Unstable

Tik.

Tik.

Tak.

he tiny iron hook had worked loose from one of the stable posts, and Rikaard had decided that such rebellion would not be tolerated.

Tik.

Tik.

He stood with one boot braced against the lower rail, hammer in hand, tapping the nail steadily back into the old wood. Between each measured strike he hummed beneath his breath, carrying half a tune and inventing the rest whenever memory abandoned him.

Outside, Caerhaven lay beneath a warm afternoon sun. Light spilled through the broad stable doors and stretched in golden bands across the floor, catching dust and drifting strands of hay before they settled again. Beyond the yard came the easy sounds of the city at peace: cart wheels rattling over stone, merchants calling somewhere along the lower road, the faint ring of hammer against iron from the smithies beyond the square. High above the roofs, the green banners upon Caerhaven’s walls hung almost motionless in the mild air.

Aphton Syn’ard leaned against the neighboring stall, her spear resting within reach against the rail. Her golden hair hung loose about her shoulders, tucked behind the long, swept-back points of her elven ears and freed from whatever tie had held it through the morning watch. The hard lines of duty had softened from her face beneath the warmth of the sun.

“You know,” she said, watching Rikaard strike the nail again, “I believe it was secure three blows ago.”

Rikaard stopped humming and gave the hook a suspicious look.

“Wasn’t.”

“Then how do you know?”

Tak.

“Experience.”

Aphton smiled.

From beneath a bench nearby came a long, exhausted sigh. Newcastle lay stretched in the shade, his great head resting across his forepaws.

Rikaard glanced down at him. “See? Newcastle agrees with me.”

“Newcastle is asleep.”

“Exactly. Complete confidence.”

One of Newcastle’s eyes opened.

Rikaard pointed at him with the hammer. “Sleep.”

The eye slowly closed again, and Aphton shook her head.

The stable breathed around them in the warm afternoon. Three horses occupied the stalls nearest the doors, while deeper within two bramblehorns shared their hay with considerably less generosity. A pair of cows rested behind a low partition, tails twitching lazily against the flies.

Farther in, a korlak sprawled across a warm patch of stone, broad head between its clawed forefeet and muscular tail curved behind it. Its heavy saddle rested nearby, built low and wide across a back never meant for horse tack.

Near the rear gate slept Newcastle’s brother and sister: one white and silver, the other black and massive through the shoulders and marked by old scars. The black one had curled himself against the fence into little more than a heap of paws and fur. The white and silver had buried her shorter nose beneath a drift of straw and was investigating whatever lay beneath it with solemn dedication.

Rikaard gave the repaired hook a hard tug.

It held.

“There.”

Aphton regarded it with suitable gravity. “Truly, a triumph.”

“People’ll write songs.”

Rikaard hung the coiled leather whip back upon the hook and crossed to one of the stalls near the entrance. A chestnut mare lifted her head before he reached her.

“Hey, there’s my girl.”

Lilly stepped forward, ears turning toward him.

Rikaard reached into the feed bin and offered her a small handful. She gathered it gently from his palm, warm breath brushing his fingers while he stroked the white mark along her face.

Aphton watched from the rail. “So how old is Newcastle?”

“Don’t know,” Rikaard said, still feeding Lilly. “Met him in the mountains years ago. Could be two, could be two hundred. Direwolves are different that way.”

He gave Lilly one last pat along the neck before turning toward the armored elf. “You have a pet? Or do Emerald Guards go home with their steeds?”

“I have a dog.” Aphton smiled.

“What’s its name?”

She shook her head, already laughing.

“Don’t ask.” Her eyes wandered toward the other animals resting throughout the stable. “The name is not as ferocious as Sicklerock or as noble as Newcastle.”

Rikaard considered this. “Can’t be that bad. What would an elf name a—”

“...Cheddar.”

Rikaard stared at her.

The silence lasted just long enough. The elf snatched a small stone from beside the rail and threw it at him.

Rikaard ducked, laughing, and Aphton joined him.

A horse shifted in the neighboring stall. One of the bramblehorns tore loose another mouthful of hay with a dry rustle. Somewhere beyond the stable yard came a burst of laughter from the street, followed by the fading clatter of a wagon making its way toward the southern road.

Lilly nosed Rikaard’s empty hand. He looked at her.

She nudged him again.

