Chapter Text
The results of the ambush had been bloody and brutal but somehow, the merchants had come out with only a handful of injuries and most of those were cuts, scrapes and minor burns. Malka took the worst of the burns on the merchant side of the fight - the three smoldering bodies that Jack dragged out of the clearing a testament to Sylaise’s propensity with flames. The cat woman sat quietly by the fire, whimpering and whining as she patted snow against the worst of the burns. The sorceress huddled next to her, refusing to speak to any of the guards who remained vigilant against the threats in the night. It was relatively quiet in camp now, Jack had taken most of the fighters to chase down their attackers before they could regroup while Ebon had barely taken the time to order her remain in the camp before he snatched up a torch and bolted into the woods after the terrifying creature that Dyl had become in the battle.
“Never seen magic like that,” the words shook her out of her reverie. She turned to look at Malka blankly, and saw that the cat was grinning at her.
She shifted and tucked her hands under her knees, mumbling into her skirts as her gaze fell, “I can control it, nobody will get burned. Promise.”
“How about some wings?” Sylaise turned quickly to the woman now, eyes widening.
“I- I didn’t! I mean, I did but- but not- that wasn’t my magic, not all of it was me. The wings, yes, but-” Malka began to laugh, cutting off her panicked stammering.
“I’m not afraid of magic,” she looped an arm around Sylaise’ shoulders. “Not a fan of it taking my whiskers off, but there’s plenty of magic out there that doesn’t hurt anyone. Wings? That’s badass. I’d love a pair even half as pretty as those.”
“I didn’t know it would give them wings,” Sylaise blushed but smiled gratefully. “It… the spell didn’t give me wings. I don’t really know why they got wings.”
“Huh, that’s interesting,” Malka paused as a small pot was passed to her and sniffed the contents. Her lips curled but she sighed, “This is going to sting worse than the magic.”
“For a minute,” the girl agreed and held out her hands to take the jar. “I can help you apply it?”
The other woman nodded and re-settled herself and so Sylaise scooped out a finger’s worth of the slimy balm and began to gently apply it over the raw flesh. Malka did her best but winced and yelped time and again, her eyes watering as she apologized for making the work more difficult but she just shook her head and shushed the woman. She was careful, but still knew she was going to hurt Malka and the two apologized to each other as often as not while the others moved quietly around and soon she noticed that Malka had gone preternaturally still and became aware of voices just within her range of hearing. She paused and turned her attention to her surroundings.
“-monsters,” a voice was hissing, the whisper of a terrified person. “Why would Jack trust it?”
“Maybe he didn’t know?” Another answered.
“The danger-” a third started.
“They saved you,” Sylaise turned and glared at the men who were huddled on the far side of the fire. She sneered at them and waved the pot towards the bloody mess in the snow near where she sat. “If you’re so scared of monsters, you should be falling over yourselves to thank Dyl. She would have killed us all if they hadn’t stopped her.”
“You think I’m going to thank a werewolf, girl?” One of the men rose and she saw he had a nasty looking cut on his cheek and an equally vicious knife on his belt.
“They aren’t,” she shook her head and felt doubt tug at her heart. “Dyl isn’t, they can’t be. It’s not a full moon and they…”
She looked at Malka who was nodding and the men who were frowning, she handed the jar to the cat and stood up, putting her hands on her hips and took a deep breath. Everything smelled like blood and smoke, she focused on the tang of the embers in the air; the fire flared and grew, crackling and snapping at the wood hungrily. Her green eyes shone in the firelight, her red hair glowed as though it was a torch.
“Dyl comes back, werewolves don’t come back.” She watched the men hesitate at her imperious tone and scoffed at them, “Oh yes, you’re all very clever. Can’t tell the difference between a shifter and a werewolf, didn’t you listen to your grannies at all?”
“Well said,” a man’s voice stopped the men from answering. She turned and saw Umviel following Jack back into the clearing, and the human was grinning at her slightly.
The elf did not look remotely convinced, his deep voice rumbled over the fire’s noise, “Perhaps, but perhaps not, Jack. Stories of shifters come out of the northern forest but there’s never been proof they exist.”
“Hang your proof,” she whirled on the man and the fire sparked and churned green in answer to her rage. “They saved us and you shot them.”
The two stared at each other over the flames until Jack put a hand on the other man’s shoulder and stepped between them. He held up his other hand to Sylaise as though offering surrender to her, “It was a bloody mess and I’ll hold all judgment until the boy gets back, but I’m inclined to agree with the young lady. Shifter or otherwise, we’d have been broken by that banshee without them. Now everyone try to get some rest.”
