I.vi

The forest around was us dark. As we rode deeper, the trees crowded closer, like fearful animals huddling together for safety. Thin veils of sunlight peaked through patchwork holes in blankets of leaves.

The sound of the cart was light and high through the heavy creaks and deep rumbles of the wilds. Arash breathed evenly as he navigated the horse across the rough roads.

Then suddenly, sunlight. I squinted against its harshness. A moment later, our movement cease. With the wood moaning lightly underneath me, I turned and got to my knees, resting my arms on the plank of wood making up the back of Arash’s seat.

A clearing had appeared before us. With one eye fully closed and the other halfway to it from the glare cutting into the gloom, I lazily tracked my gaze to Arash standing beside the horse, map in hand, absentmindedly stroking the animals tan hide.

“This is correct. All paths converge here, unless we feel the desire to walk miles east around these woodlands and then the same back west to the shore and Karos.”

I said nothing in response. He made a few small noises of approval for his own appraisal of our journey, and mounts the wooden steed once more. With a gentle noise and a soft wave of the reigns, the mare moved forward.

As we do, the bed of the cart entered the Lord of Songs warm touch. The vegetated ceiling of the forest had banished the heat from our journey for a short while, and the sun felt strikingly hot as it kissed my skin in comparison.

Against the light my lids closed fully, and I turned my head to the right, bothered by the piercing glare. Arash and the horse make low noises of complaint at the sudden arrival of the moon’s harsher sibling.

After a few moments of silence, Arash stated calmly:

“A group approaches.”

I stirred, then. My sword seemed to do the same at my hip, and I rested my palm on its handle gently, as if to calm it.

“Ho, travelers!” A voice said. Male, lightly accented in a lilting upturn. Tirion. I repeated the same action as before to bring the world in front of the cart into view, and capes of ocean blue and royal purple and hints of shimmering gold dance in the soft wind before me.

The once exuberant cloth is dulled by sunlight and rain and dirt. At the bottom it was frayed and tattered. The armour the three men wore was spotted and dull, even in the noon sun shining directly overhead.

“Hello, sir. How goes your journey?” Arash responded warmly. The man did not respond momentarily, fighting a mask of emotions that forms as he noted me, clad in armour behind Arah’s shoulder. Confusion, and a downturn of the eyes and the mouth I can’t place, but have seen many times. Disgust, maybe.

“Well enough. Our supplies run short, however. Our steeds, once three strong, now only carry one man.” We all glanced at the horse as he says this. The man atop the creature said naught. The soiled wrap on his thigh spoke many things he could not.

The three men looked well-bred and useful, but weeks on the road without supplies had eroded them down to something less than what they began their journey as. Underneath veneers of Tirion upper-class smiles I saw simple animals, with animal priorities.

“A great fortune we have met then, my friends.” Arash stated with a grin that spread across every part of his face save his eyes. In the deep brown I saw tension build. My hand fell from the butt of my weapon and brushed down to the handle like a lover’s touch, fingers curling around the leather-wrapped iron.

“My wares are cheap and plentiful, which means we are well-met, as you and your associates look to be able to eat my stock clean.” Arash continued.

The man smiled, and somewhere in the gesture I saw tightness wring out muscles.

“That is indeed well met. Unfortunately, my friends and I have naught but what you see on our forms as we speak.” The man smiled again. Behind him, hands twitched and feet spread over sand and dirt.

Arash said nothing to this. In response, I stepped down from the bed and land with a heavy noise.

“Then move along.”

At this, three heads turned to meet my gaze. The one atop their steed let out a huff of air, a quiet chuckle. The other two smiled, in a way you would to cover annoyance over a misstep you plan to ignore for the sake of the conversation.

“Your woman does not know business as you do, I assume.” He turned to me, then, and stated, “If you would, my lady, let us continue this transaction with people who have experience in these areas.”

With that, he produced a rolled parchment from his belt. When unrolled, it showed a Tirion sigil, and black scrawl I could not discern from where I stood.

“We must ask you step down from the cart and let us board to continue our journey. In return, we shall gift you our steed so you may get to where you are going, and when you find yourself in the proximity of a Tirion embassy, please inform them of these happenings and you will be compensated for the misfortune.”

