Night of the Wolf

by Sean Kikkert

  “Where are you dogs heading?” the soldier sneered at the trio.

  “Sir, how can we help you?” Castor asked politely.

  That’s so typical of Castor, Cassandra thought. Ever the diplomat, he was trying his best to deescalate the situation.

  The soldier snorted with contempt. “Don’t try to act all innocent and polite with me,” he said through clenched teeth. “We know you people murdered our lord mayor. Now you’re going to pay for it.”

  “We didn’t murder anyone,” Cassandra shot back. “You can’t make us the scapegoats for everything.” She began to shake—although she couldn’t be entirely sure whether it was out of fear or anger.

  The soldier coughed out a mean laugh at Cassandra. “Have you finished chasing balls now, you dog?” he jeered. “It’s time you flea-infested mutts learned your place in this kingdom!”

  Ajax looked like he had taken just about as much as he could of this outright boorishness. “Leave her alone,” he spat at the soldiers. “You have no right to treat us this way.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t if you hadn’t murdered our lord mayor,” the soldier with the axe replied in a cold, hard voice. His face was flushed red with rage, his eyes narrowed into thin, angry slits as he looked Ajax directly in the eye.

  Defiantly, Ajax met the soldier’s stare.

  Castor’s face wrinkled with worry. “We don’t want any trouble,” he said, but his voice came out tiny and weak.

  The soldier gave out an angry howl and swung his axe’s handle at Castor’s midsection. Castor’s eyes bulged in pain and surprise as the handle was driven deep into his solar plexus. His muscles collapsed, and Castor crumpled to the ground, clutching at his stomach. Meanwhile, the two other soldiers struck at Ajax with the wooden shafts of their pikes.

  Castor was defenseless on his hands and knees, and yet the soldier kept striking him about the head and shoulders with the axe handle. Cassandra ran at the soldier with hot tears stinging her eyes; Castor was such a gentle soul, and he didn’t deserve to be treated this way. She jumped on the soldier’s back and tried to pull him away from her friend. The soldier threw Cassandra with ease, and she landed hard in the dirt.

  Although Cassandra tried to break her fall as she had been taught in combat class, the air was knocked from her lungs, and she was left winded and gasping for breath. Rendered helpless, she could only watch as the soldier lifted his battle-axe high in the air.

  Castor swallowed hard as his eyes locked on the axe’s cruel, sharp blade.

  Cassandra turned away in horror as the soldier swung the axe down toward Castor’s neck.

  Chapter 17

  The pain and oblivion that Castor expected never came.

  Instead, sharp, vicious teeth ripped into the soldier’s arm a moment before the battle-axe should have plunged through Castor’s neck. The soldier’s eyes bulged out in surprise and horror as a snarling, gray beast dragged him to the ground. The soldier struggled and let out an angry howl of pain and confusion, but Ajax continued to tear at the soldier’s flesh until he dropped the battle-axe.

  Cassandra looked back at the scene to see the two other soldiers lying unconscious on the ground; Ajax had knocked them clean out and used the lull in the fight to transform into his wolf form. He now had the third soldier grasped tightly between his teeth, and with a flick of his powerful neck, he hurled the soldier all the way across the road.

  Ajax jumped behind some bushes and quickly changed back into human form. Cassandra threw Ajax one of the soldiers’ red cloak, and Ajax emerged a few moments later with the cloak wrapped tightly around him. He searched through the soldier’s kit until he found what he was looking for—a thick, heavy rope. With his friends’ help, he fastened it around the soldiers’ wrists to secure them. Cassandra saw the soldier with the axe had bite wounds all over his body. He was bleeding profusely, and he looked lucky to be alive. Cassandra was glad that Ajax had restrained himself enough not to kill him. Although she felt no sympathy for the cruel soldier, she figured that they were already in enough trouble as it was without having a dead soldier on their hands.

