***
“Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.”
Tir spat in reply, picking himself up from the ground where he had been thrown and wiping a thin trickle of blood from his muzzle. Xelind was standing a few feet away and, despite his lack of outward expression, looked as though he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
“I told you I needed lessons,” Tir said. He winced at a sharp pain in his hind leg. “It isn’t my fault. No one ever taught me how.”
“Because you’re absolutely hopeless. Abysmal. Terribly weak.”
Tir glared at the smug white wolf with as much venom as he could muster. “That will change,” he said. “It’s what I’m learning for, isn’t it? I need to fight so I can defend myself from the renegade and Cap—” he stopped himself just in time, remembering that Xelind was one of Captain Leron’s strongest supporters.
Xelind blinked and smiled blandly, as though he knew exactly what Tir was about to say. “That’s right, isn’t it?” he said. “You are in danger, outsider, and you know it. Shouldn’t be surprised if you die within the next fortnight, though it won’t make much of a difference to the rest of the pack.”
Tir looked away, trying to appear as though Xelind’s words had no affect on him, though he was seething with rage. It was their first day of fighting lessons, and so far all Xelind had done was knock him down once—with embarrassing ease—and then proceed to calmly abuse him. Tir wondered if he would manage to learn anything at all.
“Now, shall we try that again?” said Xelind. “Go on, then, outsider; have a go. Attack me.”
Tir was sure to take his time in turning around to face him again. Unlike Captain Leron, Xelind was not crouched and poised for an attack. He was standing, watching Tir’s stiff movements with undisguised amusement showing in the slight tilt of his head and the small curve of his lip. Dead blue eyes glittered from beneath a thatch of ice-white fur.
“Did you hear me, outsider? I said to attack me.”
Tir growled something irritable under his breath and leapt, charging straight into the skinny white wolf like a bull. Xelind jumped aside, and Tir swung around to change course. The wind was blowing straight into his face, and it blinded him for only half a second, which was enough for Xelind to dart in with bared fangs, jaws snapping to slash open his muzzle. Tir yelped, swiping blood out of his eyes and whipping around with the furious intent of pounding Xelind into the cold ground. He lunged for one of his white legs, but it was jerked out of his grasp, leaving his jaws snapped around empty air.
Xelind danced out of his path again and again, every now and then lunging in to tear at Tir’s pelt with his fangs. Tir, who was again growing weary of this game, had the feeling that Xelind was enjoying himself.
At last, Xelind crashed into Tir with his shoulder, sending him flying to land, crumpled, in the grass. He lay there for a moment, breath rasping in his lungs and his stomach sinking as he realized that learning to fight would be even harder than he had bargained for. It was a small satisfaction that Xelind seemed to be breathless as well, but Tir soon realized that it was because he was laughing. He had never heard Xelind laugh before.
“Oh, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Xelind said. “Want to do it again? Or have you given up yet?”
“I haven’t given up,” Tir said, his sides heaving as he fought for air. “Tell me what I did wrong, and I will fix it.”
“Well, outsider, fighting is a mixture of strength and intelligence. Regretfully, you have neither.”
“WHAT DID I DO WRONG?”
Xelind tilted his head. “To begin with, I could tell exactly where you were going.”
“What gave it away?” Tir hissed.
“Your eyes. And, really, everything else. That’s where intelligence must come in, you understand. You must try to trick me. Otherwise, I’ll be perfectly ready for you every time.”
“So,” Tir said, trying to fight back his anger. “Shall I make it look as if I’m going to attack you somewhere else?”
“Perhaps,” Xelind said. “But now I know to expect the unexpected. I’m not going to be fooled unless you come up with something exceptionally clever, which I—”
Tir made a sudden lunge. His jaws barely clipped Xelind as the white wolf whipped out of the way, sending Tir to land on the spot with a heavy thump.
“You eyes gave you away. Again.”
Tir hissed with frustration, once again struggling to his feet. Judging by the horrible throb in the side of his head, he now had gained a new bruise. He spat the grit out of his mouth and shook his shaggy brown fur.
