Mattie led them out of the tent. What had previously been a sparsely populated village was now teeming with life. Warriors roamed between the tents, restocking supplies and sharpening spears. As they noticed Simon and Luthor, they glared at them both with unconcealed hatred.
Despite the obvious anger, Mattie seemed unperturbed by the looks they received. She walked them past the smaller domes toward a larger tent set against the mountainside. The larger dome dwarfed those around it and extra pelts draped its exterior. Guards stood on either side of the grand entrance, their rifles at the ready.
“We’re here to see the chieftain,” Mattie told the guards.
The two men exchanged looks before they stared at the Inquisitor and his companion. One of the men spit on the ground, as though the mere sight of Simon left a sour taste in his mouth.
“She’s expecting you,” the other guard replied.
Simon practically anticipated one of them striking him as he passed between the men, but they merely glowered before returning to their posts.
A large fire in its center illuminated the interior of the tent. A haze of smoke filled the top of the dome as it sought escape through the broad hole at its apex. Large furs of unidentifiable animals lined the floor like a carpet, leading toward a wooden dais on which sat a throne made of antlers.
The woman sitting on the throne wore a severe expression, one that made Simon wonder if she ever smiled. Her dark hair was cropped close to her head, and her body was covered with furs similar to the ones he and Luthor wore. Were it not for the fact that Mattie had told them ahead of time that Chieftain Kidnip was a female, he wouldn’t have known different.
As they walked around the fire, her dark eyes never left the trio. Mattie stopped at the foot of the dais and nodded to the chieftain. She forewent any bowing or saluting, and Simon wondered if it was even a part of their culture.
“Are these the Inquisitors?” the chieftain asked, her voice as rough as her weatherworn skin.
Mattie nodded as she turned toward the two men. “Inquisitor Whitlock and his associate, Mr. Strong.”
Simon felt like he was under a microscope, as Kidnip looked them over with a discerning eye. She paused for a second after examining them before shaking her head and sitting back in her throne.
“You should have left them in the snow to die,” she said harshly.
“That’s not our way,” Mattie retorted. “We don’t turn away those in need.”
The chieftain leaned forward and bared her teeth. “Then maybe it’s time we changed our way.”
“If I may,” Simon said, stepping forward. “I get the distinct impression that you don’t much like me.”
Kidnip shifted her ire toward Simon. “Should I? You’re an Inquisitor. You exist solely to kill people like us.”
“I’ve also come to ask for your help and to offer you mine.”
The chieftain laughed mockingly. “The wolves don’t need your help, Inquisitor. March back to Haversham and rejoin your own kind.”
Simon placed a foot on the dais and leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee. “My kind no longer exists in Haversham, thanks in no small part to Gideon Dosett.”
The mention of his name drew the reaction for which Simon had hoped. The chieftain’s sour expression softened.
Simon continued before granting Kidnip a chance to respond. “We share a common enemy, Chieftain. We should be combining our knowledge and abilities, rather than quibbling amongst ourselves.”
Kidnip stared at Simon for a second before leaning back in her throne. “So you’re now our benevolent benefactor? Is that what I’m to believe?”
“Believe what you want. We’ve only come to help.”
The chieftain put a finger thoughtfully to her lips. “We’ve all heard about the way Inquisitors help, Mr. Whitlock. You find things you can’t explain, like the werewolves of Haversham, and you slaughter us all. Answer me this, Inquisitor. Let’s assume that I accept your help against Gideon Dosett. Let’s assume that, as a combined force, we march on Haversham and remove this vile threat. What happens then? Do you personally speak on our behalf to the other Inquisitors? Do you tell them how we are as much victims as we are monsters? Will you guarantee our lives and our continued safety once all this is finished?”
Simon flushed bright red, knowing that he couldn’t guarantee any of those things. He had already been battling such questions in his mind since deciding to come to the werewolves for help.
“I thought not,” the chieftain said. “You would use us for what we are, and then discard us when you’re finished. You’re as much a monster as we are.”
“There’s only one monster here,” Luthor replied angrily. “If we don’t work together, he’ll destroy us all.”