He gave each merchant a long, meaningful stare and slowly the gathered caravaners nodded and settled by the fire that slowly returned to a much more mellow - and golden - glow; the last man returned to his bed under a wagon. Jack settled across the fire from her and gave her another kindly smile, she felt her face flush scarlet in an infuriating blend of gratitude and embarrassment but Malka patted her hand - still balled into a fist - and held up the jar to her, blinking wide golden eyes and adopting an adorably sorrowful pout.
“My face still hurts,” she didn’t need to say more.
Sylaise gratefully turned to the distraction and resumed her task, gently coating the burns with the salve until the woman sighed with relief and slumped back against the wagon wheel. She settled close, draping a blanket over both of them to help keep warm and closed her eyes to seek a few minutes of rest; listening for any more hints of danger for herself or her friends, she wondered idly when the bounty hunters had earned such distinction. She was shaken from her thoughts by the sound of heavy footsteps in the snow, the loud crackle of ice breaking underfoot as somebody strode quickly towards the camp. Sylaise looked up, tense and ready to jump to her feet and hurl flames, but froze as Ebon rushed into view holding a small, blood soaked cluster of furs.
She let out a wordless little sound and felt a hand land heavy on her arm just as Malka’s voice broke the quiet, “Go get Lolari, tell her to bring her kit.”
She met Ebon’s eyes and saw how his jaw clenched as the voices of the other merchants began to all respond to his arrival at once, the few words she caught before she ran to find the leaders of the troupe were all damning and her heart was pounding from fear. She did not even need to speak, as she darted around the side of the wagon, she saw that the older elf was already on her feet and shoving a new bundle of what looked like rags into a satchel.
“How bad?” Lolari glanced at her.
“Bad,” she felt her hands shaking, the world seemed to be spinning in the snow but she forced herself to breathe. “I couldn’t tell but… bad. Lots of blood.”
The other elf swore softly and tossed her another bundle - and she realized these were meant as bandages and clutched it tightly. “Show me.”
~~~
Dyl came to consciousness slowly, there was first a dull rushing sound like wind or water over stones and a bone deep pain that they could not find the source of. Slowly, they became aware of light - dim though it was - playing over their face and forced their eyes open to blink and squint through tears at the source. There were looming shadows and the world swam when they tried to sit up, but a hand pressed their shoulder back against the warm bed. The realization that they were laying in a bed jolted them fully awake and they thrashed in alarm but the strong hands returned and held them while smaller, cooler hands pressed something cold and wet to their forehead.
“Get off,” they managed weakly, still trying to fight off the hands but the coolness did not leave their face.
A girl’s voice answered and they were surprised enough that they froze and turned to look for the source. “Dyl, lay still or you’ll hurt yourself!”
Sylaise was holding a damp cloth in her hands and looking down at them with a worried look on her face. They looked up slowly and saw the figure of Malka grinning down at them though she looked truly strange without any fur or whiskers over most of her face, though the burns looked well and truly healed.
“Ebon?” They turned to look past the women but the small room they were in had no more visitors to greet them. They swatted at Malka’s hands in frustration and the cat chuckled but let go of their shoulders.
“He’s alright, Dyl, went off after the fight and told Dag to stab anyone who followed him. I thought,” the girl looked down, her face pale and drawn, “I thought you were both going to leave us. I couldn’t even make myself be mad at you. They shot you.”
“Not the first time,” they grunted softly and grimaced at the expression of shock she had in answer to the words. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?” Sylaise frowned and moved to the foot of the bed where she perched lightly.
They glanced at Malka and the woman’s teeth flashed then she stood up and made her way to the door, “I’ll let the men know they’re awake.”
They let the door close before they spoke again, “Where are we Sylaise? What happened? How long have I been-”
“Three days.” The girl’s answer cut into their thoughts and they gaped at her.
“What? Three days?”
She nodded, “You killed the harpy or whatever she was and then one of the merchants panicked and shot you. You tried to get away, I saw it - you just tried to run and then Umviel - that stoic bastard, he did too and he wanted to chase you but, but, but…”
Sylaise stammered and stopped, taking a few breaths and staring at them with wide eyes. Dyl was startled to realize that she was near tears, “I knew it was you, the wings were… it was my spell, Dyl, and I thought if I stopped it that they’d kill you and it’s my fault! I’m sorry! I made you a monster!”
She began to cry, covering her face and damn them - Dyl laughed. It was a world of pain to laugh, their chest was a riot of complaint for the abuse but her words had shaken free something and they laughed bitterly despite the agony. She stared at them, wiping at her cheeks as she saw how they grimaced and shook their head.