Aphton laughed softly. “Oh, now that’s greed.”

Rikaard sighed, reached once more into the feed bin, and surrendered another handful.

“All right, all right. Don’t tell Lunara.” The chestnut mare ate contentedly from his palm as the afternoon sun warmed the stable doors and Caerhaven carried on beyond them.

Somewhere beyond the stable yard, a shout rose above the murmur of the city.

Rikaard stopped. Aphton turned her head.

Another voice answered farther off, too distant for either of them to catch the words, and then came the quickening clatter of hooves upon stone. The sound grew swiftly, hard and urgent against the slower rhythm of the streets, until two riders in the green of the Emerald Guard swept into view beyond the open stable doors.

Their horses were running hard. One rider leaned low over the neck of his mount while the other twisted in the saddle.

“Get the Black Guard!”

They thundered past.

Hooves struck sparks from the road. Green cloaks snapped in their wake, and within moments both riders had vanished beyond the neighboring buildings. Dust rolled briefly behind them before settling through the sunlight.

Neither Rikaard nor Aphton spoke.

Aphton took up her spear and straightened from the rail.

Rikaard stepped nearer the doorway and listened. The city had not fallen silent. Wagons still rolled somewhere beyond the yard. A merchant called from the street. Farther off, voices rose briefly, then faded again into the ordinary noise of the afternoon.

“Could be the gate,” Rikaard said.

“Maybe.” Aphton kept her eyes upon the road. “They don’t call for the Black Guard unless...”

Rikaard waited, but nothing followed. No bells. No shouting nearer at hand.

“Sounds like they’ve got it.”

Aphton watched the empty road a moment longer before lowering the spear. “I suppose.”

Rikaard turned back toward the stalls. “So. You were trying to hurt me with rocks.”

“I could switch to this spear if you’d like.”

The stablekeeper began humming again.

Newcastle’s eyes opened.

Not lazily this time.

His head lifted from his paws, ears turning toward the deeper stalls. For several seconds he merely listened. Then the great direwolf rose beneath the bench in one smooth movement and stepped clear of it, every line of his body suddenly rigid.

The humming stopped.

“...Cass?”

The direwolf did not look at him. His eyes remained fixed toward the rear of the stable, and the thick fur along his shoulders had begun to rise.

Aphton was off the rail before Rikaard moved, spear already in her hand.

The beastmaster knew Newcastle too well to answer lightly. A deep sound had begun somewhere within the direwolf’s chest, scarcely loud enough to call a growl, but steady.

One of the horses near the doors stopped chewing.

Hay remained between its lips.

Farther within, one of the bramblehorns slowly raised its head while the other stood with its horns resting against the rails as though it had forgotten why it had pressed them there. The korlak’s heavy tail struck the stone once, then again.

“Rik.”

“I see it.”

Behind the low partition, one of the cows hauled itself upright. For a moment it merely stood there with its head hanging before turning toward them.

A black tear slipped from the corner of its eye.

Another appeared beneath the opposite one.

The horse nearest the door screamed.

It hurled itself against the stall hard enough to shake the rail. Another kicked backward, splintering a plank behind it, and the bramblehorn nearest the hay drove its horns into the dividing wall with a crack that sent dust drifting from the beams.

Newcastle’s body surged outward in a rush of fur and muscle, shoulders rising until the direwolf stood nearly doubled in size. His paws struck the stable floor heavier than before, claws digging into the stone.

The korlak rose, belly low, thick legs spread beneath it while its great tail swept outward for balance. For an instant the creature seemed merely heavy and confused.

Then its head snapped toward them, black tears crossing the scales beneath its eyes.

The first stall door tore free.

Aphton moved before Rikaard understood it had happened. One hand caught the back of his coat and wrenched him bodily aside as the horse burst through, splintered wood scattering where he had stood.

“Back!”

Rikaard nearly lost his feet, recovered against the neighboring rail, and watched Aphton step toward the animal rather than away. She lowered the spear across her body, presenting the shaft instead of the point, and slipped aside when the horse lunged. Wood struck high along its neck and turned the charge past her.

A violent hiss came from deeper within.

The korlak had flattened itself almost against the floor, claws opening against the stone while its long tail drew slowly around behind it.

Newcastle barked.

Rikaard turned. The direwolf was staring at his brother and sister.

