FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

1

Snow drifted lazily down from the heavy grey, overcast sky. Flakes had been falling for the past week since Ruik finally crossed into the north. The expansive forest surrounding him--called the Direwood--was blanched icy-white, the trees all bare and silver barked with icicles ornamenting their limbs; hedgerows of holly glinted sharp and red-berried from the roadside as he treaded carefully over the ice spackled pathway.

He was glad for the light veils of snow drifting down. After all, it could've been a blizzard instead, something the north was all too familiar with. The powdery snow stuck, of course, but the drifts weren't high enough to impede passage for travelers; the icy, potholed, mud drenched road still slithered out visibly from the town of Lanfell--a fogged haze of shabby black buildings and smoke-belching chimneys shivering in the distance.

Damned, Lanfell.

At the pinnacle of the Forest kingdom--at the very border of the Tundra plains--Lanfell was the only stop before entering a feared realm of nothing but ice and snow and unending glacier-wind. None ever crossed the walls onto the plain and returned--what happened once they disappeared onto the ice no one knew. Plain-walkers they were called, and in their hearts burned the cold-fire of the north. The winter...it couldn't kill them. Bandits, thugs, beasts, and monsters, however...

Ruik gasped and covered his nose. If murderers or furbolg didn't get him, then the smell seeping through his nostrils would. As he neared the town the scent of horse shit, pig shit, and all manner of other shit hit him dead-on. He breathed through his mouth, swearing and feeling as if he could taste the sewer-like scent on his tongue.

From half a mile away he couldn't stand the place, which was understandable...not many ventured this far north to begin with, but none willingly chose to drop into Lanfell. It was both a refuge and blight on the maps of the Forest kingdom, for it was where the scum of the realms ran when their crimes (and the High Wardens) began to catch up with them. Get to the town and--no matter your crime--you were left alone. Nothing but thieves, murderers, deserters, rapists, and practitioners of the Dark arts thrived there. The Highborn clans--the rulers of the kingdoms--never wished to dirty their clean, pampered hands to bother wiping the place off of the face of the Continent. And they could do it, too, Ruik knew. It would've been as simple as whispering in the ear of a High Warden general to have a mass of armored protectors of the realm burning the place to the ground in a fortnight. It'd be a much better place, Lanfell, if burned to ground. Ruik risked a breath through his nose, gagging at the strengthening stench.

Oh yes, he thought. B_urn it_.

But it wasn't just because of disgust that the Highborn avoided the place at all costs, nor was it the seedy bunch of inhabitants that kept them at bay. The life-expectancy of any soul in Lanfell was drastically cut short, to be blunt, and the population was constantly floundering, so there was no risk of uprising. For one thing, the town was a favorite spot for migrating night-stalkers to snatch a meal when the moon was high, and raiders from out of the Direwood loved to rape and pillage. There were also the killers who'd seek out refuge there...their habits were hard to break. Why kill those that kill themselves? And that was only the smallest reason why the town was left alone--why the Highborn ignored its existence. No, no, no...Ruik knew better than anyone as to why everyone but the desperate kept away from Lanfell. As he trudged up a slight rise in the road to crest a hill, he gazed out over the town, past the buildings squatting in the squalor, and took in the fearsome sight beyond.

The Tundra plains--a pale, bone-white expanse that stretched on and on without end. All manner of unspeakable horrors dwelled on the ice, from what stories remain of the place. It was the realm beyond the realms--the realm beyond control and beyond the warm graces of the sun's rays. It was always cast in blue, soulless shadow, and its emptiness seemed to swallow everything...and it never grew to be satiated. It ate its fill every day, gorging on the lives of those who were called to it like moths to a frostbitten fire.

A moth like Ruik.

He felt the cold flames inside him burn higher as he lost himself in the endless sight of the plains; they flickered and licked at his spirit, and he gasped as his heart quivered in sharp, biting pain. He took a breath and blue smoke wafted up into the frigid atmosphere, but to anyone who may have been watching, the smoke would've appeared as nothing but hot air fogging in the cold. The circle of melted snow around Ruik's feet, however...

