Bound by Honor (War of the Five Fangs Book 0) Page 4

  “I concur, it does belong to all of us,” Oberon said. “But the Black Claws will do as they please in any case. We cannot allow them to continue this behavior. If one instance is ignored, they will take it as a sign of weakness.”

  “There is more news,” Shira said and Oberon sighed.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “There were Packless spotted with the Black Claws. There are rumblings that they have partnered with the lost and wild wolves from The Forsaken Isles,” Shira said. “They mean to slay us all.”

  “And they will be defeated, as they were defeated before,” Oberon said. “We have the might of all of the major packs at our backs. The Gold Eyes to the west, the White Tails to the north, and we the southern Gray Fangs, all are united in their opposition to the Black Claws insolence. Even against the wildness of the Packless, we will beat them back across the Black Sea to the Isles.”

  “You may have the right of it, but I sincerely doubt that will be enough to deter the Black Claws from attempting it,” Aris said. “The boldness of them all.”

  “No, it is the boldness and bitterness of one and one alone,” Oberon said, and his brother’s words bounced in his head: There will be another day, another battle. The day had come and the battle was sure to follow. Oberon couldn’t help but feel foolish to think that the peace he’d helped to create could last.

  “The Gold Eyes are frightened. Their home is not far from the Forsaken Isles, and they’ve sent reports of Packless on their lands,” Shira said. “They are not warriors like us, they will be largely defenseless if the Black Claws and Packless decide to attack them.”

  “And what of the White Tails? Would they not intervene?” Oberon asked.

  “They have allied themselves with the Black Claws,” Shira said and Oberon felt as if the earth were shifting beneath his paws, his one and only chance of avoiding all-out war gone. The White Tails had remained largely neutral in the War for the Light, but Oberon would never have dared guess they would ally with the Black Claws.

  There was no logic to the partnership. The White Tails were a peace-loving pack who preferred to keep to themselves in their frozen northern lands, isolated from the rest of Moonvalley by the barren, mountainous, and arctic land that ran across the coasts of the region. It was referred to as The Badlands because few wolves had ever successfully crossed through the area and lived to tell the tale. Rumors suggested that dozens of Packless wolves had settled there and would descend on unsuspecting travelers in the night.

  “To what end would the White Tails partner with the Black Claws?” Oberon asked.

  “We suspect it’s to protect themselves,” Aris said.

  “From what or whom? The White Tail den is nigh unreachable,” Oberon said.

  “For us common wolves, perhaps. But the Packless? For them, the risk of death is exhilarating,” Aris said. “They would cross The Badlands with less thought than you or I give to breathing.”

  “We believe the Black Claws and their allies mean to stage an assault on the Grey Fangs,” Shira said. “Without our influence, without our resistance, the Black Claws will be free to do as they please with the Falls and the entirety of Moonvalley. We are the only entity in their path.”

  “And we must stay that way,” Oberon said. “For the sake of our children, for the sake of all wolves in the realm. Let me lead your wolves in battle. I will not fail.”

  “But you are not a Grey Fang. How can you lead us?” Aris asked.

  “Then allow me to become one,” Oberon said.

  “Perhaps it’s not you who needs converting. Perhaps it’s us,” Aris said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think it’s time for a new pack to emerge, a stronger and better one,” Aris said. “What would you name us, Oberon Mooneye?” Oberon could scarcely believe the words as he heard them. He thought for a moment, of all of their differences, of all of the strife and friction he’d experienced with the Grey Fangs and only one name came to his mind.

  “We shall be the Silver Fangs and we shall be victorious,” Oberon said.

  Rohn

  When Rohn woke in their living quarters the following morning to find Oberon’s eyes focused solely on Zion, still at peace in sleep, Rohn knew instinctively that Oberon was lost to him. He would soon leave for war and may never return.

  “I have no choice,” Oberon whispered as if he’d read Rohn’s mind, stroking Rohn’s cheek with a finger. It brought him no ease of mind.

  “You do have a choice. You could let the rest of the pack go, you could stay here with us,” Rohn said.

