“The other Telyavs?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.
“Recovering. The enchantment of the land cost some of them a great deal. Some may not survive much longer.”
“I’m sorry.”
Deverra nodded and squeezed his hand.
The three of them stood and watched as the tribal warriors finished their grisly work. It didn’t take long, and when the last knight finally lay slain, Alessandro, Arnulf and Wilhelmina walked over to join their khan. The trio gave Deverra puzzled looks but didn’t remark upon her transformation.
The battlefield was littered with severed limbs, detached heads, strewn viscera, abandoned weapons, spent arrows and dead horses. Tribesmen sat among the carnage, talking and laughing, already recounting exaggerated war stories. Those still in wolf form lapped at puddles of vitae or gnawed on bones.
“The tribe has won,” Alessandro said, his voice full of pride. “Livonia shall remain a free land, thanks to you, my khan.”
Arnulf looked on, then without a word turned away from Qarakh. He became a huge black wolf by his third step and was gone.
“Yes, it was.” Qarakh couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Still holding Deverra’s hand, he looked up at the stars that filled the night sky. He had seen similar lights in the eyes of the ancient Cainite outside the Obertus monastery, as well as in those of the dark god who had helped him achieve such a costly victory.
Great Father Tengri, he thought. What has my tribe become? What have I become?
But the stars did not answer, choosing instead to remain as they always had: silent, distant and cold.