Still, he didn't wish to linger on the road any longer. The snow would cover the bare spot soon again anyway. The night was drawing close, too. So, sighing and wishing that he'd been born as another--maybe a human; a knight, even--he drew up the baggy hood of his black-furred cloak and tried to look as unapproachable as possible as he made his way into the den of filth that was Lanfell.

* * * * *

Once through the gates, after tossing some silver into the hands of the grungy human guards, Ruik made his way hastily to the inn. He drew attention, of course--outsiders always did, but none of the scarred, scowling locals heckled him...yet. He knew better than to bring anything of worth with him into town--not that he owned anything of value to begin with, but his handsome fur cloak, to a suspicious and greedy pickpocket or thug, could be hiding anything underneath. He had to be careful. Killing, while in Lanfell, was just another part of life. It went unpunished for the most part.

The inn came into sight after Ruik wound through some alleyways and across the square. It was a ramshackle building of scarred oak with heavy bars over every window and a thick door that could've withstood the blunt end of a battering ram.

And standing outside of the entrance was an ill-familiar face.

Ruik's innards squirmed as he caught sight of the swarthy black tiger propped against the side of the building with his arms crossed and half-tail flicking--in annoyance, more than likely. The cat's platinum stripes had a metallic sheen, and they shone here and there as he'd turn this way and that. His grey, leather jerkin was stretched tight over his muscular upper body--his cloth pants were much the same for the lower half--and he didn't have on a heavy cloak or boots. He was always one to embrace the wilder side of his animal nature; the cold didn't bother him...he enjoyed it even. And he was waiting for someone. He'd wait long into the night too, Ruik knew.

Ranza...

With a groan, Ruik tightened his hood and walked on. The tiger glanced in his direction...and he quickly sidestepped into a refuse littered alleyway before he was seen, before his scent could carry.

"Dammit," he hissed. He chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously as he leaned against the building at his back. "Why is he still here?" He leaned carefully over and peered around the corner of the building to see that the tiger was--surprisingly--still waiting. He growled low, staring at the handsome cat. "Ranza..."

BANG!

Ruik jerked in surprise as the door to the inn burst open and a portly, mountain of a human man--the innkeeper, he remembered--tromped out clutching a squirming, squealing fox-child by the scruff of his neck.

"And don't let'meh catch ya' back in here again, ya' shit-stained piece of gutter trash! Or I'll slit yer throat and hang yer ass up on the wall next to that trophy!"

"But you can't take it! He gave it to me! Lemme go!" the fox cried.

The innkeeper bellowed some more while jerking the kid about in midair, and then he threw the fox as far out into the yard as he could, him landing headfirst with a pathetic grunt and skidding to a stop in the snow a good ten feet out.

"Bloody little git," Ruik heard the innkeeper growl before he stomped back inside and slammed the heavy door with another cannon-like BANG! Other witnesses to the humiliating spectacle burst out laughing and jeered at the poor child. Ranza just gazed toward the fox--sorrowfully almost.

The fox-boy didn't move for a while--stunned probably--but he eventually pushed himself up, his arms and legs trembling, and began to shuffle away from the inn while wiping his eyes. Ruik felt bad for the kid. Just being a child here in Lanfell meant that your life was going to be complete shit. He was surprised that there even was a kid here to begin with. He'd never seen any before on his other...visits.

He shifted where he stood as the fox meandered out of the yard mumbling under his breath, and then Ranza--to Ruik's surprise--pushed himself away from the inn and followed after the kid. They vanished down a side-street, but Ruik had no intention of following, too. There was a stiff, tattered bed and paltry food and wine calling his name. Sure, the bed and food and drink would be crap unfit for most, but here in Lanfell you couldn't complain...the host would kill you if you did.