Following on the heels of his final word, the uninjured man behind him states, “Your haul must be great if you can’t find room in your cart for armaments and must ask your lady to hang them on herself. Surely you can spare a wagon for loyal soldiers.”

At this, the man on the horse let loose another round of air, and the man in front let his lip curl into a small grin as he rolled up the paper and slipped it into his belt once more.

Arash raised his chin at these last two statements, looking down at the men from above. He said nothing in return. He continued to stare at them as I stepped forward.

“Fuck off.” I retort. The men looked at me once again, surprise and confusion and anger sliding across their features. The uninjured man gripped his sword. Something bloomed in me.

The Wolf of Lycos

Fuck off

She ran away

Under my fingers my blade whimpered to be unsheathed. Inside my chest, my breath thickened. My eyes sharpened, and something inside me built. This time the flame swelled and swelled and sustained.

“Helena.” Arash says. I couldn’t parse the meaning behind his tone. Through the blood in my ears it sounded like a warning to be cautious, but there was no world in which I see him giving his wares away for free.

“Listen to him. Sit back in the cart while we talk. He will inform you when to come out.” The man with the scroll said stonily.

In stories that are told, swords make noises of rushing metal when pulled. Mine simply cut through the air as I tugged the handle, exposing a quarter of the gleaming edge. Immediately the three men had weapons in their hands.

The leader opened his mouth to speak. My sword would be a heads length from him before he made a sound.

The bushes exploded around us then. Streams of blood and cold gray erupted from the green. Then deep shouts, words accented with a dark depth like mine.

niko?

Lycons. They went straight for the Tirions, in their colourful capes. In response, three more blue clad men came from around the bend. Liars.

Arash immediately hit the ground and rolled under the cart. As he fell with a hollow, dusty sound, my thighs tensed and bounded me across to the leader, and my blade effortlessly slid into his gut. My sword began to weep then, and the days-long ache in my hands dulled as iron hit flesh.

The Lycon whose sword had been parried by the man wasn’t particularly startled as the body fell. He easily slashed away my blade, which was arcing into his space from a backswing out of the Tirions body.

I kicked his knee then and used the momentum from the blocked strike and my foot returning to ground to slash his head, momentarily at chest height as he staggered. Blade kissed bone and flesh and blood flew in a gentle arc. A hum filled me as his red cloak fluttered to the ground with him.

Niko of Lycos

The Wolf of Lycos

The Wolf

Sends his regards

Only four Lycons had erupted from the brush, despite the earth seeming to have shook moments ago. These men now lay dead, along with two of three Tirions. The remaining ones turned to look at me, full of lightning and lust from blood spilt. Their eyes were wide, and I knew time was still slow to them as well.

Enough so that they took in the displaced bandage and the black line now exposed to sun and the dead Tirion whose blood coated my blade and stared with fearful eyes.

Swords remained in hands. Blood once again pumped.

“Lycon.” One of the remaining men stated lowly.

My eyes still felt a red haze. Without words, I raised my sword.

“Drop the blade. You will not be harmed. We only seek information.”

I said nothing. Simply gripped tighter.

And then suddenly, Arash stood in their place.

“We will sort this out when we arrive where they will take us.” He said slowly. His hands were cautiously raised, like a man approaching a wild-eyed beast.

I shook my head manically, and the blood pulsing inside moved with it.

Arash looked at me then. His eyes were wide and his mouth tight and his jaw like two stones. Fear.

“That blade has had enough blood today, Helena.” He stated, pointing gingerly to my sword.

My eyes stayed on his, and then through him and to the soldiers. Fear coloured them, along with rage. Fallen allies and lightning in their veins and blood on their blades swirled in their eyes.

Through heavy breaths I could hear something sing within me. It conducted this melody with fists and feet and iron and wrote rhymes in red.

Like prying iron ore from stone with only your hands, I unwrapped my fingers from my weapon. It fell.

Within minutes we were sat back to back in Arash’s cart bed, tied together with rope from his store. He gripped my fingers in his as we set off. My breath came fast and rough and fire flowed and pounded around my body. I couldn’t pull my hand from his, so I was forced to feel the even pulse of his heart through his veins.

Despite the tension of his muscles and the force of his fingers around mine, his breathing quickly evened out. He became calm. His voice, like cool liquid on hot skin, came trickling from his lip, whispering soft noises of vague reassurance. They did nothing to cool the flames inside, but I focused on them through the clouds of red to stop me throwing us from the hastily moving cart.



