“Sometimes it is your very title that is a misnomer. 

The very purpose of it is to be used as bait.”

XI

  Over her hidden blades, Canis Lupus slid her garb on. Her long sleeve shirt and pants fit snuggly. She buckled small daggers to herself. She pulled a thin boiled chest plate over her head. Then slipped on knee guards, vambraces, and her soft leather-soled boots. She stood up and clipped her dark grey knee-length cloak on. The hood was slightly weighted at the tip so that it wouldn't fall off.

 Canis sighed, and looked around her nearly barren tent. She was armed to the teeth, and yet somehow she felt completely defenseless. Something was going to happen; something also did. She bitterly laughed to herself, as she pulled on her gloves. It probably didn't help that she was recruiting Face-Peelers and Pyromaniacs. 

 Pushing back the tent’s flap, Canis smiled beneath her bandana. She was welcomed by a cold breeze and early morning sunlight. She bent down and easily touched her toes. She continued on through a few other quick stretches. 

 “Canis,” coughed Medall’ren. Canis continued her stretches, promptly ignoring him. The replacement for Gavan O’Gale, as the third in command, grunted angrily. “My Lady.”

 “Yes, Medall. I know you are there. As you’ve been for thirty minutes before I stepped out of my tent.” 

 “My patience is waning thin.” His mouth twitched, as he crossed his arms against his chest. 

 Canis rolled her shoulders and chuckled. “Am I doing something wrong?”

 “You're wasting valuable time. We have business to attend to.” 

 “Wasting time by stretching? The cold has my muscles clamping. Loose or clamp muscles in a fight could mean the difference between life and death.”

 “In extreme cases.”

 “I’d say this war has us cornered in an extreme case. Syndicate Of Gale is waiting for that one day we didn't properly prepare ourselves.”

 “You’re expecting an ambush today? Should I warn our troops?” Asked Medall’ren, as he stepped forward- looking down on King Killer.

 “Face Peeler. You think so little of me.” 

 “Of course, I do at this moment. The King Killer, Canis Lupus, Right Hand to our Queen, is trying to exchange arguments over the importance of stretching.” 

 Canis sighed. She stood and strode up a trail winding higher up the mountain. Toward the cave, that overlooked the camp; the cave that used to be a bear den. Her feet made no sound and left traces in the snow. Medall trudged behind her, kicking up snow; while the hem of his cloak was trailing behind and soaking up sludge.  

 “Canis! Why are you going to the mounts?”

 “Have you ever learned to speak quietly?” Softly uttered Canis.

 “Are you gonna lecture me about how the woods have ears?” 

 Canis half turned and sent him a guile smirk, over her shoulder. “I thought we were the ears of the woods?” She turned, stepping lightly, and continued her ascent up the mountain.

 “Where are we going? And we are assassins. Not ears for petty nobles to use.”

 “To be an assassin, you must first be an ear. Only the Nobles in houses of gold, have voices to silence... One of our ears has been sliced off.”

 “What?! Why have I not been informed of this, King Killer.” Spat Medall, sneering her title like an insult. 

 Canis Lupus turned around and stalked close to Medall. She was barely to the Sarduain’s chest. She met his small brown eyes. They glared at each other for a long moment. 

 The Sarduain was tall and dark-skinned- nearly seven foot. He was ripped with toned muscle. He wore a grey tunic, brown breeches, and leather boots. Scars were left indented into his skull. Random scraps of wiry black hair were brushed down. His mouth was set in a permanent frown. 

 “Because you talk and think like an oaf. You refuse to see the bigger picture. You assume that I do not understand our circumstances or realize just how vulnerable we are, with both the Right and Left hand at this camp,” canis motioned to herself and Medall, “A bottleneck of all positions. But maybe if you think, you will realize that there is a reason for that. Remember your place Medall’ren. And perhaps you should understand that you are not the brains of this operation. Your powers as a Face Peeler are useful. That is as far as you should and need to understand.” Snarled Canis. Jabbing her finger into the place right beneath his sternum, a pressure point, with each word of the last sentence. Medall scrunched up his face in pain, and bared his teeth.

 “Forgive me. I am ignorant.” Growled Medall, though hatred and rage simmered unchecked in his eyes.  

Canis said no word as she continued up the mountain. Medall continued behind her, silently glaring daggers into her back. 

 ~

 Canis murmured gently into her gryphon’s ear. Long stiff tufts of feathers protruded from above its ears, to protect them from the snow and wind. Her fingers lovingly ran through his soft feathers. Keening and purring the gryphon, her familiar, rubbed its chiffon colored beak against her shoulder. Canis laughed softly. 

