Flame and Snow

Chapter 1: Akton Akton knew the wolf could smell him—the fox, too. The owl wouldn’t have been able to, but Akton had left him dead back a few miles ago. The rest of the group tracking him amounted to three non-shifters, still deadly enough. The gash at his side stabbed painfully whenever he made too sharp a move, but Akton wasn’t about to slow down. They’d kill him if he did. He needed rest, desperately. If they hadn’t been aware of his weasel form he’d shift and hide in a hollow for a few hours, but that had only fooled them the first time, and that had been three days ago. The second time he tried it he’d still managed to get away. The third had resulted in being surrounded, the glancing s***h to his side, and the owl’s death as he’d fought his way out of the mess. And now Akton was running out of time. “s**t,” he muttered, stumbling his way up the incline through the trees. Even if he could find some way to mask his human or weasel scent, the blood would give him away. He was screwed. He debated whether to take out the fox first or the wolf, and blinked hard as he crested the hill. If Akton had been paying attention to his nose he would have smelled the town spread before him now, lanterns glowing in the dusk. This was why his pursuers were pushing so hard—they knew it was here. And it was harder to outright murder someone on a street. Akton gritted his teeth and increased his pace. Hopefully, this wouldn’t end the way the last town had. Akton pushed other thoughts out of his mind as he moved toward the main dirt path through the place. The air was full of comforting town smells, manure and dirt, smoke and food, and above all, people. Akton wanted the safety that numbers brought. A bowl of something edible, a drink for his side, and a warm bed wouldn’t go amiss, either. He breathed a sigh of relief when he got several houses and shops in and concentrated on masking the fact he was injured. He straightened his posture and fixed his grimace, then strode cockily into the first pub he saw. The place was clearly used to seeing travelers, because the moment he slid his pack from his shoulder and sat at the bar the man behind moved over. “We got chicken stew and ale. Three crowns. A bed will run you ten.” “I only have the ten,” said Akton, though he wasn’t in the mood to haggle. “Then we only have the bed,” said the man before moving off to get other customers ale. Akton scowled and dug out the money anyway, more concerned with his line of sight to the door than saving a little coin right now. Long minutes passed and nothing. The man came back with an ale and took his money, then returned with a steaming bowl of stew, a quarter loaf of bread, and a key. “What, the bread’s not extra?” asked Akton. “Top of the stairs, second left,” said the man, and left Akton to his food. It wasn’t pleasant to sit and eat with a gash in his side, but Akton managed, even spent another crown on a second ale. Fed and with the beer doing its job cutting a little of the pain, he was ready to curl up in bed and give in to his exhaustion. But his instincts wouldn’t let him rest yet, wanting to be certain his pursuers were waiting outside the town rather than coming in after him. Certainly they could smell their way here. The images came then, the buildings in Eizyn aflame. His pursuers had torched the town when the people there hadn’t given them what they wanted. They’d offered Akton a job, too, but he had no interest in becoming part of some militia. No one had expected them to turn the place to ash. Akton had been on his way out at the time and ran. They had followed. He’d wait with a line of sight to the door until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.