Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 17

Gemma just watched her blustering, alert for the next attack. She watched the Louse spin as Adam dove toward her flank. Watched Penny land on her back, snapping an arm around her neck from behind, while Ada tore into her calf. Louise Faulk laughed, and with an impossible twisting move slung Ada into Adam, and looped herself out from Penny's headlock, raking a claw up toward her face. Nils caught the claw before it connected, and suddenly all four of Gemma's hunters were swirling around the former Alfamme, trying to land a blow.

Gemma was quivering, bouncing on the balls of her feet, needing to join in but held back by the stream of comments cutting through her head. Mac was swearing, promising he would stop guiding her damn hunters through this fight if she put even one toe forward. He had yielded over her doing her bit, pretending to be slow. Let them fight.

Her eyes crossed at the half-seen, half expected shape bounding towards them through the bleaching sunlight, nearly impossible to see. Lee.

Moments later, the Louse blenched as she spotted him, and turned and sprinted for the trees on the far side of the quarry.

All four of Gemma's hunters jumped her, delaying her, swirling in a vicious melee against a desperate fighter much more skilled than they. Ada was swung through the air at the end of the Louse's arm, her claws catching Adam before she shifted human and was released to whirl through the air. But the delay had been enough, and Lee pounced.

Gemma's heart was in her mouth as she watched this fight. Faintly, she realised she had a long way to go before Mac would have a proper struggle to subdue her to mate. But slowly, steadily, the Faulk was being immobilised. Limb by limb. Eventually, the couple stilled, panting, the Louse swearing steadily in a hoarse voice.

"I can't believe you would do this," she cursed the Alpha atop her. Lee glanced around at Penny.

Shortly afterwards, the six of them stood around the trussed female, five wincing at the stream of invective still shrieking in their heads.

Ada sighed "This is going to be a tedious journey. Can't we just kill her now?" she asked her Alfamme.

Gemma's head turned. They all watched as Adam walked forward, a grim look on his face. Slowly he knelt down next to the Louse's head. He leaned forward, whispered, "Hello, honey," and sank his forehead against her cheek.

Louise's mental curses cut off with a grunt of pain. Adam lifted a shaking claw and cut the band tying his cap under his chin. With a sigh, he carefully held the grimy piece of sweat-soaked cloth against the ex-Alfamme's skin while he sat back again, face pale. Ada strode forward, human, and pulled a roll of gaffer tape from her pocket.

Ten minutes later, Gemma, Penny, Ada and Adam stood in a line, facing the spot where Lee and Nils had just disappeared into the undergrowth, carrying their prisoner towards Moss Airfield. The four would have plenty of time to catch up, once they had hunted some food for them all. Adam pocketed the small piece of Argen that Nils had shorn off from the battered brim of the cap now worn by Louise Faulk. Just in case.

As one, the three females sank down among the grass stems, breathing out long sighs of pleasure as they relaxed in the weak sunshine.

Adam seated himself carefully on one of the boulders and began to massage his greasy scalp tiredly, his face creased in memories. Hurtful memories.

Gemma, watched, trying to hold back tears, searching for something to say, to mitigate the lines on her little brother's face, bring him back to the carefree boy she had known. "Your hair looks better long," she eventually gargled.

Adam looked up. Brown eyes met brown, and Gemma saw the shadow in the old eyes of her little brother. The swirl of black was banked in their depths, a wisp of pain, forlorn longing.

"I love you," she told him quietly.

They stared at each other.

Adam's brown eyes softened slightly, crinkling at the edges, the darkness receding. She could tell he couldn't quite work out what to reply; theirs wasn't a vocal family. Love was demonstrated, not stated. Gemma smiled a little sadly that she had never vocalised to her little brother before, it had never been necessary.

"Eww! Big sis!" Adam protested softly. A slow smile crossed both faces as they savoured memories, just looking at each other.

Then Gemma's eyebrows lifted as long, lean legs passed between brother and sister, cutting through that quiet, connective gaze, and Ada folded gracefully to sit cross-legged near Adam, not quite touching him.

Interesting.

Penny rolled to her feet. "Anyone else hungry?" she asked plaintively.

*

Gemma had an eerie feeling of déjà vu.