“That’s why I apologized,” they winced but let themself fall back against the pillow, exhausted from the exertion. “You didn’t make me anything I’m not already, but the wings were new. Can’t say I didn’t like them.”
“What are you saying?” She rubbed a hand over her cheeks again, green eyes narrowed as she watched them.
They let her and tried not to move, not to make any gesture or motion she might find threatening as they answered. “Look at me Sylaise, really look. You know what these scars are from now, you saw it that night. What I hunt, what I hate, what I become… you all saw it. And that idiot boy brought me back.”
The words were full of a bitterness that had nothing to do with their dearest friend, nothing to do with the girl trying not to weep by their bed. They felt furious at themself and deeply ashamed of the danger they had put the others in; they had taken a chance, and it had been likely the only real chance the others had but it had still been a mistake.
“You,” Sylaise stared at them and her hands clenched in her lap. “You are the only idiot, Dyl. Why didn’t you tell us? At least Ebon? He went after you Dyl, he swore he’d kill anyone who hurt you. He brought you back and we thought you were dead, and he didn’t care what you are. We don’t care, stupid!”
They lay quietly as she fumed, watching more tears form and slip down her cheeks despite the angry swipes of her hands. They waited for her to calm and did not try to argue; and so it was that when the door opened and Ebon poked his head in, he found them staring at each other and seemingly unwilling to break the silence that stretched before them. With-Two-Daggers apparently had no such compunctions, stepping past Ebon’s leg and trotting in with a wide grin on his face.
“Time finally to be waking up, eh?” He patted their arm when he got close enough and Dyl shot him a quick glance but his smile remained easy and he leaned on the bed close to where their hand rested on the covers.
“Finally,” they managed weakly and looked between the others with uncertainty as the quiet again began to stretch.
“We’re in Fostwold,” Ebon announced, shutting the door and leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. “A few more days to Rimmelduk, if you’re up for it.”
Dyl hesitated then shook their head slowly, “I can’t imagine you lot want to travel with me anymore than the rest will. Go on ahead, I’ll… go south. Away. Alone.”
The words hurt to form and it wasn’t just the wounds in their chest that threatened to bleed again this time. They turned to look at the wall, bracing for whatever might come next. There was a pause then in two quick strides, Ebon had reached the bed where he knelt down and wrapped his arms around their shoulders, lifting them easily into a tight hug.
“I don’t know what happened the other night, Dyl, but I don’t care. You think I’m going to abandon you to the ice and bandits, you don’t know me at all. I’m with you,” he gently released them and helped them get comfortable again, “no matter where you go, I’m with you.”
“Hear me out before you commit,” they groaned and let him help them sit up a bit. “You might feel different.”
He frowned but pulled over the only chair in the room and sat, With-Two-Daggers joined Sylaise by their feet. They sighed and spoke slowly, taking their time to form the words against the struggle to breathe.
“I’m not a werewolf,” they hesitated then frowned. “But I’m not entirely not a werewolf, and it’s a bit hard to explain because I don’t understand it myself but the others - yes, there are others but that’s not the point,” they added, seeing Ebon open his mouth as though to interrupt. He shut it again as they continued, “- the point is that we don’t go spreading it around. Folx don’t recognize the difference.”
“Who’d have thought?” Sylaise muttered darkly and they glanced at her but she did not meet their eyes and Dyl did not press the issue and addressed her instead on another matter.
“You didn’t make me a monster, Sylaise - your spell didn’t do that. It was… it was stupid, the wings in the moonlight and I… I lost myself in the battle.” They frowned and shook their head, “I shouldn’t have let the change come on, not around anyone else. Too dangerous.”
“Losing yourself in the fight-dance,” the goblin spoke up, “having the strength to kill and live, that’s no stupid being, if I know it.”
They hesitated, but felt the beginning of a grateful smile on their lips as they shook their head, “No, you’re right. She had to die, I had to kill her, it was our only chance so I… I used every trick I had. Gods be kind, I must have looked like terror to the others… to you.”
“You were something,” Ebon murmured and, when they glanced at him, gave them a bright smile. “I’ve heard of griffins before but never seen a wolf with owl wings. And that howl? I don’t know if you noticed but those bandits had one look at you and broke.”
They grinned weakly at his words but Sylaise spoke up so they couldn’t reply, “And then, after you disappeared, Ebon told Jack to keep the others away or he’d leave them bleeding in the snow and he did - Jack wouldn’t let anyone even talk about you until he has a chance to talk to you.”
“Really?” They were surprised by this and blinked as the others all nodded solemnly. “What for?”
“Shifters aren’t the same as weres, are they?” Sylaise asked with a prim voice.
