Chapter 21: A Simple Observation

Boxes rattled in protest as Khukri guided the wooden cart down the uneven ground of District 4, ropes threatening to snap every time a particularly uneven patch of dirt caught a wheel. Khukri sighed, breathing in the scent of wet earth as mud squelched between her toes and covered her lower claws. Muck clung to the wheels as it rolled onward, spattering her expensive armour in little brown flecks.

The Direwood was always dimly lit compared to the training grounds in the Othelan Republic, but days like this were too dreary for men to leave their camps. Khukri was twice blessed to handle days like today, with night eyes to navigate, and tolerance to the cold not even the other girls enjoyed. She supposed she should have been grateful for the spitting winter sky, rather than the torrential downpours of summer. Those got so bad that hunting became damn near impossible, even for her.

Another unconscious sigh escaped as she passed their old farming building. It’d been a week since they’d last farmed, and all the crops were long dead, even before this rain. Of course, it made sense that Master spent less time with her now; she wasn’t needed anymore. Issac’s security protected him far better than she could, and she’d be more of a hindrance than a help in his syndicate meetings. Truthfully, the hours she had to tease him before he slept and hold him while he woke were more than any hunting dog should expect from their owner, which made her growing frustration dangerous.

One thing she knew for certain; she wasn’t going to go feral. Feral wolves turned on their owners and packmates, tore them apart with anything from weapons to teeth. It’d happened twice this season, a fact she only learned from Maya the day before Issac’s normal pack returned. For her though? The longer she spent with Master, the less she wanted to see him hurt. She’d spent her life being exceptional among her peers; it’s what made her the best. Perhaps she was a special, mentally stable wolf.

In fact, she saw things more clearly than Master, whose orders didn’t align with his safety at all. That raised the question of what she was to do if she couldn’t trust Master to value his own safety. If Master and another man were going to die, and Master ordered her to save the other man, the order would compel her to do as she was told... but was there any greater failure for a slave than to let their master die? Wouldn’t it be better to disobey and accept punishment later?

Instinctively, that made sense. Master couldn’t be allowed to die, but how was a slave to protect their master from his own idiocy? Khukri squeezed her eyes shut, banishing the wicked grin that came with forbidden thoughts. If she was willing to disobey, she could protect him from himself. She knew this forest, and the range hunters would go to search. Should he find himself deep enough, he’d be angry, but he’d need to keep her to survive. Between his magic and her extensive hunting prowess, she could keep him there forever, safe, and dependent...

The cart rolled into the storage building, finally bringing an end to the rattling and endless patter of rain against her hood. It was getting worse. Disobedient thoughts came as comfortable temptations, luring her instead of making her flinch away. Four weeks; in four weeks she’d confess everything to Maya, and her sisters-in-arms would fix her. Until then, she needed to avoid doing anything rash.

Khukri pulled the hood down, taking a moment to sit and clear mud from between her toes before releasing the rope and unloading her cargo. Inside was Master’s newest creation, something he’d spent his nights on to prepare for his purpose in Sibir. The glossy black plates from the velkammer she’d slain had been worked over with tools, shaped and cobbled together with bits salvaged from her ruined armour to construct an unwieldy suit. He’d started with a plate he’d strap to his arm and call a shield, then moved to a piece that covered his chest. The latest addition, plates he’d custom fit to his legs, were removed from the crate and added to the others. The suit was far too heavy to hunt in, both for running beasts down and evading their attacks, though Khukri supposed things were different in Sibir. Of course, she didn’t rule out the possibility he was going to do something stupid again and get himself killed. In all likelihood, he’d be buried in a shallow, unmarked grave halfway to Sibir in two months’ time.

Khukri placed new velkammer plates on the cart and tied them down, then added a spare coil of rope in case Master needed to run. Not to tie him up, gag him, and steal off into the night. Although... Now that she thought about it, no one else knew about this storage area. If she kept him inside the vast, unoccupied district...

The cart stopped, poised on the threshold into the rain. There wasn’t anything worth hurrying back to, was there? Master asked her to get these, but he’d be at meetings with Issac for hours, and never ordered her to stay anywhere. Over the last week, she’d used that ambiguity to swim into the underwater district, but even her night eyes wouldn’t see underwater in this light.

A thought struck her, making her twitch as though someone nearby might’ve heard it, but of course, Khukri was alone. She abandoned the cart, making her way over to Master’s things. One of Master’s many weaknesses was how little he protected his personal effects, despite obscuring his identity. Even two months in, he’d never forbidden her from going through them. Khukri lifted the lid with shaking hands, eyes falling across Master’s holy books.

It’d be okay if she looked, wouldn’t it? One might even argue it was her responsibility. Something about these texts drew Master to pursue a life in Sibir, one that might get him killed. If her most important duty was his protection, then there was no reason that wouldn’t extend to after he returned her.

With a deep breath, Khukri slid the first book free and checked the picture. That same woman from two months ago snarled back from her mountain of strange white moss, a crown on her head and a pack of fearsome warriors at her back. It was the look of a true hunter, proud and unyielding, unashamed of the power she held and unafraid any of the girls beneath her might challenge her leadership.