The audience chamber at Fort Amicable was little changed. The stained-glass window behind the council seating had been mended seamlessly, concealing where she and her mate had leapt through to their freedom, months earlier. The late afternoon sun falling through the ornate framework of glass cast a colder, sharper, light upon the row of powerful wolves now holding judgement, the white-blue of late winter. And the tiers of seating were even more packed than last time she had been here, every atom of space crammed with solemn, sickened and stridently vocal wolves. Everyone had a very passionate opinion it would seem. Everyone except the defendant.

The trial of Louise Faulk had taken half a day, the verdict unanimous, her deadwolf sentence carried out instantly.

The subsequent trial of Tor Mackeld seemed endless, long days stretching into weeks.

But now, all the arguments had been heard, all the hundreds of statements sifted. A restless unease simmered through the crowd awaiting Fealden's verdict. This was primarily a military trial, and the Senshal had conceded judgement to the old Wolflord.

The solitary bench down at the front was also unchanged. Mac had waited throughout the weeks of bitter argument, sitting quietly, his mind flitting between cold thoughts and frivolous memories. The Alpha had judged himself long before he had taken any of the actions that had been debated in this courtroom, and knew he was guilty of the charges: criminal endangerment - letting a werewolf run loose; desertion; and dereliction of duty. Theft and hijacking had been added later, when reluctantly, under cross-examination, Senshal Waring had admitted how Tor Mackeld had taken her helicopter during the war.

The worst charges were that Mac had abandoned his post defending Marshmont from Tzo to succour to his mate. And he had allowed her brother, a new werewolf, to hunt the wereem alone, with no defence for wolf or human society had Adam gone insane. Each choice he had made, he had known full well the penalty for doing so.

Fealden Wolflord had been lenient at O'Connell Range, he could not be so again: the wolf world was reeling from the recent, overwhelming threat from Tzo. In response, the Senshal had to be strong, to impose the safety of full discipline so as to pull all the discordant rescued or recovering wolves back into line, back into civilisation.

Yet, as many had shouted throughout the trial, it was largely due to Mackeld Wolflord that Tzo's threat had been vanquished at all; that they still had a civilisation.

Others hissed that the threat would not have been so immediate had it not been for Mackeld's selfish actions.

There were lower, deeper mutterings that the Tzo had not been, and was not, the true threat. Wolves were not the true threat.

Mac quietly awaited the verdict. He would uphold wolf law - he would always uphold wolf law, to protect his people. He could not do otherwise.

He was such a stubborn idiot.

Gemma had given up on trying to get her mate to listen to alternatives: Mac could not bear to argue with her any longer, and just waited in silence, silence echoing even in his head. His sorrow was fathomless; but he could not do otherwise. He had never had any choice in taking this path. He had known its end.

But he had been right in calling Fealden a sneaky bastard. Mac wouldn't listen to any of them. But it wasn't his judgement to make: he wasn't the senior Wolflord.

The snapped, growled rustling among audience and judges dropped into silence as the old Wolflord unfolded slowly to his feet at the centre bench.

"There is no question as to whether Tor Mackeld carried out the actions of which he is accused," the old wolf began softly, looking toward the bench on which Mac was sitting motionless.

Fealden did not need to raise his voice: "No-one disputes this."

The Wolflord waited a few seconds for the rustle of movement which followed his words to cease.

"What is in question, is whether he was right to do so: whether he had the right to do so."

The rumble was louder this time, some words bitten off, hissing sounds of discontent and passion.

Then the soft grumbles hissing around the room were cut off in shock at the next words of the Wolflord: "Human law allows a commander relief from his obligations if his family is threatened."

Human law?

Fealden's eyes turned to Gemma, who lifted her head, returning his look, wondering - was he trying to incite a riot?

"More, human law demands that the commander be relived of such duties, deeming him or her incapable of carrying them out without bias, when his family is under threat," added the Fealden.

There was growling noise of protest echoing around the room, rising as the Wolflord cited human law at the packed tiers of wolves. The jet black eyes lifted from Gemma's and the room fell silent again as Fealden Wolflord burned his gaze over them.