---



“Do not untie her.” One of the Tirions stated.

His comrades obeyed. They took Arash first, cutting the ropes that bound us and then the lengths that bound his extremities after that. For me, they gingerly cut the twine around my ankles and left it at that.

The camp we were in was plainly built, but sturdy. Tent flaps shook in hefty bursts of breeze, but the poles and pegs stood unmoved underneath the draped cloth. Grass was beginning to freeze in a permanent bow on the well-trod paths. No intricate banners or blazing emblems could be found hanging in the wind, but the men looked healthy and in a state of perpetual readiness, lazily but keenly eyeing terrain and people. 

Around us the camp was like many others I had passed through. Men buzzed about like insects, every soldier seeming to have something to do and somewhere to be. In the corner of my eye I caught the constant arhythmic movement of forms flitting in and out of tents.

As we walked, we caught the stares of curious men, brought to boredom in a moment of downtime. Eyes washed over first Arash, his dark pallor and almond eyes and thick hair an uncommon sight, and then me, the woman clad in armaments and standing taller than half the men around her. The unsure gazes brought forward nothing in me. My body was used to their weight. Eyes had lingered on me many times before, when I had walked with a bounty slip crushed between fingers and palm. Captains scoffed and smiled and chuckled when I had asked them for location and appearance and details. 

Women fought different here than Lycos. I had not known the extent when I arrived on that small boat a decade ago. Captains knew their target would not be captured or slain by sharp words and quick wit.

The conversation would twist and turn and slide into a form that the captain wanted. I wouldn’t beg for this slip of paper before people like these, and they saw a sword at my side and knew not what use I could have for it, not what skill I could possess as a woman of the mainland. When at first they asked me to leave, they smiled mutedly around and over me, at a joke they thought I was not privy to. When at last they told me to leave, after the impatience and refusal to lap at their toes, they did so with exasperated and flaring confusion, undignified at the woman who did not heed.

At some moments, soldiers hands would rest heavy on my shoulder, command shaping their tones righteously as they began a persistent escort from the tent. In others, another mathos would step up, a rise in their chest and a smirk tickling their lips. They would brush me aside, and the captain would slide into that conversation easily, as if mine did not exist, had never happened. Both ended in blood and dirt and wet blades and split flesh. After that, there were times my name rode gently on the wind to reach others ears, and the only blood spilled would be exchanged for gold.

“Breathe slower. There will be no air left for others at this rate.” Arash said lowly, head bent down and towards mine as he matched my stride.

My breathing was labored, like a bull harassed. My fingers were tight in my palms. My jaw was beginning to ache from the pressure radiating off my clenched teeth.

The mass of tents and bodies was spread wide, but still I saw the boundaries forming around me, as clearly as the tethers around my wrists.

Niko



Every step took me further from the coast. He sat on that island, waiting for me unaware like a ripe berry on a bush. The ropes around my wrists seemed to tighten and coil like snakes. The camp around me, built low and sprawling, was now much too small. Too crowded. Impatience fed the fire in my stomach and it leapt, eating at me.

Arash threw a single cautious glance to me. He could do nothing, fortunately unable to brush against me again with his place ahead of me. The soldiers had hands wrapped around handles and an inch of blade shining out in the sun. The tension rolled off me like waves in a storm, and the soldiers around me rode them carefully, like boats on the very edge of the maelstrom. They saw the dark clouds in the distance and knew something may be coming.

Niko would be gone eventually. All people move on. Soldiers do so even quicker. The Lord of Time laughed in my ear, high and maniacal. He knew how the earth moved for none but him, and how none but him may stop it.

They turned us suddenly, and Arash did not take the movement well. I walked into his halted form, and with his hands he grabbed at my lower tunic and kept me close. He whispered harshly at my face:

“We will lose our lives if you harm these men. Do not speak, for then you cannot give them an excuse to accost. I will exchange words, and you will focus only on your breath.”

He did not wait for my response. My nostrils flared and expelled hot air as he was shoved ahead through the cloth entrance. I followed seconds after.