“It’s because they were already feral.” The sudden noise made her flinch, even as it left her lips. Khukri sighed, tension releasing from her shoulders. They were mere ink and paper, depictions of long-dead savages too broken by The Schism to understand the world didn’t belong to them anymore. They weren’t to be admired, they were to be pitied.

The second book introduced a strange species she’d never seen, animals with less pronounced muzzles than wolves and rounder ears. Bears, she finally put together. These had to be the white bears of Sibir that sold her to the warehouse in the Dusk Empire before her first memories. Interesting, but not relevant to Master’s purpose.

Each book depicted a new scene, laying out a clear story of the savage wolven leader burning and pillaging villages of terrified bears. It seemed Master knew, more than most, the true nature that lurked beneath a wolf’s skin. It further confirmed that his reckless tendency to knowingly put himself in danger surfaced, not the day Via took him, but the day he bought her. As she turned over another book, she stopped, eyes narrowing. This one was different. It depicted a bear-man wearing a suit of metal plates similar to the one Master was building, kneeling before a bear-girl in a dress and a crown. He held a sword upside-down in both hands, resting the point on the ground.

This had to be something. Deianira made men inherently inferior to women, so a man with weapons and armour was unusual, but if Master intended to cross the entire world to recreate this, it had to be his purpose. That was bad, very bad. This man, whoever he was, must’ve been an exceptional warrior. Of Master’s exceptional qualities, ‘warrior’ was not among them. Khukri replaced the book and continued checking the pictures, stopping on another in stunned silence. The wolf-girl’s pack reached thousands, surrounding a stone structure bigger than even the Dusk Empire warehouse she’d been raised in. It was impossible; thousands of feral wolves in a pack, following a single leader? The books had to be wrong. No animal was strong enough to keep a thousand wolves in line. Wolves were so unpredictable and dangerous that the warehouse and training camp deliberately kept them from ever seeing each other. They never put two in one pack.

Once she finished examining them, Khukri returned the books and rolled the cart outside. The pictures flickered through her thoughts the entire walk back. If the books were filled with lies, then Master’s purpose was doomed, and if they weren’t, then everything she knew about feral wolves was a lie. Two months ago the answer would’ve been obvious, but Master had proven himself both physically and mentally weak, and she still didn’t want to kill him the way feral wolves would. How was that possible? Perhaps he’d uncovered some way to manipulate feral wolves through his strange sorcery? If he’d uncovered some dark secret that this wolf-girl used to gather a thousand wolves, then her condition made sense. Moreover, it would explain how an ancient wolven city could’ve possibly grown so large as The Direwood Outpost’s fourteen districts.

As Khukri approached Issac’s Manor, cloaked girls fanned out from the door, hands on their sabres. It was their job, she knew, but she’d been in and out of this place for days without ever giving them trouble; would it kill them to relax? She sighed, stepping back from the cart and raising her hands, showing them her clawguards were on.

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“Evening, Khukri.”

Oh, so they knew her name? That was better than ‘hey wolf’ at least. “Master asked me to bring him some things.”

The woman nodded, giving the cart a once-over before stepping aside. “Issac finished his meetings already. He told me he’d like you to go to his room when you got back.”

Khukri’s eyes narrowed as she took a closer look at the girls. There were six, each armed with a sabre and, likely, leather armour beneath their cloaks. They’d have reach and numbers on their side if they tried to force her, but as long as she didn’t let them surround her, she could probably keep them at bay. “Issac isn’t my master, he doesn’t get to summon me.”

“We’re just security,” the woman said, shrugging. “He asked me to deliver a message. Do what you want.”

“Oh...” Well, it was Khukri’s turn to feel like a jerk. “Thank you.” She watched carefully as she rolled past the women and alongside the house, but short of keeping track of her, none seemed interested. Once she’d retrieved the plates, they held the door, letting her inside before shutting it and returning to their posts.

Strange, it seemed Issac’s order really was just a request, so what now? She could easily go to Master’s room and ask permission, but if Issac wanted that, he could’ve asked Master to send her over. She was probably overthinking things. If Master’s protector had something to say to her, she should listen.

After flagging down a house slave and asking for the plates to be sent to Master’s room, Khukri made her way to Issac’s office; a set of ornate doors where two of his hunting dogs stood watch. As she approached, they turned, readying spears. Again, Khukri raised her hands, displaying the sheathed claws. “I was told Issac wanted to talk to me?”

The girl’s head jerked to the side. “Leave the knives.” After Khukri slid the blades out and set them on the ground, the guard knocked twice with the butt of her spear. “Khukri’s here!”

A click resounded throughout the hallway, letting the door swing open so Khukri could enter. Issac’s office was, likely, the most decorated room in the house. The walls were covered in rich purple tapestries trimmed in gold frills, and the polished floor reflected light from six gilded gas lamps in sconces high up enough that a servant would need a ladder to refill them. Four hunters in full armour stood at attention, while Issac sat behind a heavily engraved desk of foreign lacquered wood.

