Gail Martin - The Sworn

Grotesques and gargoyles watched from the peaks. Runes and sigils were carved into the doorposts and sills. Jonmarc doubted their function was decorative. Carved panels on the wooden sections of the building hinted at some of its history. Overlapping shingles covered the lowest portions. Although only one of the pillars was visible from the coachway, Jonmarc knew that thousand-year-old stone monoliths ringed Wolvenskorn, a remnant of ancient times. Though the makers of the stone pillars had died long ago, the enclosure still possessed powerful magic.

Jonmarc and Gabriel dismounted and handed over their reins to waiting groomsmen. Sior, one of the ranking vyrkin, was waiting for them. “You appear to be intact,” Sior noted with a raised eyebrow.

Jonmarc gave a lopsided grin. “The Blood Council was as charming as ever.”

“Is the ceremony on schedule?” Gabriel glanced toward the trail that led into the forest.

Sior nodded. “Vigulf and the others are heading to the grotto. You’re just in time.”

Sior took a torch from one of the sconces in front of the manor house and Jonmarc followed him down the forest path. Jonmarc was certain the torch was for his benefit, since neither Sior nor Gabriel needed the extra light. He guessed that although he could not see them, Gabriel’s vayash moru were patrolling the outskirts of the area to make certain that there would be no interruptions.

“How did the negotiations go?” Jonmarc asked Sior quietly.

Sior sighed. “It was predictably complicated. Some of the descendants of our older, most established packs feel threatened. But the numbers don’t lie. We lost three quarters of our males of breeding age in the war with Malesh. And we had barely enough females to replenish the pack and care for the pups before the war. When we lost more to the war, the pack became endangered. The elders can squabble over bloodlines all they like, but we must accept the newcomers or face extinction.”

“I’m less worried about the elders than the females,” Jonmarc observed dryly. “What did they have to say?”

Sior chuckled. “Spoken like a married man. What would you expect?”

“I’d expect them to be choosy and aloof, but when push comes to shove, they’ll do what’s right for their pups. My money is on the females.”

“You’d have made a good wolf,” Sior replied. “Our packs are extended families, each one headed by a top hunter. Unlike animal wolves, the male and female share the duty to protect the young. In human form, they’ll share the work of a farm or craft, just like mortals. And in some pairs, the female is the more deadly hunter.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all.”

Sior gave him a grin. “I thought you’d understand. So the elders debated territory and power and bloodlines for several candlemarks, until the four top hunter-females had enough of it. Together, they have twelve pups, and half of those are females with no likely males for partners. Two of the females were widowed in the war, as were over half of our pack females.” He gave a grim laugh. “Kella, our top huntress, invoked the ancient right of females to choose their mates. She’d already rallied all the other females, including the mates of the elders.”

“So she handed them their balls on a plate.”

“An interesting image, but accurate. Kella and the widowed huntresses had already chosen from among the new males. They extracted a vow of vyrgild from the other single males.” He glanced at Jonmarc. “Are you familiar with the term?” Jonmarc shook his head. “It means blood oath. In exchange for acceptance into our extended pack, the new males forswear their right to challenge for a leadership role, on pain of death. Their children will be full pack members who can lead if they’re able, but it keeps the pack stable for now. It’s something the elders might have actually thought of themselves if they hadn’t been so busy marking their territory, figuratively speaking.”

They veered from the path through what seemed to Jonmarc to be unbroken forest. Even with the torch, it was difficult for Jonmarc to keep his footing as they moved through the dense brush. Sior and Gabriel did not seem to have any trouble, moving with the grace of a predator. They came to a cave opening that was partially obscured by vegetation. As they drew nearer, Jonmarc could see that the scrub plants had been arranged to appear as if they were blocking the opening, but, in fact, a narrow trail led behind them. Sior motioned for Gabriel and Jonmarc to follow him, and as they headed into the caverns, Jonmarc could hear singing in the clipped, tonal language that seemed to be the speech of wolves adapted to humans.

The cave path gradually widened and became a true corridor. Jonmarc glanced around as they walked down a torchlit hallway carved into the rock. Runes and paintings adorned the walls. Some appeared to have been placed for protection, while others seemed to tell the story of the Dark Haven vyrkin, or perhaps of all vyrkin in the Winter Kingdoms.

The corridor opened into a series of large chambers. These chambers had been decorated with carvings, paint, and embedded precious stones and metals. It was clear that they had entered a place of high ritual, and Jonmarc wondered whether or not these caves connected to the crypts below Wolvenskorn. A glance around the chamber revealed skulls-both human and wolflike-stacked or placed near every wall.

Vigulf, the vyrkin shaman, stood in the center of the largest chamber. He was a powerfully built, older man with a trim, gray beard and deep-set eyes. Tonight, he wore his shamanic robes, a richly woven cloak embroidered with symbols that seemed to change and move although always just beyond the ability to see them clearly. He carried a wooden staff set with the carved head of a wolf. The wolf’s mouth was open as if to strike, and its eyes were rubies.

Six couples stood hand in hand in the center of the room. They might be the couples who were about to wed, but to Jonmarc’s eye, they looked nervous. None of the brides or grooms appeared to be older than their midtwenties, and one couple looked to be in their late teens. Jonmarc recognized the women as belonging to the local families of vyrkin, but the betrothed young men were unfamiliar. He did recognize the faces of the few vyrkin males who stood alone around the edge of the room, and there was no mistaking the animosity in their mood.

“If you have unmarried men, why not marry within the local packs?” Jonmarc murmured to Sior.

Sior glanced over the crowd. “The single men who are left are all too closely related to the single females. Brothers, half-brothers, first cousins. The war forced us to do what would have become inevitable in a few years: seek out new blood. But whether we did it out of necessity or out of choice, some of the males would have resented the intrusion.”

That was an understatement, Jonmarc thought. Several of the men along the wall looked like they were spoiling for a fight. The only question, Jonmarc thought, was whether the brawl happened during or after the ceremony.

He’d wondered whether the vyrkin married in human form or in their wolf form. It appeared they at least planned to begin the ceremony on two legs. The women wore dark green robes. The men were bare-chested, with dark pants. All of the participants had bare feet. Each wore a chain with a single silver disk representing the full moon.

Vigulf stepped into the center of the chamber. “Welcome, honored pack,” he said, looking to the vyrkin who surrounded him. He looked toward the skulls along the wall. “Greetings, esteemed ancestors.” His gaze fell on Jonmarc and Gabriel. “And welcome, honored guests. Tonight we join more than the lives of the individuals who stand before us. We join together the present and the future, and from the loss of the past we weave the promise for tomorrow. Tonight, we strengthen the pack by your joining,” he said solemnly to the nervous young couples who stood in front of him.