by James Wilde
‘Your brothers stood against the army?’ Lucanus looked the other man up and down, baffled.
‘Men will fight hard for what lights a fire in their hearts, even unto death.’ The Wolf watched him swallow a deep breath. ‘We waited on the beach of Ynys Môn, knowing our season was about to end. Wood-priest and warrior, men, women and children. We cried to the gods to send down storms to destroy our foes, but there are times when men must stand alone and be tested. And we watched as the Romans crossed the waters in their flat-bottomed boats, their horses swimming beside them.
‘It was a slaughter.’ Lucanus heard his voice almost disappear beneath the crackle of the fire.
‘Though we fought harder than we had ever fought, every man, woman and child there was put to the sword. The sands of Ynys Môn turned red, and it’s said that under the light of a full moon they are red to this day. And the Romans took the bodies of our brave brothers and sisters and piled them high and set fire to them. And then they warmed their hands upon the flames and laughed.’
Lucanus watched Myrrdin’s head fall forward until his chin was almost upon his chest. He understood that ache and felt a moment of pity for those lost lives.
‘We wanted nothing more than to be left alone. To teach, to guide, to eat and drink and hear the wind in the trees and feel the grass beneath our feet. We were no threat to Rome.’ Myrrdin’s voice was low and heavy.
‘And those who fled to the hills and forests?’
‘The Romans thought us all dead. They were fools. When we have been here for so long … in every village, in every part of this land … when we have held power in our paws, and shepherded and guided every man, woman and child who lived and walked here, why would they think they could destroy us in one battle? Yet we could see there was no safe place for us while the Romans brought down their fist. But we are patient. We could wait, and plan.’
‘Like any man, I like a good tale, well told, around a fire on a dark night. But what does this mean for me?’
‘The wheel of life turns slowly, Wolf, but turn it does. All things must change. And now the old season is passing and a new one abirthing before our eyes.’ Myrrdin leaned towards him, the flames dancing in his pupils. The sadness had passed and now he was filled with fire and fury. ‘The gods will call on many men and women to play their part in this. The wyrd sisters are already tugging on the strands. And you, Lucanus, have been summoned to help shape what is to come.’
‘I don’t want any part of this.’
‘We expected you’d refuse.’ Myrrdin smiled, his eyes narrowing. ‘You think you have any choice? The weft and the warp of all things is decided by gods, not men. Or would you challenge the gods?’
‘I …’ The words died in his throat. He knew full well what happened to men who turned their faces against the gods.
‘The power of Rome is waning. You must know this. In time, there’ll be a call for new rulers of this land. But there will be fire and war and bloodshed and suffering for long seasons before the true king rises. The king chosen by the gods. The king who can never die.’ He paused, and the Wolf watched a smile flicker on his lips. ‘The Dragon, Lucanus,’ he whispered. ‘The Dragon will rise.’
‘This is the prophecy?’
‘The prophecy is clear. Many seasons will pass before the king who will not die is born. But his bloodline … that royal blood … must be protected if we are to be returned to greatness again. Don’t you want greatness for your people, Lucanus? Don’t you want to be a part of this new age dawning? To be one of the guardians?’
‘The guardians of the royal blood?’
‘The king’s line must be kept safe. There are dangers everywhere, and many who do not want to see this greatness come to pass.’
Lucanus turned up his nose. Prophecies and magic and the will of the gods. This wasn’t a world he knew. He was a plain man, who liked a full belly and wine in his cup.
‘And where would a man find this royal blood?’
‘Why, in a child, Lucanus. In a child who will grow to be a man, who will sire another child, and so on, until the new son rises.’
‘In a child, you say?’ The Wolf felt even more unsettled now, as if the fog that was blanketing them was slowly lifting to reveal another, stranger world. ‘Marcus?’
He watched Myrrdin’s mouth curl into a smile. ‘We need a guardian who can keep the blood safe. A man who would follow this child into the greatest danger without a thought for himself. You’ve proved yourself.’
‘Marcus has the royal blood? No. That can’t be true. His mother …’
‘… Catia …’
Lucanus choked on his breath. How long had they been watching, plotting? ‘… his father … they’re plain folk, not royalty. Awash with gold, but still no greater than you or me.’
‘No greater than you,’ Myrrdin corrected, stifling a smile. ‘The gods decide who will be the king who will not die. And that choice has been made.’
Away in the woods, across the wide river floodplain, the wolf-brothers were howling. Lucanus wanted to run with them across the forests and the moors, to return to the simple life he knew. ‘And you want me to take up my sword against anyone who would harm Marcus? Even if he was my master, my friend? One man, alone? I wouldn’t last long.’
‘I told you, Lucanus. The hidden ones watch and see everything. In the same way you arcani see everything. Walk with us and you’ll be safe, as will all the ones who walk with you.’
‘You can protect me?’
