Eventually, the tearwolf passed away from its wounds as Ryland kept his assault up, his knuckles pounding its jaw and head.
Ryland snapped to his senses again when it didn’t try to fight back anymore, then darted his eyes around to see there was no longer a threat. With more composure, and gasping for breath, Ryland put a boot on his fallen prey’s neck, grabbed his axe handle, then pulled it free. With satisfaction in how the battle went, Ryland instinctively let out a resounding roar of victory from his chest and stomach.
The villagers all followed suit, as the victory belonged to them from having taken down such a large number of the beasts.
Chapter XI: Jarldom in Peril
By nightfall, the villagers were recovering from their wounds and the battle, and miraculously, no casualties from within were had. Only the guard, Hal, had fallen in combat from the invasion. They had already set up a pyre and gave him funeral rites as the villagers gathered around the roaring fire to pay respects.
Ryland and Kaito also paid their respects as Leila held Gida in her arms and consoled the young girl.
“Leila, are any more tearwolves gonna come for us?” Gida asked with wide, curious eyes.
“No Gida, we handled them all,” Leila spoke to her, as if the girl was her own daughter. She ran a comforting hand through Gida’s hair and added, “The mean nasty tearwolves won’t be bothering us like that again.”
“I hope not. You were really brave in saving me. Mister Kaito can jump really fast! And Mister Ryland is so strong! He took like ten of them down!”
Gida’s excitement warmed Leila’s heart, and the two watched the pyre burn. Leila’s thoughts shifted to her father and the hunting party, and how they hadn’t returned yet, which worried her. However, Gida was a comforting presence for the jarl’s daughter and so Leila focused on the moment of peace and respite instead.
Gida was the orphaned daughter of the village that lost both of her parents during an avalanche when she was but a baby. Leila was close with Gida’s parents, and after they had passed, she felt a sense of responsibility to look after Gida with her grandmother, Olga, the old woman that Ryland happened to save earlier.
Earlier in the day, Jeff had returned and rejoined the others in Hemmigatr after the battle and was filled in on what happened after. He had his crew ready for anything that the jarl needed, once Torga had returned, and had set off for Port Burmir to discuss the situation with the rest of his boys, as well as look into a lead one of the other captains had for a missing shipment of Jeff’s.
The villagers were grateful for the aid of the Frontier Okami with Leila and the guards, and the mood, despite somewhat sullen from Hal’s death, only put more faith into the jarl and by proxy, his daughter. Hemmigatr’s people were regaining faith in their leader, and it showed.
The head guard that led the charge earlier, a middle-aged man with a wide jawline and strong brown eyes by the name of Djorn, approached Leila with two other guards.
“Lady Leila, we have returned from our follow up scouting run,” Djorn explained, “And we’ve found something interesting.”
“What is it? Is it my father?” Leila asked, her face one of intrigue and concern.
“Unfortunately not. However, we found chunks of raw meat strung about near the outskirts gates, and in the woods on the trail. No doubt, our saboteurs at work again. It looks like they set a bait trail to trick the tearwolves into coming to the village.”
“Like training dogs,” Ryland interjected as he joined the conversation with Kaito. “Pretty smart, despite the supposed intelligence of the beasts.”
“They’re still wolves at heart: they will hunt wherever the food is plentiful, especially in winter like this,” Djorn explained. “We’ve taken the scraps down, burned all spots where they were hung and laid black pepper around it to help repel and cover up the lingering scent.”
“Very good. Thank you, Djorn,” Leila replied as the guard tapped a fist to his shoulder, as was customary in Hjaalren, and departed.
Ryland saw the look of concern on Leila’s face, and assured her, “Your father will return. Have no doubt about that. If he’s as strong as he is wise, he won’t be gone forever.”
Leila weakly smiled, “Thank you. I hope he is too. I can’t help but worry for him.”
