“So had we.”
Her eyes tried to bore into Nietan’s skull for his comment, but he held his ground. He’d stared down enough angry wolven a mere human held no fear for him, despite her size. Ær, however, was being even less circumspect and was beginning to prowl and circle her, although well out of reach of that claymore.
She whipped her sword up until the tip pointed directly at Ær. The wolven didn’t flinch, merely bared fangs. Large, stained ones. When she turned back to examine the two leaders, she found Nietan with a dart cocked and ready to throw. The Slaughter Priest, on the other hand, was barely containing his laughter.
“Lady, I have trained against that wolven. You would lose. Now come, and we can perhaps turn our passions against those we have been hired to slay.” A swift command sent the Nameless scurrying to erect his command tent.
Hanse kept her sword pointing at Ær for another brief moment, but then lowered it and stepped through the lines, gesturing for several of her cavalrymen to follow her. Judging by their faces, most of those she trusted were close kin. Nietan and Ær watched her walk, and only when she was safely out of range with that sword did they follow. It was going to be an interesting first meeting.
***
As expected, the conference had been overly contentious, especially in regard to who was in command. On that front Nietan excused himself, since his force was clearly too small to be in contention, but the Slaughter Priest and Hanse argued long and hard. And when the dust settled and the weapons were cleared away from the map table, there was still no answer that had been settled on.
I do not think those two will ever settle. They are both too stubborn.
Nietan and Ær sat at the edge of camp, staring out across the plains that led to the Coastal Kingdoms. Despite the arguments, the combined forces had managed a decent march for the day, although in two parallel columns with the Wolven Kindred performing scout duty in front of each. Even on the order of march, they could not agree.
“Far too stubborn. And it’s going to cost us when we fight.”
You do not think the Traitor Legion and the Heretics will argue?
“Sadly, not at all. I’m almost certain the Heretics will take precedence. They do in almost every campaign they fight. Through fear, if nothing else.”
Then we go to war at a distinct disadvantage.
“That we do. And what of your war?” Ær had recently begun to contest the leadership of the largest of the wolven packs.
It goes.
“The Beastmaster thinks this is a wise time for an internal dispute?”
That is not for him to say. And do not fear the wolven being fractured in battle. Unlike humans, we can dispute one another without wishing death upon them.
“You still haven’t told me why you’re doing this.”
Ær settled his head onto his paws as he watched the sun caress the horizon.
Because there are too few wolven. The different packs will not breed with one another, and there are too few cubs as it is.
“I agree, there are too few wolven. But how does this solve the problem?”
It will, when I take leadership of every pack. There will be no more barriers amongst the wolven.
“Even if you succeed, you’re not going to be able to mate with the females until after the campaign. We need them on the fighting lines.”
And every day less is less pups. Many of the wolven will die over the next few weeks. Better that more are on the way. Ær paused. Indeed, if I thought you could win without us, I would pull every wolven from combat for that purpose. Or at least all the females.
“There’s no chance of replenishment from other wolven?”
The wild wolven? They and we have grown apart over the generations. They do not appreciate our alliance to man. Indeed, they think we are weak, and that is why we die out.
“Voluntarily walking into battle is far more dangerous than anything they do. And braver.”
They are myopic creatures. Almost nothing is common between us and them any more. Centuries of life within the Kindred have seen to that.
Nietan sagged and thought for a moment. “So you’re telling me that if the wolven with us now die out, there will be no more Wolven Kindred.”
Yes.
“Pull the females. All of them. Explain the matter to them however you want, I don’t care. And then do what you must. I’ll deal with the companions.”
You will upset your brothers greatly.
“I’m hoping the wolven will explain it to them gently. Before I have to be harsher.”
We shall see.
***
Nietan woke to a wet nose poking his face.
Wake up. Death approaches.
He sat bolt upright. “Traitor Legion? Heretics?”
I think our allies, actually.
“Oh bloody hell. Them. They would show up in the middle of the night, wouldn’t they?”
A flair for the dramatic would seem to suit their predilections.
“Yes it would. Damn them.”
Nietan struggled into his armour, pulling the leather and metal pieces over his head and gathering his darts. Despite his position as Packmaster, he wore nothing more than the skirmisher’s gear he had owned before his promotion, and fought in the front lines of the skirmishers. With Ær at his side, there was no need for him to be anywhere else, for he could still see the battle as well as a commander on a hill. Far better, in fact.
The wolven sentries had done their duty, and the whole camp was rousing, as were the Roughriders and the Nameless. Nietan had stationed wolven and their companions in the command tents of both of his allies for just this purpose. The others had not liked relying on the wolven, especially Hanse, but it was the fastest means of communication they had. And the most reliable.
With the camp on high alert and little for him personally to do, Nietan climbed the low earthen rampart to look out into the darkness. His eyesight, never the best at night, could see little more than dim shapes that drifted like shadows across the ground. However, the senses being relayed from Ær’s nose spoke far more eloquently. Almost every one of those moving creations out there was a corpse, although most were so old there was no flesh left, not even rotting remains.
