But here I was, flying against the wind, with ten thousand wolves flying too, their enormous scarlet wings bearing their human bodies aloft. We flew up the mountainside, and as we reached the peak – at last able to survey the enormous fields below – I heard a collective gasp coming from my men.

  For we all saw it at the same time: saw the swarm of darkness that spread like locusts across our land. Banshees, minotaurs, giants, witches – all these creatures and more filled the valley. Villages and castles all through the valley lay in ruins and desolation; bodies of wolves and fairies alike lay strewn on the ground. Vampires were sucking at the necks of the wounded; banshees were filling the air with their shrieks. Witches were cackling; giants were stomping five or six houses into the earth at a single furious step.

  So, this was the Dark Hordes. The most ancient and evil magic in Feyland. Nobody knew how they had come into existence – for the stories all conflicted with each other – but in one thing all the accounts of the genesis of these foul creatures agreed: the Dark Hordes had been created by an act of unspeakable evil. Some said they were born of the rape of a pure fairy, others said that they emerged from the blood of a murdered Wolf child.

  Whatever they were, they thrived on hatred, on agony and despair. They killed for the sake of killing; they enjoyed making their victims suffer as they slaughtered whole families for no other reason than that they could. They scorched the earth and salted the fields, burning livestock and crops – their hatred was not restricted just to Fey and Wolves. Rather, they hated all life, and sought to destroy all living things. Even the grass, I noted, had turned black; they had set the blades aflame and watched as pastures blazed out to char and dust.

  My heart constricted with pain, and as I heard the agonized sighs coming from my soldiers, I knew they felt it too. The pain of losing the places they loved, of seeing once-familiar villages – their homes, perhaps, or perhaps their families – reduced to desolation and despair. I could feel their suffering, and my heart broke for them.

  “My sister was from that village!” one of the Wolves cried out. “Her whole family, slaughtered!” His voice was shaking.

  “I grew up in the sight of that castle,” another cried, pointing at what was now little more than a pile of blood-soaked stones. “And now look what those fiends have done to it!”

  We retreated back to the mountainside to plan our attack, now more eager than ever to fight, to avenge those the Dark Hordes had killed.

  “What are we waiting for?” cried one soldier, tears streaming down her face. “Let's attack now! Even if we die, it's better than living another second while letting those bastards destroy everything we love...”

  “Halt!” I heard myself say, motioning towards the sky. For there, coming towards us upon gossamer wings, was another army, waving a banner of peace. My heart leaped within my chest: I knew these men. They were fairies, led by a man I knew well. The most noble and the bravest of all fairies. My half-brother. The Midnight Knight.

  He wore a dark suit of armor blacker even than ebony; his face was obscured beneath a visor trimmed with gold. He rode upon a winged horse as black as he, a proud beast with a noble, determined face. “Heel, Steel,” the Knight said, pulling the reins of the horse.

  Steel descended onto the mountainside, along with the rest of the fairies, and the Midnight Knight dismounted, walking towards me. “Brother,” he said swiftly.

  “Brother.”

  “It's getting bad.”

  “Is it true?” The Midnight Knight looked my soldiers up and down. “Are the rumors true? Can your men really shift? Are they wolves, now?”

  The Logan-part of my brain was utterly confused. What did the Midnight Knight mean “now” - surely we had always been werewolves? But the words coming out of the Red Wolf's mouth confused me even further. “I sought the advice of the ancient Fey Queen,” I said. “Queen Panthea.”

  “Panthea, alive?”

  “She was not easy to find,” I was now saying. “I had to undergo many trials to even reach her – and more still once she heard my plea for help. But in the end I prevailed, and she granted me and the rest of my army a gift: a chance to defeat the Dark Hordes. We can all shift now, as we choose. Into wolves.”

  The Midnight Knight took a step closer, looking me up and down. I could not see his face behind the visor, and so the intensity of his stare unnerved me. “Wolves are known for their strength as well as their loyalty. Can I count on both in you, my brother?” He placed his gloved hands on my shoulders. “Can we trust in you now, Connell?”

