“So now we’re looking for a whole pack of lycanthropes hiding out in the woods. How big did you say this forest was, again?”
Greddark frowned as he said it, glaring at a tree branch that had scratched his cheek while he was trying to duck under another.
“The Burnt Wood stretches from Angwar Keep to Shadukar, and from Olath nearly to the mouth of the Thrane River,” Andri replied. It was the first thing he’d said since last night’s revelations. If you didn’t count the Nine Miracles of the Silver Flame-the long version. Three times. Irulan had finally relieved Greddark of his watch early, since there was no way she was going to get any sleep with the paladin’s incessant praying.
“That’s what, nearly a hundred miles? And probably half that across? So, basically, five thousand square miles,” the dwarf said, figuring the area in his head. “And we’re supposed to find a pack of werewolves in here-a pack which, presumably, doesn’t want to be found?” He barked out a short laugh. “I’d say that’s like looking for a specific blade of grass on the Talenta Plains, but I think I’d prefer those odds.”
Irulan thought she might have a way to improve Greddark’s odds, but they weren’t deep enough into the forest yet. She led them further in, following a faint game trail, her mare for once tractable and easy to handle. Perhaps the animal sensed Irulan’s relief at being back underneath a green canopy, sunlight dappling her path and birdsong guiding her steps. She was only ever truly comfortable in the wild, which was why she stayed away from Aruldusk-and Javi-so often. The thought brought a familiar twinge of guilt. Perhaps if she’d made the effort to stick around more, Javi would not now be pacing a five by five cell, unable even to see the open sky she loved so much.
Or perhaps, she thought with more than a hint of annoyance, she’d been spending far too much time around Andri.
Returning her attention to the forest around her, Irulan let the reins go slack as she concentrated on the rhythms of life that pulsed all around her. She opened up her senses, accessing the animal instincts left to her by her lycanthropic forebears. Her sight and hearing sharpened, and her sense of smell became so acute that she winced when the wind shifted and she caught the scents of her companions and their mounts. The faintest hint of lavender still clung to Andri, but dirt and sweat predominated, producing a musky, masculine odor that made Irulan’s nose twitch. Greddark, on the other hand, just plain stank.
Beyond them, the fresh scents of spring flowers and new grass, the wet, earthy smell of moss, the too-sweet aroma of moldering leaves and decay. The buzz of insects, the muted scratch of animals burrowing underground, the hiss of scales on bark as a snake wound its way towards an unsuspecting squirrel.
There, in the hollow of that large oak, an owl slept, waiting for nightfall. A clearing, far to her right, held a doe and her fawn, lapping water from a sluggish creek. Over to her left, a mass of hollow rock that could only be a cave. Inside, a great bear, dozing after a meal of rich honey and tart berries.
And there, ahead. What she’d been searching for.
Wolves.
Five … no, six. Four males, two females. But big, too big for normal wolves, or even lycanthropes.
Dire wolves.
Hunting.
They hadn’t scented her small pack yet, but they would.
The only question was, would it be before or after they made their kill?
“Irulan? Are you well?”
Greddark’s voice snapped Irulan’s awareness back into her body, like a rope pulled too taut and abruptly released. She shook her head to clear it, and the slap of her braids against the side of her face sounded loud in her ears, a sharp and painful contrast to the sudden quiet. Only it wasn’t quiet, she knew-the same noises still hummed through the forest, but now that she’d severed the connection with her more animalistic senses, she was no more sensitive to them than a human. Or a dwarf, she mused, as she turned to see him dodging yet another wayward branch.
“I’m fine. Just trying to figure out the best path to our destination.”
Greddark cocked one bushy brow at her. “Our destination? You almost make it sound as if you know where we’re going.”
She smiled at him, baring her teeth. “No, but I know who might.”
“You want to do what?”
Irulan sighed. For an inquisitive, Greddark was pretty slow on the uptake.
“Look,” she said. “They’re wolves, and territorial. They’ll know where any other pack is lairing, including the werewolves. It shouldn’t be too-”
“Dire wolves, didn’t you say? About as big as my horse? Six of them? On the hunt?” Greddark turned to Andri. “She’s lost her mind.”
The paladin just shrugged. He’d been withdrawn and taciturn all morning. As irritating as his fervent prayers had been, his silence bother Irulan even more. She knew the memories he’d dredged up the night before still plagued him, and his pain was palpable.
All the more reason for them to go after the wolves-or, rather, have the wolves come after them. A fight would do the paladin good.
“I’m not crazy. They’ll think we’re easy prey-”
“And they won’t be wrong,” Greddark muttered, but she ignored him.
“-and try to attack. We defeat their pack leaders, and they’ll have no choice but to help us.”
“Pack leaders? As in, more than one?”
Honestly. Had he never been out of the city?
“Two. The dominant male and female. Usually the parents of the other wolves.”
“And what if we can’t defeat them? They lead the pack because they’re the biggest, strongest, and fiercest of the lot. If the rest of the pack can’t beat them, what makes you think we can?”
“Simple. We’re smarter and better armed.”
“Better armed, anyway,” the dwarf grunted, pulling his short sword from its scabbard.
“That’s not what I meant,” Irulan said. “If we want the pack’s cooperation, we can’t kill the leaders outright. We have to challenge them. Though, if they’re not a mated pair, we may only have to deal with the male.” She flexed her fingers in anticipation of shifting. She wouldn’t mind a good fight, herself.
“Challenge?” Greddark repeated, looking at her in frank amazement. “You mean, wolf to wolf?”
He’d no doubt meant the phrase to be disparaging, but Irulan chose to ignore it. She wasn’t so much of a hypocrite that she wouldn’t utilize the abilities inherent in her bloodline when it was to her benefit, regardless of how much she detested the source of that advantage.
“Something like that, yes.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
She shrugged, an unconscious parody of Andri’s earlier gesture.
“Then I’ll use magic.”
The dwarf didn’t even try to mask his disbelief. He grabbed at his beard, which wasn’t nearly long enough for such abuse, then shifted to his hair, tugging on lanky strands in sheer frustration. Irulan would have thought it comical, if that frustration weren’t quickly morphing to anger-anger that was directed at her.
“Magic? You’re going to try and charm a dire wolf? When you can’t even control a Host-damned horse?”
Irulan felt her own patience slipping. There was no way they’d find the werewolves’ lair on their own. They had to have help, and it wasn’t as if they could summon up a House Tharashk Finder to locate the lycanthropes for them. Especially not when at least one of the werewolves had some sort of ward powerful enough to interfere with both dragonmark abilities and magical means of scrying. The wolves were their only option.