As if her worries were heard by the stars above, a horn deeply bellowed from the gates which grabbed the attention of all the villagers as their eyes turned towards the sound.
“What is it now?” Kaito asked as Leila’s eyes darted for the sound with a smile.
“My father has returned!” Leila exclaimed, and stood at the ready as the faint shadow of the hunting party approached from beyond the flames of the pyre and headed towards the trio on their way back to the longhouse. There was Olvir who lead the group, with two rows of hunters carrying someone on a makeshift stretcher of sorts, with the sled in tow.
Leila’s face went from one of joy to one of horror and recognition as the party came into the light.
A longboat was rowing along the water off the eastern shore of Hjaalren, not too far out to sea, but far enough to remain out of visibility from any eyes on shore. The longboat was a double-sided craft akin to the build of a large canoe, with an upturned curved bow and stern for aerodynamic efficiency, as well as a furled sail mast in the middle for wind.
The small vessel glided in the still nighttime sea, and rolled gently over the glassy swells, and left only but a small split trail of smooth water that reflected the moon in sparkling slivers.
The longboat soon came into view of a mooring dock that had a few torches lit on it, as well as some people gathered around it in the distance. The rowers on the boat picked up the pace and pulled on the oars more deliberately on the water to speed their approach up. After five minutes, the longboat had slowed down and started to approach the pier that awaited the riders.
It glided up to the wooden the dock after a well-executed turn to pull up to the side, and the men on the dock tossed ropes to the riders aboard for them to hold on to as the boat was pulled to the pier and tied off to the pylons. The riders, five in total covered in winter cloaks, all stood up and walked onto the pier to greet the others.
“I take it you had little issue getting back here, huh?” one of the men said.
“None really, except making it through the reach,” one of the riders jovially replied as they doffed their hoods to reveal Erik, Lyle, and Isolda. “Jarl Torga’s men gave quite some chase, but they’re relatively unversed in the ways of the reach like I am.”
“Good to see you here: Gerald is waiting for you ahead,” the man replied and led the group forth from the dock to a storehouse ahead.
Once the group arrived at the door, the man gave four knocks, spaced out evenly with pauses. A slot on the upper door slid open to reveal a pair of fierce hazel eyes with a sturdy brow.
“Password?” the voice said with a deep tone, almost booming.
“Manus’s boon,” the man replied.
The slot closed up, and a click was heard on the other side of the door before it opened. There, stood a svelte man, with wide shoulders and a burly chest. His black beard reached down to the bottom of his neck, and his hair grew wild, bushy, and wavy. A runic tattoo was inscribed on the side of his head, and he gave the party a toothy smile, one that the arrival group would’ve taken for the grin of a wolf with his ferocity of presence.
“Gerald Thick-Hair!” Erik exclaimed as the two clasped arms and embraced.
“Erik the Scorned!” Gerald boomed back, sweeping his hand to bid the trio to head inside while the others bid their leave to return to the docks. Gerald closed the door and locked it, then bid the trio to have a seat.
“I would like to introduce one of the other advisors, and a dear paramour of mine, Isolda,” Erik said as Isolda smiled at the powerful figure of a man that Gerald imposed.
“A pleasure, lass! Erik keeps pretty company,” Gerald warmly greeted the woman.
“Oh my, he’s strong
and a charmer,” Isolda mused back. “Were I not with Erik, I’d happily have a man like you by my side.”
Erik ignored the comment and waved a hand to Boswick’s partner.
“This is Lyle Petrov, an associate of mine. Together, we’ve been working to set the stage for your challenge to take on Torga and claim Hemmigatr’s jarldom for your own.”
Lyle nodded and extended a hand, to which Gerald firmly gripped with great strength.
“So, you’re the one that wants a shot at the jarl, huh?” Lyle asked.