  “You can trust me,” I knelt before him.

  “Queen Panthea is a wise and powerful woman,” he said, “and yet – how did she manage to transform you? Ascribing powers to fairies is a dangerous and difficult thing to do – I've almost never heard of such a thing.”

  “She said there would be sacrifices,” I said, and as I spoke I felt a great sense of foreboding within me: a nameless, terrible terror. “She said that my men would sacrifice a great deal for the great gift she was giving us. And then she took my blood, running silver, pricking me with a dagger on the thumb. She caught my blood in a vial and then she mixed my blood with the red blood of a wolf, chanting all the while. And as she mixed the blood, turning my blood red, I looked at the wound she had made upon my flesh and saw that there, too, I had begun to bleed red, not silver.”

  “As mortals do?” The Midnight Knight looked up.

  “As mortals do.” My voice shook. “Just like mortals.”

  “Then even if you survive this battle...”

  “We will age far more rapidly than you do, my brother. But it is a choice we all agreed to make: me and all my men who underwent this treatment before Panthea's gaze. Immortality is worth nothing if we live in a dishonored Feyland.”

  My brother embraced me. “What strong magic – to change the blood. And what a sacrifice.” He hugged me tight. “I hope that, if fate should decree it, I will not make a less noble sacrifice on the battlefield than you did for your men.”

  “For Feyland.”

  “For Feyland,” he echoed. “It is what is necessary.”

  “They are beasts,” I said, “those we fight – beasts! We must become beasts to fight them. For that is the pact I have made with the Queen. At times we will be men – at other times, beasts. We will live or die as both from henceforth.”

  “Hence you should have a new name, friend. If you survive. You were named Connell, but now I think a better title is fitting. Your blood runs red now – and so I pronounce you the Red Wolf.” He kissed me on both cheeks. “But do not let your blood run tonight, brother.”

  “We must go,” I nodded.

  “Yes, it is time.” We looked up at the rapidly darkening sky.

  “Come,” I called out to my soldiers. “It is time to fight beast with beast.” One by one, my men began to turn, transforming into an army of wolves ten thousand strong.

  “Now,” said the Midnight Knight, turning to his own army. “It's time to move.”

  Chapter 4

  I opened my eyes, groggily rubbing the last traces of sleep from my eyelids. “What the...” I tried to sit up, but my muscles failed me, and I fell back onto what smelled distinctly like a pile of hay. I breathed in, only to choke and splutter on the scent: it smelled like the less pleasant end of a sweaty cow. I felt the area around me with my fingers, to my surprise finding not snow but hay and wood. The potion that Pan had slipped me may have worn off a bit, but I was still groggy and disoriented. And, it seemed, more than a little bit nauseous. The sky seemed to be shaking and moving above me; the landscape was blurred and unsteady.

  My eyes opened a little wider, and then I gasped in shock. I was no longer in the Winter lands – that much was clear. Around me I saw not snow banks and barren trees but miles of brilliant flame-colored leaves, both on and off the trees. The ground was covered with the first crunchy layer of fallen foliage, but the trees too still kept their red and orange leaves, brilliant against the crisp blue sky. The air smelled of nutmeg and cinnamon spice, and the chilling cold had been replaced by a brisk wind far less painful to the bared skin of my face. I was in the Autumn lands.

  And I was moving. What I had taken to be nausea was actually the slow, plodding movement of a cart.

  I sat up straight. Where was I? And what was I doing on the back of a cart, covered in hay? I sprang to my feet, only for my limbs to collapse beneath me, sending me reeling back into the hay. Apparently, it seemed that the drug's effects would last a while longer.

  I turned onto my front to face the man driving the cart. An old man, wearing a tattered hat, he was whistling a simple folk tune I knew well, stopping every now and then to tickle a beleaguered-looking donkey with a piece of wheat. He didn't look much like a kidnapper.

  “Hey!” I called, and the driver turned back cheerily at me and smiled.

  “Hey, yourself, sleepy stranger,” he said. “I see you're up at last. Quite a bender you were on. But don't you worry, my lad. You'll be home soon. Your poor mother won't have to worry about a thing.”