“Control yourself,” Xelind was saying tonelessly. “You’re letting your intentions show in your eyes. I could see that coming seasons before it hit.”
“It was a start!”
“It was unhelpful.”
Tir growled in reply and turned away, beginning to work at tugging a spiteful thorn out of his paw where it had been embedded a few seconds ago. Cold wind buffeted his fur and stung in his eyes like icy needles—though no more icy than the tone of Xelind’s voice as he continued to throw insults at Tir, who was trying his best to concentrate on the stubborn thorn and not listen.
“…you fight like a pup, it is true. Sirle is eternally grateful that you were not Placed with the Sentinels. You belong with the Hunters. Not surprising that the first one to fall was a Hunter—weak, all of them, to fall to such a very small renegade, lynx-claws or not. What was her name, the one killed? Yielsa?”
Something exploded inside of Tir at Xelind’s barbed jibe at Yielsa. Without even considering the consequences, he whipped around with a roar and flung himself at Xelind with all his weight and hatred. Caught off-guard, Xelind was forced backwards under Tir’s attack. Tir tore at him, feeling his fangs sink into raw flesh, blood filling his mouth and Xelind’s surprised gasp; rage burning in him like a wildfire He had no right to say that. Xelind struggled for a few moments beneath Tir’s much larger size, but it was not long before the skinny white wolf managed to slip out from beneath him. Tir stopped, panting and glaring; Xelind watched him with something like mild interest, a fresh red flower of blood staining his white fur, but not at all seeming bothered by the sudden attack. They stared at each other for a few moments.
“Do you hate me?” Xelind asked after a long silence, his blue eyes expressionless.
Tir, beneath his boiling anger, was surprised. It was a strange question.
“I…er—I don’t know.” he said, dumfounded and uncomfortable.
“I hate you,” Xelind said serenely.
“Thank you.”
“And that hatred I turn to anger against you, which I use to fight harder. Anger gives me skill and motivation.”
Tir stared.
“Did you see what just happened there—a few seconds ago?” Xelind continued, rising to his paws and studying Tir. “You hated me. You have always hated me—though why you wanted me to give you lessons, I haven’t the faintest idea. But just then,” he went on. “Something happened to make your hatred overflow. And you attacked me in your anger—a sloppy, out-of-control attack, but an attack nonetheless. You must learn to control your anger, outsider—anger is power. The renegade is fueled by anger, and you see what she has already done.”
“So is that all? I only need to hate you and I will tear you to shreds? Well, that won’t take much of an effort. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have easily—”
“Simpleton,” Xelind said. “Idiot, do you really think that’s all? There’s skill involved too, you know—skill you are, regrettably, lacking, so I’m afraid I haven’t much to work with.”
“Oh, of course, I forgot,” Tir said. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? Because of course you’ve done your very best, Xelind, in spite of everything. So far, you’ve taught me nothing. You haven’t even taught me where to begin. Simply, ‘Attack me, Tir,’ and, ‘Anger is power, Tir,’ and, ‘You’re an idiot, Tir.’ Don’t you have anything else? I already know I’m bad at fighting—let’s move past that,
shall we?”
Xelind surveyed him for a few moments. “You want to learn how to fight?” he said. “Fine, then. I will teach you how to fight. But don’t expect it to be easy, or painless, for that matter. Fighting hurts, outsider—didn’t you know?”
An hour later, Tir was staggering his way down to Palva’s hollow, feeling as though his pelt had been turned inside out and filled with stinging needles. Xelind had led him through some of the most brutal fighting Tir had ever experienced, tearing and slashing at him as though Tir had done him a personal wrong. Tir supposed he deserved it—after all, he had asked for fighting lessons. Xelind was right. He was an idiot.
With a groan, Tir flopped down into the grass nest in Palva’s hollow. Palva whipped around at the sound, scattering a neat pile of feverfew.
“What have you been doing?” she demanded, her pale eyes wide.
“Fighting lessons,” Tir mumbled.
“Fighting lessons? Why in the name of Rya’s tears are you taking fighting lessons?”
Tir looked away. “I can’t fight. And I need to learn.”
