Riyor, sitting on a table and sharpening one of his daggers, said, "We're prisoners, I believe. At least, that's what Jaenus told Malik."

The werewolf bared her teeth in a grin. "And Malik hasn't noticed that I've become disenchanted with his command lately. That...thing really needs to die."

Gaius asked, "He healed everything we did to him without even pausing. How are we supposed to kill him?"

Jaenus shrugged. "You're going to have to kill me, I'm afraid."

The group exchanged glances, a single question in all of their eyes. Did we just hear her say that we were going to have to kill her? Callas asked, "Ah, Jaenus? Did I...did we...?"

The werewolf's chuckle was a cross between a human laugh and a growl. "I'll start at the beginning. Until about five years ago, I was the alpha of one of the largest pack of werewolves in Europe. Our range was three of your human countries wide and four deep, and we numbered almost five hundred in that range. My daughter, Eresse, when it came time to choose a mate, picked one of the strongest males in the pack, a young werewolf named Malik. And Malik, because of my daughter's favor, came higher in the social standing. My mate had died of the winter plague a year before. I forgot to guard my place in the hierarchy.

"I thought Eresse's judgment good. It had been until that point. I trusted that her mate would deal wisely with the power his new standing came with. Malik instead decided to challenge me for the alpha position. I was tired, and I grow older. My mate was gone and I thought I had no more heart left for the fight. I stepped down when he challenged.

"He might have made a good alpha. But his mother was...how to explain it? She was not willing to be what she was. Usually, these we kill, it is better for the pack if all are at least proud of what they are. This madness passed itself down in her blood, to Malik.

"I remained his lieutenant, and I was able to watch the changes that power wrought in him. He began as unpredictable, but often in clever ways that helped catch much prey. But soon, his mind cracked. He became mad. He started meeting with people, a female named le Fay and her errand-boy, a snake named Caul. Once, we were even visited by someone who looked human but who smelled of ice and cold mountains, and the sky. A dragon, I think. They told him he could become a god. More power, power over everything. He forgot our first law--trust no humans. He fell for what they were telling him, the promise of power, and he began to reach out his influence, stretching it over those weres who are not wolves in their other forms. The cranes, the bears, the badgers--he has even recruited some of the great cats from the east and south. All with the promise that when he rises to godhood, we will take our rightful place as the rulers of the world, the bridge between the animal and the human worlds, far superior to both. The only ones he has not managed to recruit are the Sea People. You would call them selkies.

"All together, we are now five thousand strong. I am not convinced that we are meant to rule this world, and I think that Malik has been lied to. But that brings us to what happened a few days ago. When the god Sucellus died, I, Eresse, four of Malik's best warriors, and Malik's lover, the witch Reva, were in a room together. There was a flash, and all of us fell unconscious. When we woke, Malik's mortality had been removed and placed in the seven of us. Each of us represents a part of his body--the warriors became his limbs, I became his head, Reva became his pelvis, and Eresse became his heart."

At this, one of the werewolves who had escorted Callas and Galvin inside snarled. "And that is the closest I have been to his heart for three years. Ever since he met that witch." Callas supposed that was Eresse. It had to be; her hybrid form looked nearly identical to Jaenus', with the exception that her muzzle was solid black instead of frosted with silver.

Jaenus ignored her daughter. "We take mild versions of the wounds that he receives and heals instantly. Killing any of us will render that part of his body useless. Killing me will kill him instantly. As will killing Eresse. The two who have most reason to hate him have the means to end him in our grasp. But suicide is forbidden to us. And so one of you must meet me or my daughter in single combat. If that person wins, Malik dies. If you do not kill one of us..." She bared her teeth in a sharp grin. "We will try again. Choose quickly. Malik is leaving for Versailles, to report to the woman le Fay that he has the Headmistress and her Second in his teeth. He will return with a number of people I think you are ill-prepared to meet, especially since once of your number is so grievously wounded. At least I, when I kill you, will do so quickly and cleanly. Galvin can attest to Malik's mercy."

Gavião stood. "There has to be another way, Jaenus."

"There is not. If you wish to kill Malik, you need to kill either Eresse or I."

Riyor frowned. "Who says we need to kill him? We need to stop him, right? Wouldn't losing use of all four limbs stop him well enough?"

Callas said, mostly to herself, "And if he cannot move, we could put him near a gate that nobody else knows the existence of."

Jaenus cocked her head, considering. "It might work."

"And we consider it ill-favored to kill allies we have just met, as well." Gavião shifted, looking at the werewolf commander. "It's worth a try, at least. Will he have these warriors with him?"

