Qelso was middle-aged, his thick white hair as pale as snow. His weathered face was tanned and creased from a lifetime spent outdoors, usually smiling. He was of average build, but his grip was unexpectedly strong as he greeted the Sentry Commander.
"Always wanted to meet you, Commander." Qelso flashed white teeth. "Really impressed with how you straightened out Tier. Folks used to say he was a complete moron. Seems like a different man now."
"Everyone grows up," Dem returned the smile. "Tier said you know a bit about voderbeasts. Since we've got twenty thousand heading our way, I was hoping you could share anything useful."
Qelso snorted. "Besides them being mean and stupid?"
Dem sighed. "Yes. Besides that. Strengths, weaknesses—anything."
Qelso tapped his chin. "Only kept them about six months. Once the horns grew in, they tried to kill me daily."
"Not helpful," Dem said flatly.
"Right, right." Qelso nodded. "They live a long time—about as long as a man. Their noses are incredible. Better than a hound's. Hearing's decent, nothing special. And they're basically blind. Can't tell friend from foe, even up close."
Dem's attention sharpened. "Anything else?"
"They follow an alpha bull. Biggest, meanest one in the herd. When he stops, they stop. When he runs—"
"Got it." Dem clapped Qelso's shoulder and gestured to Sark.
Sark stepped forward, bow in hand. "What do you need, Commander?"
"Have you spotted the alpha bull?"
Sark frowned. "Wasn't looking for one."
"Grab horses," Dem said. "We're going to find him."
They rode out at an easy canter. Dem had known the herd was massive, but seeing it firsthand was something else entirely. As they reached the valley, they slowed to a walk, keeping to the ridge well above the grazing beasts.
"Lots of big bulls," Sark muttered. "Saints…"
He stopped suddenly, pointing toward the center of the valley.
"Shit," Dem breathed.
The alpha's serrated horns were longer than a man's arm, edges sharp as blades. Even from hundreds of paces away, the bull looked nearly twice the size of the others.
Then, Dem noticed something else. "That bull is a feral beastkin."
Sark glanced sideways. "One of us?"
Dem shook his head. "Not anymore. A beastkin can live feral for five or six years and still come back. That one's been gone two decades—maybe more."
Sark watched as the bull moved forward. The other voderbeasts shied away from him, yet followed without hesitation. "He used to be a man?"
"A child," Dem said quietly. "A baby. Maybe a toddler." He exhaled. "Explains the herd's size."
"How?" Sark asked.
"He takes over one herd, then another. No bull can challenge him. They submit—or die." Dem's jaw tightened. "No humanity left. But he's smarter. Stronger. Faster."
"We could kill him," Sark said.
"It may come to that," Dem agreed. "But I've got an idea." He turned. "Have Telo bring the Sentries to the rear of the herd. I'll meet you there."
Dem rode wide around the herd, approaching from the rear and stopping nearly two miles out. With the wind in his face, there was no risk of them catching his scent. The Sentries arrived half an hour later, Telo leading the column.
Dem waited until they'd reined in. "Dismount."
Telo walked his horse forward. "Sark said you had an idea."
Dem pointed to the ground. "See that?"
"Trampled grass?" Telo asked.
Dem shook his head. "The darker patches."
Telo grimaced. "Voderbeast shit? The whole valley reeks of it."
"Exactly." Dem nodded. "There's a narrow pass between the herd and the Whitehill compound. If we turn them there, we avoid the winter crops and permanent structures."
"They can't be herded," Telo protested. "They're stupid."
"They follow the alpha."
Dem bent, scooped up a double handful of dung, and slapped it square onto Telo's chest.
Telo froze. "Saints… that stinks."
"Doesn't matter," Dem said calmly. "Cover yourself head to toe. Your horse, too." He began coating himself, unbothered by the stench. "Relay the orders."
Telo exhaled slowly. "You heard the Commander. Cover up—everything. Don't forget your mounts."
Sark laughed outright. "They're nearly blind. If you don't smell like them, you're dead."
An hour later, the Sentry Force mounted, faces twisted in shared misery.
"Slow," Dem ordered. "No talking unless necessary. Space out. Follow me once I get the bull moving."
He nudged his horse into a walk.
Dem entered the herd from the center, easing past grazing beasts and nudging stragglers forward until he was forced to weave through thickening bodies. The Sentries followed in silence, moving steadily toward the alpha.
The bull lifted its head as Dem approached, huffed once, then returned to grazing.
Dem waited until everyone was in position.
He uncoiled his rope, secured one end to his saddle, and with a snap of his wrist sent the loop sailing over the alpha's horns.
The bull's head came up instantly.
Instead of pulling back, it charged.
Dem heeled his mare into a full gallop.
The valley exploded into motion.
Twenty thousand voderbeasts surged forward as one. The Sentries fought to keep clear, choking on dust and stench as the ground thundered beneath them, the roar of hooves echoing like a storm trapped in stone.
Dem raced flat out, the rope snapping loose behind him, unable to stay taut. The alpha's breath blasted against his back, hot and furious. He ducked low, angling right as the pass loomed ahead.
He eased the turn, drawing the alpha cleanly into the gap—then the rest of the herd followed.
Dem let his horse run for a few minutes before glancing back. "Break off! Move wide and disengage!"
The Sentries peeled away, scattering to the sides.