Out of instinct, he pulled his cloak tighter and yanked his hood lower before entering the inn. He grabbed the circular, link-handle and tugged. Warmth washed over him as he stepped inside...that and the sour stench of ale, rum, pickled meats, and sweat. Ruik knocked his boots against the doorframe to lose any ice sticking to the bottoms, noticing that--even though the hall was well occupied--the room was rather quiet. He peered around, careful not to make eye contact with anyone, but--to his relief--no one was staring. He figured that his entrance had been the reason for the silence, but everyone--human and beast-clan alike--were too busy stuffing their faces or guzzling drink to notice him or say anything. The ruckus with the fox may have stilled their tongues as well.

Smoke from tobacco pipes and the black-iron hearth churned against the ceiling; oaken chairs screeched against the floor; cups clapped against tabletops; cast shadows from candlelight and the fire flickered and danced across the walls. There were humans and beasts of all manner and species--with scars aplenty between them all and faces that could strip the bark off of a tree at a single glance. The innkeeper--also the barkeep apparently--trundled around behind the bar wiping a dirty glass on his even dirtier apron, still mumbling and frowning to himself.

Ruik counted nearly twenty-five patrons in the hall, all of them relatively normal for this town...all except for four who lingered separately in the four corners of the room. Like Ruik, their faces were shrouded by hoods and they seemed frozen in place. He shivered as he gazed at the figures, his skin tingling--his icy, inner-fire burned again.

They were walkers...the cold-fire of the north burned in them, too.

Best to leave them be; they all had their own reasons for being called to the plains. Ruik's business was his own, and their business was theirs.

Still--all in all--Ruik didn't think the inn had changed much. It was still as shady, despicable, and disreputable as it had always been; the air was still thick with the tension he'd perceived when he'd first walked through that heavy door years ago. Well, one thing was different, he noticed.

Set large and high on a far back-wall and polished to a glistening brilliance was a shield...but not just any shield. Ruik found himself instantly drawn to the monstrous armament. He thought it had been only a rumor, but...no, the embossed tusks crossing one another on the front, the silver filigree resembling cracking ice...

"Borren Lyrandis' bulwark," Ruik whispered to himself in disbelief. He lifted a hand toward the shield, feeling his eyes bugging as he realized the thing was nearly twice his size. The High Warden who'd carried it, Borren Lyrandis of the Mammoth clan, had disappeared onto the Tundra plains almost a season ago never to return. Ruik heard rumors how, after the warden vanished and the winter months died down, some brave soul ventured out in search of him...to return pulling the bulwark behind him like a sledge. The act of the fellow returning at all was a miracle in itself, but...Ruik scrunched his face in bewilderment. What the fox had said...what the innkeeper had said...was this the trophy? That child couldn't have gone out onto the plains...

"Wonderin' what became o' the tusked Warden, 'eh?"

Ruik didn't jump or speak or even turn around although instinct bade him to. He continued to look over the shield as he felt the presence of another lingering at his right shoulder. He sniffed delicately and frowned at the stench of the fellow--a human. Humans always stank. This one more so than others. He was light on his feet, though; Ruik hadn't even heard him approach. He was probably a wannabe assassin--practiced but...not so discreet. Obviously.

The guy coughed roughly, his voice like grating rocks but still a trifle jubilant. He'd been drinking, Ruik deduced with another sniff.

"Aye," the drunkard slurred. "The big, bloody bastard came'a traipsing through town one day last season--right befo' the winter set in--knockin' poor, helpless folk like me aside..." Ruik snarled inwardly as the fellow belched then continued. "We was just trying to," he chuckled coldly. "Keep him from doin' somethin' stupid."

Ruik thought it a bad idea to ask questions, but he was curious. Still, he didn't turn around when he spoke, continuing to look over the last remnant of Borren Lyrandis. "Did he say why he was going onto the plains?"

