Page 48 of Yasmin and the Yeti
One of the scouts approached, dropping silently into their circle. “Elder, I have found their transport. A small landing field on the plateau above the lab.” He pointed to a flat expanse further up the mountainside. “Two small ships. Four more guards.”
Njkall nodded, absorbing this information. His glowing eyes narrowed as he studied the map Rhaal had drawn, then lifted to the darkening sky.
“We strike at full dark,” he declared, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. “Two teams. Rhaal will lead the main force into the lab through the sacred caves. I will take four warriors to destroy their ships and cut off their escape.”
He looked around the circle, meeting each warrior’s eyes in turn. “Remember—no technology within the sacred caves. Claws and fangs only. We will not compound their desecration with our own.”
The warriors nodded, understanding. To bring weapons of metal or energy into the sacred burial grounds would be to dishonor their ancestors.
“Outside, we use these.” Njkall gestured to several small, egg-shaped devices laid carefully on a hide cloth. “Explosives. They will bring down the mountainside on their landing field. It will appear as a natural avalanche. Nothing to raise suspicion.”
Rhaal studied the devices with distaste. He understood the necessity, but the use of offworld technology, even for this purpose, felt wrong.
“The poison they dump in our waters kills slowly,” Njkall continued, his voice hardening. “The scientists themselves must be eliminated quickly, cleanly. Their bodies and all traces of their work will be removed from the sacred caves and placed in the Dead Cave to the east. It is far from the water source.”
The warriors began to disperse, preparing for the attack. Rhaal remained crouched by his snow map, his mind racing through contingencies, visualizing each step of the assault.
A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up to find Broc standing over him, his face solemn in the fading light.
“I will be at your side,” Broc said simply.
The words carried weight far beyond their simple meaning. This was not just about the coming battle. This was forgiveness, acceptance, brotherhood restored.
He rose to his full height, facing the male who had once been like a brother to him. “For Ayla,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
“For Ayla,” Broc agreed. “And for your mate and cub.”
As the warriors moved into position, he paused at the edge of the ridge. He turned back, looking toward the distant mountains that concealed the clan caves—that concealed Yasmin. Thesetting sun painted the snow in shades of blood and fire, a fitting omen for what was to come.
He made a fierce, silent promise to her, to their unborn cub. He would not fail this time. He would protect what was his. He would return.
The descent into the valley was swift and silent. The warriors moved like shadows across the snow, their white fur rendering them nearly invisible in the deepening darkness. They reached the hidden entrance without incident, slipping past the camouflaged barrier with ease.
Inside, the tunnel sloped downward, the natural rock gradually giving way to a polished, manufactured corridor. The sterile smell of the lab—chemicals, recycled air, offworld materials—burned in his sensitive nostrils, a stark contrast to the sacred scent of the burial caves that should have permeated this place.
The warriors spread out according to the plan, moving to their assigned positions throughout the lab complex. He and Broc took point, leading the way toward the main laboratory where the majority of the scientists would be working.
As they passed through the sacred burial section, he felt a wave of rage wash over him. The offworlders had cut through the ancient stone with laser precision, installing support beams and conduits with no regard for the sanctity of the space. Ancient carvings had been defaced, burial niches disturbed.
He knew without looking that Ayla’s resting place was just beyond the next bend in the tunnel. The thought of strangers passing her grave daily, treating it as nothing more than an inconvenient feature of the landscape, made his blood boil.
Beside him, Broc’s breathing had become labored, not from exertion but from suppressed fury. His grip on his staff was so tight that his claws had pierced his own palm, dark blood dripping silently onto the polished floor.
“Steady,” he murmured, so quietly that only Broc could hear. “Soon.”
They reached the final bend before the main lab. The warriors pressed themselves against the walls, waiting. He caught Broc’s eye and saw his own rage reflected there, but also something else—a grim satisfaction. They were united again, brothers in purpose if not in blood.
“I have your back,” Broc whispered, the words a sacred vow between warriors.
Before he could respond, a distant boom shook the tunnel, followed by another, and another. Dust sifted down from the ceiling. Njkall’s team had begun their assault on the landing field.
Alarms blared throughout the complex. Shouts of confusion echoed from the lab ahead.
“Now,” he snarled, and they surged forward.
The battle was as swift and brutal as he had expected. The scientists, soft and unprepared, barely had time to register the nightmare of white fur and glowing eyes before they were overwhelmed. The guards put up more resistance, their energy weapons leaving scorch marks on the walls and searing the fur of two warriors, but they too fell quickly to superior numbers and ferocity.
He moved through the chaos with cold precision, his massive claws finding vulnerable throats and bellies with surgical accuracy. He felt no pleasure in the killing, only a grim sense of justice being served. These were not worthy opponents; they were desecrators who had threatened everything he held dear.