  “To what end? So your friends and family can be slaughtered on the battlefield while I remain in comfort with you and our son, only to be called to the frontline later? No, Rohn, you know I truly do not have that choice,” Oberon said.

  “You underestimate us. Behind the Black Claws, we have the largest and most powerful army in all of Moonvalley,” Rohn said.

  “No, I understand clearly. As you said yourself, behind the Black Claws you have the most powerful army. If it’s true they have allied themselves with the Packless, then even your great army will not be enough on its own to stop the Black Claws,” Oberon said. “The Silver Fangs are powerful, make no mistake. But without me at their helm, they will fall. I know Valen, I know the horrific things he is capable of. He will not cease until I am destroyed.”

  “So why give him the opportunity?” Rohn asked.

  “Because the opportunity will come at one time or another. It’s better that we meet Valen and his army head on now, before they grow any bolder or any larger. For all we know, the White Tails may already be lying in wait to help them. We cannot allow them to continue their growth,” Oberon said.

  “My father could lead us, would lead us,” Rohn said. “You are a great warrior, I have no doubt of that, but you are young with an even younger son at home.”

  “I am aware, which is precisely why I must go. To protect Zion and to protect you,” Oberon said. “To protect all of us. If Valen is not stopped, it will not be merely the Silver Fangs he eradicates. He will wipe Moonvalley of all wolves other than his own.”

  “How were two wolves so vastly different born from the same parents?” Rohn asked. Valen seemed to him a monster, a genocidal menace, where Oberon was gentle and caring, filled with honor.

  “Only the stars can say,” Oberon answered. “Yet for as different as we seem, we are similar too.”

  “In what manner? I see no such similarities.”

  “In battle. Valen is as capable as I have ever been, perhaps more so thanks to his youth,” Oberon said. “He is five years my junior. That will certainly help him if and when it comes to blows between us.”

  “You mean to slay your own flesh and blood?” Rohn asked, his body quivering with chills at the thought.

  “What choice has he left me?”

  “What about the pack? They need you as much as ever,” Rohn said. “How are they to rally and adjust to their new role in the world when the wolf who named them is gone?”

  “They will have you for that,” Oberon said with a smile. “It was always you who was destined to lead this pack, not me.”

  “Already you speak as if you will not return. More than that, an Omega a pack leader? Has your mind turned to mush on the rush of battle?”

  “There exists such a precedent. The Gold Eyes are known for this,” Oberon said.

  “Yes, and look at their current standing in the realm,” Rohn said. “Soon to be smashed by the Black Claws because they’ve spent too much time staring at the stars instead of sharpening their claws.”

  “You may have the right of it, but perhaps you might learn from their mistakes,” Oberon said.

  “You will return to me, Oberon. You must. For Zion,” Rohn said, his eyes aflame as he fought back the tears that formed there.

  “I can make no such promise,” Oberon said, his voice low and grave. “I am but a wolf, a battle-hardened wolf, true, but a wolf nonetheless, mortal like all the rest.” Zion stirred between them, a groan escaping his tiny frame. His eyes fluttered open and locked themselves on Oberon as if he too knew something was amiss.

  “Father,” he said, his speech remarkably clear for a wolf his age, and nuzzled his face against Oberon’s chest. Oberon’s hand wound itself in the wild field that was Zion’s hair and held him close.

  “You need not be frightened, little wolf,” he said and Rohn’s resolve nearly broke at the lie. Like Rohn, Zion had every reason to be frightened. “We were merely talking.” Oberon’s eyes met Rohn’s and he gave Rohn a stern look before mouthing “Be strong” to him. It was the most difficult challenge Rohn had yet been assigned.

  Rohn felt eyes on them from outside their quarters and looked to find a wolf standing at the entrance, eyeing them all as if he would rather do anything than disturb them.

  “Yes?” Rohn asked, knowing the wolf brought more bad news.

  “I am deeply sorry for troubling you,” the wolf said. He was young, one that Rohn didn’t recognize. “His Grace sent me to fetch Oberon at once.” Rohn exchanged looks with Oberon and Oberon leapt to his feet, shifting into his wolf form in a matter of seconds.

  “Let me come with you,” Rohn begged.