The guy cackled, and then his voice was much too close to Ruik's right ear. "So you DO speak! I was beginning ta'think you was a mute!"

"No, I'm not a mute."

"All well and good, then. Can't imagine what'd be like to not be able to flap my jaws..."

The world would be a better, quieter place, Ruik thought smirking to himself.

"But, no," the guy said. "He didn't say. He was just goin' on about cold and fire and hearin' some bloody horn callin' from the plains..."

Ruik froze. A horn? It couldn't have been. He wanted to turn around but didn't. Instead, he swallowed hard and tried to ask as carefully as he could.

"He said he heard a horn?"

The guy stuttered and hicced some more. "No, no--not a horn. Bloody hell, what's it called..."

"A carnyx--a war horn."

A new voice--a bitter voice--made Ruik's hackles rise.

"Oh, aye!" the drunkard said. "That was it! Thank'ya Gurdan!"

"You're welcome, Lyle. Now, here, go have another pint on me."

There was the metallic ring of a coin being flipped from the end of a finger...then the clank and rattle of it against the wood floors as Lyle managed not to catch it. Ruik heard him huff and pluck the thing from the ground, but he didn't hear him walk away. Still, he was gone when Ruik turned about to find a brown wolf in tattered leather armor looking him over with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Well, well, well," the brown wolf said shaking his head.

"Gurdan?" Ruik smirked. "Is that what you're going by now? I thought you were more creative than that."

"Shut it," the wolf snapped. "My old life is dead. I started over--new name and everything."

Ruik tilted his head to the side; his ears wished to flick beneath his hood, but they were pinned down. "I figured. Otherwise, why would you be here?"

Gurdan shrugged and then stared hard. "Why are you here, Ruik? Or is your name--I don't know--Shadow now or something?" The brown wolf chuckled and reached out a hand to flick off Ruik's hood. The cloth fell and bunched atop his shoulders. "There's the wolf I know," Gurdan said. "Haven't changed much have you?"

"Apparently not as much as you, brother..."

Gurdan smiled without thinking and looked over his younger sibling.

The heavy hood and cloak he was wearing had completely hidden his face, but--luckily for Gurdan--his brother's scent wasn't masked, too. His curly black hair was cut short, coal-black fur plush from winter setting in, and his blue eyes were alight and sparking. He had gotten a bit taller, though--broader as well, but he was still a lean thing. And he had some piercings in his ears...but what from Gurdan didn't know. A guild maybe. And there was something else...something..._odd..._a strange air about him. Strange but familiar.

Ruik cleared his throat and his brother's eyes popped, but the brown wolf then chuckled and slapped his little brother's shoulder playfully.

"It's good to see you, pup," he said.

"You, too," Ruik replied.

Gurdan steered him toward a table near the fire. "Come on. I'll buy you some food and wine and we'll catch up, 'eh?"

Ruik frowned at his brother's earnestness. He hadn't expected to even find him here. No, he hadn't wanted to find him here in this bubbling pit of a town. He was supposed to be in High Luphastos--the kingdom of the wolf-clan; he was supposed to be a royal guard; he was supposed to be getting anointed as a Warden soon! What had happened? Why was he...

The warmth from the freshly stoked fire washed over Ruik's back as he sat. Gurdan ordered some roast and Bitter-sweet--a wine made from the Crag berries that grew on the edge of the plains--and then he settled down on the chair opposite his dark-furred brother.

Ruik stripped off his cloak and laid it across his lap, and Gurdan just shook his head.

"What?" Ruik chuffed.

Gurdan pointed a clawed finger toward him. "You and black. It's always black." The brown wolf chuckled. "You look naked. You're clothes blend in with your fur."

"So? I'm a bastard; I was born black." Ruik smiled. "It's just my color; it's who I am."

