Page 20 of Blood Fist

Her big second was at her side in a moment, following on her heels into the war tent.

What had once been a medium sized tent with wide open flaps had been converted into a more permanent structure. Chiefs used it for business, preferring to keep the tedium of leadership from their mates and packs. Restrina stepped up onto the narrow doorway and jerked open the flap, ducking inside without so much as acknowledging Osmond’s presence.

She doesn’t want to talk in the open.

Silently apologizing to Peppercorn, he slipped out of the stables and tried to look casual as he swaggered across the clan. He made sure to nod to people, greetthem as they walked by, before creeping between the war tent and the blacksmith’s shop. Normally, the clanging of hammer on anvil would drown out any conversations in the tent, but the blacksmith was out for the day.

Dropping to his belly, Ridan scooted up to the base of the tent before prying open the wall just beside the stake, peering up and into the dim tent.

It was hard to see anything other than boots. He’d done this enough to recognize Chief Restrina’s advisors—Gustall, Henroen, and Osmond.

The tent was dark, lit only by embers smoldering in the grate. Shadows danced on their faces, giving them a grim countenance.

“—Ellis confirmed their numbers.” Restrina was saying, naming her preferred scout.

Restrina was leaning over the great table they pulled out for meetings. He couldn’t see what was on the table, but he didn’t need to. His mother had a habit of looking at maps of the region when she needed to think, fingering the thick hide it had been painstakingly copied onto.

Behind her, leaning up against the wall, was the Chief’s throne. It was a big, ugly thing. The furs heaped on top gave it some comfort—although once, while drunk, Restrina said it made her thighs sweat. Teeth and bones dangled from it as a declaration of power, an intimidation tactic. Restrina rarely sat on the damn thing.

“Why now?” Gustall asked in his low drawl. He was huddled in the back, arms crossed, chin on his chest. His face could barely be seen under the mass of messy hair. “It’s been years. Why would Krait attack now?”

“Heisn’t even attacking,” Restrina spat disdainfully. “He sent General Bargraves.”

“As much as I hate the man,” Henroen’s voice was warm despite the tone of the room. “He is a fighter. By sending Bargrave, Krait is declaring his intent.”

Osmond seemed to be pacing, his boots coming in and out of Ridan’s vision. “Bargrave is claiming we stole his betrothed.”

Restrina bared her teeth. “He was a child!”

Ridan jerked so hard he nearly pulled the whole tent over.Betrothed?Were they talking about Corric?

“Why now?” Henroen echoed Gustall’s question,

“Maybe he didn’t know?” Osmond tried.

Gustall scoffed. “That man has so many spies he probably has one assigned to himself. He’s known the boy was with us the entire time.”

“Either way.” Restrina silenced any further analysis. “Kaledonea’s army is here in force.”

Ridan’s fingers dug into the dirt to keep silent. This was hardly the first time Kaledonea challenge them, but it was usually a battalion. An annoyance to pluck at their borders, test for weakness. The clans always sent them scurrying home with nothing to show for it.

But this? And for Corric? That made him angry. Corric washispack. They wouldn’t take him from them. Ridan would fight tooth and blade to keep his packmate safe.

“Who do you want me to alert?” Gustall asked, his voice cool and even. Nothing ever seemed to ruffle the man.

Restrina seemed to consider it. “We need to prepare the young and weak. Those who cannot fight need to be ready to leave.”

Henroen nodded. “The Windy Cliffs Clan will host them. We have always had good relations with them, and the Jagged Coast is far enough to be safe.”

The chief tapped her nails on the table, her large earrings swinging. “The boys can escort them.”

Ridan’s hiss of anger was covered by the crackle of a wood splitting on the fire. She was going to send him away. He’d been training his whole life to defend his clan! He wasn’t a child anymore. Just last year he brought down a Graves Wolf. He and Jonen took down an adolescent Tetratorn that was trying to steal a pony, and most days he could disarm OsmondandHonroen. Ridan was more than capable of joining the fight.

“Is that wise?” Osmond asked quietly, cutting Ridan’s thoughts off. “They’ll be angry.”

Restrina’s jaw twitched. “Let them. Corric doesn’t need to be anywhere near this, and Jonen and Ridan know the way better than anyone. They can defend those who can’t.”

“But they would be an asset?—”