“That I am. I thought about taking on our very own here in Falmod, but I have too much respect for him. Jarl Targus is a man of great might and honor. From what Erik has told me, Jarl Torga is not so much. Between losing supplies, mishaps on raids, and the tearwolves only encroaching more on his village, he is failing his people. I can’t stand men in power that let their own down like that.”
Lyle shot Erik a sideways glance, and Erik’s face showed that he had Gerald believing a half-truth that Erik himself had orchestrated. Lyle could also glean from Gerald that the man was also one of the honorable, honest types, and more naïve than he let on.
Erik and Isolda took their seats on some chairs and poured a drink into the cups Gerald had set for them.
“Now then, shall we get to business?” Erik said.
“Yes. I’m ready to make this happen,” Gerald said with fervor as he plopped down into a chair as well.
Lyle stayed on his feet and looked around the storehouse, full of crates, ropes, and materials for seafaring, and while not as large as the one at Port Burmir, he found it oddly comforting with the added hammocks and niceties that Gerald had added to it.
“Torga will be back by dawn, and ready for your challenge,” Erik said. “He spent most of the day hunting, so he may be a wee bit exhausted from the hunt, which should give you an edge in battle,” Erik explained. The village should also be ready to support you when you arrive to battle.”
“Excellent. I’ve grown tired of waiting for this. I’ll be sure to arrive ready for the fight tomorrow then,” Gerald said with finality as his demeanor grew serious.
“Is the boat team still arriving tomorrow as well?” Erik asked.
“Oh yes. I’ll have twenty men in tow to arrive at Port Burmir and make the march to the village in tow.”
“Very well. Then tomorrow we begin the final stage of the plan and get us set to take Hemmigatr as our own,” Erik said with a smile as Gerald laughed in agreement and raised their cups to one another.
At the longhouse, Torga had a bandage wrapped around his right leg, as well as his sides, and breathed with some pained effort. Leila was by his side, grave worry in her eyes.
“Father, what happened?” she asked meekly.
Olvir replied in his stead, “We were ambushed by the alpha tearwolf from the reach. We fought the beast to a standstill but still took some hurt on our end.
“Our trio of scouts didn’t catch Erik or the others either, but found their hideout,” Torga explained to the others. “A hidden hut in the woods, with some letters to a person with the initials of G.T-H., but other than that, nothing else.” The jarl winced in pain as he sat more upright in his throne.
“Father, don’t push yourself too hard, it’s a miracle that you’re still alive from the encounter. What provoked the alpha to attack the party?” Leila asked.
A whimper was heard from one of the rooms nearby, and Ryland, Leila, and Kaito’s ears all focused on the source of the noise.
Olvir walked over to the door and opened it, to reveal a white puppy in a wooden crate, with large blue eyes and a small tail.
“This was hung up on the trail, amongst all of the manmade traps laid out,” Olvir explained.
“Is that…a tearwolf puppy?” Leila asked, and her heart melted at the sight of such a precious creature.
“It is,” Olvir replied. “The poor thing was tied up like a dog out there. Clearly, someone went out of their way to string him up like that and draw the alpha out. If I had to guess, probably Erik and company. He knows the hunting schedule of our crew and had those traps out. Fortunately, it helped hamper the wolves more than actually get any of us.”
“What are you going to do with the puppy?” Kaito asked.
“We’re going to hold onto it until the alpha returns. There’s dwindling doubt the tearwolves, in addition to that meat trail set up, have been following the alpha in searching for its pup. We all technically coexist within the alpha’s established territory; it just doesn’t seek conflict with us openly. At least, until its pup was taken.”
“How can you tell it belongs to the alpha?” Ryland asked.
“Look at its collar of fur. See how more pronounced the fur is around the neck? The others of the pack aren’t born with this. Granted, the offspring of an alpha must still rise to the challenge of asserting itself as head of the pack, or it will just fall in like the others. An adult alpha usually grows more fur around the neck, as well as an icy blue tinge with it to show as such.”