"He keeps them nearby whenever he leaves the cave. You killed one of them in the fight--that was why he could no longer move his left arm. There are three left."

Gavião looked around. "Perhaps you could make a pretense of wanting to bring us along to Versailles, to show Morgan what he has caught."

"It won't work for long. It wouldn't need to. I like it, knight."

"When is he leaving?"

"Within the hour. He may already be traveling towards the gate. If we will do this, it must be soon."

Gavião told Callas, "You stay by Galvin. I don't want either of you involved in this fight. If you'll return our weapons to us, Jaenus...."

With weapons hidden beneath their cloaks, they began walking towards the gate, about a mile inland. They reached it, and almost too late--Malik and a group of werewolves were setting rods in the stones, readying it for transit. Gavião said, "Gaius, whatever you do, keep that gate closed. We need to keep them on this side. Jaenus--"

"The ones you want have the blood-red armor on. Eresse and I will hold off the rest. Ready?" Without waiting for an answer, she raised her voice. "Malik! We've brought the prisoners for you."

Malik looked around wildly. "Prisoners? What? I did not tell you to bring them, Jaenus!"

"But what could be better than to show the le Fay woman proof of your prize?"

He muttered, "What better, what better?" Bounding, he came towards the group, his jaws open so they could see rows of sharp teeth in that half-lupine muzzle. He laughed wildly. "Triumph! My world, mine, they will give it to me, and all for these nasty people, who are destroying my beautiful orbs! See, everyone! Victory is mine!"

He shoved his muzzle almost directly into Callas' face. She struggled not to flinch. "Do I know you? Do I? You look like someone. That pesky Headmistress everyone's so interested in! That's who you look like. And you!" He grimaced and sniffed at Galvin. "I do know you. I know your blood. I know--wait. What are you doing off the wall? JAENUS!"

Callas swore. He would be right in front of me when he decided something was wrong. She yelled, "Down!" and without seeing if Galvin had obeyed her order, dropped to one knee, Tuck's staff sliding through her hands as she shifted her grip and swept it through the space in front of her, knocking the werewolf's legs out from under him.

Malik, not expecting her to attack him, looked a bit confused as he landed on his back, rolling away from the priestess. His recovery was swift as he bounced to his feet and came after her, clawed hands reaching for her throat.

Dear goddess, let the others succeed! she prayed as she blocked and dodged Malik's blows. Even simply trying to fend him off, she was soon sporting a number of cuts, coming altogether too close several times to those snapping jaws. He outmatched her neatly, and she knew if she stayed standing another minute, it would be counted a miracle. He was simply too strong--

At that thought, her foot slipped on a rock she hadn't expected to be there and she went down, her left leg folding painfully underneath of her. She raised her arms, the staff in her hands the only thing that saved her when Malik, knowing his prey was entirely vulnerable, threw himself on her.

She strained to hold his heavy form away from her, his breath hot on her face. For a single instant, green eyes and amber locked on each other, Callas' filled with fear and Malik's with mad triumph. She could feel him gathering himself once more, raking her arm with the claws on one hand and reaching for her throat with his jaws.

Callas' mind stilled. I am going to die. Just those simple words, echoing in her head. Everything seemed to be happening very slowly. Everything in the world was distilled down into this one moment, the pain in her arm where Malik's claws had cut deeply, the musky smell of the werewolf who was trying to kill her. Surprisingly, she didn't find the scent particularly unpleasant. Oh, the things that cross my mind sometimes.

From somewhere far away there was a scream of rage.

And time began to flow quickly once more.

She jerked to the side and Malik's jaws missed her neck by about an inch. Before she could think of a way to get him off of her, another body, moving at great speed, slammed into Malik, carrying him tumbling away from her. Callas scrambled to her feet, using Tuck's staff to prop herself up. The din of battle raged around her, howls and screams and, yes, that was an explosion, Arnie was around somewhere. For the moment, her attention was focused on Malik, who was suddenly having problems moving both of his legs. The werewolf struggling with him was familiar, but there was no time to wonder who it was. What was important was distracting Malik, at least until Gavião and Jaenus had a chance to kill the last remaining of his limbs. She took three long strides, sweeping her staff through space, thinking that at least a smack on the head would get his attention, and then whoever was struggling with him and she could work on him together.

But just as the butt of the staff came singing through the air towards Malik's head, he rolled away from her, trying to get on top of his opponent. Before Callas could change the trajectory of her blow, or even soften it a little, the head of his opponent intersected with her staff with the crunch of crushed bone.

The werewolf she'd hit convulsed, all of the muscles in her body locking at once, and her back arched, her arms splaying out to the side. She fell to one side, hitting the ground with a limp thud that told her that the werewolf was dead.

