Prince Faranol had slain the Grey Dam's mate himself, holding him on the end of a spear as he raged forward, dying, the froth on his muzzle flecked with blood. They still told the story in Altoria, when Tanaros was a boy.
A mighty battle, they said.
Was it a mighty battle, he wondered, when Faranol slew the cubs? In Pelmar they had lauded him for it, even as they had turned their backs upon the family of Ushahin's father. Still, the damage was done, and no treaty reached; the Ellylon departed in sorrow and anger, Faranol Altorus' deeds went unrewarded, and in the farthest reaches of Pelmar, the Sorceress of the East remained unchallenged.
Such was the outcome of that embassy.
And seven years later, when a nameless half-breed boy, the shame of his family, starveling and ragged, was set upon and beaten in the marketplace of the capital city, who remarked it? When he staggered into the woods to die, the bones of his face shattered, his limbs crooked, his fingers broken and crippled, who remarked it?
Only the Grey Dam of the Were, still grieving for her slain mate, for her lost cubs, who claimed the misbegotten one for her own and named him in her tongue: Ushahin. And she reared him, and taught him the way of the Were, until Lord Satoris summoned him, and made of his skills a deadly weapon.
Tanaros watched the ravens, his raven. "Do you never yearn, cousin?"
"I yearn." The half-breed's voice was dry, colorless. "I yearn for peace, and a cessation to striving. For a world where the Were are free to hunt, as Oronin Last-Born made them, free of the encroachments of Men, cousin. I yearn for a world where ones such as I are left to endure as best we might, where no one will strike out against us in fear. Do you blame me for it?"
"No." Tanaros shook his head. "I do not."
For a moment, Ushahin's face was vulnerable, raw with ancient pain. "Only Satoris has ever offered that hope. He has made it precious to me, cousin; this place, this sanctuary. Do you understand why I fear?"
"I understand," Tanaros said, frowning. "Do you think I will fail his trust?"
"I do not say that," the half-breed replied, hesitating.
Tanaros watched the raven Fetch, sidling cunningly along the low branch, bobbing his head at a likely female, keeping one eye cocked lest he, Tanaros, produce further gobbets of meat from his pouch. "Ravens mate for life, do they not, cousin?"
"Yes." Ushahin's eyes were wary.
"Like the Fjel." Tanaros turned to face the Dreamspinner, squaring his shoulders. "You need not doubt me, cousin. I have given my loyalty to his Lordship; like the Fjeltroll, like the ravens, like the Were." Beneath the scar of his branding, his heart expanded, the sturdy beating that had carried him through centuries continuing, onward and onward. "It is the only love that has never faltered."
Love, yes.
He dared to use that word.
"You understand that what you see this night may pain you?" Ushahin asked gently. "It involves your kindred, and the sons of Altorus."
"I understand." Tanaros inclined his head. "And you, cousin? You understand that we are speaking of a union between Men and Ellylon?"
Ushahin grimaced, baring his even teeth. "I understand, cousin. All too well."
"Then we are in accord," Tanaros said.
The raven Fetch chuckled deep in his throat, shifting from foot to foot.
THREE WERE EMERGED FROM THE dense forest at the base of Beshtanag Mountain, drifting out of the foliage like smoke. They rose from four legs to stand upon two, lean and rangy. Oronin's Children, Shaped by the Glad Hunter himself. They were vaguely Man-shaped, with keen muzzles and amber eyes, their bodies covered in thick pelts of fur.
One among them stood a pace ahead of the others. He addressed Lilias in the Pelmaran tongue, a thick inflection shading his words. "Sorceress, I am the ambassador Kurush. On behalf of the Grey Dam Sorash, we answer your summons."
"My thanks, Kurush." Lilias inclined her head, aware of the weight of the Soumanie on her brow. Her Ward Commander, Gergon, and his men flanked her uneasily, hands upon weapons, watching the Were. In the unseen distance, somewhere atop the mountain, Calandor coiled in his cavern and watched, amusement in his green-slitted eyes. Lilias did not fear the Were. "I seek to affirm our pact."
Kurush's jaws parted in a lupine grin, revealing his sharp white teeth. "You have seen the red star."
"I have," she said.
"It is Haomane's doing," he said, and his Brethren growled low in their throats.
"Perhaps," she said carefully. "It betokens trouble for those who do not abide by the Lord-of-Thought's will."
Kurush nodded toward the mountain with his muzzle. "Is that the wisdom of dragons?"