Wolven Kindred

by James Tallett

  These ones argue and fight too much.

  “You decided to try and rule their families.”

  A decision I’ve been regretting ever since I made it.

  “You’ll learn, one day.”

  The day I die, most likely.

  “May it be a long time in the future.”

  Aye.

  So saying, they finally departed, with Nietan idly sharpening his weapons as he walked.

  ***

  “Every moment I think about this plan, I regret agreeing to it.” Nietan muttered under his breath to Ær, who was barely visible in the plains grass an arm’s length away.

  A night assault on a heavily guarded fort? What could possibly go wrong?

  “If I list everything I can think of, we’d be here till dawn.”

  A long tongue slurping the side of his face was his only answer.

  “I’m going to kill you for that.”

  There’s fifteen thousand already in line. You’ll have to go to the back.

  Every few moments, they inched forward through the tall grass, always waiting until the sentries on the palisades opposite turned their eyes to another part of the plain. It was gruelling work, and the Wolven Kindred had begun to sneak out into the grasslands shortly after dusk. Ever since then, they had been inching their way forward, slowly approaching the palisades unseen.

  It was now some time after midnight, and new sentries had taken their posts recently. There was one every twenty or thirty yards along the perimeter, and in places the Traitor Legion thought were weak points, there were two or three times that number. All in all, there were likely more sentries on the wall than there were members of the Kindred, even including the wolven.

  Thankfully, however, the walls upon which they stood were low and unimpressive, having been made only since the retreat from their first engagement with the allied mercenary companies. That was why the Traitor Legion had been chosen as the point of attack. The rabble raised by the usurper kept their own camp, some ways distant from the mercenary companies. Clearly the Heretics had had no desire to have them as an avenue through their defences. The Heretics had also spent a great deal of time and effort building up their walls when they first began the siege works, and by now they were probably more elaborate than those of the citadel they invested. But they had allowed the Traitor Legion to encamp against those walls, and even to remove some to allow faster passage between the two camps.

  “How much closer do we need to get?”

  For us, probably twenty yards. For you, perhaps a bit closer. Or further, depending on how accurate you’re feeling with your darts.

  Nietan ran his hand over the heavy throwing weapons, three of them enclosed in a case that wobbled on his back as he crawled.

  “I can catch the first unawares. After that, I need them distracted.”

  Oh, I think they might be.

  They were now almost within that twenty yard distance of the fortifications, and still had not been spotted. Long years of scouting and skirmishing with Ær was paying off, as was the strenuous training he had subjected the Kindred to.

  “Are we ready?”

  Ær hunkered down for a moment, using his abilities to reach out to the rest of the wolven, who were distributed up and down the front with their companions.

  All of the pair-bonded are in place. As well as any others they can see.

  “And the following waves?”

  Another brief pause as Ær checked with the one wolven who had been left behind, a pregnant female too gravid to be skilled in combat.

  They’re close enough to ready we can begin.

  “Go.”

  Ær burst from the tall grasses with a powerful bound. Another took him almost to the wall, and there a leap sent him flying over the low stakes that faced outward. He slammed into the body of a sentry, sending the man flying with a startled screech. All along the line, similar scenes were playing out as the wolven launched themselves at the guards. Unused to fighting large animals, the guards tried to keep a hold of their long spears and maces and fight back with those, when what they should have done was drop them and reach for their belt knives.

  As the other sentries began to turn to help their stricken comrades, the human half of the Wolven Kindred rose from their concealment in the grass and let fly with darts and javelins. The heavy throwing weapons soared over the short distance they had to cover and impaled the men standing guard, their heavy armour no match for the weighted projectiles and long tips.

  Almost as soon as the first wave was in the air, a second followed, spearing any sentry lucky enough to have survived the initial strike. With that concluded, the humans dashed towards the barricades, swords and long knives in hand, seeking to close with the guards and conclude the matter. Not that there was much resistance apparent.

  Nietan had followed Ær over the barricades the instant his second dart had left his hand, only to find his companion was turning to face him, having dispatched the foe he had born to the ground.

  “You’ve alerted the rest?”

  They’re already marching.

  “Then we push on.”

  Leaving behind a small number of the Wolven Kindred to guide those following them, Nietan set out into the camp, moving quickly through the darkness and avoiding any camp-fires that were still lit. Ær trotted with him, keeping even further to the shadows than Nietan would have thought was possible. All about them, there was the commotion of soldiers rising from their tents and sleeping bags and fastening on armour before charging into the fray.

  Rather than always attempt stealth as a mechanism to sneak past them, sometimes Nietan would burst out of the darkness, shouting about the Nameless that were following him, and then point men in the appropriate direction before charging off again to warn the next group of soldiers. In the darkness, the soldiers he was alerting barely had time to register his armour or face, and after all, why would an enemy send them to the point of greatest need?

  Others of the Wolven Kindred were not so lucky, with those noticed being forced to surrender, although not usually without a small fight. The mercenaries had no desire to be killed, but better they delay the matter of revealing the entirety of their plans for the night.

