Pack of Wolves - Maggie Claire (most popular novels of all time .TXT) 📗

What a fool I was to send him there! I imagine the scene in perfect detail from Wolf’s wild eyes as he draws the bow and fires, to Cyrus’s chest bursting open with bloody, scarlet fire as the arrows find their marks. He’s not dead, I tell myself, hoping that Siri has been honest with me. He survived this attack. Suryc would tell us if he was dead. I can still find a way to make this right.

“Will you join with me and follow me to the House of Piranhas?” Extra fighting hands with a score to settle against Wolf could certainly come in handy. I silently pray that they will band together with me; fighting is so much easier if you aren’t trying to do it alone. “The other Ddraigs will meet me there, and maybe some of you will be chosen as Cadogans. And if not, you have my word that you will remain free.”

The man turns to converse with his people before responding. “We will come. Not for you or your Ddraigs, but for Condor and my son.”

Even under duress, he’s garnered loyalty, I realize, feeling very humbled as the nameless pour out of the trees toward me. He is a far better leader than I ever gave him credit for. That knowledge does very little to remove the lead weight in my heart.

“We’ll fly ahead to scout the land. You follow on foot,” Siri commands for me as I climb onto her back once more, my burdened heart making every movement a gut-wrenching agony.

***

“Shall we begin this morning’s executions?” Wolf questions with glee as he drops to his throne. Seeing his brother finally break is enough to make him giddy. He points to Cyrus’s crude tent prison, calling out to Jackal, “As much as I would love for my brother to watch this scene, I think it is time to move on without him. Bring out the next prisoners!”

Three broken people sway as they are prodded up to the bloody posts where so many of their friends and family have already met their demises. The bodies of the dead are thrown into a large pit and burned every night. Wolf likes the view of the night sky aflame. For the last few days, when he’s not with Cyrus, he spends his time stalking the perimeter of the campsite, watching for any curious nameless unchosen that he can attack. So far, he’s added at least twenty nameless bodies to the pyre. The noxious smell of the burning damned is a heady perfume to his nose.

“Please! Give us another chance! We will—” one of the prisoners begs, his words abruptly cut off as Hyena slams a sword hilt into his jaw. The bone cracks audibly, blood pouring down the prisoner’s chin.

“Please! Give us another chance!” mocks Wolf as he raises his hand to the archers. “You had your trial! Suffer the punishment of your crimes!” He smirks as the arrows loose, shutting his eyes as the bodies writhe in pain. “Fire until they die!” Wolf whispers, nodding as the telltale plucking of the bowstring sounds a second time.

In the corral, Goldeneye, Grouse, Bittern, and Fox huddle together, their backs turned to the grizzly sight of the executions. “I have a plan to escape,” Fox mutters as he checks the guards to see if they are paying attention. Most of them have their bloodthirsty eyes fixed upon the firing squad, jealously wishing they were the firing the arrows. “It’s risky, but it could work.”

“Anything’s better than sitting here, resigned to our fates,” Grouse replies hotly, her hands balled into fists. “How could Iris ever care for such a monster?”

“Do you judge me as harshly?” Fox whispers, his eyes focused on the ground. “After all, I mentored Wolf from his first days in power. Even I didn’t realize he was as far gone as he is.”

“I…I’m sorry,” Grouse stutters with a deep exhale. “What’s your plan for escape?”

“I have a friend in the guards,” Fox explains, covertly pointing a finger in the general direction of his ally. “I think I can convince him to bring me a last drink on the eve before our execution. He’s heavy handed with liquor, and I’m certain he’ll imbibe with me. It won’t take much prodding to persuade the other guards to join us. We’ll have enough of a distraction that we should be able to sneak away in the wee hours, as long as we stay quiet and use the darkness as our cover.”

“That’s it?” Goldeneye mumbles, unconvinced. “Ply them with booze and hope for the best?”

“Complex plans are not always the best route to success. Now’s not the time to discuss strategy. Are you willing to try?” Fox hisses, his eyes darting toward the corral’s perimeter. Coyote, the only guard that has enough cunning and trickery in his blood to grow suspicious of their huddled whispers, cuts his eyes in their direction and stalks closer to the corral.

“How do we know that this isn’t a scam? What assurances can you give that the moment we’re outside the corral you won’t turn us in to regain favor with Wolf?” Grouse demands, her voice raising too loud.

“Shh!” Fox pleads as Coyote edges around the corral, searching for a better eavesdropping point.

Goldeneye coughs, attempting to mask the sound of Grouse’s swearing. “Make a scene,” he suggests, subtly point toward Bittern.

Grouse jumps up, immediately grabbing Bittern’s collar. “I told you we were fools to ever turn against Wolf! But no! You took one look at Condor’s pitiful face, and you just had to go back to him! It’s all your fault!”

Bittern sputters, shoving Grouse away. “Get off me! If anyone is to blame, it’s you!” Launching herself at Grouse’s face, Bittern attempts to claw her mask away. Fox and Goldeneye step in between them, pretending to stop the theatrical fight when Coyote moves away from the corral.

“You scratched me,” Grouse accuses as she holds her bleeding wrist up to Bittern’s inspection.

“Sorry,”