A Daughter of Silvaris

Chapter 12 - Preparations for War

The next three days were an organised chaos.

Every day, more and more from our allied packs answered the call of their High Alpha and arrived at Iron Ridge.

First came those from Copper Casim Pack, our nearest—and smallest—allied pack, who supplied at least seven hundred strong and capable lupen warriors. Every male and female had the ability to instil a sense of unease in whomever their gaze fell upon.

None were exceptionally tall or bulky, but they were no less imposing for it. Their only shared, identifying feature—besides the pole straight, disciplined stance and hard-faced expressions—were the scars that littered their skin. Some were long and deep, some small and puncturing. Many were silvery with age, but the younger warriors’ scars shone shades ranging from a fresh purple to a convalescing skin tone.

Curiosity got the better of me and I’d asked Oberon how they could scar that way, whether they’re healing ability was somehow different to our own. A chill had skittered from my head to the tips of my toes when he replied that they carry so many scars because they impregnate the tips of their weapons with lupesbane, and stop training with practice weapons as soon as they have their first shift.

Sixteen, or there abouts.

Looking at the proud females, some young with scarred faces, all with their hair braided tightly down their spines, I couldn’t help but feel inadequate. I would turn fifteen soon and, although I’m progressing quickly through preparatory and hand-to-hand training, I hadn’t so much as considered picking up a blunt training knife, never mind a lethal toxic one.

As a plant that could be grown in most conditions, with an easily extractable toxin that even in small doses can nullify part or all of a lupen’s abilities, the use of lupesbane was heavily controlled.

It was forbidden in Iron Ridge as far as I knew, and none of our Guard bore scars like the Copper Casim warriors, but Papa did not rule our allied packs as a dictatorship. Providing they adhered to the overarching laws of the Northlands, the allied Alpha’s were permitted to run their packs as they saw fit.

I learned that some of our own forces, including Jakon and his mother, had originated from Copper Casim Pack. They had joined Iron Ridge when General Payton took Jakon’s mother as a chosen mate after her mate died when Jak was small. She had wanted stability for her son, but Breem Payton had never been the most loving father to Jak, and he became even more absent after Jak’s mother had died four years ago.

Thinking about it, I’d seen Breem snarl at Jak many more times than I’d ever seen him smile at him.

Mountain Ash Pack arrived on the second day.

They came from the northeast, all wearing fighting leathers more lightweight than I thought would be comfortable in the current weather. It stayed dry, but the clouded skies had left the air cool.

Our Guard forgoing their fur-lined leathers in favour of the standard I could understand, but the leathers Mountain Ash wore… Still black and protectively padded, but lacking all the thicker, armoured layers that safeguard the torso and shoulders, as though in comparison to their usual climate, Iron Ridge might as well be in the height of summer. They wore no greaves or gauntlets either, instead favouring reenforced black leather boots and gloves that laced up the shin and forearm.

Many of the Mountain Ash warriors were pale, I noticed—even for the Northlands. Not sickly pale, but living so high up in the cold of the mountains, under the near constant cover of the woodland canopy had clearly starved them of sunlight. Some were so pallid that I wondered whether, even if they moved down from the mountain for a whole summer, their skin would tan at all.

And more platinum blonde and flaming orange hair could be seen amongst the thousand or so warriors their Alpha brought to us than I had seen anywhere in my life.

Black Claw and Redwood Forest Packs arrived collectively on the morning of the third day. They were the two farthest outlying packs and had a close relationship between themselves.

It was common for lupen from both packs to find their mate in the other, and as such many family trees dipped in and out of both packs—including Redwood Forest’s Alpha, Meridda, who had found her paramour at their summer solstice party, after he had been drafted from Black Claw to provide extra guard for the event.

Black Claw’s Alpha had me rubbing my eyes. Standing beside Oberon, my mouth hung open a little as I took in the mountain of a man. Had I not known better, I might have thought him Rhett’s father. He had features reminiscent of Beta Elizebett’s: tan skin and near black waves of hair, which he kept long, the top half tied back with a leather strap.

Although I still hadn’t seen him, each Alpha that arrived would have been welcomed by Papa—exchanging a grasp of the forearm and small bow of the head to their High Alpha.

Now, they each greeted Oberon in a similar fashion, though Oberon dipped his head as well.

