Page 110 of The Weaver

So, he forced himself to study the camp. There were numerous structures within, shelters crafted of wood, silk rope and cloth, and leaves. Most looked as though they’d been exposed to the weather for at least a few eightdays.

Beneath some of those shelters were racks holding weapons—war spears and barbed spears, blackrock axes, fanged clubs, and hide shields. Though he could not count them all as he moved, there were far more weapons than vrix, even whenadding the two lookouts on the platform to the party of eight that had captured him and his mate.

This encampment wasn’t merely for survival. Like Needle’s Point all those years before, this was a staging place for an attack. This was a war camp.

Yet while Needle’s Point had been days of hard striding from Kaldarak, this place was less than a single day’s journey from the thornskulls’ home.

“You have returned sooner than expected,” a female called from ahead in a deep, authoritative voice, drawing Rekosh’s attention to her.

The female wore adornments typical of Fangs under Zurvashi—a broad leather belt, a yatin hide gorget with gold bands around her neck, gold arm bands, and jewelry inlaid with sparkling gems. But those trappings were paired with long, flowing white silk wraps reminiscent of a spiritspeaker’s garb. Three lines of pale gray ash were smeared down her face, one along the center, between her eyes, the others to either side of them.

Another female, dressed similarly, stood beside and just behind her. They were flanked by a pair of males in tattered, soot-stained silk wraps.

“Prime Speaker Ogahnkai.” Ulkari slammed a leg down on Rekosh’s hindquarters, driving him down onto his leg joints. “We return bearing unexpected bounty.”

A few segments to Rekosh’s side, Nuriganas strode forward, bent down, and dropped Ahmya onto the ground. The human hit the dirt with a grunt and curled on her side. Her dark hair was tousled, and her skin was dirty, bruised, and scraped.

“Ahmya!” Rekosh threw himself toward her only to be halted by Ulkari grabbing hold of his arms and forcing more weight down onto his hindquarters. His legs dug into the ground, seeking purchase to thrust him forward, but they only slid and scratched the dirt.

Ogahnkai stepped closer to Ahmya, head tilted and red eyes ablaze.

Ulkari hooked a thick arm around Rekosh’s neck as his struggles gained new desperation.

He choked out his mate’s name, all his awareness focused on her—and the hulking female approaching her. Ahmya had never looked so small, so helpless, so fragile, not even next to Ahnset or Nalaki.

“One of Ketahn’s creatures,” Ogahnkai rumbled. She extended a huge foreleg and tentatively touched Ahmya with the tip, prompting a soft, frightened gasp from the human and a roar from Rekosh.

“Not his gold haired mate, but this one still bears a vrix mating scent…” Ogahnkai flicked her gaze to Rekosh, mandibles twitching closer together. “Your mother fought for Takarahl with honor, weaver, and yet you have betrayed all we are to be lured into thisthing’strap!”

Do not touch her.

She is mine.

Do not touch!

However much he might’ve wanted to, he could not get those words out through Ulkari’s crushing hold on his neck. All that emerged were furious, raged snarls and growls.

Reaching down, Ogahnkai grasped the front of Ahmya’s dress and lifted her off the ground. The vrix leaned down, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. Those mandible fangs were much, much too close to Ahmya’s head.

Hands clenched behind her back with knuckles gone pale, Ahmya met Ogahnkai’s withering gaze and held it.

Rekosh’s rear legs sank into the ground. He shoved hard on them, dragging Ulkari forward.

With a bone-shaking growl, Ulkari fell partly atop Rekosh before catching herself. The fanged club at her hip swungdown, the sharp shards and teeth biting at his hide. He hissed at the pain.

One of those shards snagged on the rope around his wrists.

Movement to either side marked Ulkari’s companions rushing over to help restrain him.

He ensured the rope was hooked firmly as the males grabbed hold of him. It dragged across the shard, and he felt the faint vibrations as threads frayed.

Immediately, he tested the damage, pushing out on his arms, twisting his wrists, putting whatever strain he could on the frayed rope. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

Ogahnkai chittered and smoothed a palm over Ahmya’s hair. “Such spirit. In the weaver’s struggles, and in this creature’s eyes. Our queen will surely be pleased.”

“Your queen is dead,” Rekosh growled.

Ulkari caught his hair at the back of his head and shoved the side of his face into the dirt.

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