Both had risen near the rear gate, whatever sleep or play had occupied them gone. Black drool hung from their jaws. The black direwolf backed against the fence, ears flattened to his skull, while the white stood several paces ahead of him, staring directly across the stable at Newcastle.

Newcastle took one step forward.

His brothers fled.

The black one cleared the rear rail in a single bound, the white almost on top of him before she landed. Together they tore across the yard and vanished between the outer buildings toward the hills beyond the walls.

Behind Rikaard, another stall shattered.

A horse broke loose as one of the bramblehorns smashed through the neighboring rail, sending hay and splintered timber across the floor. One of the cows burst from its partition at the same moment.

The korlak’s tail snapped hard in the opposite direction, wrenching its enormous body through a turn far faster than its weight should have allowed. It launched low across the stone and closed its jaws around the cow’s neck. The second cow crashed blindly into both as the first disappeared beneath it.

“Down!”

Rikaard obeyed without asking. Aphton’s spear passed over his shoulder and struck the charging horse across the jaw with the butt of the weapon, turning its head just enough to carry it past him.

A loose rein lashed across Rikaard’s hand.

He caught it.

“Easy!”

The word came automatically. He had spent too many years using it for frightened animals to stop now.

The stallion reared. Leather tightened around his forearm and hauled him forward as he planted both heels and tried to turn the horse’s head the way he would have with any terrified mount.

Then he saw the black tears above its new blackened fangs.

“Shit. Right. Forgot that part.”

Newcastle struck it from the side, spoiling its footing long enough for Rikaard to tear the rein free.

The stable vanished into noise and flying hay. Hooves hammered stone. Horns tore through rails. Somewhere in the wreckage an animal gave a short, terrible cry and fell silent.

Rikaard knew the sounds of this place. He knew horses frightened by thunder, bramblehorns angry over feed, cows bawling from discomfort. None of those sounds belonged to what filled the stable now.

Aphton slipped beneath a sweeping horn and drove the haft of her spear into another animal’s path, turning it away from the open doors.

Rikaard kicked a feed bucket beneath a charging horse and sent it skidding sideways. A loose blanket came free in his hand; he snapped it across another animal’s eyes long enough to spoil its rush.

Then he saw the repaired hook.

His hand found the leather whip where he had left it and tore it free.

Newcastle backed toward them, hackles raised, gaze shifting among every movement in the stable. A sharp bark made Rikaard duck before he even saw the horn sweeping behind him. It passed over his shoulder.

“Atta boy!”

They drew together amid the wreckage. Aphton stood foremost, spear balanced in both hands, point low and ready. Rikaard remained a pace behind her with the whip hanging loose beside his leg. Newcastle planted himself between them, shoulders lowered and teeth bared.

Across the drifting hay and shattered timber, the remaining animals turned toward them.

Black tar smeared their faces.

Aphton spun the spear once to her side. “We are done with this.”

The horse came first.

The elf waited until it had committed itself, then stepped from its path and drove the spear beneath the shoulder with both hands. The force of the charge nearly tore the weapon from her grip. The horse staggered past and struck the remains of a stall hard enough to shatter another rail before collapsing upon its side, legs still running uselessly against the floor.

The Emerald Guard tore the spear free. When the horse tried to raise its head, she drove the point down behind the skull.

The legs stopped.

A bramblehorn came through the haze before she could wrench the weapon loose again, its horns catching Newcastle across the shoulder and hurling him hard against the stone.

“Castle!”

Rikaard snapped the whip across the bramblehorn’s face. The beast hardly flinched. It turned toward him instead, black tracks beneath its eyes and blood already darkening one horn.

He knew this one. He had fed it. Had watched it shove its brother away from the better hay that same afternoon.

Now it lowered its head and charged him.

The stablekeeper threw himself behind a stall post at the last instant. The bramblehorn struck the timber full on, one horn punching through the old wood and lodging deep. The animal thrashed, wrenching its skull from side to side as the post split around it.

Aphton reached it first. Her spear went in behind the foreleg and vanished nearly to the socket. The bramblehorn screamed and tore itself free, dragging the weapon with it, but blood was already pouring beneath its chest.

Rikaard caught the shaft as it staggered past. The ram jerked him forward, but Aphton seized the haft beside his hands and drove.

The spear punched deeper. The bramblehorn folded beneath them, horns striking stone with a hollow crack. One breath left it, then another, weaker than the first.