The flap was thrown aside, and a pair of fur-clad warriors entered the tent. “The warriors are ready, Chieftain.”
Simon noted the large patches of recently healed burns across the man’s face and exposed arms. A knot formed in his stomach as the men locked eyes. The warrior’s eyes narrowed, and he snarled at Simon.
“It would appear you two know one another,” Kidnip remarked.
Simon swallowed hard, remembering the powder horn he shot in the werewolf’s hand during the assault on the oil-drilling site. “It would appear that I set him on fire recently.”
The snarl became an aggressive growl.
“In my defense, he tried killing me first,” Simon said, turning toward the chieftain. “The fact that neither of us succeeded should make us even.”
“Silence,” the chieftain ordered, her eyes locked on the furious warrior. The man immediately fell silent. “Go tell the others to be prepared to march.”
Chieftain Kidnip stood from her throne and retrieved a broad sword from the ground beside her. She strapped it around her waist before stepping from the dais.
“Where are you going?” Simon asked.
“You were correct that Gideon Dosett needs to be eliminated,” she said as she took Mattie’s arm, leading the redhead toward the front of the tent. “That’s exactly what we wolves have been doing. We’ll destroy everything that Mr. Dosett dares build on our stolen lands, to include any people who dare to be under his employment. We’ll take back everything Gideon has taken from us. More importantly, Inquisitor, we’ll do it without you.”
Simon hurried after her, chasing both women out of the tent. “Don’t be daft, Chieftain. Before we left Haversham, Gideon said he would personally be setting a trap for you. You’re going to get slaughtered if you go after him.”
“Or worse,” Luthor remarked. Mattie turned knowingly toward him with sympathy reflected in her eyes.
“I’m begging you,” Simon continued. “Don’t do this.”
The chieftain stopped before a collection of warriors. Her gaze never left the tribesmen, even as she addressed Simon. “You can revel in your cowardice if you want, but that’s not the way of the wolves.” She drew her sword and raised it over her head, her voice rising in pitch as she yelled to the warriors. “Wolves aren’t cowards. Let Gideon come and we’ll tear his throat out with our teeth!”
The warriors howled excitedly. Across the group, men and women stripped away their furs until they stood naked, carrying only the weapons they had in their hands. Luthor averted his eyes even as Simon stared on in fascination. With clawed hands, the warriors reached to their skin and tore away large swaths of flesh, stripping away the skin from their forearms or chests as though it were paper. White fur jutted from the exposed wounds, even as they dripped with bright red blood. Piles of flesh joined the piles of furs at their feet until snow-white werewolves replaced all the once human warriors. Loud barks and howls filled the air as they prepared for battle.
The chieftain turned toward the two men and frowned. “Stay if you want, though your departure would be preferable.”
“We should go back to Haversham,” Simon said. “Can you get us there?”
Kidnip looked away. “A tribesman will ta
ke you by sled. I don’t expect I shall see you again.”
Simon sighed, thinking about the implications of an entire tribe of werewolves being thralls to the demon. “I most certainly hope not.”
The chieftain tore away her skin, growing in stature even as she did so. As she stood upright once more, the werewolf she had become towered over both Simon and Luthor. She raised her sword over her head once more.
“We march on the oil refineries,” she yelled, though her voice was far more guttural than it had been before.
The other werewolves howled in response and turned, strapping weapons to bandoliers and belts as they dropped to all fours and sprinted from the village.
Mattie stepped forward to follow, but Luthor grabbed her arm. “You don’t have to do this, Mattie. Please stay here. You know what he is, and you know what he’s capable of. If he’s truly waiting for you, then Kidnip is going to be leading the whole tribe to a slaughter.”
Mattie appeared genuinely saddened as she turned toward the apothecary. “The tribe has spoken,” she replied morosely. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”
She slipped free of Luthor’s grasp and bounded down the hill after the retreating werewolves. In mid-stride, she slipped off her fur parka. Luthor turned away from her nakedness and didn’t watch as she transformed into the wolf.
Simon placed a hand on the apothecary’s shoulder. “Come on, Luthor. We need to devise a new plan.”