Palva stared at him for a long time, and then sighed. She turned back around and began throwing together a pile of herbs—burdock root, sorrel, plantain, and, of course, garlic. She muttered to herself as she went, though Tir could not catch any particular words. She began pounding the plants into a poultice, spicy-scented juices staining the herb-boulder dark (Tir wrinkled his nose at the scent).
“Of course, I understand why you want to fight,” she muttered without looking up, scraping the green poultice onto an oak leaf. “You should know how. Everyone should. Especially you.”
“Because of the renegade?” Tir asked, watching the herbs with a wary eye. “Do you think she may be targeting me because she remembers me?”
“No, idiot. Because of Captain Leron. Frankly, I’m more concerned about him than I am about the renegade.”
“Why?”
She glared at him from over her herb-boulder. “You don’t need to know that. Not yet, at any rate.”
Palva gathered up the leaf bundle in her jaws and padded over to Tir’s side, laying her herbs in the grass and beginning to examine his cuts and bruises. Her pale eyes widened.
“Fighting lessons, you say?” she said, prodding a long, red slash down his side with her muzzle. “Guidelights, are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?”
“No. I’m only trying to learn how—how to fight better, stronger—how to fight at all, really, so I can defend myself, you know? He said it wouldn’t be…painless, or—”
“Hold on,” Palva interjected. “Who is this ‘he’? Who have you manipulated into giving you these so-called fighting lessons?”
“Xelind.”
Palva froze. Her jaw fell open, dropping the bundle of herbs with a thump, but she paid no attention.
“Xelind?” she whispered, pale eyes round as the moon. “You’ve persuaded Xelind to give you fighting lessons?”
“Y—yes.”
Palva sank to her haunches. “Oh, please, Tir, please tell me this is some sort of a poor joke,” she said, her voice angry. “You wouldn’t ever do something so stupid, would you?”
“I’m not joking,” Tir muttered. “And it isn’t stupid; I have reasons—”
“Stars blind you, Tir! Of all the wolves in the pack—have you heard nothing about him? What did we discuss only a few days ago? Idiot!”
“Thank you, really,” Tir said angrily. “But Xelind has already told me that—”
“Don’t you know who he is? Why, why, why would you have him give you fighting lessons? All alone, only you and Xelind, pretending to murder each other out on the fields with no one else around!”
“What are you—?”
“He’s Leron’s minion. He’s a spy, Tir! You’re literally playing into his hands—all Leron has to do is give Xelind the order, and he’ll kill you. No one would ever know; you two are all alone out on the fields. Oh, Tir, you insufferable idiot!”
“Palva!” Tir said, startled by her flare of anger. “Don’t worry—there’s no need; I trust him—”
“Oh, you trust him?” Palva spat with a note of hysteria. “Well, then, that just makes it all better, yes? Why would you ever trust him? I doubt even Leron trusts him completely! Xelind’s a nasty piece of work, Tir, a two-faced weasel, didn’t you know? All he cares for is himself and his gain—he’d do anything Leron tells him to do if it will give him something good in return. How do you think Sirle became chief Sentinel? Alpha Liyra had nothing to do with it, I’ll tell you that.”
“No he’s not,” Tir said quietly. “He’s really not all that bad, Palva.”
“He’s not that bad? What has Nerasa told you? We discussed this just the other day. I told you to avoid him. Any wolf who would kill a defenseless pup in cold blood—much less a pup of his own blood—certainly wouldn’t shy from killing you.”
“But you said you didn’t think he really killed his sister. You said—”
“I said that I didn’t know for sure,” Palva snapped. “Who am I to say what happened then? It very well may have been on Captain Leron’s orders, for all I know. The only wolf in this pack who knows the positive truth is Xelind himself—oh, and let me guess; you were going to ask him, yes?”
“Yes,” Tir muttered. “But he doesn’t like to talk about it, apparently.”
“Of course he doesn’t, you idiot. She was his sister. What’s more, he promised his dying mother he would protect her. The mention of her must be enough to bring back some form of guilt. Bringing it up will make him only angry—get him angry enough, and he might just kill you for his own satisfaction!”