  “No. You must stay here with Zion,” Oberon said and Rohn knew it would be worthless to argue. Oberon and the young wolf disappeared around the corner to the stone stairs leading to the council’s chambers.

  Rohn pulled Zion close to him, savoring the warmth and the scent that the pup gave him, the same sort of warmth he treasured in Oberon and prayed he wouldn’t lose.

  “Scary,” Zion said, his voice wavering.

  “Yes, scary,” Rohn agreed.

  Oberon returned nearly an hour later, his face more grim tha
n Rohn had ever seen it. Thankfully, Zion had fallen back asleep, so Rohn left him lying on the cave floor to meet Oberon at the entrance to their quarters so they might speak.

  “What is it?” he whispered. Oberon only shook his head, seemingly incapable of speaking. “Tell me, Oberon. Please. Share whatever it is you are feeling now.”

  “The Gold Eyes… The Black Claws attacked them,” Oberon said, his voice hushed and agonized. “In the night when they were sleeping.”

  “Oberon, I am so sorry,” Rohn said and he meant it. He knew Oberon’s relationship to the Gold Eye pack thanks to his friendship with Pollux Lunalis, the great but now lost seer of the Gold Eye pack. It was because of the Gold Eyes and Pollux’s premonition that any of them were still alive today.

  If only Pollux had been alive to foresee this, Rohn thought.

  “They dragged the bodies to the Falls and left them there for all to see,” Oberon said. He seemed suddenly detached, as if he weren’t really there saying these words, as if it had all been a nightmare.

  “A provocation,” Rohn said and Oberon nodded. There was no avoiding it now. To shed blood at Aurora Falls was an affront to all of the wolves who called Moonvalley their home. It was a clear breach of the peace treaty that Oberon himself had helped to negotiate, the treaty that ended the War for the Light.

  “My own pack, my own blood…” Oberon said, his remorse turning to rage, a play laid out clearly on his face.

  “Oberon, my love, you must stay collected in the face of this. Surely this attack was meant to unsettle you, to spin you away from your center. It is the only way the cowards can hope to best you in battle,” Rohn said.

  “If it is battle they seek, it is battle they shall have,” Oberon said, his gaze now cold and distant. “I will kill each and every one of them myself who had a hand in this.” Rohn didn’t doubt his words, not for a second. For the first time since they’d been bound, Rohn saw the warrior that Oberon truly was and felt grateful that he’d continued to train himself after peace took hold in Moonvalley.

  Because it seemed that peace, like everything else in life, was temporary.

  Oberon

  Nothing had ever felt as bittersweet as the fresh morning air that Oberon took deep gulps of as he bounded up the Homeward Trail, his massive pack of Silver Fang wolf warriors close behind him. Their paws were like thunder, their howls like lightning across the sky as they ran toward retribution.

  Aris and the rest of the council had begged Oberon to take time to strategize, to come up with a plan that might give them the advantage in the battle that was to come, but Oberon himself and the instincts he’d honed in years of fighting were the only advantages he felt necessary.

  The Trail wound north for miles until it finally came to a fork just outside of the Whisperwood; a path to the west led to the Gold Eye den and a path to the north plunged headlong into the dense forest that surrounded Aurora Falls. Aris came to a halt beside Oberon, casting a shadow over him.

  “What is your command?” he asked.

  “Take half of our forces to the Gold Eye den. I haven’t any idea what awaits you there, but it cannot be anything good. Don’t be foolish enough to let them trap you. Send some of your wolves to flank the den should you need them. The element of surprise will serve you well,” Oberon said. It felt odd to be issuing orders to the leader of his own pack, but Oberon had to set that feeling aside. Formalities had no place here.

  “Understood. What will you do?” Aris asked.

  “I will take the remaining warriors to the Falls, where I’m sure Valen waits for me. He would not have conceived of such a terrible show if he hadn’t meant to goad me into meeting him there,” Oberon said. When they were pups, Valen had always had a perturbed fascination with cruelty and power, but Oberon could never have imagined that his brother would become the wicked wolf he had.

  “And if you fall?” Aris asked.