‘We are everywhere. Wherever men call to the gods, or call to the heart, we’re there. Even in the new church of Christ, we are there. You will know us by the mark of Cernunnos. What is old will be new again.’
‘What is this mark?’
‘A face, surrounded by leaves and branches. Cernunnos lives in the heart of the forest, and in the wind, and in the cries of the beast. In the moon and the lakes and the rivers and the great wide ocean.’
Lucanus felt his resolve harden. These hidden people had their own plans, it was clear, and they wouldn’t think twice about lying to him to encourage him to do their work. ‘Where’s the boy?’ he demanded.
‘Go north and west from here, and find a great lake, a lake that is almost like a sea. And there you must make an offering to the gods. And if it’s a good one, you’ll be rewarded.’
‘With what?’
‘A sword. A weapon of power, blessed by Cernunnos himself. A blade that will lay waste to all your enemies, and unite your allies. A sword that will find its way to the hand of the king who will not die.’
‘And that’s where I’ll find Marcus?’
‘He’ll be waiting for you when you arrive. The trail begins to the north of here. It’s marked with stones, and if you look carefully enough you’ll see the face of Cernunnos peering back at you from the rock.’
Standing, Lucanus jabbed his sword at the other man. ‘I’ll return with the boy, but I don’t want any part of these plots. Find another fool to do your bidding. And heed my words: if you stand in my way … if the boy is harmed … I’ll take your head.’
Myrrdin levered himself up and leaned on his staff. Why couldn’t Lucanus see any disappointment in that face, any anger? Only a faint smile on those lips?
With a curt bow, the wood-priest turned and strode away from the fire. The fog swallowed him, and then there was only silence.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ghosts in the Night
‘THIS IS A fine time for treachery.’ Mato turned his face towards the full moon and smiled. These nights were his favourites: the world transformed by snow and moonbeams.
‘You’d probably marvel at the flight of a bird while they string us up and cut off our balls.’ Bellicus loomed at his shoulder. His dog was squatting by his feet, looking around the knot of men. ‘Treachery is no excuse for your poetry.’
‘There’s wonder everywhere, brother, if only you would open your eyes.’
Mato eyed the other Grim Wolves. They were showing c
onfident faces, but that was uneasiness he saw in their eyes, he knew it. Yet what choice did they have? When Aelius had dashed into the tavern to tell them of Catia’s plight, they all knew what Lucanus would have expected of them.
‘Was it your bright idea to bring that dog?’ In the moonlight, the cross-scar on Solinus’ face was even more pronounced. ‘If it barks, it’ll bring every sword in the area down on us.’
‘Catulus is better behaved than you,’ Bellicus replied. ‘I’ve seen you eat. Like a pig rooting for apples.’
‘Let me tell you my wisdom for a night like this,’ Comitinus began.
Everyone groaned.
‘Have it your way,’ Comitinus grumbled, his hollow eyes pools of shadow. Mato thought his face looked even more skull-like in that stark light. ‘If you don’t want to learn, then don’t. Let’s be done with this and away. The longer we waste, the more chance of being caught.’
As one, the Grim Wolves edged out of the cover of the vicus. In the camp, the fire was a heap of cold ashes and a low chatter droned from the tents where the guards and slaves rested.
Mato loped across the ridges of frozen slush, his brothers beside him. At the entrance to the large amber tent, Bellicus tapped the shoulders of Solinus and Comitinus to keep watch. They were the best fighters among them and they would at least give Varro’s guards pause. And they wouldn’t be able to bicker out there. Each man drew his short sword and turned to face the camp.
Mato pulled back the tent flap for Bellicus to slip inside. Once they’d crossed the threshold they breathed in sweet incense, but they could smell bitter sweat beneath it, and their skin bloomed at the uncomfortable warmth. Sheets of silk swayed in the breeze. Mato leaned forward, listening to the purr of a man’s voice deeper in the tent. Varro, most likely, was commanding someone – Catia? – to take off her dress or he would rip it from her.
There was still time.
Drawing his sword, Mato pushed through the first sheet of silk.
The dwarf was squatting on a stool in front of them, his eyes widening in shock. Before he could call out, Bellicus whisked the tip of his blade to the fool’s throat. Mato hunched down in front of him, grinning, and pressed a finger to his lips. Bucco nodded.
Mato flexed his fingers and the dwarf slipped off his stool and turned. Bellicus prodded him forward with his sword.
A keening cry rang out.
Mato bolted through the remaining sheets.
In the glow from the oil-lamps, Varro slumped on a heap of cushions, his stare fixed on Catia. She loomed over him, snarling, her fists bunched, and Mato could see blood streaming from the merchant’s nose.
He chuckled. ‘This wolf has teeth, merchant. Be careful what you put near its mouth.’
‘I should cut your throat now,’ Bellicus snarled.