  “My mother?” I gaped at the man.

  “Don't you worry, lad. I did much worse when I was your age. But don't you fret another second – we've all been there.”

  “Been...where?”

  “Your friend the satyr told me all about it! Got a bit too much brandy juice into your system, didn't you? But he told me that, brandy juice or no brandy juice, you had to get back here in time for your sister's wedding. Gave me twice the normal fare I charge for such a journey and told me to let you wake up natural. He's a good pal, that one.”

  “Pal?” I was horrified. So Pan had put me on the back of this cart and sent me packing to the Autumn lands. Awfully clever for a drunkard, I thought bitterly. I should have known Pan's seeming surrender was all an act.

  “How long have we been traveling?” I asked, my heart sinking faster and faster.

  “Three days now,” said the man. “But we're almost there now. We've just reached Autumn Springs, so it's only a few hours more to Leaf Village.”

  “Three days!” I exclaimed. This wasn't good. If it was three days' journey back to the mountain pass, that meant another three days before I could make it back to Breena – in addition to the three days we'd lost already. Poor Breena, I thought, imagining her lovely, rosy-cheeked face frozen with fear – spending six days in captivity. My heart beat faster. Was she safe, I wondered? Had Kian dared...?

  No, I told myself. I wouldn't allow myself to think the worst, not yet. I had to force myself to stay strong, to convince myself that she was fine. Or else I'd lose it completely, and right now Breena needed me to keep it together for her. I had to find some way back to the mountain pass that didn't take a full seventy-two hours. I cursed inwardly my lack of wings. If I was a fairy, I sighed, I'd be able to make that journey by air in no time...

  But I couldn't do it alone, that was for sure. I racked my brain, trying to think of whom I knew in the Autumn lands. Only one name came to mind. “Wait,” I said to the driver. “Did you say Autumn Springs?” I knew that my grandfather had done mercenary service for the Duke of Autumn Springs, and had once saved his life. Not a bad calling card, I thought. Perhaps it was my chance to ask the Duke to return the favor. “Can you let me off here?”

  “But your mother?” the man said to me. “Your sister's wedding...”

  “I'm just going to stop to – uh – buy her some flowers,” I said. “I'll make it the rest of the way by myself.”

  “But your friend paid the full way.”

  “Keep it,” I muttered, and hopped off the cart.

  The Duke of Autumn Spring's castle was relatively easy to find. Indeed, it was the only building of any substance in the whole area, which was largely dotted with small thatched cottages and farmland. I made my way to the turrets rising high into the sky into the distance and, hoping the Duke of Autumn wasn't unduly friendly with the Prince of Winter, called out my business to the sentry standing guard before the moat.

  I told him my grandfather's name. “Tell him that Logan, the Prince of the Wolf Fey, is here to ask the Duke to honor his grandfather's memory by granting him shelter.”

  The sentry vanished and returned moments later, letting down the castle gate and allowing me access to the central courtyard.

  “So, you are Logan.” A tall man cloaked in brilliant scarlet velvet approached me, his gray beard glinting in the light of mid-afternoon. “I remember your grandfather well.” He pointed to a scar upon his neck. “I got this alongside your grandfather, and it is thanks to him that the wound was not a good deal worse. I am sorry to hear of your loss.”

  “As am I,” I said. “He was a great man.”

  “And a great wolf.” He beckoned me closer. “I am happy to extend any hospitality I can muster in return. Wolves are rare in these parts, but they are always welcome in our castle. You are a young Prince, Logan – younger than I would have thought. But no matter. Come – you must meet my nephew Alistair.” He motioned to a young, golden-haired man of about twenty-one, who bounded forth eagerly. He bore the bearing of an elegant fey royalty with his aquiline nose, high cheekbones, and slim but toned carriage.

  “Are you really a wolf?” He looked me up and down with wide blue eyes. “I mean, you look so human.”