 She stepped back and reached down into a frosted over bucket. She tossed a piece of frozen meat to the beast. He caught it and swallowed it whole. 

 Medall watched Canis and Stryfell interact with envy. Stryfell was a magnificent beast and was her familiar. Magically bound to Canis to obey her every command. Putting Wurn, Medall’s gryphon to shame. Stryfell wasn't a mangy beast. He was a powerful and elegant one- all inky black. His black jaguar hindquarters were ripped in muscle and the fur was brushed till it shone. His head wasn't crested in a thin mangy coat of feathers like the rest of his kind; instead he was crowned with a full mane of gleaming feathers. Each feather glossy and perfect. His powerful wings were folded elegantly against his flanks. His raptor legs were ebony. The talons were coated with slightly tarnished steel.  

 Wurn, the gryphon that Medall was borrowing, was a typical brown gryffon. A powerful beast but without a light compared to Stryfell. He was still a strapping animal, impressive. He had a glossy coat, a powerful set of wings, puma hindquarters- Dangerous claws and beak. 

 “Why should be on our way.” Growled Medall as he strapped a saddle and reins to Wurn. Medall’ren didn't have his gryphon since it was an egg. It obeyed Medall but it wasn't loyal to the death like Stryfell was to Canis. He, Canis, the Queen, and a few others were the only Nightinggales who had gryphons. Of everyone at this camp, only he and Canis had gryphons. To have such a rare and powerful Durain, was an honor. 

 “Alright.” Canis mounted her gryphon, swinging herself with ease onto his back. She nudged him forward with her knee, riding bareback. She pulled out a small bottle with stale grey liquid in it. And held it up to the gryphon’s beak. She whispered something in a different language. Stryfell sniffed the air and bobbed his head eagerly in response. 

 Stryfell loped forward and leaped soundlessly off of the cliff. Gliding effortlessly on the breeze. 

 Medall whipped Wurn’s reins, the gryphon reared back clawing the air with his talons.  And sprinted toward the cliff. Screeching, as he pounced for the sky. With a few struggling wing beats they were flying. Stryfell and Canis circled back around. 

 “Medall. Land. Stay at the base.” Coldly demanded Canis. 

 Medall followed orders. Once his gryphon landed back in the cave, he angrily tore off the saddle. The beast yelped and edged away from him, darting back to its makeshift pen. Medall rolled his eyes and followed. He bent down and dug through the straw. 

 “Now where did I leave it…” 

 After a few minutes of digging through the straw, he found what he was looking for. He triumphantly held the Saskia volume close to his chest.

 ~

Matted brown pine needles peaked out from the white carpet, while their parents sagged from the weight of the snow. Frost cocooned ferns stood tall, as saplings shivered. Icicles hung from the tree branches, reflecting a warped image of the forest. It was perfectly still, frozen. Everything was held in the quiet winter slumber, not quite shaken from the spring thaw.

 Canis bent down in the snow, in front of Rya’s most recent post. A small bloody patch, dusted with small red feathers, was beside a set of day-old footsteps. Someone had been running. Canis stood. She gave a low whistle. The gryphon perched on the rocks quietly leaped to the sky. 

 Canis calmly followed the tracks. Her senses were pulled to the trees and shadows. A thousand buzzing whispers in her mind. Every now and then blood was splattered in the snow. Soon she came to a slight clearing. In the center was a wake of squawking vultures. 

 Canis shouted at the birds, keeping her distance. To be vomited on by a vulture would be a disgusting disgrace. After a few attempts they flew away. 

 Rya’s corpse was picked clean in a few areas. Hair was missing. Half of her face was just pale fleshless skull. Her clothing was ripped in several places. A gaping hole, cradled by broken ribs, made a crater in her chest. Canis looked skyward. ‘What happened…?’

 Canis Lupus walked toward one of the trees. The whispering became louder. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she placed her hand against the tree’s bark and focused on its voice. Her fingers spazzed with a tingling sensation that traveled up her arm. Her mind dove down, and an onslaught of quaking vertigo nearly had her on her knees. As if breathless and underwater, her nose and lungs burned. She blinked, and her eyelids became heavier. Canis coughed. There was the sound of blood rushing in her ears. And Canis wanted to scream. She wanted to claw the sticky residue from her flesh, and then destroy the tree. Rip it from the ground, and burn its roots. 