“I don’t think so.”
Palva stared at him, incredulous. “Did the renegade break your head? He hates you, Tir. I thought you’d at least know that much by now. He’d kill you in an instant, even if there wasn’t anything in it for him.”
“I don’t think he would. He hates me, but I don’t think he’d kill me.”
Palva stared at him in complete disbelief. She shook her head.
“I thought better of you, Tir,” she said. “I really did. What’s wrong with you? You do realize that you made an awful mistake, don’t you?”
“No,” Tir said. “I’m sure I did the right thing. Positive.”
“Oh, why, Tir?” Palva said sarcastically. “Fine, then, do tell me. Why do you trust Xelind?”
“Because he saved Simetra,” Tir said, his voice calm despite Palva’s anger. “Captain Leron pushed her at the stag on the deer hunt, and she would’ve died. If she did, I’ll swear by anything Leron would’ve made Xelind chief Hunter in her place, regardless of the fact that he was a Sentinel. You know Captain Leron could persuade Alpha Liyra to do that, Palva.”
Palva sighed, closing her eyes. “Yes, I know,” she growled.
“But Xelind saved her. He drove the stag off—he didn’t have to do it, no one would have noticed if he hadn’t. Everyone else was too shocked to move. And I’ll bet Xelind knew about the plan all along, but he didn’t want to do it. He couldn’t stand and just watch Simetra get killed. He may not be very nice, but he isn’t a murderer.”
Palva was silent for a while, staring at Tir.
“And that isn’t all,” he added, before the Gatherer could speak again. He lowered his voice. “…do you remember when I asked you why Xelind didn’t kill me that one night, the night I ran away?”
“I remember.”
“You said it was because Leron was being clever. But that isn’t true.” Tir met Palva’s gaze. It was impossible to read her face. “Nerasa overheard Leron yelling at him the night after my Sentinel Assessment, after Leron had fought me and found out that I don’t even know how,” he said quietly. “Leron realized that it couldn’t have been me who gave Xelind that cut the night I ran away, and he figured out that that meant Xelind had simply told me to run away. Leron had ordered him to kill me that night, Palva.”
Palva was quiet for a long ti
me, staring at him. Her face had not changed.
“He wouldn’t have ordered that,” she said flatly, after awhile. “Leron is far more clever than that. He would have known that Xelind wouldn’t get away with it; Liyra would have punished—”
“No, no, but she wouldn’t,” Tir said, shaking his head. “Liyra saw how I attacked Sirle and Simetra, remember? And she knew that I had fought with you, also. Xelind was to say that I had attacked him, and he had no choice but to defend his own life. It wouldn’t be his fault if I ended up dead.”
Again, Palva said nothing. From the redoubt behind them, a distant chorus of yelps and snarls broke the thoughtful silence. Tir did not move; it sounded as though the Sentinels were fighting amongst themselves again. Palva, however, pricked her ears at the sound.
“Perhaps that’s why Leron hasn’t been happy with him lately,” she muttered, looking away. She turned the trampled feverfew over with her paw. “Great Guidelights, Tir, I never would’ve imagined. I knew Leron had something to do with the stag, but never thought he…”
Her eyes grew sharp again, and she raised her head to glare at him. “Still, you have no way of knowing for absolute sure,” she said. “Who are you to say why Xelind does what he does? You at least must realize that you’ve made a very dangerous decision, Tir.”
“Xelind won’t kill me. And I must learn to fight, Palva; you know that. Xelind is the best one to teach me.”
“Fine then,” Palva groaned, shaking her head. “You go about your fighting lessons. But I’ll be keeping a close eye on Xelind, whatever you say. And Leron. One breath of trouble, and I’ll send Nerasa after him.” She paused, and raised her head in the direction of the redoubt, where Simetra’s harsh barks had broken the din of the fight, and the Sentinels’ snarls were dwindling back into silence. Palva seemed to calm. “At any rate,” she added, turning back to Tir. “You don’t need to worry about the good captain tonight; he isn’t here.”
“Where is he?”
“On the renegade hunt. Great Guidelights, am I glad not to be her.”