Dem snapped the rope free and stowed it, then rode hard for the canyon wall. At the last moment, he cut sharply into a narrow ravine, squeezing through stone so tight it scraped skin from his legs.
The rock shook as the alpha slammed into the pass.
A furious bellow split the air.
Dem climbed the narrow footpath to the ridge, turned, and looked back down into the valley. The herd had followed.
At the top, he dismounted and poured water into his hands, letting his mare lower her muzzle. "That was scary, right?"
She nuzzled his palm, slurping noisily before tossing her head. Dem led her along the ridge until the rest of the Sentries came into view.
He arrived last. "Injuries?"
Telo shook his head. "Nothing. Not even a stubbed toe."
"Good work, everyone," Dem said. "Mission accomplished—though…" He sniffed. "You all smell like shit."
Someone snorted. Then another. Laughter rippled through the group until everyone was grinning. Dem joined in, clapping Telo on the back.
Sark approached, smiling broadly. "I'll have scouts shadow the herd, just in case they turn."
Dem nodded. "No baths for the scouts. Monitor until nightfall, then return to camp."
Sark hesitated. "Should we kill the alpha? The herd won't fully disperse otherwise."
Dem shook his head. "No. Let him go."
He didn't say the rest—that the alpha was a feral beastkin, and that whatever humanity had once existed there was long gone. Even so, he wouldn't give the order.
Sark nodded once. "See you back at camp, Commander."
The ride back was uneventful. Telo sent a runner ahead to Whitehill to inform them that the voderbeast threat had passed.
When Tier mentioned a nearby lake, the Sentries gladly detoured for a much-needed bath.
Telo stood waist-deep in the frigid water, scrubbing his mount as his teeth chattered. "Saints… this is freezing."
Dem submerged himself fully, slicking his dark hair back as he rose. "What? This is pleasant."
"You missed a spot," Reyka said, approaching from behind. She scrubbed his back with a handful of fine sand. "I bet Yena wishes she were here."
Dem laughed. "So she could scrub voderbeast shit off my back?"
"Trust me," Reyka said dryly, continuing until his back was clean. She turned her back. "Do you mind?"
Dem nodded. "Of course not."
They walked back toward Whitehill together, relaxed and joking. Arguments broke out over who had smelled the worst. Dem listened with a faint smile, walking a few paces ahead.
"Commander," Teya Bearclaw caught up to him, her expression focused. "I'm sensing rare minerals nearby."
Dem slowed. Teya's earth affinity made her sensitive to deposits most would never notice. "Any idea what kind?"
She shook her head. "No—but there's a lot." She pointed back the way they'd come. "Past the lake. In those foothills."
"We'll look tomorrow," Dem said. He paused mid-step, realizing the direction aligned with the next maproom marker. "Telo!"
Telo jogged up, still chatting with Rodric and Reyka. "Yes, Commander?"
"We'll eat with the Whitehills tonight. Suggest it to the Clan Chief."
Telo snorted. "Inviting them to host us?"
Dem smiled. "Exactly."
Hours later, Dem sat beside Yurok Whitehill, the clan chief and one of Tier's uncles. They traded easy conversation while Dem quietly studied the clansfolk around the fire.
The night was nearly spent when he noticed her.
A young woman with three fingers missing from her right hand.
"Who's that?" Dem asked.
Yurok followed his gaze. "Talsi."
"What happened to her hand?"
"Frostbite," Yurok said. "Her hunting party was lost in a snowstorm a few years back. She was the only one who made it back."
"I'd like to meet her." Dem rose and excused himself, heading toward the young woman as she piled meat onto a plate.
She glanced up when he approached. Pleasant face. Freckles across the bridge of her nose. Light brown hair.
"Oh," she said mildly. "The Sentry Commander."
"I'm Dem." His eyes flicked to her plate. "Is that all for you?"
She wrinkled her nose. "What are you trying to say?"
"Let's sit and talk, Talsi."
Her brow lifted. "How do you know my name?"
"I asked the Clan Chief."
She narrowed her eyes—then smiled despite herself. "Well, if the Sentry Commander wants to eat with me, I suppose I don't have much choice."
Dem nodded solemnly. "Unspoken rule."
They sat near one of the smaller fires, a bit removed from the others.
"I'm jealous," Talsi said after a moment.
"Of what?"
She raised her right hand. The thumb and first two fingers were little more than stubs. "I would've joined the Sentry Force as an archer. I wasn't as good as Tam or Reyka, but I placed top five every Gathering."
"Ever try shooting left-handed?"
She nodded. "My left eye blurs at distance. My right one never did. Now I'm… average."
Dem studied her. "How would you feel about a special mission?"
She paused mid-bite. "How special?"
"Very," he said. "And very secret."
Talsi leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Is this mission in your tent tonight?"
Dem burst out laughing. "What?"
She tore a strip of meat free with her teeth. "Why's that funny? Not your type?"
"You're only an average archer," Dem said flatly. "No attraction whatsoever."
"Bastard." She held the serious look for a heartbeat—then grinned. "How'd you know I was joking?"
"Your words and your face didn't agree."
She nodded slowly. "If the Sentry Force needs my help, I'll lend a hand." She gestured with her injured hand. "You'll have to give it back when we're done. It's my last one."
Dem shook his head, laughing. "Deal."