 A blurry black and white image fabricated in her reeling mind. 

 ‘A masked girl in black… an emblem on her shoulder… bent down over a fallen girl in a cloak. The masked one… d ripped open the other’s chest. Pulling forth a crystal from the flesh… wrapped in cloth… then pulled for the earth… with prowess of a Dragon, she turned to shadow… and bled away… melting into the night…’

 Canis yanked her hand away. The sensations melted from her body, leaving her weak and struggling. She sat in the snow, panting slightly. 

 “Having trouble there.. ?” Asked a smooth voice. Canis turned and saw a Durain. 

 A Durain was an animal or human that had died or lived horribly. Over a thousand different types from wraiths to demons. Some were intelligent, while others were simply animal. Most Durain were evil spiteful creatures, but not all. The Lurain were just the opposite. Animals or humans that went above or beyond in their life. They had lived a life of good. Or sacrificed themselves to save someone. Another thousand different types. Anywhere from temple guardians to saints. Like Durain there intelligence was ranged. 

 “Prince of the Forest... It’s been a long time. How good to see you again.” Laughed Canis. 

 The once wolf, Durain, regally sat on a rock, half-hidden in the filtering shadows. He had the head of a wolf, but the twin cresting horns of a dragon. The rest of the body was a mix somewhere between wolf and dragon. He had spikes protruding from the base of his neck, where the skull met his spine, following his vertebrae all the way down to the tip of his slightly furred dragon tail. He was coated in dark brown fur from his head, mane, along his back and tail. On his sides, the fur thinned and was replaced by dark scales. His undersides were scaled. His legs were wolf, but his large paws were a mix. Almost too large paws were armed with the deadly talons of a dragon. His giant bat wings were folded neatly against himself. 

 “Lupus, you have grown weaker.”

 “Alright Zburator, what do you want?”

 “The same as always. For you to remember yourself, cub.” 

 “And as the same as always, I have little clue what you’re talking about.”

 “Do you ever change your responses…? As always you weaken yourself… forget yourself..”

 “Again, no clue.”

 “Tell me your past. In detail.”

 “I was found by the Nightinggales… covered in blood and abandoned… my face burned by the bandit gang, who had me captured. After nearly a year of abuse. I slit their throats. I was found. I was trained. Became a skilled assassin. Then my friend died. I drugged myself nearly to death. Forgot a lot of things, due to the drug. Then after my Queen barely pulled me back from the dead. I accomplished my friend’s wish of slaying the tyrant King Alfred of Limpeth. Now, do you want me to tell you of my apprentices and the war they caused?”

 “No. Do you know what's so sad? That all of that was true. And what's even sadder? Is that all of that was told to you. Do you know your friend’s name? The ones whose death sent you on a killing spree? And earned you the title you now bare, King Killer? Do you even remember killing King Alfred?”

Canis stood, and glowered at the snow. Her fingers were twitching over the butt of her daggers. “.... No. What are you suggesting?”

 “Lupus, not all Durain remember their past.”

 Canis laughed, and ruefully shook her head in disbelief, “Ha! Now you're suggesting that I’m a Durain? Well, that suits me better than being a Lurain. Like you suggested last time.” 

 “You’d be so much stronger… if you didn’t carry those…” Zburator glared at her waist.

 “You mean these?” Canis unsheathed an iron dagger. “I think not. You’re even more ludicrous than last time.” The Durain rolled his eyes.

 “Do you honestly think you are human? The land bends to your will. You make no sound or imprint in the snow. You speak to the forest. The trees and shadows call to you. Yet you are blind to what they ask of you.” 

 “I honestly don't care what I am. Or what the forest wants. I have a murder to figure out. And a war to win.” Canis stood and dusted herself off. The snow where she sat, slowly filled itself in. The Durain whined softly as he laid down and rested his head on his paws. “Anyway, Zburator thought you were in the Ebnight forest?”

“The forest near that human hold? Yes, I was. It grew too tiresome. Being hunted constantly by a House that makes its standing by enslaving and dissecting Durain. While worshipping Lurain. The only good they do is they’re Rift hunting. Though working so closely with the Elves… I do not know if that is such a good idea. I had decided that I would check on you, it's been a while. I do enjoy our talks.”

 “Glad to hear, Prince of the Forest, anyway, how did you become a Durain.” Asked Canis, as she inspected Rya’s corpse. Unclothing it and figuring out what wounds were made, and how, and by what.

 “Thought I told you?”