  I smiled sheepishly as I transformed into a wolf for his benefit, even letting lose a flamboyant howl. Normally, I didn't take kindly to comments that fairies made about my wolfishness: they were usually derogatory at best and downright threatening at worst, but Alistair's genuine enthusiasm thawed my natural antipathy to being asked to perform like some kind of trained puppy.

  “What amazing agility!” Alistair rushed forth. “Do you mind if I...I mean – do you think I can pet him, Uncle?”

  “Ask the Wolf,” the Duke smiled wryly.

  I bowed my head at Alistair's feet, allowing him to scratch a little at my ears, but decided he had gotten a bit too close for comfort when he tried to rub my stomach. I transformed back into a human and Alistair stepped back more than a little awkwardly.

  “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’ve heard tales about the wolf fey and have always wanted to see for myself. Fascinating!”

  “No problem,” I said. “Just make sure it's a werewolf you're petting, next time you come across one. Real wolves don't like it when you do that.”

  “Of course,” Alistair cut in quickly. “Listen, Logan, would you like some food? Human food, I mean. We've just sat down for our afternoon meal, and we'd love for you to join us.”

  “And perhaps you could tell us what you are doing in these parts,” the Duke cut in. “These lands are ancient Fey lands – perhaps the oldest Fey settlements of all are around here. Their magic is great and storied for those of our race, but few of yours have ever chosen to settle here. As you can see, you're the first fey wolf Alistair has ever come across.”

  “And I've been around,” Alistair added as we walked towards the Great Hall. “When I was battling the pixies a few years back – they tried a raid on the whole Autumn Springs area – we were fighting alongside a mercenary troop of unicorns and a few phoenixes. We even had a giant. But no wolves.”

  Of course, neither Alistair nor the Duke wanted to say the truth out loud. The most ancient Fey lands tended to be the snobbiest about Wolf integration. Giants and phoenixes and unicorns were all different enough from Fey to be taken on their own terms, but Wolves always tended to be seen by particularly proud fairies as slightly inferior Fey. I doubted I would be welcome here, were it not for the Duke's history with my grandfather. Luckily, it seemed that Alistair, at least, had been untainted by prejudice.

  “I too, fought against the pixies,” I told Alistair, and over a few bowlfuls of soup he and I traded our repertoires of war stories, before launching into discussions of our lives. Alistair, I learned, was near the end of his training to be an alchemist, and he had spent his first year at the Summer Court as part of the apprenticeship process.

  “I can make quite a few potions now,” Alistair said. “Nothing serious, like glamor potions, but basic healing remedies. I've even designed a great hunger potion – it's just a collection of liquids that gives you sustenance and nutrients and makes you feel full. Great when you're on the road. Although it's got nothing on a nice stew,” he added, tucking into our main course, a delicious-smelling combination of beans and coriander.

  “Can't argue with you there.”

  “But what about you?” He turned to me. “What is it you need?”

  “I'm looking for fairy transport back to the Pink Mountain,” I said. “I was waylaid – kidnapped, really – and I need to get back to my destination as quickly as possible. But I get the sense most fairies around here wouldn't be happy to fly with a Wolf hanging onto them.”

  Alistair sighed. “They're just scared of what they don't know,” he said. “A lot of people think Wolves are robbers or bandits...I know it isn't true, of course, but nobody would risk being alone with a Wolf for that amount of time, even if they were feeling charitable. What do you need to go to the Pink Mountain for, anyway? That's Winter territory – and particularly war-torn territory at that. Nobody goes out there unless they can help it; from what I hear, even the residents stay at home. It's dangerous.”

  “I don't have a choice,” I explained. “There's – well...there's this girl...”

  Chapter 5

  As the fire blazed in the fireplace of the Great Hall, casting a warm glowing light over the three of us, I recounted the story of Breena to the Duke and to Alistair. I started at the very beginning – with my childhood with Breena, with my love for her, and I could sense both men start to lean in with interest. When I recounted how Delano had come to attack her, and how I had been knocked out, only to wake up to find her gone, both Alistair and the Duke seemed as moved as I was by Breena's plight. I told them everything, and when I had finished, the Duke nodded sadly and stroked his beard.