Gurdan smirked. "Mother always put you in blue as a pup, though--Royal blue." A frail looking coyote-maid brought the wine, curtsied clumsily while smiling, and then she wobbled off after receiving a nod from Gurdan. He then poured a cup for his brother and then himself, the both of them taking a sip and puckering their lips to the frigid, sweet-sour taste. He then reclined and threw his arms over the back of his chair, nodding at Ruik. "Royal-blue; she said that was your color."

"I'm not Highborn like you, brother. Blue could never be my color."

Gurdan hissed a laugh and shrugged. "Hey, I'm not Highborn anymore either, but..." He unlaced the front of his leather vest and pulled it to the side a bit--he was wearing a blue undershirt; one he'd gotten from the royal guard, no doubt. He covered himself again and drank some more wine. "It's just a shade; it means nothing. Even the lowliest of wolf-clan scum could wear this shirt and call themselves Highborn if they wanted."

Ruik drank and then wiped the froth from his muzzle with the back of his hand. His ears fell back, but he needed to ask...no matter how disturbing the answer he may receive.

"Cona..."

"Gurdan, brother."

Ruik rolled his eyes. The new name thing was going to take some time to get used to.

"Gurdan, what happened? Why aren't you..."

"Back in Luphastos? Fulfilling my dreams of being a High Warden? Well..." The brown wolf frowned sadly for a moment before he drank some more wine...downing the rest of his cup in one go. He sighed and dropped the empty container heavily onto the table. "Let's just say that serving the seven realms--protecting the ten kingdoms--wasn't what I thought it was going to be."

Ruik's brow furrowed. "But it was all you ever wanted! You built your entire life around being a protector of the realms."

His brother's green eyes darkened and his ears drooped. "Aye, and that's why my old life is dead." He looked Ruik square in the face. "I couldn't live it any longer. It was all a..."

"Here's yer meat, sah's," the coyote maid said, sitting a platter of steaming roast on the table before the two wolves. Ruik and Gurdan both sat rigid, staring at her. Her anxious eyes darted between them before she curtsied, a little more gracefully than before, and hurried away.

Gurdan plucked a juicy strip of meat from the platter and suckled on it like a pacifier.

Ruik squinted earnestly at him. "It was all a what?"

The brown wolf pulled the meat from his lips with a slurp. "A lie."

"Wha," Ruik mumbled. "What do you mean?"

Gurdan's broad shoulders bounced as he snuffed and tossed a glance toward the monstrous shield hanging on the wall across the room. "Ask Borren the next time you see him." He then turned back and stared hard into Ruik's eyes, his voice dropping to a growl almost. "You are going out, aren't you? Onto the plains?"

"Uh..."

"Don't lie to me, Ruik. I've seen Plain-walkers enough to know when one's sitting right in front of me." He jabbed a finger over Ruik's shoulder. "The fires don't keep your secret."

The black wolf gasped and turned around to find the fire in the hearth blazing much brighter than it had been before he'd sat down...and it burned blue at the sharp edges of each lapping flame.

His heart hammered in his chest as he turned back to his brother. The brown wolf just scowled. Ruik returned the expression. "So you've seen Plain-walkers enough, huh? Why is that exactly?"

Gurdan huffed. "Don't be stupid, Ruik..."

"Why, brother," he growled. His inner fire stoked. The flames at his back trembled higher.

The brown wolf glared and shook his head. "Calm. Down. You're drawing attention, and no one here has an affinity for those with cold-fire running through their veins. Unlike me."

They stared at one another for a time, but then Ruik sighed heavily and relaxed...as did the flames within him and in the hearth.

"I thought it was just a baseless rumor," he said.

Gurdan shook his head. "No, but I wish it was." He pushed the platter of meat toward Ruik who snatched a piece and gnawed on it broodingly. "The Highborn have always been terrified of the Tundra--they have no authority there, after all. And what they can't control is a threat to the realms--the kingdoms."

Ruik swallowed his food. "But Lanfell..."