  The rippling effect of men waking from slumber had long since overtaken Nietan and Ær, and the wolven was finding it increasingly hard to stay to the shadows and out of sight, while Nietan had received more than one questioning look as he shouted his warning and slipped away. But he was now approaching his target – the large tent that belonged to the commander of the Traitor Legion.

  In the darkness around him slipped several more of the wolven, most of them ones whose companions had met an unfortunate ending. With luck, those officers not charging to the front lines would have come here, waiting for orders or reporting on what they had seen. It would make the challenge of what the Kindred had to do more difficult, but the reward would be greater.

  “How many are there?”

  The little strike force had reached the centre of the Traitor Legion fort. Now comprised of eight wolven and three humans, they hunkered down inside an abandoned tent adjacent to the commander’s abode while Ær and the other wolven listened intently to the faintest sound of voices.

  Seven, I think. Which includes the two guards. Others say six or eight.

  “Three against eight. I never liked having the numerical advantage.”

  Praying to every god whose name crossed his mind, and some whom he made up on the spot, Nietan ran his dagger down a seam on the cloth, parting it slowly. When he had a finger’s length sliced through, he pulled it open and peered in, his eye pressed to the small gap. Seeing nothing more than a dimness of hooded torches, he cut further.

  Luck was on his side that day, and there was a heavy tapestry obscuring the front of the tent from the sleeping area. With the slit to the tent now down to the ground, he slithered through, with Ær and the remaining Kindred joining him. He could only hope that most of those who weren’t wit
h him had pulled back to their point of entry, where the Nameless should be supporting them. If not… Nietan pushed that thought from his head and gripped the long knife tightly in one hand, and his last dart in the other. Best get this over with quickly.

  The two other humans stepped up to the edge of the tapestry, prepared to grab it on his signal. A quick nod and they both dragged it back, creating two openings through which the wolven could pour. For a moment the floor was a blurred mass of giant bodies flying past, and then as the last of the wolven cleared the opening Nietan stepped around, dart already cocked, and let fly.

  The weighted weapon punched into the back of the man furthest from them all, sending him spinning to the ground with a yelp of pain. Ripping his other knife from his belt, Nietan waded into the fight after Ær, who had used his mass to bowl over one of the officers and was even now sawing at his helmet, trying to remove it. The officer was trying to use his sword hand to drag a dagger from its sheath, but Ær had squatted down, pinning the arm where it lay.

  The giant female who was Ær’s mate and constant rival, had used her bulk to batter one of the guards, sending him flying into the corner pole. But before she was able to pin him to the ground or tear at his legs, the guard was back on his feet and swinging the mace that had moments before hung at his belt. The female wolven attempted to dodge, but the confines of the tent already swirling with battle gave her little room to manoeuvre, and the blow struck her hard on the ribs. Howling with pain, she lurched away, seeking to protect herself.

  Wolven had pinned the commander of the Traitor Legion to the ground, three having gone after him at once. Despite the man’s strength and armour, even a skilled warrior could not shift so much mass sitting atop his chest, and a human member of the Kindred was approaching to finish him off. Leaving the man to his tasks, Nietan slammed his dagger down into the opponent that Ær had pinned, freeing the wolven.

  A blow across his back stumbled the Packmaster, and as he turned to face the new opponent, he felt a foot connect with the rear of his knee, driving him to the ground. Only by rolling forward and away was he able to avoid the stroke that followed. Behind him a guard had charged into the tent, no doubt drawn by the commotion. Cursing, Nietan drove to the attack, striking both high and low, his knives aimed for weak points in the armour. The guard danced back, avoiding the strikes from the weapons, only to fall howling to the floor as sharp teeth closed about the tendon in his ankle and severed it with a snap. A quick thrust finished the matter, and Nietan turned to survey the room.

  Three of the wolven were down, and two more were limping badly, including the female of whom Ær was quite fond. One of the humans had also succumbed in the fray, but the other was standing hale and hearty with his sword dripping blood. That soldier looked over at Nietan, an unspoken question in his eyes.

  “Quickly, strip the commander and an officer of their armour and pile the rest in the sleeping area.” As the wolven tugged the corpses away, Nietan and the other soldier stripped from their armour and clambered into that of their slain foe. It took precious minutes of swearing and cursing, as unfamiliar straps fitted poorly or not at all, but at last they had cobbled together outfits that could pass as members of the Traitor Legion. The sprays of blood that covered various designs on the armour only served to better camouflage them.

  What about us?

  “You’ll have to hide, or sneak away. You can’t come with us, you’re too obvious.”

  Ær nodded in the direction of the severely wounded wolven. They can’t sneak.

  “Best hope our allies manage the thrust planned.”

  At that moment a soldier from the Traitor Legion stuck his head through the flap. Nietan spun and glared at him with a curse as he advanced upon the man. He could only hope the guard did not know the commander well.

  “What are you doing, coming into my tent uninvited?”

  “Sir, I thought I heard the sounds of fighting?”

  “We’re in the midst of a bloody battle and you thought you heard the sounds of fighting. Someone give this idiot a medal. And pin it to his forehead so everyone can see. Boy, you are about to end up as dog food if you don’t step out of my tent this instant. The fighting is on the south west corner, so get your arse over there on the double. GO!”