“Ah, no. No they’re very different,” Dyl shook their head vehemently. “A gift of the wild, only the forest’s most blessed have such boons.”
“Says our Wolf-Who-Isn’t,” Dag grinned at them with pure impudence.
“Do not call me that,” Dyl snapped, then realized his meaning. "This isn't a gift."
“What do I be calling you then?” His cajoling was gentle, kind, but insistent.
“Dyl.” They ground their teeth and glared at him, “Just. Dyl.”
Sylaise rolled her eyes and leaned forward, “You know you’re just encouraging him to come up with something worse.”
“Nothing can be worse!” They winced and pressed a hand to their chest, trying to suppress an urge to cough.
Ebon leaned forward to help them readjust, held a cup to their lips so they could swallow a bit of water, then glanced towards the others. “Anyway, I found you about half a mile from camp on a rise, you were so still that I thought… Lolari managed to find a breath left in you and got the bolt out but said it wouldn’t be a quick recovery for you. I think she was trying to tell us how lucky I was to find you breathing at all.”
They saw how his features shifted, how he tried to hide any emotions at all but they knew Ebon well; he had once been a poor liar but they had taught him to hunt and to gamble, he knew how to measure risk and he knew how to hide his feelings. Well, from everyone else that was true but they knew his face, his eyes, his voice; they saw the fear and worry.
“Ebon, I-” they reached to touch his arm.
“It’s alright,” he caught their hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “But you try and die on me again, and I’ll kick your ass.”
They laughed, wincing and pulling their knees up as they were overcome by a wracking cough and the others all gave them a moment to calm before helping them settle again on the bed. “And you lot have been nursing me for three days?”
“Nah, that was Sylaise - Lolari told her to burn the face off anyone who tried to start trouble. That sort of settled it, nobody wanted to get close between the prospects of her fire or Jack’s blade.” Ebon gave another little grin and they sighed and nodded.
“Alright, what else did I miss?” They felt very tired but desperately fought the sensation of sinking into darkness again.
“Not much,” Ebon shrugged.
“Malka’s obsessed with you, wants to know how you did that and - I definitely wasn’t thinking when I told her it was my magic that gave you wings. She wants to fly now too.” There was a moment’s pause then a round of chuckles passed through the room.
“I’d pay to see that,” Dyl muttered.
Ebon noticed as they sagged back against the pillow and gave the other two a look, which they answered by promptly rising and making their way to the door. Sylaise paused with a hand on the knob and turned back to give them a smile.
“I’m really glad you woke up,” then she and Dag were gone.
Dyl grinned slightly and took another drink from the cup Ebon offered, feeling sleep rushing towards them like a storm but despite their efforts to stave it off, darkness overcame their senses again after a few quiet minutes. Their last thoughts followed the flow of the song that Ebon hummed under his breath while settling in beside them to keep watch and then they were dreaming of a forest green and ripe with verdant life, where the streams burbled in their beds and birds sang a song as pleasant and familiar as a lullaby.
~~~
The thunder-drum of dice rolling over stone was dulled to a distant heartbeat whilst chains clanked and jangled noisily in the dank cold and dark of the little chamber. Bones lay in piled heaps in corners while the sound of dripping continued unabated. A figure hung limp and silent as a broken doll from the manacles fixed to the ceiling by a wicked hook. Soft sobbing echoed from some distant source beyond the heavy door.
She stepped past the table, running her fingers over the handles of various tools and considered the shape looming before her. There was a knife - too thin and curved to be called a dagger, it looked like some horrible claw - and she frowned as she considered it.
“This is not the way,” her voice was like a summer day in this wretched place.
The pathetic creature in chains moaned and fell silent as her companion raised a hand in warning. “This is the only way they know, these foul mortals. By blood do they enter the world and by blood do they leave it so why should I not take my satisfaction in the spilling?”
“Needless,” she countered his harsh snarls gently, “pointless and wasteful. They are not chattel for the butchering; they dream and hope, create wonders to share and chase away the terror of the Unknown. They are marvelous.”
“They are meat, and I will not be denied my feast,” he turned and snarled, long fangs glinting dangerously as he flexed his long, clawed fingers and leered.
The figure sobbed and he turned with a snarl, swiping out with a cruel aim that left the body choking and gurgling around a ruined throat. She let out a hiss of frustration and stepped away from the tools.
“Have a care, brother; there are forces beyond us in the wide worlds. Remember the old lessons, or we will be doomed to relive them. Prey, when pushed too far, will always fight back against its hunter, and the fight for life is too desperate to risk any less than their all.” She turned and swept from the chamber without waiting for him to answer. A strangely crafted bit of metal from his table was slipped up her sleeve where the brute had not noticed it.