  The two other soldiers regained consciousness as they were being tied up. They struggled against their bonds, but it was no use—Ajax, Cassandra, and Castor easily overpowered them, and now they were duly disarmed and detained.

  The soldier who’d held the battle-axe looked Cassandra directly in the eye. “You’re not going to get away with this,” he growled through his pain. “Wait till we tell the sheriff what you’ve done—our people will destroy you and your whole cursed village.”

  “He does have a point,” Ajax said. “If we allow them to return to Brakchester, they’ll run straight to the sheriff. Next thing we know, we’ll be invaded by thousands of soldiers, and even if the entire pack were to fight as wolves, we couldn’t possibly win against such odds. I was tempted to destroy all three of these swine, but I wouldn’t dare kill them without Telemachus’ approval.”

  Cassandra nodded. “You were right to spare them.” While Cassandra wouldn’t have shed a tear for them if Ajax had torn all three of these horrible men to shreds, she knew that Telemachus abhorred bloodshed unless there was absolutely no other option.

  “Let’s take them to Telemachus,” Cassandra said. “He’ll know what’s to be done with them.”

  Nestor forced the three soldiers into an empty bedroom in Telemachus’ home. The soldiers protested and struggled, but he simply lifted each of them with one mighty arm, threw them roughly into the room, and bolted the door. The soldiers continued to scream out their threats through the door, but the werewolves ignored them.

  Deep in thought, Telemachus stroked his chin. “Well, we can’t keep them here forever,” he said. “But on the other hand, if we let them go, they’ll be free to tell their lies to the sheriff. I have no doubt at all the king will declare war against us before we even have a chance to tell our side of the story.”

  “Do you think it’s time for us to find another place to live?” Nestor asked.

  Cassandra shuddered. The thought of another journey through blizzards, storms, burning heat, and whatever else nature might throw at them didn’t appeal to her one iota; she knew from past experience that not everyone in the pack would survive the journey. How many more times would the wolves be driven from one God-forsaken place to another?

  “Not yet,” Telemachus replied. “There is a place for us, and why should it not be this place? This is a beautiful land, and I still believe we can make peace with our neighbors. I have hired a lawyer. Maybe he can help us put our side of the story to the sheriff.”

  “Well, it’s worth a try . . . I guess,” Nestor grumped.

  “Then I shall leave straight away to speak to him,” Telemachus declared. “Nestor, guard these men until I give you word it’s time to release them. Feed them well and take good care of them. Just because they’re our enemies doesn’t mean we can’t show them our warm hospitality.” Telemachus looked tenderly at Castor, at the blood seeping slowly down one side of his face from a deep cut over his eye. “Ajax and Cassandra, get Castor to the doctor and then get some rest—you’ve all been through a lot today. And Ajax, well done on saving Castor’s life.”

  As Ajax and Cassandra led their injured friend away, Cassandra could still hear the soldiers screaming out their threats from the makeshift prison. It was too much for her—it made her sick to her stomach to see her dear friend Castor so altered by blood. And now that the immediate danger was past, Cassandra cried openly in front of her friends. Ajax and the still-bleeding Castor both put a reassuring arm around her.

  Telemachus knocked tentatively upon Jonathon’s door and waited. To his relief, the lawyer was still in his chambers and working at his desk.

  “Good, I’m so glad you came to see me,” Jonathon said as Telemachus walked in. “I heard about the sheri
ff sending soldiers to the village to intimidate your people—I’m concerned they might try to pick a fight. Even if provoked, you need to resist fighting back. If your people do, the sheriff will use it as an excuse to destroy them.”

  “It’s too late for that.” Telemachus’ voice was flat. “Three soldiers attacked three of my teenagers this afternoon. They were going to kill one of the boys, but his friends managed to save him; my wolves had no other choice but to defend themselves. I didn’t want the soldiers telling lies about what really happened, so I’ve locked them up at my house.”

