Grand Game 263: Ties of Blood (Patreon)

“You can’t be one of Dathe’s!”

I nodded. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Spinning on his heel, Anriq paced across the grove, the waist-deep water barely checking his stride at all. I watched him, slightly envious. Having all that Strength must be nice, I mused.

“No pack can have two alphas,” the youth said aloud.

I said nothing, knowing he was working through the implications of my Mark.

“That means…” Anriq spun around to face me, something akin to joy touching his face. “Dathe is dead! You killed him! You must have if you are the new—”

I shook my head, interrupting him before he could become too excited. “I’m afraid not. I didn’t lie to you before. I’ve never met this Dathe.”

The werewolf’s face fell. “Then… how?”

“I’m the alpha of another pack,” I said, stating the obvious.

“Another werewolf pack?” Anriq asked eagerly.

Once more, I was forced to disappoint him. “I’m not a werewolf, nor have I met any before today.”

“What then?” A glimmer of something unrecognizable—disgust?—flickered across Anriq’s face. “Don’t tell me you’ve forced yourself onto a pack of ordinary wolves? Why would they accept you? And for Powers’ sake, how did doing that gain you a Wolf Mark!”

I grimaced. “That’s not it either.” I held up my hand before he could speak again. “I will not share any of the details behind my Wolf Mark. Sorry, but you haven’t earned that right.”

The werewolf took my refusal in his stride and fell silent for a moment. “What Class are you?” he asked eventually.

The question, an apparent non-sequitur, caught me off-guard, and for a second, I hesitated. But then, seeing no reason not to tell him—plenty in the city already knew part of what I was—I answered. “I’m a mindstalker.”

“That’s not a Force Class,” Anriq rasped, eyes narrowing. “Is it?”

“It’s not,” I agreed.

“Then to which Power are you sworn?”

“I’m not.”

“Not?” Anriq asked, perplexed.

“Not sworn to any Power or Force,” I elaborated.

Anriq’s face paled as he went white as a sheet.

“Are you alright?” I asked, taking a step closer to him.

Anriq shook his head—in denial of what, I wasn’t quite certain. “That-s-s not-t… possible,” he said. “You must be sworn. You must!”

“Why?” I asked gently. My answers seemed to have triggered some deep-seated fear in the youth, and he was on the verge of panic. I took another step forward, but Anriq’s gaze jerked toward me, and I froze.

Is he going to bolt?

But no, the youth remained stock still, staring at me with wild eyes. “No werewolf had been allowed to forgo swearing himself to a Force,” he said finally. “For that to happen—” Anriq licked his lips. “For you to be…” He gulped. “It’s just not possible,” he finished lamely.

“But I’m not a werewolf,” I repeated. “Whatever rules govern your pack doesn’t apply to me.”

The reminder calmed the youth, but only for a moment. “Another impossibility,” he whispered.

“Why?” I asked curiously.

“Only werewolves can achieve a Mark as steeped in Wolf as yours,” Anriq replied.

That was not quite true, but I let his statement pass uncontested.

“Well, others can,” the werewolf amended a moment later, “but not without becoming…” Once more, he ran aground. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “The only other possibility is that—”

He knows, I thought in dread. He must.

“—you are a scion,” he finished.

My thoughts churned. Just like that, my secret was out in the open. This time, though, I wasn’t sure if I could stop it from spreading.

The dire wolves’ elders had told me my blood would awaken of its own accord as my Mark deepened. Unexpectedly, Anriq seemed to know that too, which must be how he figured out the truth.

There is going to be no lying my way out of this, I realized.

My facility for deceit had abandoned me, and I was unable to come up with a clever subterfuge to explain Anriq’s reasoning away. But nor was I willing to confirm his assertion. So, I did the only thing I could.

I said nothing.

That alone, though, was enough for the youth. “It’s true then,” Anriq breathed. “You are a scion of House Wolf.”

Keeping my face impassive, I stared back at him.

Despite my own shock, my mind had not stopped working. There were other implications—besides the obvious ones—to Anriq’s conclusion. Foremost among them was that the werewolves had to know about the ancient bloodlines. How else would Anriq conclude what he had? And that, in turn, meant…

Will I find other scions among them?

The thought prompted a complex mix of emotions—relief that I was not alone, delight at finding potential pack brothers, suspicion at how they survived in Nexus, and finally, resentment that there could be others like me.

Then, the wolf in me stirred as another more disturbing question rose in my mind: would my candidacy for Prime be contested?

My lip curled up in an involuntary snarl. I would broke no competitors. None.

This is not the time for such musings, I told myself firmly. Clamping down on my errant thoughts, I refocused on Anriq.

The youth was still staring at me, his expression a mix of awe and reverence. His attitude had shifted markedly in the interim, I noted. Was that because of my alpha Mark or the fact that I was a scion?

Perhaps, it’s due to both.

“You’ve awoken your blood, truly?” he asked.

I nodded wordlessly. Denials wouldn’t work now, but perhaps the truth could serve me just as well.

“How did you do it?”

I waved aside the question. “That’s a long and dreary tale. And someday, perhaps, I will share it, but not today.” I held his gaze. “Now, tell me, how do you know about the bloodlines? The Powers jealously guard all knowledge of the ancients.”