Bright emerald eyes identical to Rhett’s held mine as he offered his shallow bow at the hip. The intensity they bore under his brow—which sat in a permanent, slightly furrowed position—made it an effort to afford him the same respect and hold his gaze as I returned a rather ungraceful curtsy. Mama would have laughed herself silly if she’d seen it.

His eyes had seemed identical to Rhett’s at first, but by the time I’d risen from my curtsey, it was clear they were different. The same colour, yes, but the Alpha’s eyes were hard and cold as granite, and lacked all the kindness of Rhett’s.

Taller than my father by half a head and well-muscled too, I had the feeling that it would take an incredibly self-assured—or stupid—male or female to not feel intimidated by his presence.

“Alpha Ettram Crowfoot, at the service of our High Alpha and his noble Silvaris bloodline,” he said to Oberon and I when he straightened. His voice was as I’d expected—deep and indomitably masculine.

With his name, it all fell into place. He was a descendant of Nativis, one of the six Lycan Lord of Lupaelia, equal to SIlvaris and Rubris in esteem. Not as closely related to his Lycan ancestor as my family or Rubris, but… clearly close enough.

He was Beta Elizabett’s elder brother—Rhett’s uncle.

With the arrival of our allied pack, the land surrounding Iron Ridge town was now crowded with rows upon rows of erected tents and marques for the warriors. The air through war camp was thick with the scents of metal and sweat and leather and smoke whilst armour and weapons were smithed.

I learned that our lupen leathers came from the Ashwood Elk, traded within the Northlands by Mountain Ash Pack. This specific hide could be fashioned into the material that was both tough and pliable enough that it would expand with the warrior when he shifted into wolf form, providing a tough exterior to protect the wolf within.

All that was required for the shift was a removal of boots, gloves and the separate upper chest plate, freeing the shifted warrior from the withers to the prosternum.

I wondered if the Southlands would have armour too, considering trade between our territories had ceased following the meeting with Rubris, when Diablo had made a bid for mine and Osion’s mateships.

The weapons being smithed were mostly daggers, each one ten inches in length. Two could be carried by each warrior, sheathed in their greaves and therefore able to be carried on a shifted lupen’s hind legs for human form combat.

Our Northland warriors were just as deadly in human form as they were when shifted.

Oberon informed me our own Iron Ridge forces numbered well over a thousand. I knew our training, I had seen it, envied it. And I knew, if our allies were half as good as our own, the Rubris imperials did not stand a chance.

Providing I avoided areas populated by Iron Ridge warriors, it had been easy for me to wander through the war camp unnoticed, despite my Silvaris features; the warriors all busied with their preparations for war. The few who did notice me mostly bowed, though some of the younger warriors stared with a sort of awe, as though they were looking at some sort of mythical creature.

Some groups of tents bustled with conversation and laughter, other clearings rang with clashes of metal and bodies as they trained.

Rhett caught me wandering amongst them once or twice and quickly ushered me back home for a game of chess, claiming the war camps to be no place for a female of my age and station.

As the days went by, tension began to fill the camps. It was palpable.

The calm before the storm.

I was relieved to learn that Oberon and Rhett wouldn’t be going south with them.

Oberon had protested—he wanted the chance to avenge our mother as much as anyone, more so, even. But with Beta Robart going into war at Papa’s side, his orders were to stay behind and lead the pack with Beta Elizebett in Papa’s stead.

There must always be a Silvaris at Iron Ridge, Oberon had repeated my father’s words.

I saw my father a grand total of five times over the nine days. Each time was at a distance, and whilst he was surrounded by Alpha’s and Beta’s and General’s, and many other important figures.

As much as I wanted to spend time with him, he was constantly busy—meetings and discussions and tactics, there was always some duty to attend to. All I wished was that I’d have a chance to spend time with him before they moved south.

I didn’t feel fear for my father—he was invincible.

He would head south, exact revenge on the Rubris bloodline and come home unscathed.

But I did fear for Osion.

It had been so long already since the Southlands had taken him.

All I could do was pray that Rubris wanted him alive. I would not allow myself to think of the alternative.

The nothing changed over the next five days. Training, smithing, planning. The warriors mingled between packs; sharing resources, exchanging fighting tips and techniques—I even heard that a few mateships had been formed. All in all, Iron Ridge was buzzing with anticipation for what was to come.