As she entered, Issac stood, immediately catching Khukri’s eye with his choice of clothing. He’d eschewed his usual alchemically enhanced coat for a slim pink robe accented with curving white lines and a silver headband dotted with pink gems, complimenting the dye along his eye and earrings. “Khukri? Thanks for coming.”

She hesitated, wondering how to address him without indicating he had authority over her. The training camp covered slave etiquette, but nothing quite fit this situation. In the end, she gave a small bow, trying to sidestep the issue. “Of course, and thank you for everything you’ve done for Master.”

Issac nodded, coming around the desk with a sigh. “I know it’s a bit unusual, but I wanted to discuss Ruari. It’s nothing that’d affect him, so I’d like to keep it between us, if we can.”

“As long as it won’t affect him,” Khukri lied. Her only loyalty was to Master, and she’d betray anyone for his favour without a second thought. Something Issac should know, given his position.

“Right. How do I put this?” Issac rubbed his muzzle, nervously pacing in front of his desk. “You’re aware I have certain… less normal appetites that I come to The Direwood to indulge?”

She waited, wondering if this was a trick question. “Do you mean… men?”

He stopped pacing, meeting her eyes. “Right. I like men. A lot. This is obvious, yes?”

Khukri stared at Issac. If she couldn’t get Master to bed her after everything she’d done, and this bitch tried to muscle in and relieve the pressure... “Yes.”

“Okay, that makes this easier. Does Ruari know?”

The other girls tensed, feeling the radiating hostility that Issac was oblivious to. “He’s never mentioned it,” Khukri said through clenched teeth. “Although, I can tell you his preferences are far more common.”

“What? Oh, no, no. I’m not trying to-” Issac stopped, hopping into a sitting position on the desk. “Look, I wore this to the meeting today, and Ruari barely batted an eye. It’s, like, my thing. Every person I meet is thinking about it, even though they have to be polite and pretend they don’t notice. I have to know; he knows, right? He’s just pretending not to notice to mess with me?”

“He’s never said anything,” Khukri repeated, settling into awkward confusion. “I mean, I could tell him-”

“No!” Issac’s hand sprung forward, waving the thought away. “No. I don’t want to make it weird. It’s just, I’m not really hiding it, but he’s always treating me… normal.”

Khukri rolled her eyes. “Oh, oh yeah, that sounds like him. He probably didn’t notice.”

Issac scoffed, frantically motioning to his outfit. “How! This is a bright pink dress! It’s wildly over the top, even for me!”

“Master’s… Well, Master’s a lot of good things, but when it comes to certain things he’s a bit… simple.”

“Simple...” Issac mumbled, squinting as he looked away. “So when he jokes that I’m masculine or elegant or implies that I’m popular with women?”

Khukri sighed, inwardly deciding this was a conversation best kept private after all. “He’s probably being sincere.”

“Huh...” Issac slumped forward, staring at the floor as if seeing it for the first time.

After an uncomfortable silence, Khukri cleared her throat. “Could I ask you something?”

Absently, Issac glanced up. “I guess it wouldn’t be much of a conversation if you didn’t get a turn.”

“Master had a picture in our tent,” she said, lowering to one knee and holding her hands in the air in front of her. “There was a person in metal armour kneeling in front of a queen, like this, with a sword that touched the ground. I was wondering if you knew why.”

“Okay, not a question I expected.” Issac hopped off the desk, cocking his head. “But, yes, actually. Some of the museums back home have paintings like that. Knights were elite warriors who did that as part of an archaic ritual to pledge their service to their queen.”

Khukri stood back up, mulling the thought over. “Archaic… that means it’s not done anymore?”

“Well...” Issac turned, making his way around the desk. “Not anywhere around here. A few countries stuck in the past still maintain the tradition, but it’s mostly ceremonial, as I understand it.”

“Like my homeland?” Everything clicked into place. Either Master’s purpose was to travel to Sibir to become a knight, or he intended to become a knight as part of some convoluted scheme to fulfill some other purpose. Deianira help him, Master was going to die.

Issac paused over his chair, giving her a curious look, then nodded. “Sibir’s one of them.”

Just as her purpose might lead her to die, so too might Master’s, though she ground her teeth at the thought of it. Four weeks; in four weeks he wouldn’t be hers to protect anymore, and it was her job to honour his wishes. “I’m sorry to ask, but can I have a sword?”

The chair let out a whoosh as Issac fell into it, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not in the habit of arming my guests’ slaves.”

“It’s not for me,” she insisted, bashfully folding her hands together. “Master seemed to like that kind of thing, so I’d like to pledge to serve him the way a knight would. Even if it’s a piece of junk, I think the thought’s what would matter. Unless a knight can pledge with a knife or spear?”

Issac chuckled, waving her off. “Knights were nobility, Khukri. It means nothing coming from a slave.”

She let her hands fall, head hanging low. “You’re right. When it comes to Master, it’s just... he’s a bit...”

“Simple,” Issac finished, rubbing his face. “What can you expect from royalty who drinks with commoners?” Finally, his hand fell, and he gave her a blank look. “If I get you an old sword, you’ll keep this between us?”

Khukri smiled. If Master was determined to become a knight in Sibir or die trying, the least she could do was send him off with a proper weapon.