  The soldier, a young man of perhaps twenty, shuddered as he looked at the rage covering his erstwhile commander’s face, and backed out of the tent with a bow.

  Nietan shook himself to clear his head. That had been the nearest run thing of this whole evening.

  “You managed to hide in time?”

  Barely. We’re tucked amongst the corpses back here. It’s hardly a pleasant spot.

  “We’re in battle, and you want a flipping vacation.”

  If you could arrange it, it would be nice.

  “Given this was your bloody plan in the first place, do you think you could come up with something that would get all of us out of here in one piece?”

  Wait for the rescue mission to arrive. And if it doesn’t, surrender well away from this tent.

  “Fair enough.”

  With that, Nietan settled down on the floor. The other soldier, a man whose name he didn’t know, shrugged and pulled forth a pair of dice.

  “What’ll we game for?”

  Nietan glanced around, then at the gear they were wearing.

  “The armour we have on.”

  “High stakes. Low man or high?”

  “Let’s make it high.”

  Nietan let the other soldier roll first, and cursed as a ten came up. This wasn’t going to go well for him.

  The sounds of fighting gradually grew closer, and as it began to swirl nearby the tent Nietan rose to his feet.

  “Time for us to go. And if you don’t mind, I think I’ll hand over your winnings after we escape.”

  The other soldier shrugged. “It’s only a pauldron. Hardly big winnings.”

  “So you say. Ær, lead us out.”

  The wolven poked his head from the tent, once again using the flap that they had entered by. His sense rang with the sounds of fighting and the stench of blood and offal.

  I think we just run for it.

  “And the wounded?”

  We’ll be the rearguard.

  “Fair enough. Send them out.”

  The wounded wolven began to slink from the tent, hopping on three legs or wincing with each step as cuts reopened. Immediately behind them went the healthy wolven, including Ær, and following them came the last two humans. Setting out at the best speed they could manage, they kept themselves between the lines of tents, letting the bulking masses hide them from most prying eyes.

  Unfortunately, they were not so successful at hiding them from all eyes, and soon a shout indicated they had been spotted. Grasping his last dart, which he had recovered from the slain foe in the commander’s tent, Nietan stepped shoulder to shoulder with the other human, waiting for whomever was coming to strike at them.

  Strike they did, with five Traitors bursting around a corner to assault them. The first was met with a dart to the eye, thrown too fast for the man to step aside. The next two ploughed into the humans at almost a full clip, maces swinging in overhand blows at the last minute. There was little Nietan could do except roll with the impact, and so roll he did, even as the mace’s head impacted with the plate protecting his back. The impact left him stunned and cursing, but the heavy armour of the Traitor Legion commander had protected him from anything more severe than cracked ribs. Or at least he hoped.

  The last two of the attacking Traitors found their rush bowled backwards by furry mounds, as the healthy wolven charged into the fray. The sheer force with which he had been knocked over stunned one of the men, removing him from the fight.

  The other human from the strike force had fared worse than Nietan, and was looking with shock at the crushed mess where his forearm used to be. He had managed to avoid the main thrust of the assault, but the following mace blow had caught his arm extended against th
e ground. Because of that, his career as a soldier would be over, but only if he could survive this night.

  Desperate, Nietan threw one of his long knives from the seated position his dodging had left him in. Amazingly it skipped off the breastplate of his attacker and upwards, leaving a red gash along the throat. It was hardly likely to be fatal, but the distraction gave Nietan the time he needed to kick the legs from his foe and dive atop him, pinning the mace against his enemy’s chest with his weight. Then grasping his foe’s helmet with both hands, he proceeded to slam it into the ground over and over until there was no sound coming from within.

  Looking up, he saw Ær standing over the body of the last of the Traitors, having torn out first his hamstring and then his throat. Even the chain gorget that had protected the soldier’s throat hadn’t been able to stop the wolven in full fury.

  “Come on.” Nietan grabbed his wounded comrade by his uninjured arm, and pulled him into a stumbling run. Somewhere ahead, the wounded wolven had begun to howl, a sound that Nietan used to guide him.

  We’re almost there.

  Nietan and Ær charged around a corner to find a vicious scrap taking place over the remains of a fire, with screaming berserkers charging right through the embers to launch themselves, two-handed weapons and all, at their Traitor Legion opponents. And mixed amongst the living and the dead were Corpsewalker servitors, their multi-limbed bodies gashing enemies with claws and weapons. They howled and moaned and lapped at the blood of the wounded, friends and foes alike. One had begun to advance on the female wolven, who growled into its face.

  The servitor paid the warning no mind, and it was only a swift strike to the face from Nietan as he ran past that stopped the undead creation from attempting to slay an ally. It would be a matter he would take up with the Corpsewalker commander when he had more leisure.

  Around him, the battle swelled and contracted, as the Nameless, Hanse’s Roughriders, and the Corpsewalkers all began the slow disentanglement of a fighting withdrawal. By all he could see, the allies had once more managed to leave a severe wound in the side of the Traitor Legion, but they had not been able to draw the Heretics or the rabble into the battle, and now that matters were once more evening themselves, it was better not to fight on in the darkness and the fury.