Presently a corpse shambled from the darkness. Oddly, it was wearing a full suit of chainmail and carrying a spear and sword, one in either hand.
“Come.”
They can speak?
“Apparently so.” Shaking his head, Nietan left orders for the camp to be on high alert and made his way over the wall with Ær at his side.
Hanse and the Slaughter Priest come.
“Even they can be commanded to enter another company’s camp in the middle of the night? Interesting. I thought neither of them would be joining us.”
They each bring a large contingent of soldiers.
“Power games. Why am I not surprised?”
You are rather enjoying the fact the Wolven Kindred do not merit such consideration at this very moment, are you not?
“Well, it means I don’t have to posture like an idiot. Which is nice. But I do wish the Kindred were their equals.”
On that, I fully agree with you.
***
The only light that permeated the camp of the Corpsewalkers was the moonlight spilling down. There were no fires, no torches, no artificial light of any type or source. Apparently, those humans who were part of the Corpsewalkers needed none. As for those who were not human, Nietan did not care to speculate on how they saw the world. Probably in a particularly unpleasant manner.
A servant led Nietan towards a large tent situated in the middle of the barren ground the Corpsewalkers called their camp. When they arrived, the creature beckoned for Nietan and Ær to enter, which they did only with great reluctance.
Inside, the tent stunk of incense, and of other scents that better belonged on a battlefield. In the aftermath. Trying not to feel physically ill, the Packmaster took a seat at the long, low table filling t
he middle of the tent and waited for his hosts and fellow commanders to arrive. Hanse came first, taking seats opposite the Kindred with several of her kin.
Next was the Slaughter Priest, along with several Nameless who were clearly not officers. Each one looked ready to tear the structure down piece by piece, and only a calming hand from the Priest stayed one of them from ripping a particularly unpleasant item off a shelf and breaking it in half.
“Greetings. And thank you all for coming.” Nietan spun to look at the head of the table, where a figure in a dark black cowl was now seated.
He wasn’t there a second ago. I’d have smelt him.
Nietan spoke in his mind in response. “Strong odour is it?”
Very. The earth of graveyards and of bones long since dry and brittle.
“I see you are pleased to be here.” A rasping chuckle escaped from the cowl. “That is as it should be.”
“Very cute. But if you’ve finished playing the role of a poor actor, can we speak of business?” The Slaughter Priest matched the cowl glare for glare.
“In a moment. First, I have something to impart. The Heretics have already arrived at our client’s citadel, and are investing it. They are supported by the rabble. The Traitor Legion moves to block us. If we do not overcome them quickly, our employer will cease to be. And will not pay us the considerable sums of money we are owed. Which would be a pity.”
“And you know this how?” Hanse quirked an eyebrow at the cowl.
“I know.”
“Then we must march with all haste. And I shall take charge, as we outnumber all of you combined. Simple.”
As it had before, a dispute immediately erupted between the Slaughter Priest and Hanse, each arguing the various merits of their positions. Nietan and the Corpsewalker both watched with mild distaste, Nietan feeling as if he had brought some unruly children with him. Children he was not allowed to discipline.
“Enough! If you would squabble like this amongst allies, neither of you is fit for command. And as I suspect none of the rest of you would obey my orders, Nietan here shall have to do. He is, after all, the least occupied with logistical matters.”
Both Nietan and Ær started, the wolven’s head banging into the table under which he had been laying. Hesitantly, Nietan spoke.
“I’ve only been in command for a short time, and a small unit at that. I’m hardly fit to oversee a force of some fifteen thousand.”
“Very true. I reiterate my earlier point. I am used to commanding the greatest number, and so I shall continue to do so.” Hanse, as always, was putting her oar in right away.
A mutter emerged from under the cowl, and with it Hanse’s voice fell away, even as her mouth continued to move.
“I do not hold with the belief that women should be silent, but with you I am forced to make an exception. You are a tiresome, argumentative creature and one who has been bowed to far too much.”
Hanse’s guards were reaching for their weapons, but stopped when bared blades were laid across their shoulders. Standing behind them were gaunt mockeries of men, but ones that moved with a grace and strength few of the living could match.
“It is better if you refrain from idiocy inside this tent. It is rather well guarded.”
Having kept his cool somewhat better this time than in the first argument, the Slaughter Priest turned his gaze from the undead guardians to the cowl.
“I take it you are unwilling to assume leadership of this expedition.”
“You surmise correctly.”
“And Hanse has her drawbacks, as does Nietan. It would seem but one of us is fit and willing to command us all.”
“Willing, yes. Fit, well, that is a matter to be decided later. But at the moment, I see no reason why you should not take charge. If you can manage the recalcitrance of one of our erstwhile members.”
“I can see a great many reasons why he should not!”
“Hanse, you try my patience. If you continue to do so, I will render you into a servant. It is a fate you would not appreciate.”
“The words of a coward, hiding behind a mask and his servants. Meet me in single combat at dawn.”
Gesturing to her kin, she swept from the tent, leaving behind an unpleasant miasma that had little to do with the stench in the air.