  “It will not be me who goes to my grave this day. Keep a distance behind me,” Oberon commanded the wolves who would follow him and trotted off into the Whisperwood before Aris could argue. The time for talk was over. The only way to end this was to begin the battle.

  Though it was always unsettlingly quiet in the Whisperwood, the only noise that of insects and birds speaking in their own language to each other, Oberon found it more silent that usual as he waded through the tangled brush. He could not even hear the sound of the water crashing against the rocks at the bottom of the Falls.

  “Stop,” a voice said and Oberon whirled to find a ragged black wolf lying in the brush.

  “Noxis?” Oberon asked, recognizing his scent immediately.

  “It is,” Noxis said. As Oberon approached, the scent of rotting flesh invaded his snout, making him cringe.

  “You’re injured,” Oberon said.

  “You’re as astute as ever,” Noxis said, his laugh turning into a pained cough. Blood splattered from his mouth onto the pine needles and leaves that littered the forest ground. When he’d regained his composure, he turned back to Oberon, his golden eyes milky. “This is a trap, surely you must know that,” he said.

  “Without doubt,” Oberon agreed.

  “Then why did you come? Why walk into the mouth of the beast?”

  “What choice do I have? My brother has wrought this, ruined the peace I sacrificed everything to create. He must be stopped,” Oberon said.

  “You and your honor, Mooneye,” Noxis said. “Valen and his Black Claws would spill your life’s blood in the sacred waters of the Falls if given the opportunity and yet you mean to meet him as if he were an honorable wolf who fights with the same rules you do.” He has the right of it, Oberon thought. Perhaps he was being rash, blinded with rage over what Valen had done.

  “I assume your injury is related to how you found out about this trap,” Oberon said.

  “It is. The Black Claws don’t take well to spies, unsurprisingly,” Noxis said.

  “Why did you follow them here? You must’ve known what was waiting,” Oberon said.

  “I had nowhere left to go,” Noxis said. “If I had stayed, they would have killed me. I had hoped to find some useful information to help you because I knew you would come as soon as word reached your ears.”

  “And what did you learn?” Oberon asked.

  “There are wolves stationed at each and every entrance to the Falls. Black Claws, White Tails, Packless, each is represented and each of them has been instructed to seize you and bring you to Valen if they spot you,” Noxis said.

  “How do you know this?”

  “I am the head of the Silent Shifters, or have you forgotten?” Noxis asked with a smirk.

  “I have not forgotten. Why would they take me hostage? To what end?” Oberon asked.

  “That is where my knowledge stops.”

  “How did they find you? What did they do to you?”

  “Perhaps I wasn’t as silent as I’d thought I was,” Noxis said. “The Packless… They are a savage breed. I’d heard that they often turn on and eat their own. I now believe it.” Oberon’s fur stood on end at that comment. He too had heard horrible, vicious things about the Packless but had so far refused to accept them as truth. The sea had a strange way of carrying and propagating rumors and myths, especially about the things that the wolves of Moonvalley didn’t fully understand.

  “As would you be if you had no one and nothing left in this world to lose,” Oberon said.

  “And what about you? Do you have nothing and no one left to lose?”

  “I have everything left to lose, which is why I’ve come, to defend it. To keep it safe from wolves like Valen who would watch the world burn simply for the pleasure,” Oberon said.

  “You are walking into your end if you enter the Falls,” Noxis said.

  “I knew that long before now.”

  “And yet still you would march to meet your demise. Perhaps you really are a braver wolf than most, Oberon Mooneye. Or more foolish. The difference is often indistinguishable,” Noxis said. “At least you’ve been warned.”

  “Thank you, Noxis,” Oberon said, and padded further into the woods, knowing he’d never again see Noxis Blackriver.

  Aurora Falls was in spectacular form, the eerie lights that all shifters were said to have been born from sparkling cheerfully overhead despite the threat of violence that seemed to permeate the air. Oberon stepped cautiously into the sacred area, his eyes darting left and right, searching for any sign of movement. Contrary to Noxis’s warning, there were no wolves waiting for Oberon at the entrance to the Falls, which made him regret commanding his own warriors to wait for him in the relative safety of the brush.