"I am relieved to find that in our ancient statutes, there is evidence that we can be no less magnanimous than the humans; no less aware of the stress such threat will place on a leader." The old Wolflord now had to raise his voice slightly, speaking over the rumble of dissonance from the packed benches: "Tor Mackeld deserted his post, yes, left his packs unaided, and led the Tzo to Faulk range, to the near undoing of us all. Yet he did this because his wereem was threatened. Whether we should be lenient to his abandoning his Alphaship depends on whether we believe she is truly his mate."

"This, none of us have the right to pass judgement on." Fealden's tone now turned cold, hard: "None of us can know."

Shouts rose in both opposition and strident advocacy, wolves crying out in fierce rebuttal that a werewolf could be even considered as a mate. The senior Wolflord's head snapped up and he released his displeasure at the audience, power shattering through the room.

The dissenting barks of sound dropped instantly to a strident undertone. No-one quite dared take the old Wolflord on directly over this, but the disbelief was palpable. Fealden nodded slowly, satisfied that that was a good as it was going to get, and turned to face the accused. Mac lifted his head, a slight crease between his fiercely challenging eyes as they met those of his mentor.

"By the right of primounguis, and the law of Etricia and Nossun and Tigrid, I hereby proclaim Tor Mackeld to be lone wolf and exile him for five years from these shores, sundering him from and forbidding him any and all pack rights, responsibilities and bonds during the reft," said the Fealden.

A maelstrom of howls and shouted comments rose as half the audience leapt to their feet, but the Wolflord snapped his head back up to the crowd and his eyes flashed again, shiele sheeting painfully through the crowd.

Mac sat stunned: the penalty had to be death. How else could their people move beyond this betrayal? How could they settle back into trust of their leaders if one so flagrantly sidestepped the laws he himself was trusted to uphold?

Mac, you always said you were crap at wolf history, Gemma reminded him. This isn't a new law specially invented for you: get over it. Live, you damn stubborn wolf.

"From today the wolves who have looked to him will consolidate under new Alphas," Fealden thundered over the now subdued muttering. "Ulf Mackeld will resume leadership of his pack, as will Zaban Liu, and Caspar Vanilchov; Jasmine and Karim Marsh are to rebuild the Marsh pack and determine the succession; Lee Faulk will do the same. The O'Connell will select further Alpha-lin."

Mac's heart suddenly creased on a new spike of pain: five years. Was this life? He thought of the two packs the Fealden had not yet mentioned. He knew the only Alpha whom they would trust, once he was obliged to slough them off.

Gemma.

He could feel the pain in his picchu. They couldn't both abandon their haunted, damaged wolves. Five years, sundered from his mate. Mac lifted an unsteady hand and stroked his fingertips over his eyebrows, trying to lift his heart.

Five years will pass, Gemma whispered in his head with brittle stoicism.

Fealden Wolflord and Valerie had both explained in detail. Mac needed to heal. Gemma herself had seen the strain he had been under, the tearing pull of all those thousands of wolves. By the end of the third invasion, Fealden himself had gone insane regularly, berserk, and it was only now, decades later, that he trusted himself not to dissolve under the demands of his wolves. Mac had not had time to reconsolidate. For that, he needed to leave, because he was their Wolflord: if they needed help, he would help them. There was no sentence that would stop this, except death. If he would allow them to, they would cleave to him again. To heal, properly, he needed time away.

Despite the shiele shocking from him, Fealden was now having to raise his voice to thunder above the furious shouts, explaining the ancient law.

"Tor Mackeld cannot, and will not retain any form of pack after deserting his koiru during a siege, whatever was his reason. An Alpha leads by example: such an example, putting personal need before pack, means he has either revoked his position as Alpha, or is not a wolf!" the Wolflord pronounced, almost swearing at the crowd.

Gemma looked down at her motionless mate, and for once his eyes lifted to hers. There was a fiery glimmer of life lurking among the stunned disbelief, swirling deep within the green-black.

Gemma, you cannot yet lead the Whites and Gems alone, said Mac fiercely. You have not the training, the strength - you need peace still to settle into being wolf, you cannot do this, it is too risky for you.

Finally, her mate had woken up. No surprise as to why: to protect her.

