Page 51 of Wolf Duke

“Aye, my king. One question. Are we taking prisoners for an exchange?”

“No. We will rescue the queen and Mistress Blanche, then execute every single traitor and every single enemy who dared encroach on my lands. For the West!”

“For the West!” the wolf snarled, before bounding away.

“My king,” said Wesley urgently. “Can we advance on the stable yet?”

“Hold,” said Alaric. “Let me see if I can link with the queen again to get further information.”

Then he closed his eyes. “Evie. Can you hear me? We are nearby, just atop a rise. I have called every guard and warrior available. They are amassing as we speak. But I need to know where you are in the stable. How many there are to kill.”

For an endless moment he heard nothing whatsoever and sheer terror clawed his soul. Then her voice came through. “There is a small window to my left, none other on that wall. Blanche and I are chained back to back, but our hands are in front of us, so we cannot assist each other. There only seems to be four here: Larkin, Silas, and two guards. The guards are dressed in Beaumont livery, so be wary. I understand that Larkin wishes us to burn and Silas wishes to shoot us with the crossbow if we attempt to flee. I am itching to fashion a girdle of their entrails. Larkin is having trouble with the flint. His flame keeps extinguishing, even though there is no wind or rain. Perhaps Leto watches over us.”

Alaric almost smiled. Evaine could be sweet and submissive, bold and mischievous, but he did rather enjoy her bloodthirsty streak. When this was over, she could fashion all the entrail girdles she wished. Leto willing, Guy Saville’s would be one of them. “I am sure the Blessed Goddess is watching. Tell Blanche that Wesley and I are approaching.”

“He’s not hurt? The note we received said otherwise. Or was that just Larkin?”

“Just Larkin. Wesley is ready to spill blood. We are riding now.”

Alaric then turned to his squire. “There are but four: Larkin, Silas, and two guards in Beaumont livery. I don’t want any others to accompany us; it may cause confusion with the clothing. Is your bow and arrow ready?”

Wesley inclined his head, tapping the bow and gesturing to the nearly full quiver of arrows on his back. “Ever ready, my king.”

“Our attack must be swift and deadly. The queen and your mother are chained together near the wall with one window and have had pitch poured around them.”

Wesley growled. “No prisoners.”

“None,” replied Alaric, unsheathing his sword. “Let us ride.”

They cantered toward the stable. As soon as they were close, one of the guards ran at them, brandishing his sword. Wesley felled him with an arrow to the chest. The other guard attempted to flee on foot, but Alaric rode him down, slashing his sword in an upward cut that severed the guard’s spine.

Four had become two.

As they continued on around the side of the stable, flames were already flickering and smoke was starting to rise—Larkin was running with a lit torch, touching it to the wood to help the blaze along. Just as Alaric was about to dismember his former chamberlain, Wesley yelled “Look out!”

Alaric veered away, but the bolt aimed at his heart from Silas’s crossbow still gouged his left arm and the burning kiss of the deadly silver made him hiss in pain. Yet now, for a short while at least, the soothsayer was unarmed. “Wesley! Free the queen and your mother. I’ll tend to these two.”

His squire leaped from his horse and dashed into the stable. After rendering Larkin unconscious, Alaric circled Silas. The soothsayer swiftly withdrew a small bag of blue powder, tossing the contents about and chanting.

“Too late for that,” snarled Alaric, one downward cut leaving the other wolf without his left hand.

“L-Leto will save me,” said Silas, his face paling as his blood spurted. Then he sank to his knees. “If I’d helped Theda when she fell, you would never have met Evaine. I did you a great service!”

“Monster,” said Alaric, resting his blade against the soothsayer’s neck.

“You cannot stop this. King Cyrus was weak and you are weaker, always choosing treaties over battles. Accepting a human dukedom instead of waging war! That is why your line must end. Why King Guy will take the Western throne—”

The sound seemed to hang in the air as Silas’ head fell to the ground with a thud, his lips forever frozen.

Sheathing his sword, Alaric then slid from his horse and sprinted toward the burning stable. “Evaine. Evaine!”

The spit and crackle of flame devouring wood assaulted her ears, smoke was stinging her eyes, but by far the worst part of being trapped in a burning stable was the rising heat.

Evaine gritted her teeth, wanting to scream in pure rage. Her first task would be killing Larkin. After that, anyone who got in her way. Poor Wesley was trying his very best to break the lock linking the chains, but he wasn’t quite strong enough.

Then she heard her mate’s voice, not in her head, but at the stable entrance.

“Evaine? Evaine!”