Nothing followed.

Behind them Newcastle growled, low and ragged.

Across the ruined stable, the korlak stood among the cows. One lay twisted beneath the collapsed partition. The other had fallen nearer the wall, its hind legs still twitching weakly against the floor.

Black blood coated the korlak’s jaws and stretched in dark strands between its teeth when it opened its mouth. Its tail moved slowly behind it.

Not thrashing.

Balancing.

Rikaard knew that movement now.

“Hey... Aphton?”

She was already turning.

The korlak dropped low enough that its belly nearly brushed the stone. Its tail snapped in the opposite direction, and the beast came around with terrifying speed. One moment it crouched beyond the dead cows. The next it was galloping, its jaws opening in front of Rikaard.

He threw himself sideways. A claw caught his coat and ripped through cloth, leather, and flesh beneath. Rikaard struck the floor hard and rolled beneath the broken edge of a stall as the korlak followed him down.

Its jaws snapped shut inches from his face.

Blood and the hot stink of its breath filled his nose.

He kicked at its muzzle. The korlak shoved forward, forcing him backward until his shoulders struck the wall.

“Sel’var, thalaen draeth!”

Aphton came from the side, spear driving toward its ribs. The point glanced from the heavy scales, and the korlak turned so violently that its tail caught her across the middle.

She left the ground and crashed through the opposite rail.

The impact tore the breath from her. When she tried to rise, one arm closed instinctively across her ribs and she dropped back to a knee, fighting for air. Her spear lay several feet away.

The korlak whirled toward Rikaard again. His whip lay beyond his reach. Newcastle struggled upright behind it, but the foreleg beneath his injured shoulder folded and sent him down again.

Blood dripped from the korlak’s mouth, striking the stone between them in slow, heavy drops. Its tail shifted.

Rikaard pressed himself against the wall.

The korlak lunged.

Something hit it from the side.

Its jaws snapped shut on empty air as the impact drove its head away from Rikaard. For one bewildered instant he saw only chestnut hide, a white mark down a familiar face, hooves skidding through bloody straw.

“...Lilly?”

The mare struck the korlak again.

The beast twisted. Its jaws closed around her.

Lilly screamed.

The korlak wrenched its head sideways and threw her down. She struck the floor hard, legs folding beneath her, but still she tried to rise between the beast and Rikaard.

“No!”

Aphton was moving before the korlak completed the turn.

She came through the shattered rail bent slightly to one side, breath short and blood running from the corner of her mouth. One hand remained pressed against her ribs until the last instant. Then she snatched up the fallen spear and drove it into the korlak’s throat.

The point punched through scale and flesh. The beast reared, wrenching the weapon sideways. Pain folded Aphton for half a step, but she kept both hands upon the shaft and tore the wound wider beneath its jaw.

Still the korlak came for her.

Newcastle caught it behind the skull. Unable to drive through on his injured shoulder, he clamped his jaws into the thick flesh at the base of its neck and hung there, three paws furrowing the bloody straw while the beast thrashed against him.

Rikaard lunged for the whip and looped the leather around one foreleg as the korlak tried to turn toward Newcastle.

The foot slipped.

Aphton saw the moment and moved.

One step carried her onto the fallen rail. The old timber shifted beneath her boot and nearly rolled. Her injured side buckled, forcing her hand briefly against the post before the korlak surged upward beneath her.

She used the motion.

Her second step struck its shoulder rather than landing cleanly, and for an instant she pitched sideways as the beast twisted beneath her. She caught herself against its neck, drove one boot down for purchase, and let the korlak’s own upward heave throw her just high enough.

Its jaws snapped after her.

Aphton twisted above them, awkward rather than graceful now, golden hair whipping across her face as she reversed both hands upon the spear.

“Veth’ra!”

She came down hard astride the base of its neck and drove the spear straight through its open mouth.

The weapon sank to the haft.

The korlak convulsed beneath her. Its tail smashed once against the stone as the great body rolled. Aphton tore one foot free, stumbled from its back, and hit the ground hard upon one knee. Her hand caught the bloody spear shaft a heartbeat before she would have gone over completely.

The korlak shuddered once and stopped.

Newcastle released his grip and dropped heavily beside it.

Nothing screamed anymore.

The direwolfs great frame slowly drew inward again, muscle and bone settling until he returned to his usual size. He remained standing on three legs, favoring the injured shoulder.