Inside was lavish in a plain, soldiers way. A thickly cushion bed sat in the corner. On it were plump and snowy pillows, and below them a heavy blanket, lightly disheveled and the colour of an angered ocean. Twin braziers sat at the back, minimal but bright. In the center a table stood, enshrouded by a large map of Pyrus and decorated by groupings of blue and red pieces. Many more blues sat on the map, and many empty spaces fitted in between them and the handful of reds.

Over it loomed a man, square in face and body. His eyes were downturned and heavy, deep chunks of cooled coal. His hair fell back to his neck in short, loose waves, pulled down by the running through of fingers and the weight of helmets. Its hues were cold marble, speckled through with dots of dark.

He stared at us as we enter. Interest and confusion about Arash, confusion and surprise at me.

“Who is this?” He asked simply.

“We were ambushed by a group of wolves in the Achamede. She killed Arkases. She has their sigil on her.” He twisted my arm to allow the general to view the black line. This brought my other arm and my other shoulder dipping with it, contorting my body. More heated breath from my nose. The man continued:

“We thought you may want to keep her at camp. She may know something useful.”

I flared and gritted as Arash began to speak. His words escaped me in my position amid my thoughts.

Niko

He will not survive the week

Sends his regards

Then.

focus only on your breath.

I turned to Arash amidst the throbbing silence in my skull. The general looked at him inquisitively. He did not disbelieve, but he was ready to question if need be. The merchant expressed greatly with just his face. His hands began to jump and tumble, eager to join in on the story.

The breath sounded like a gale in my mind as I took it in. My stomach expanded, my chest rose and peaked. It fell and shrunk as I let it out through puckered lips.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

niko

In.

sends his regards

 Out.

In.

Out.

Fuck

In.

And then I held it. And held it. A small boy flitted through my brain, hard features and dark hair.

Out.

In.

Out.

And then all eyes were turned to me. Arash prodded gently with his eyes. My jaw was softer. In response, I simply partted my lips with slight space.

“You are known to me, mathos.” The general said. “I am Diogenis, and you are the woman who fights like a man.”

I said nothing. He stared for but a moment in the quiet. The coal in his eyes stayed cool and unburnt.

“Her tattoo means nothing.” He said, to everyone in the room, an explanation to the doubtful soldiers. He paused as an itch in his cheek overcomes him for a moment. Then:

“She is a decade too late for a single stripe to be what she still wears. The wolves have cast out one of their own, it seems.” He looked at me then, and the three other pairs of eyes follow.

Once more I remained silent. Lightning flashed across my brain, and for a moment I was in the boat again. Then I breathed.

“I was once Lycon. I am no longer.”

He twisted his hand to me as if to say, yes, there you go. He did not commit another gesture after that, nor speak a word to remove my bonds.

At the head of the table, he rubbed lined skin and old stubble with leathery hands. Not to indulge another itch, but slowly, carefully. He circled his jaw and cheeks as one would a special talisman, willing words of the gods from it, searching for answers on the surface.

Arash attempted to share a glance with me. It was low and confused but tinged with worry and warning. I caught this from the corner of my eye, but much of my gaze was fixed on Diogenis.

“And yet you slew a man of my colours. This is not an action easily forgiven.” Suddenly he was solemn. Not unkind or angry, but deep in the well of feeling.

He spent another moment with his hands on his cheeks and his jaw and his chin. While he thought and thought and thought, Niko took one breath after another.  

“I have heard tales of you, mathos. I do not know how many are true, but the titanic amount impresses. The trappings of your sex do not bind you as much as they do other women.”

Arash now stared somewhere between us, wanting to catch my eye but also keep his on the general’s face.

“You have killed inconvenient men. You have many a merchant fearful, either of the beginning of injury or the continuation of it. Many things go missing when you receive coin.” He stopped and stared at the grand map of Pyrus. His eyes were intent on a spot along the coast. The spot where Niko currently sat. Yet there were no red stones on the island.

“Because of the taking of my mans life, and the deeds you commit for coin and pleasure, it’s with much regret I do not appeal the sentence passed by these men on seeing your marking, despite your earlier statement towards its meaning.”

The boundaries of this camp tightened once more. Suddenly they were impossibly tight. The size of a wooden cage founded deep in the ground. Kilometers away from Niko. And stationary.

Arash changed to parted lips and wider eyes. Before he spoke, Diogenis does.