Callas braced herself for Malik to rise, but it didn't happen. Slowly, her uncomprehending eyes began to understand what it meant that Malik was on his back, staring at the sky, a trickle of blood coming from his open mouth.

He was dead.

Callas nearly dropped her staff. What have I done, dear goddess, what have I done-- She knelt by the dead werewolf who had saved her life and who she'd killed scant seconds later. She took her shoulder and rolled the wolf over, looking at the muzzle--it could only be one of two werewolves--

The muzzle was solid black. It was Eresse.

She stayed kneeling, staring at Eresse's sightless eyes, the blood that had trickled from her nostrils and her ears joining the frozen mud and snow of the battlefield. She realized that the sounds of battle had mostly stilled, except for moans from what, by the sound, were badly injured werewolves. She felt a presence by her shoulder and looked up, into the eyes of Jaenus.

Fear swept over Callas. She had just killed the alpha's daughter. For the second time that day, she thought, I am going to die. Not some day, right now.

Jaenus spent a long time looking at Callas, finally transferring her gaze to her daughter's body. Then she nodded, and held out a hand to Callas. "You did what needed to be done. Eresse chose her death the day she chose Malik as a mate. I will remember this, priestess." Her voice held neither promise nor threat. It was a simple statement of fact.

Callas took the werewolf's hand and was pulled to her feet. She looked around; Gavião was cleaning his sword on the fur of a fallen werewolf. He straightened and said, "Didn't I tell you to stay out of the fight?"

"I didn't exactly have a choice! How are we?"

"A bit raggedy, but we'll patch up. Riyor's the worst off, I think Luck wasn't looking his way today." The elf was sitting on the ground, his face pale, cradling an obviously broken arm in his lap.

"Well, it'll be tomorrow before I have any more healing, so I'll have to set that and wait for the morning." She turned and saw that Galvin was standing behind her. "At least you had the sense to follow orders, even if I didn't."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "Even if my heart did almost stop, seeing Malik go for your throat. But there wasn't..." He looked away.

She snorted. "You just got finished being tortured for two weeks. I'm just glad he went for me, not you. Let me look at Riyor's arm, and we can be off."

Jaenus said, "Stay with us tonight. We should speak of strategy. And burn our dead."

Callas nodded. "Thank you for the offer. We will accept, gratefully."

A few hours later, they were taking advantage of a relatively mild night to build bonfires on the beach. Some of the werewolves were in their full-human form, but most were in hybrid or full-wolf form, fur protecting them from the cold beyond the line of fires. Arnie was entertaining a group of what appeared to be adolescents, playing with shapes of fire. The rest were watching, amused.

A tall woman approached them. The firelight softened weather-beaten features and cast deep shadows behind her. She was wearing a simple tunic and skirt, both of a deep indigo. She stood before them and inclined her head. "Gentlemen, lady. Tonight, we celebrate freedom from a mad ambition. Thank you for fighting with us today."

Gavião met her eyes and smiled. "Jaenus. You're welcome. Will you sit with us for a while?"

"I have duties, but they can spare me for a little." She sat on the sand next to them, crossing her legs and sinking to the sand as gracefully as a woman half her age. "So, I'm curious. Who are you? I know the Headmistress and her Second here, but that doesn't answer what the head of a Temple is doing wandering around the countryside rescuing priests in distress."

Callas shrugged. "We're doing what we have to do to combat the plague. Doing that requires stopping Morgan. In this case.. Galvin is my friend. When I knew he was being tortured, I couldn't stay away with anything like a clear conscience. As for who we are...Gavião is my Knight Protector. The rest are friends who travel with us."

She nodded. "So what is your plan? Do you have tactics for defeating Morgan?"

Gavião ran his hand through his hair. "We don't have enough information yet. We have a goal, and as we learn more, we're making tentative plans. But we don't have any overall sense of what those we are fighting are doing."

"From what I've read of Malik's papers, you're running out of time. They're almost finished, and you're only starting."

Callas made a sour face. "I was afraid of that. What do you know, Jaenus? Any information might be valuable, now."

"His papers are not that enlightening. They always use initials to refer to people on the council, and they write in the code of common knowledge, which is difficult to break. But I will tell you what I know. The last message received refers to the god Airmid, who always appears in his mortal form in the three days before the solstice. Someone they call T has been assigned to go and kill him. They didn't say, but since the solstice is only three days away, it'll be soon."

"Airmid is...anyone remember what Airmid's spheres are?" Riyor asked. He moved restlessly, his arm obviously hurting but unwilling to complain about it.