  If Jonathon was surprised to hear this, he didn’t show it. The lawyer tapped his front teeth with his feather quill as he thought this through. “Well, let’s go speak to the sheriff and explain everything to him. I think he’s a decent man at heart, but there’s a young woman—Red Riding Hood—who’s been turning the city folks against you. She seems to have made it her life’s mission to destroy you and your people.”

  “I’m happy to go straight to the sheriff,” Telemachus said through clenched teeth. In days gone by, such matters would have been dealt with by tooth and claw.

  “I recommend that we don’t go to the sheriff’s office,” Jonathon said. “He might well have you arrested on the spot once he hears about you imprisoning the guards. The good thing is, however, that I have a close personal relationship with the sheriff; I’ve had a lot of contact with him in my work, as you might expect. I think it’ll be safer if you and I visit him at his home—he spends most of his off-duty time at his country estate.”

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to take me there? The sheriff considers me an enemy, and he might resent you for it.”

  “Well, my job as a lawyer is to get the best results I possibly can for my clients,” Jonathon said. “I’m sure Sheriff Lyndon will forgive me for the intrusion. I have a good enough relationship with him to get away with it—just this once.”

  Telemachus thought for a moment. “Okay, let’s give it a try.” He let out a reluctant sigh.

  Jonathon’s heart fluttered as he and Telemachus made their way through the woods that led to the sheriff’s country residence. Even though he had a pretty formidable traveling companion in Telemachus, Jonathon couldn’t stop himself from glancing around nervously.

  “I hope I can find my way through the forest,” Jonathon said. “Of course, I normally travel to the sheriff’s country estate by road, but Red Riding Hood has stirred up a lot of hatred against you and your people—I hear there might even be assassins about. . . . I think we’re best off avoiding contact with people as much as possible.”

  Telemachus nodded. “No objection from me,” he said.

  Telemachus and his lawyer walked on in silence. Jonathon’s heart thumped loudly in his ears, and he couldn’t help but glance around nervously as the wind howled and the trees shook around them. Jonathon kept alert, peering ahead for any signs of movement, but everything was so eerily quiet—he was overwhelmed by the sense of his own vulnerability. Jonathon looked over at Telemachus and saw a smile on his face. It was as if Telemachus could smell his fear, and it amused him. Jonathon guessed that there were an awful lot more physical dangers in Telemachus’ life than there were in Jonathon’s line of work.

  Goosebumps spread the length and breadth of Jonathon’s body at the sound of footsteps behind him. He looked frantically around, but there was no one to be seen. Jonathon opened his mouth to warn Telemachus, but before he could utter a single word, a dark figure jumped out of the shadows behind Telemachus and took a swing at him with a huge wooden club.

  Telemachus must have sensed the approaching blow, because he ducked. The club whooshed past him, missing his ear by a hair’s breadth. Telemachus twisted around, grabbed his assailant by the shoulders, and threw him. Jonathon looked on in amazement as the howling thug hurtled through the air as if he were nothing more than a bag of flour—he flew at least the length of six men before crashing to the ground with a massive thud.

  Telemachus eyed his would-be assailant’s limp body before continuing on his way as if nothing had happened at all. Jonathon rushed over to the unconscious thug to see who he was. Although Jonathon didn’t know the man by name, he looked familiar. Jonathon remembered that he had seen the man in the dock at court once when Jonathon was defending another petty criminal.

  Jonathon jogged to catch up with Telemachus, and he and Jonathon walked on—still in silence—until they reached the manor house at the edge of the woods. The sheriff lived in a beautiful, timber-framed, white-painted house set amongst lush, green lawns and a beautifully maintained garden. The house itself had grand, wide windows and was shaded by magnificently ancient oak trees.

  Jonathon walked confidently up to the front door and knocked; he’d visited the sheriff at his home many times before. The door opened, and the sheriff gave Jonathon a wide, friendly grin when he saw him. However, his smile disappeared when he clapped eyes upon Telemachus.

  “What’s he doing here?” the sheriff demanded with disdain.