Anriq was silent for a moment. “That, too, is a long tale. But I will tell you if you wish.”

“I do.”

Anriq sighed. “My pack—former pack—has in its possession an item called the Wolf Torc. It is an artifact of the ancients, and when analyzed, it talks of the scions and the blood.”

“An artifact,” I murmured, my interest piqued. “Who has it?”

“The pack leader, Dathe.”

“Of course.” I should’ve realized as much myself. Something else occurred to me. “Is this item the ‘it’ you were referring to earlier?”

Anriq shook his head. “No.”

“Oh,” I said and turned back to the matter at hand. “So, what does the Torc do?”

Anriq looked at me in surprise. “You don’t know?”

“No.”

“So, it’s not for the Torc you’ve come?” he persisted.

“I said so already,” I said irritably. “Now, tell me what it does.”

Anriq inclined his head. “The Torc connects the lycan guard to its commander.”

The youth’s answer made even less sense than I expected. “What does that mean?” I asked with a frown.

“You truly don’t know, do you?” he marveled, but before I could vent my impatience again, he went on, “The Torc is a blood-binding device. It forges an unbreakable tie between the lycan commander and the guard. With it, the commander can compel his soldiers to fulfill his orders.”

“The artifact sounds… fascinating.” And powerful. “I assume the werewolves are the lycan guard?”

“Correct,” Anriq replied. “And Dathe is the commander.”

I rubbed my chin. “How did you escape his clutches then?”

“The Torc doesn’t directly enforce obedience.” Anriq’s lips twisted. “It can be used to inflict pain, though. I’ve seen weres who refused Dathe’s commands burn from the inside out.” He shuddered. “But to answer your question, I fled before Dathe could bind me.”

“I see,” I said. “But none of that explains why the Powers let your pack be. Surely, they know of the artifact.”

“They do,” Anriq confirmed. “It was the Triumvirate themselves who bequeathed the Torc to the pack.”

“What?” I asked, startled. “They gave it to the werewolves? Just like that?”

Anriq’s lips twitched in an almost-smile. “No, not ‘just like that.’ The Triumvirate had conditions, namely that every werewolf assumes a Force Class. The pack didn’t know why at first, but we figured it out over time. It was to stop our blood from awakening.”

“Ah,” I said, understanding dawning at last. Sulan had said something similar all those months ago, which made me realize something else: there could be no scions amongst the werewolves. Not if they couldn’t awaken their blood. Mollified by the insight, the wolf in me subsided.

“And if you don’t adhere to the Triumvirate’s conditions?” I asked, returning to the conversation.

“They have promised to wipe out the pack, down to the last player.”

My lips turned down. “That sounds like the Powers, alright,” I muttered. “But threat aside, the Triumvirate must want something. What do they gain from giving Dathe the Torc?”

“Soldiers,” Anriq answered promptly. “We patrol the saltmarsh on their behalf and keep the marshmen at bay.” His spine straightened a touch in an unconscious gesture of pride. “No one is more aptly suited to this task than us werewolves. No one else can live here and do what we do except us.”

“Marshmen?” I asked, focusing on the critical aspect of what he’d said. “Who are they?”

For the first time, Anriq appeared uncomfortable with my questions. “Primitives,” he said, not meeting my gaze. “They, too, live in the marsh and consider it theirs by right.”

“I haven’t seen any,” I said slowly.

“You won’t,” the youth replied dismissively. “They are even better at hiding than you.”

“But—”

“I’ve answered all your questions,” Anriq broke in. “Now, will you answer some of mine?”

I hesitated, but what he asked was only fair. “Go ahead.”

“What are you?” Anriq asked.

“Just a player,” I replied.

The werewolf snorted.

“No, really,” I said. “I’m an ordinary player, if one a little different from most. Early on in the Game, I had the good fortune to be Marked by Wolf, and since then, I’ve walked a different path.”

I could see from Anriq’s expression that he wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t pursue the matter further. “What’s it like?” he whispered.

“What’s what like?” I asked, confused.

“Having your blood awakened.”

“Oh,” I said, never having given the matter much thought. “It’s different. Scary. But natural as breathing too.”

Anriq nodded as if he understood. “Why are you here? No one just wanders into the saltmarsh.”

I pulled out the hag mother’s scalp and held it up. “I came for her.” I paused. “And you.”

Anriq made the connection quickly. “You’re a bounty hunter?” he asked disbelievingly.

I grinned wryly. “Of sorts.”

“And now that you’ve found me? Will you claim my head too?”

My smile died, and I eyed him speculatively for a moment. “That’s still to be decided,” I replied, being deliberately vague. “We need to have a much longer conversation first.” I scanned the soggy grove. “But not here,” I decided. Reaching into my backpack again, I pulled out another item and threw it at the werewolf.

You have lost a sealskin robe.

Catching the garment easily, Anriq bent his head down to study it.

“Put that on and follow me,” I ordered. Not waiting for his response, I turned on my heel and headed north out of the grove.

For a moment, the only sounds breaking the marsh’s silence were my own. But then, a second sound intruded as the youth waded through the water in my wake.

I smiled. Anriq had accepted my invitation.