Gurdan cackled. "Lanfell? This cesspool is the least of their worries. A handful of murderers and thieves can be handled--hell, they're already contained." He motioned around to the mismatch of characters squatting at other tables or leaning dark and mysterious against support posts. "They have nowhere else to go. If they step foot across the border to the southlands, eastlands, or westlands, then they're dead." He poured himself more wine, tipping the bottle toward Ruik who held out his own cup. "This town is a ruse. It gives the semblance of freedom while offering anything but. All that's missing are stone walls and Warden guards. Get those and you officially have yourself a quaint little prison-town."

Ruik drank. The bitter wine burned on his tongue and down his throat. "But what does that have to do with..." He softened his voice and looked to the four corners of the room where the other Plain-walkers still lingered. "With us?"

Gurdan smiled...coldly. His ears stood rigid. "Plain-walkers: those with the cold-fire of the north burning within their blood. They cannot be killed by exposure to icy temperatures--no matter if the mercury freezes and busts through the bottom of the gauge; they're cursed with an innate control over the element of fire--ironic in my opinion; and they heed the call of the north whenever it bids them into its cold, heartless bosom. The realms know nothing about the walker's duties to serving the spirit of the Tundra. The realms know nothing about the true meaning of their abilities." His demeanor melted a bit, and he snatched another piece of meat to chew. "Yet they flock from all corners of the Continent and disappear into the snow. None return." He smacked his lips and swallowed. "One has to wonder why."

Ruik watched his brother carefully with both hands clasped around his cup. "What do you think?"

Gurdan just stared placidly. "You've heard the legends and stories told when we were pups, studied the tomes in the kingdom's libraries...that said the exact same thing."

"And what did they say, brother? Enlighten me." Ruik asked with his gaze level and cool.

The brown wolf rumbled a growl in annoyance, but he didn't hold his tongue. "They say that the north was once the mightiest realm out of all of the others, and that it thrived under the rule of the greatest king that ever lived. Each kingdom says that he was of their clan--wolf, cat, bear, human, hoof, rodent, bird, sea, mammoth, dragon--but his race wasn't set...only his might was. They say his kingdom was all of the north itself and more powerful than the south put together. They say he was a just and noble ruler, but that he had a brother who was just as mighty and who wanted all of the power for himself. They say the brother grew haughty and wished to rule over the entire Continent. They say he summoned the spirit of fire itself, the spirit of war and destruction, to do his bidding and--in cold blood--he murdered his brother and stole away the crown. They say the spirit of the north, in unbridled rage to the treacherous brother's actions, cast the once great realm of the north into an endless winter that killed nearly everyone and everything and left the place desolate...but, somehow, the traitor-king survived--with the aid of the fire spirit. They say he cursed the remaining few that survived the northern spirit's wrath with cold-fire and sent them south. There they flourished within the population, passing on their curse with each generation. They say the Plain-walkers are the servants of the traitor-king who still lives somewhere in a kingdom of ice, untouchable and all-powerful, and that--on the day of the three-thousandth winter--they'll return to their king. They say that they are rallying and gathering into a monstrous army which the undying ruler will use to overrun the south and--as he intended to do to begin with--rule over the entire Continent."

Ruik stared at his brother, his tail flicking. "Yet we are allowed to live."

Gurdan didn't smile. "Is that so?"

The black wolf's skin grew icier; his tail went limp. "What?"

"Why do you think I left the kingdom, Ruik? Why do you think I abandoned my dream of becoming a Warden?" The brown wolf leaned forward and clasped his hands together; his eyes swam. "It's for the same reason that Borren left. It's why my old life--my false life--is over."

Ruik squinted hard at Gurdan. "What are you saying?"

"The legends of the traitor-king began nearly three-thousand seasons ago, Ruik; two-thousand and ninety-nine seasons to be precise. The Highborn rulers are superstitious, brother--they always have been--but they aren't docile. That tale isn't just a story, it's a threat. Whether or not it's founded in truth is hard to say, but legends have to begin somehow, and the kings and queens of all of the realms like being just what they are: rulers. And they've killed to keep the prospect of their power alive." He rubbed his eyes delicately. "They've killed a lot. They still do."