"You were sleeping during religions class, weren't you? Airmid's the god of the dead. Necromancy, resurrection, the disposition of souls after death all belong to him." Callas was leaning on Galvin, staring into the fire. Her voice was exhausted, and she seemed to only be staying awake through an effort of will.

Riyor frowned. "Isn't Morrigan the goddess of death? Wouldn't they overlap?"

She shrugged. "They do, a little. Morrigan's in charge of ending lives. She's Atropos, the ender of all things, the cutter of the thread. Airmid's in charge of what happens after death, and bringing the dead back into life when they're called."

"Sounds...unpleasant."

"They're less so than you might think. I've met a few of them. Most of them seem to operate on the principle that the dead should stay dead, and so they come down hard on people who create undead creatures. In Provence, at least, their clerics would always investigate murders. They have special techniques for asking questions of the dead that make the spells we can cast look like toys. I'm sure there are those who use their power to hurt people, but there are those in every Temple. Even Epona, even Aine."

"No wonder I fell asleep. This sort of thing sounds overly complicated."

She snorted softly. "Says the person who effortlessly keeps track of elven politics. Is there anything else we should know, Jaenus?"

The werewolf folded her hands in her lap. "Not much. You and your cohort are mentioned in a few of the messages. Galvin, here, was to be used to draw you into a trap. There's something going on in Ireland, something about a warrior who took out a Morrigan temple. They do seem to be aligned, somehow, with Morrigan."

Gavião replied, "It makes a sort of sense. If you're out to kill gods, having the goddess of death as your ally would be a good thing."

Galvin frowned. "But that--once they finish with all of the rest of the gods, they're going to kill her, as well. What stops them, then?"

"Perhaps the goddess of death has a weapon she's not telling anyone about. From what I know about Morrigan, she would never enter an alliance that she didn't think she could get the best of."

Jaenus looked at Callas. "Does your Temple have some sort of a ceremony happening on the solstice?"

"The initiation ceremonies. We hold them every six months, to graduate trainees who have passed their tests to novices. Why?"

"The one identified in the letters as A wanted Malik's help to interrupt some sort of Epona ceremony on the solstice. Bring the Second, he said, he will be useful leverage. He didn't say why."

"Any ideas who A is?"

"I think it is the one who visited only once, who smelled of thin air and cold mountains. I do not know what his name was. I was not allowed to listen to their conversation."

"You said you thought he might be a dragon. Cold and thin air, that sounds like a white dragon. And A...damn. There's something there. Why can't I remember?"

Gaius looked up from where he had been repairing a strap on his armor by firelight. "Arumaga. The white-haired elf said that Arumaga was an ancient white dragon."

"Yes! That's it. And they said he was more intelligent than most of his kind. So what does he want with an initiate ceremony, of all things?"

Shrugs all around. None of them offered any explanations. The group lapsed into silence, listening to the crackle of the fires and far-off howls. A brindled wolf trotted by the fire, stopping and giving Jaenus a long look, and then disappeared into the darkness beyond the firelight. Jaenus stretched and stood, brushing herself off. "I must go. Rest tonight, I'll see you off in the morning."

Callas stood, as well. "Could I have a word, Jaenus?"

"Come with me, priestess. I need to walk down the beach a ways."

They moved out of the range of the firelight, the muted crash and hiss of the waves to their right filling in the silence between them. Callas finally spoke, clearing her throat a little. "Jaenus. I am sorry, about Eresse."

The statement hung between them as they kept walking. The werewolf's voice was tightly controlled when she replied, at last. "You are very young, priestess. Eresse was my daughter, but she was also in my command. I knew that she might die in battle. It is a hard world for us, and we can't afford to be sentimental. But when I knew killing her would kill Malik, I hesitated. I could not raise my hand against her. You did what I could not, priestess. I am--grateful."

She stopped then, and turned to face Callas. "But she was also my daughter. Forgive me if I hate you, priestess who has the blood of my kin on her hands."

So many words crowded Callas' throat, and none of them were the right ones. To tell Jaenus that Eresse's death had been an accident would somehow cheapen it. She'd already said she was sorry. What could you say, to someone whose daughter you'd killed? "I expected you would hate me. I expected you would kill me when you saw what I'd done. And none would fault you for it."

The older woman looked down. In the dim light Callas could see, suddenly, the lupine quality of even her human form. "It's done, and you still live. Don't push me, priestess. Not tonight. I'll see you in the morning." She strode down the beach, away from Callas.

She stared after Jaenus' retreating form for several minutes after she was swallowed by the darkness. Then she turned and walked back towards the fire, tucking her hands into her sleeves to try and protect them from the cold that was creeping into her bones.

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