Ryland inspected the puppy closer, and indeed saw a thicker collar of fur around its neck. The cute eyes and small face made Ryland pause in thought; how such fearsome creatures came from such adorable babies, he thought!
“It’s hard to believe this little one is going to become a fully grown tearwolf one day, huh?” Ryland said, as he stuck an upturned palm to the pup. The small tearwolf sniffed his hand, then proceeded to happily lick his hand. “Look how cute he is!” Ryland exclaimed with a wide smile. “Jarl Torga, you should name him and keep him!”
“I don’t think that would be wise,” Kaito replied, as he watched the interaction with a sense of frivolity to it. “The alpha is still out there.”
“That’s true. Will giving the puppy over get rid of the alpha or will it still attack?” Ryland asked.
Olvir rubbed his chin and replied, “That pup is the alpha’s sole focus right now. Jarl Torga managed to stave it off in battle on the trail, but it will recover and return, no doubt. It’s not guaranteed, but highly likely to pacify the top dog.”
“Well then, what’s our next move?” Ryland asked.
Jarl Torga took a pained breath and replied, “All we can do now is either wait for Erik or the alpha. Whichever one comes first. I hate waiting around for things, but we have no other option. In my weakened state, he’s no doubt ready to strike, knowing him. All we can do is prepare.”
Chapter XII: A Rite of Challenge
Heartstouch 13, 1008
By morning, Ryland, Kaito, Olvir, Torga, and Leila were outside of the longhouse with the guards. The anticipation of something about to happen was grating on the nerves for the lot of them, especially Torga. He knew that the village had suffered the past few months, and Erik helped orchestrate every bit he could to put the jarl in a bad light. Torga was disgusted by his lack of honor, and while he wasn’t the most ferocious of warriors in terms of savagery, Torga had earned his title of “Axe-Smasher” for his valorous battle prowess.
However, he felt the burden of not being at top fighting form and started to think thoughts of the upcoming battle could be his last. And how else could he face the villagers that he loved so dearly, yet let down? Even if he did everything he could to help them, they were still short on food, and the winter was still going on.
As the five stood out amongst a silent village, with the residents all within their homes, a horn blew from the gates, which signaled the approach of someone. Or something.
A small breeze blew through the area, and the clouds above blotted out the sun, which only dropped the temperature even more.
Silence hung in the air for an untold amount of time, and soon the five could make out a group of people that headed for the main grounds near the longhouse. At the front of them all, stood a man with a grizzly bear pelt wrapped around a bare chest. His trousers were black, and on his left arm he bore a large shield, round in design with a round piece of metal in the middle. The colors weren’t of any jarldom or
the country, but that of a personal design. A red eagle was outstretched along a white background, with runes engraved into it. On the man’s face, red face paint surrounded his eyes and cheeks.
“Gerald Thick-Hair,” Olvir addressed the man, surprised. “What brings you to Hemmigatr?”
“I’m here to issue a challenge to Jarl Torga Axe-Smasher,” Gerald boomed back with his men. “No silly votes, no council, none of that. Simply, the old ways of combat.”
Olvir went to respond in kind as Jarl Torga held a hand up to silence him.
“What are your terms?” Jarl Torga asked, as he did his best to put on a front of strength, despite his injuries.
“A battle, one on one, preferably,” Gerald answered. “One of honor to test the mettle and strength of each other. Until one yields or meets death. Surely these are feasible terms for you?”
Leila looked to her father, and hoped he wouldn’t agree, but to her shock, Torga replied firmly, “I will accept the challenge.”
“Father, no!” Leila pleaded to him.
“Under a few conditions of my own,” he added, which caught Gerald’s attention.
“You are the jarl, you may add your own if you wish, so long as they are not cowardly or too much.”
“Nothing so dishonorable,” Torga called back, which put a grin on Gerald’s face. “We will hold the battle at sundown. If we elect seconds, they will participate in their own battle removed from us.”
The Winter's Hunt Page 10