"Are...are you saying that..."

"Yes, Ruik," Gurdan sighed. "The Wardens are protectors, but they don't protect the realms from just invading armies, rebels, monsters, and murderers." He scraped his claws across the rough surface of the table. "They've been hunting down Plain-walkers for the past twenty-nine centuries and killing every single one they could find, just from believing that--one fateful day--they'd venture to the north and become a servant of a fairytale king."

Ruik was horrified. He felt his inner fire being snuffed by centuries of death and despair. His heart ached. He looked to his brother hunched pathetically in his seat and understood why he was here.

"They wanted me to kill innocent babies, Ruik," Gurdan whimpered. He pointed toward the fire again. "That's how they figured it out--if they were north-born. It's what the fire festival we celebrate each year is based upon." He scowled. "Purification and light my ass. If those celebratory fires leapt from someone dancing around them then their names were marked--no matter if it was a child or adult, male or female...even babes in the womb--they'd get called upon the next day, those few, and they'd get tested again in front of the High Warden General himself. And if the flames burned higher, if they turned blue..." Ruik gasped as his brother raised a hand and sliced it quickly over his throat. "No question. I heard the General even did the killing himself." Gurdan shook his head and ran a hand through his curly, brown hair. "That's why I left. I couldn't do it--it just wasn't right. And I knew that, eventually..." He peered sorrowfully to Ruik. "I'd end up killing you."

"Brother..."

Gurdan pointed toward a wall, past it and toward the plains, Ruik knew. "There is more than just ice and snow out there, brother." He leaned close and bid Ruik do the same. "The Wardens have a blockade, a force to intercept any Plain-walkers that head out onto the ice."

"What?" Ruik gasped. "Since when?"

Gurdan shushed him, his ears falling flat. "Since the beginning. That's why none of the walkers ever come back. They come across the blockade and get killed on the spot." He sighed. "There's no telling how many have died out there. Even those who aren't walkers get killed just so they don't come back and say anything--tell the truth."

Ruik had covered his mouth in shock. "They can't do that! What right do they have..."

"It has nothing to do with rights," Gurdan growled. "But it has everything to do with fear. And fear is the true ruler of the realms it seems."

"Why...why are you telling me this?"

Gurdan's eyes popped and his ears bobbed in surprise. He almost snarled. "What do you mean why? I don't want you to get killed! That's why!"

Ruik didn't know where to begin to think. His mind was a jumble of thoughts and words skittering madly about and making no sense whatsoever. He suddenly felt unbelievably lost. Light glinted off of the shield of Borren Lyrandis across the hall, and a thought wriggled free of his chaotic mulls.

"Borren--he figured it out?"

Gurdan nodded stiffly. "And he was beyond pissed off. You can't stop an enraged mammoth warrior, either. It was terrible. He went berserk, nearly destroyed the Warden's hall, and then stormed out. They sent a group after him, but--hell, you knew how big he was. He killed every Warden who tried to stop him, and--last I heard--he came here and vanished onto the plains."

Ruik swallowed. "Do you...do you think he survived the blockade?"

Gurdan looked toward the shield and shrugged. "All I know is that Borren was the strongest warrior the Wardens had--wisest, too. I haven't heard anything about the blockade, but--seeing as I abandoned my quest to be one of them--I wouldn't get any news. Maybe they killed him...he wouldn't part with his bulwark if he'd been alive, but..."

The brown wolf paused to sip more wine.

Ruik grew impatient. "But what?"

"But, the only way someone could venture onto the plains and return is if the blockade had been...disbanded."

Ruik recalled the fox-boy. "And someone did return..."

"Aye," Gurdan said smiling. "A child no less, and one baring the shield of the mightiest Warden since the great dragon Rakeon, claiming it had been given to him."