“That is one choice. The other is now to be discussed alone.” The guards paused momentarily. The first seconds were light shock and natural reaction time. The next were taken aback at a strange and sudden order. But they confirmed his sword at his hip and the rope around my hands and took Arash through the flaps.

Diogenis settled. Neither of us spoke. Then:

“Your mercenary acts were not heinous enough to send a valuable few men to end. But I have you now, under the weight of another’s spirit, so you must stay, by order of law. Yet your supposed skills are impressive, and your name does hold weight, wolf cub.”

A sharp breath at this, and a gentle roll of my eyes.

“Word arrives of many things, your stories among them. They are easy to accrue, common sorts told not only by spies but by men over drink.” He paused. Tilted his head.  “Some are not like this.” He took his hand and settled a finger to the fishing village.

“A man amongst your former comrades tells of a squadron sent to this village, and then to the island adjacent. Lycos seems to take cue from legend and myth, as I hear of a powerful weapon in this region, hailed from a hero of the gods and locked away for ages,  its location washed away by time’s waters until now, where a Lycon force gathers.”

He paused and breathed. I continued to do so, simply staring hard at that island on the map.

“I do not have men for this. I do not have men to even tell me tales such as these, for the one who did has spoken no words for many days. So I implore you now, to embrace whatever detest of imprisonment you have and accept what I am to tell you: you are in my debt, and possess speed an army or unit does not have. Your skills are not that of a soldier, but of a mercenary and thief. If you desire, you shall venture to this point with my approval and acquire what you may, be it weapon or intel of its nonexistence, and bring it to me here. With this done, I will call your punishment complete, and you will be free.” These words did not seem to sit well with the man, not fully. He pursed his lips and looked over me as the sound fell on my ears and grimaced lightly, like a man swallowing medicine of foul taste.

The boundaries around me did not move. They shifted. Still around me, but now clasped to my neck, tethered in blue and leashed to a general. No longer a cage made of wood, but now one of orders and commands and rigid structure.

I am a mathos. I fight battles, not wars.

The ropes on my wrists would be cut, but still ties will be placed around me, impossibly long and leading to a man in a Tirian camp. A man caught in a war with enemies and allies and colours of allegiance. 

Niko

sends his regards

 This path led to death.

The Wolf’s (nikos) death.

After his blood was spilled, this tie would be cut soon after. If not, none could stop my exit from this camp. I would muddy the ground red as clay if I felt this bind tighten come my return.

“Fine.” I stated. Diogenis nodded.

“Much thanks. May you move swiftly, mathos.” He said. He walked to me, his eyes at my cheekbones as he gets close. With the sudden appearance of a dagger and a few swift movements, the ropes fell and coiled at my feet. No other words were spoken as I left.

Arash looked wildly at my freed form as I exited and passed him. Cloth shuffled, and behind me I heard quick vocal tones and quicker responses. More conversation followed, sounding easy and casual, and then suddenly my name, called in a lilting voice.

Footsteps pounding, and then a presence beside me.

“They seem to have a habit of not denouncing previous claims, as my cart is still no longer my own.”

I did not respond. Arash would make conversation, and at some point after eventually leave. It had always came down to this, so making the moment occur now took no skin off my cheek.

“Yet my horse has been haggled from these militant hands, as has the waterskins and food packs. My mother did note to me in my younger years that a swift tongue and sunlit inclination would get a man far.” I said nothing again. He dropped behind me, then, and the sound of footsteps fell to the effort of a single pair.

A moment passed before he sighed.

“A steed is not easy to come by with what gold you have on your belt, and a savings of sustenance make the start of a journey much easier than one thinks.”

These words ceased my movement. I licked my dry lips and breathe, and then inclined my right shoulder and head slightly behind me, enough that our eyes meet. A small but sturdy smile had stumbled upon his mouth.

“Why would you accompany me further?” I asked.

He shrugged casually, as if the reason was really no bother.

“Many answers lie at the end of that question. Some are small, some are not. I have no wares, and therefore must suspend my luminating vocation of selling, and therefore must be someplace. And that place,” He pointed back to the coast, from whence we came,” piques an interest in me, so there I will be.”

I swallowed in response. It was much harder than expected. With a slight opposing inclination of the head, he languidly joined me.