Fearless (Nameless #3)(52)
Gryphon led Zo to the side of the gathered crowd, near the musicians.
Raca stretched her arms out wide and, with the grace of a bird, began to dance. Zo’s gaze shifted between Raca’s beautiful movements and Murtog seated at the dais. The Kodiak barely blinked as he watched her fluid movements. The costumed Raven men chanted and spread their arms out wide, showing off their long black feathers, their voices rising and falling as they chanted a language Zo had never heard. No matter how elaborate the men’s synchronized movements were, Raca was clearly the object of everyone’s attention.
The end of the dance left Murtog sitting at the edge of his chair, his mouth agape and his ever-present scowl replaced with something resembling awe. His dark eyes tracked her all the way back to her seat and lingered there, unabashed even when she returned his stare.
Twenty Kodiak sporting war paint and mostly bare chests jogged out into the center of the circle. Murtog blinked away the spell Raca had cast over him and stood to face his men and the rest of the Allies gathered. He unclasped his fur cape and let it fall to the floor before stepping to the edge of the platform. Arching his back, with thick veins sprouting along his neck, he shouted, “It is death! It is life!” in the largest, most terrifying voice Zo had ever heard. She felt herself being partially tucked behind Gryphon’s back, as if the war cry—though only meant to be a form of entertainment—warranted his protection.
She smiled and nudged him until she could move to stand in front of his large chest where, his arms wrapped around her waist. “Sorry. Call it instinct,” he whispered in her ear.
Murtog jumped from the platform and landed in a crouch with one fist planted in the ground. In Kodiak form, the men shouted their war chant, smacking elbows to fists, pounding their thighs and chests like wild animals and occasionally sticking out their tongues.
“Why?” Zo asked.
“They’re trying to intimidate. They think it’s a frightening gesture.”
Zo couldn’t help but agree. Seeing these mountainous men and knowing they were fighting for the same cause brought new hope to her heart. With the Kodiak and the full might of the Raven, even the Ram might fall.
The war dance ended in one final “Ha!” from the Kodiak men and the Allies cheered, likely as encouraged as Zo.
“We’re going to survive this war, Gryphon.” She hugged the arms draped around her waist.
Gryphon didn’t respond.
Chapter Eighteen
Gryphon received the summons to meet immediately after wishing Zo a good night at the door of her tent. He’d been caught staring like a fool at the closed tent flap while longing stabbed at his gut when Laden’s messenger found him. Saying goodnight to Zo when he was used to spending his nights in the wilderness with her tucked close to his side was his least favorite part of staying in the Allied Camp.
He needed to marry her. Needed it more than he needed food or water, sleep, or even air. But how could he approach Laden for the right to have her with war looming around them? He couldn’t do that to her, not while sitting at death’s feet.
Approaching the heavily guarded door to Laden’s tent, Gryphon tucked his feelings for Zo away. He relaxed his shoulders and rolled his head to loosen up the stiffness in his neck.
The guards stepped aside at his approach and Gryphon fought the urge to correct them for not searching him for weapons. Laden, of all people, should have instructed them in such things.
Inside the tent, amber light flickered from the torches surrounding Laden’s long table. Laden waved him forward and gestured for him to sit at the one remaining chair at the foot of the table. Chief Naat sat with Talon at his side. On the opposite side of the table sat Murtog and Ikatou. Gabe was also there, seated beside the Wolf Alpha. With their fair complexions, the two Wolves could have passed for father and son. But where Gabe kept his face clean shaven, the Alpha grew his mustache so long it was braided on either side of his lips until it was lost in the matted hair of his yellow beard.
“We’re all here,” said Laden. “Every clan represented. Something, I would wager, that hasn’t happened for more than two centuries.”
Murtog didn’t hide his distaste in sitting at the same table as Gryphon. He leaned forward and said, “Skip the introductions, Laden. Tell me how we’re going to free my people.”
“You said you had news,” Chief Naat added with a nod.
“Gryphon?” Laden asked. “Why don’t you do the honors?”
Gryphon had no way of controlling the scowl on his face. Forcing him to be the one to explain his people’s weakness went a step beyond cruel. He hesitated, then finally said, “The Ram are moving south. Their food supplies are exhausted, and without the hope of obtaining the Raven grain stores they don’t have another option except to migrate south to the fertile lands of the Valley of Wolves. Traveling with supplies, and accompanied by so many who aren’t warriors, I imagine they’re a day or two south of the Gate.” He looked over at Ikatou. “I recommend trying to free your family when they are on the march. In fact,” he cleared his throat, trying not to imagine the fall of an ax to his neck, “I know the perfect time to free them.”
Chief Naat frowned, dragging the heavy lines of his face downward. “How could you know such a thing?” To Laden he added, “Have your scouts reported movement outside the Gate?”