"By the gods," Ruik whispered. He looked to his brother with confusion written all over his face. "I don't know what to think anymore--don't know what to do."

"Really now?" Gurdan snuffed. "You don't want to know what's out there? Clearly, no one knows what lies beyond the Warden's station. You're not curious as to why you're being called? Why you are the way you are?"

Ruik sighed. "Of course I am, but..." He cocked an eyebrow at his brother. "How did you know I was a walker?"

"I spoke with Borren one night; we were good friends," he said. "He told me how he'd gotten a letter from his mother telling him how his younger brother had awakened his inner-fire and set out toward the north. It was a surprise, of course, but he didn't think anything of it. We hadn't learned that being a Plain-walker was...condemned." He wet his throat with more wine, smacking his lips afterward. "But Borren was a curious fellow, and he wanted to learn more about the Plain-walkers so--if need be--he could be there for his brother if something arose. He spent night after night in the kingdom's libraries. He learned about the signs to look for in a walker, how they behaved, their demeanors." He nodded at Ruik. "All of it fit you perfectly. But then I remembered how our mother hid you away from the world. I thought it was just because you were her bastard son and it was shameful, but then Borren got clearance to go into the forbidden section of the stacks--the one's meant for the highest officials. There he found a tome--he said it was so big that he could hold it and read without any trouble (so it must have been as big as this table and five times as thick). Anyway, it was a catalogue, a list of names that numbered up into the hundreds of thousands--millions even. The title page said, 'Individuals suspected and executed under pretense of treacherous lineage by inheritance of the curse of cold-fire.' And at the end, the name freshly marked..."

Ruik shook his head. "Oh no..."

Gurdan nodded. "Yep, Borren's brother: Pharrus Lorandis. But he didn't go berserk then. No, he took the book to the High Warden General himself and asked about it...and he was told the truth."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Gurdan sighed. "He said the General told him that he'd earned the truth, that he knew who his real family was."

Ruik nodded. "And then he went berserk..."

"Oh yes, then he went berserk." Surprisingly, Gurdan laughed. "He tore through the hall in a manner of minutes I heard--even pummeled the General right smart, too."

"Well," Ruik sighed, clenching his fists. The fire at his back grew with each pop of a knuckle. "I would've gone berserk too had I found out they'd killed my only brother."

Gerdan grinned. "I'm flattered."

"You'd better be," the black wolf chuffed.

"Oh, I am, Ruik. And just know I'd do the same if it'd been you." He tapped a claw awkwardly against the tabletop. "We might not share the same father, but we were born of the same mother, and you'll always be my brother...always be family. She hid you to protect you. That's how I figured it out, too, and I'll protect you as well."

Ruik placed his hand atop Gurdan's and patted it gently. "Thank you."

Silence followed as each wolf sat back to drink and eat while they mulled over what had been said. Ruik was at a loss, as was Gurdan. Their lives had been flipped in an instant, it seemed, and now they didn't know what to do anymore. But, once again, Ruik found himself staring at the shield of Borren Lyrandis. The mammoth could very well have been alive out there on the ice; their ancestors thrived there without the aid of cold-fire for hundreds of years before they all migrated south to settle. And--as much as Ruik was torn between the legend of his curse and the bitter truth he'd just been enlightened to--the north was still calling to him. His inner-fire bid him toward the plains...and he knew not why. Apparently no other walkers knew as they were snuffed out like a candle before they could reach their true destinations. But now, if Gurdan was correct, he could make it out onto the plains without worry of being stopped. After all, the fox-boy--he'd gone out and come back...

Ruik stood suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor.

Gerdan jumped and eyed him suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"I want answers," the black wolf said quietly as eyes from all over the hall looked in his direction.

"More answers, you mean?" Gurdan asked.

Ruik propped himself on the table and nodded. "Aye. Up for a foxhunt?"