  “Lyndon, we have something important to tell you,” the lawyer said. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t urgent. I thought you’d best hear it from us first.”

  “Very well.” The sheriff sounded impatient and gruff. “I guess you’d better come in.”

  The sheriff led the way to the parlor and motioned Jonathon and Telemachus toward two vacant armchairs. Exchanging anxious glances, Jonathon and Telemachus sat themselves down.

  The sheriff turned to address Telemachus. “I’m sorry if I was a bit abrupt with you a moment ago,” he said. “I’m actually glad you’ve decided to turn yourself in. That takes a lot of courage.”

  Before the sheriff could say anything more, Jonathon interrupted. “Telemachus is not here to turn himself in.” He hoped he didn’t sound nervous. “He’s here to report an evil act: your soldiers attacked and tried to kill three of his teenagers. Telemachus was forced to imprison the rogue soldiers, but he’s willing to release them into your custody and overlook this evil deed,” the lawyer said. “An unprovoked attack on three innocent people—nothing more than just boys and a young girl—is something that reflects very badly on you, Lyndon. However, Telemachus is willing to let it slide and pretend it never happened.”

  Jonathon wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but the sheriff’s reaction caught him off guard.

  With his blue eyes glaring coldly, cruelly, at Jonathon, the sheriff clenched his hands into tight fists. “You forget yourself, counselor,” the sheriff snarled through gritted teeth, his eyes filled with icy rage. “Do you mean to tell me you have brought this beast into my home to make demands? Are you trying to tell me this abominable creature has actually kidnapped my soldiers, and you’re asking me to just forget his wrongs?” Like a spooked horse, Sheriff Lyndon flared his nostrils. “You’re nothing but a filthy wolf-lover, Jonathon, and you should be ashamed of yourself. You should be sticking up for your own people.”

  Jonathon’s throat felt tight and dry; he could have done with a stiff drink. However, he met the sheriff’s hard, disapproving stare and refused to look away. He stood up and motioned to Telemachus.

  In the blink of an eye, the sheriff sprang to his feet and pushed Jonathon back into his seat—hard.

  Jonathon swallowed. His face flushed crimson, and he felt uncomfortably hot and sweaty. “What do you think you’re doing?” he stammered.

  A small, wry smile appeared on the sheriff’s lips. “Don’t think for one second I’m going to let you get away with this,” Sheriff Lyndon seethed.

  “Leave him alone!” Telemachus snarled, standing up.

  The sheriff raised a solitary eyebrow. “You dare to raise your voice to me in my own home?” he growled. “How dare you come here and make demands when you should be turning yourself in!”

  “I’m not turning myself in!” Telemachus’ tone w
as adamant. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” He reached over, grabbed Jonathon by the shirt, and pulled him back to his feet. “Thank you for taking the time to see us, Sheriff. We’ll see ourselves out.”

  Pulling Jonathon along, Telemachus made his way from the room. Neither he nor Jonathon looked back.

  Once they were outside, Jonathon said, “I’d expect further trouble if I were you, Telemachus. The sheriff’s not just going to let this go; I predict he’ll try to arrest you sometime very soon. In the meantime, I suggest you let the sheriff’s soldiers go—you never know, it might placate him . . . at least for a little while.”

  Chapter 18

  Cassandra and Ajax were so keen to see Castor the next morning that they ran all the way to the doctor’s home. The doctor’s wife met them when they knocked on the door; she wore a somber expression as she led them to the room where Castor lay.

  Seeing Castor came as a huge shock for Cassandra. It pained her to see how badly the soldiers had hurt her friend, and her anger rose as she observed Castor’s splinted, suspended arm, stitched forehead, bruised and swollen face, and bloodshot eyes.

  “Your friend is very lucky,” Doctor Hermes told Cassandra and Ajax with kindness and compassion in his voice. Hermes was both a doctor and a veterinarian, which meant he was more than well-equipped to deal with the pack members’ medical needs—regardless of whether they were in human or wolf form.