For a few seconds there was only Newcastle’s rough breathing, the soft creak of a broken rail settling beneath its own weight, and somewhere nearby the steady patter of blood upon stone.

Then Lilly made a small sound.

Rikaard dropped the whip and was beside her before he knew he had crossed the distance.

“Hey. Hey, girl...”

She lay upon her side in the straw. One foreleg moved weakly against the floor. Blood had spread beneath her chest and shoulder, darkening the hay around her.

Rikaard looked once.

That was enough.

He sank beside her and lifted her head carefully into his lap.

“There you are.”

His hands were shaking. He could still smell her feed upon them.

Aphton came toward them slowly, one arm still drawn tight across her ribs. She stopped when she saw Lilly, then lowered herself beside the mare with visible effort.

Rikaard stroked the white mark along Lilly’s face.

“You... saved me.”

Her breathing came shallow and uneven. Aphton cradled the mare’s face between her hands.

Lilly’s eyes were clear. Whatever had come into the stable, it had never taken her.

Rikaard lowered his forehead against hers.

For a while neither of them spoke.

Lilly’s ear moved faintly beneath his hand.

Aphton turned her face away and wiped at her cheek with the back of one bloody glove.

“Good girl,” she whispered.

Rikaard closed his eyes, fingers moving gently through Lilly’s mane.

“...good girl.”

Lilly breathed out.

Her body softened against him one last time.

Rikaard did not move.

Aphton remained beside them for a long while.

At some point she stopped trying to hide the tears. They ran freely now, cutting pale tracks through the dust and blood along her face as she rested one hand against Lilly’s neck. The mare’s coat was still warm beneath her palm.

The Emerald Guard drew a slow breath that caught beneath her injured ribs. She winced, pressed an arm against her side, and looked toward the open doors.

Somewhere beyond the stable men were shouting. A bell rang once, then again farther away. Hooves passed at speed along another street, followed by the faint cry of an order Rikaard could not make out.

Aphton wiped her face with the back of her glove.

“I have to go.”

Rikaard gave no answer.

She looked at him for a moment longer, then rested a hand upon his shoulder. His eyes remained on Lilly.

“I know.”

Aphton tried to rise and failed the first time. Rikaard finally stirred, easing Lilly’s head carefully from his lap before getting one foot beneath himself. He caught Aphton beneath the arm and helped her upright, though she leaned against him only long enough to find her balance.

She retrieved her spear from beside the dead korlak and turned toward him.

“Are you going to be all right?”

Rikaard looked across the ruined stable.

Broken rails. Bloodied straw. The animals he had fed only an hour before.

Then Lilly.

Aphton held his gaze for a moment, but did not press him.

Newcastle had managed to stand near the center of the stable, though he kept his weight from the injured foreleg. Blood darkened the fur across one shoulder. The elf crossed to him before leaving and lowered herself carefully beside him.

The direwolf dipped his great head.

She scratched slowly behind one ear. “You did good, boy.”

He stood quietly beneath her hand.

Aphton rose, gathered her spear, and made her way toward the doors. At the threshold she stopped and looked back once.

Then she was gone, the sound of her boots fading into the unrest beyond the yard.

Newcastle remained where she had left him for a moment before turning toward the rear fence. He limped across the stable and stopped beside the broken rail.

Beyond it lay the yard and the road leading outward from Caerhaven, toward the open country where his brothers had disappeared.

Newcastle stood there looking out.

Rikaard lowered his eyes to Lilly and brushed a piece of straw from her mane.

“Well,” he murmured.

The word went nowhere.

He sat beside her again, one knee drawn up, and rested an arm across it. For the first time since the fighting began, there was nothing left for him to do. No animal to redirect, no gate to close, no whip to reach for.

Just Lilly.

And Lunara.

Rikaard stared at the mare for a long time.

“I promised her, you know.”

His fingers moved slowly through Lilly’s mane.

“Promised you’d be safe.”

Rikaard swallowed.

“The hell am I gonna tell her when she gets back...”

Newcastle remained at the fence, watching the horizon.

Rikaard followed the direwolf’s gaze beyond the stable yard, past the walls of Caerhaven and toward the road the travelers had taken when they left the city.

His eyes lingered there, on the empty road.

“...Hope they’re doin' okay.”