Gemma looked away, answering quietly: You are not the only one to follow the only path open to you. With Alan dead and you exiled, I have no choice but to lead them alone. I have no fear of the rage, Mac, it is a paper tiger now. Her mind was drowning in the tears smothered inside her. Five years.

You still cannot lead them solo, it will place too much strain on you.

What would you have me do? she snapped. Take another Alpha as bondmate?

The growl which rolled around the large room snapped the seething audience into momentary stillness, but as it subsided Gemma could feel the power Fealden was having to expend to hold the packed wolves from letting loose their anger with tooth and claw.

A tingle shimmered across her skin: Fealden was not the only Wolflord in the room. Mac was now lending the aged wolf strength, calming the boiling wolves with the strength of loyalty they still gave him.

"The most difficult to decide have been the Whites, and the Little Gems." Fealden voiced gruffly, and his eyes suddenly pierced Gemma. Sad eyes met his. Mac needed to heal, as did their wolves. She would wait.

"Both packs still have an Alfamme. But a mate also has the choice to follow a lone wolf into exile."

Her small pack of Little Gems. They had stabilised in the last month, choosing to live alongside the remaining Whites on the old Grey range under hers and Mac's leadership, carefully unfurling their wolf instincts in the freedom of the forest, beginning to build homes around the new Range house that was slowly being erected far from the city of Medway.

"If she so wishes, and her packs will accept other leaders during her absence, they need not release their oaths to her." Fealden seemed to echo her miserable thoughts aloud.

She did so wish, but they could not bring themselves to open their minds to any of the Alphas here. She had to stay, for them, she knew how fragile they were - and she could never push them away. Her tight little mesh of fellow prisoners.

Gemma's eyes were shielded as she looked up to where the knot of them were huddled together in the far rows of seating. Her heart suddenly missed a beat, then sped up, thundering in a staccato rhythm. Alan was sitting among them.

Alan was dead.

Gemma's eyes clamped shut on sudden tears.

You should know better than any wolf that a bond snapped does not invariably signify death, Valerie conveyed quietly. He only broke from shiatz this morning, and I believe he only did so because of your need of him.

Alan wasn't dead. Gemma had risen to her feet and was staring up the tiers of seating to her old mentor, tears rolling down her cheeks. But how had he survived? How could he have survived - drowning in silver?

Thank your human friends, Valerie answered silently. The images tumbled in explanation through Gemma's head.

The humans who the wereem had freed from the Faulk lair had run across Adam in the forest, and had subsequently been introduced to Mac, to whom they had explained Gemma's predicament. Mac had gone to Faulk, and during the underground battle, he had called in Ada and Penny, the two White hunters who had been with Adam. The werewolf, Bethan and Kate, Nils, and three of the escaped humans had elected to return to Faulk with them, to help their wolf friends however they could.

As the tide of battle had swung Tzo's way, the humans had taken shelter from the wolves on the chimney-stack island in the lagoon, their escape there enabled by Alan. The ex-Alpha had then been thrown into the muddy silver-laced sediment as revenge for helping the humans. Together, those humans had scooped the dying wolf out of the mud, carried him above the remaining water to the tiny man-made island, and hidden him behind the chimney stack. They had slunk carefully back and forth to the shore, pulling up grass to meticulously wipe clean every single inch of the wolf's shuddering body, before finally smothering him with soot scraped out of the top of the stack, to try to absorb the poison. Alan had been in shiatz ever since, hovering on the edge of death, but not quite sinking under it, Valerie reported. I have been tending him. I did not say, as I did not wish to raise false hopes.

Helen, Gemma's face creased. Her friend had learned how to treat a silver-poisoned wolf, by helping her. And her nurse had returned to Faulk, to help her again. And now, again.

Her wet eyes reopened on Alan's grey face. His gaunt features were creased in bitter self-doubt, but he met her gaze, eyes hooded. Stop blubbering, he conveyed. Gemma smiled through her tears.

I do not want to do this, Alan grated in her head. His fear of failure, failing the wolves he would try to serve, failing again, was almost too strong for him. But his eyes flicked sideways to Mac and returned to Gemma, burning. But I owe you one.

We will cleave to Alan, the mesh of whispers from the others rippled through her, soothingly, unbelievable. Here was an Alpha they need feel no shame cleaving to: he knew.