The Slaughter Priest watched the swaying of the flaps before looking back to the end of the table. “She is quite determined. If only that determination was turned against our enemies and not against us. Will you accept her offer?”
“He’s not here any more.” Nietan gestured at an empty chair where the Corpsewalker had been seated.
“They are skilled combatants, but I do wonder if the numerous drawbacks they bring with them are too great for their benefits.”
He’s back.
A body slammed down onto the centre of the table, and above it loomed the Corpsewalker, a long blade protruding from one sleeve, its tip just touching Hanse’s throat.
“Call me coward if you wish, but I could slay you whenever I so desired. Consider that, you foolish creature.” A brief moment and the Corpsewalker was seated back in his chair, while Hanse rolled off the table to drop into a fighting crouch, staring at the cowled figure. However, knowing she was outmatched, she eventually took her old place at the table.
“Was there a purpose to this display? On either of your parts?”
The Corpsewalker chuckled. “Vanity. We both postured in our own ways.”
“At least you acknowledge it. Can we at least settle the matter of leadership?”
“It can be you.”
Everyone turned to glance with some surprise at Hanse, for it was she who had spoken.
“I do not lead from my head, but my heart. You are cold, almost as cold as his touch.” She gestured at the Corpsewalker.
“I do not appreciate any comparison to that meandering cadaver. He is a foul thief, a…”
The Slaughter Priest fell silent, caught by the same spell the Corpsewalker had used earlier.
“We are mercenaries. This is a matter of money and honour. Not religion.”
Released, the Priest glared at the cowl. “Very well, I shall leave those fertile grounds for a later planting. Now, does anyone object to Hanse’s nomination?”
There was no comment from those around the table.
“Very well, let us move on to other matters.”
And so they did, until the sun began to illuminate the horizon and the Corpsewalker and his servants withdrew.
***
The marching order was quickly sorted the next day by the Slaughter Priest. The Wolven Kindred took the scout and flanker positions, as they had done for some time. Next came the Nameless, marching as the vanguard. The main body of the army was Hanse’s Roughriders, that great collection of cavalry and infantry trotting along in an incoherent mass, while the Corpsewalkers brought up the rear. From a strength point of view the companies might have been better served to have the undead in the front ranks, where they would serve as admirable shock troops, but for morale reasons the living commanders had judged it best to place the Corpsewalkers out of sight, or at least as much as they could be in marching order.
The plains over which they passed offered ample sight lines, and so the Kindred who were scouting found themselves with little to do most days. There was almost no chance of an ambush, and there was enough small and medium sized game they often supplemented their shifts in the field with some hunting. This was made more difficult by Nietan’s decision to restrict all of the female wolven to the camp and generally quiet duties, at least until certain matters had been attended to.
On that particular and awkward point, Ær had succeeded in impressing his will on most of the wolven, although several of the females had resisted. In one case, that resistance had enabled Ær to challenge for leadership of one of the remaining two packs he did not control, his challenge for the first having been successful. This had resulted in a great deal of worry amongst the humans directly involved, Nietan in
cluded, for the female Ær had challenged was quite likely the largest of all the wolven within the Kindred, a truly massive specimen who was almost twice the size of a fully-grown man. Ær was no small wolven himself, but even he looked dwarfed by the female as she trotted forth to defend her position.
I think I’m in love.
“Ær, don’t be an idiot. She’s about to tear you limb from limb.”
Oh ye of little faith. It’s how wolven court one another.
“By inflicting crippling injuries?”
We do it physically, rather than emotionally. They heal faster that way.
“Touché.”
The bantering out of the way, the two wolven prowled into the ring, heads low and teeth bared as they circled about one another. Each circle, the female cut closer to Ær, seeking to pin him against the boundaries they had decided upon. Eventually, he was forced to either step outside the arena or past the burly female. Seeing her opponent caught in such straits, she leapt at the smaller wolven, seeking to pin him by the neck.
Ær was backed up right to the very edge of the boundary, and appeared to cower for a moment as the female launched herself into the air. But then an amused chuckle sounded in Nietan’s mind, as the wolven whipped his whole body onto its back, his legs in the air. A concerted, powerful kick with all four of his limbs thumped into the belly of the female as she arrived, sending her sprawling a few feet further on from her intended landing. Unfortunately for her, those few extra feet meant she landed outside of the boundary.
You cheated! The bellow inside Ær’s mind was enough to deafen his ears, despite the non-vocal delivery method.
No, I played by the rules. You didn’t think the barrier could be used defensively as well as offensively. Just because you can’t see all the options available in a conflict doesn’t mean your opponent can’t. Thus, a victory for me under the terms agreed.
She growled, and set her feet to lunge at him.
Rulebreaker, are we? Or do wolven no longer acknowledge pack leaders?
Another growl rippled forth, but she held her ground.
And so what do you want from me? To stay in camp and hide, while my companion risks his life? To be ever restricted from glory, and forced to raise one pack of mewling pups after another?
Wolven Kindred Page 4