‘You dare threaten me,’ Varro blustered. ‘I’m an honoured guest of Lucius Galerias Atellus. Once he knows you’ve raised your weapons against me, he’ll have your heads.’
Striding forward, Bellicus flicked his sword in front of the merchant’s face and waved it from side to side. ‘Here’s how it will go. We will take the woman. You will not try to stop us. You will not raise the alarm. If we hear the tread of one guard’s foot at our back, we’ll return, cut you into pieces and feed you to my dog.’
‘Do you think you can walk away from this?’ Varro levered himself up on his elbows. Catia glared at him and he slipped back down.
Mato sighed. ‘The way I see it, this works well for you. You escape having your balls ripped off the moment she finds them under those rolls of flab.’ He held out one hand towards Catia. She was still glowering at the merchant and in that moment not a man there doubted that she would have done it. ‘You lose no face,’ Mato continued. ‘You can still hold your head high and wield all the power you believe your status deserves. And you’ll still come out of this ahead, I have no doubt. This woman’s compliance is the agreement Falx and Amatius reached with you, I’m certain, and they will have no choice but to crawl on their hands and knees begging for some new bargain. Now you can demand as much gold as you want.’
Mato could see Varro weighing his words. One thing lay in the Grim Wolves’ favour. He was a merchant, not a warrior, and he knew a good deal when one was presented to him. After a moment, he grunted, ‘I’ve had all I need from her. Take her.’ He added, ‘Don’t call this a victory. It will not end well.’
‘Nothing ever does,’ Bellicus grunted. ‘But give me a few days of drinking first and I’ll die a happy man.’
Catia stepped over the merchant’s splayed legs and plucked up her cloak. As she passed Mato, she whispered, ‘You have my thanks. I wouldn’t have been able to hold him off for long.’
‘Modesty,’ he murmured back. ‘I’d have wagered good coin that you’d come off best.’
Catulus sat with his front paws on the dwarf’s chest. When Bellicus whistled, he bounded after his master, and then Catia was hurrying with the others out into the bitter night. Only when they were stumbling through the maze of the vicus did anyone speak again.
‘Varro was right,’ Bellicus said. ‘If we think we can leave this behind us we’re all ale-addled.’
‘We could have killed him,’ Solinus mused. ‘And the dwarf for good measure.’
Mato clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder. ‘We are civilized men, not barbarians. We don’t kill without good reason. A man with a fast tongue can win more battles than one with a fast sword.’
‘I thank you all,’ Catia said. ‘I thought I had no friends left at all, but now …’ Mato watched her choke down her emotion, and she looked away so they wouldn’t see her emotions spill over.
‘Aye, well, Lucanus would have kicked us from here to Rome if we’d let anything happen to you,’ Bellicus grunted, pushing back his wolf pelt and scrubbing one hand through his wiry hair.
‘Here’s an idea. Let’s stand here talking as though we’re on the way to the tavern while that fat bastard sends his men after us,’ Solinus said.
‘He’s right,’ Mato said to Catia. ‘We have to get you to safety.’
‘If you take me home …’ She swallowed, trying to find the right words. ‘If you take me home, I will be back with Varro before dawn.’
Everyone there knew what she meant. ‘We’re the Grim Wolves,’ Mato said with a grin. ‘Do you think we’d have ventured out without a plan?’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A Small, Dark Room
‘WHAT SHALL I do with this?’ Decima dangled the blood-soaked cloth.
Amarina turned up her nose. ‘There’s no saving it. Burn it.’
‘Is that all of it?’ Galantha asked. ‘Soon there’ll be no cloth to be had anywhere.’
‘He did bleed a lot,’ Decima replied with a shrug. ‘But then most of his blood was in one place.’ She screwed up the rag and tossed it into the flames in the hearth. The scent of rosewater and lavender stifled the stench of the burning.
Amarina studied the dark-skinned woman as she swayed back to them. ‘You’ll need to wash that fine dress too, before it stains.’ A spray scarred the front, down to the hem.
Decima looked down and grimaced. ‘Like a girl on her first day.’
A thunderous hammering sounded at the door. The three women jumped, and then each one made a face at their reaction. They were all acting like girls on their first day.
‘He’s still in your room?’ Amarina asked.
Decima nodded.
‘Come. I’ll help you.’ Galantha shook out her tumbling black curls, the hint of silver glinting in the light from the single oil-lamp.
Once the two women had disappeared into the deep shadows that always swathed the House of Wishes, Amarina sucked in a deep breath. Sometimes she wondered if there were better ways to make a living. The regulars all understood the rules of the house and behaved accordingly. But the strangers … there was always one in any group who thought their coin bought them the right to be emperor of all they surveyed.
; With one hand wrapped around the hilt of the dagger hidden in her dress, she put on her most welcoming smile and swung the door wide.
‘I smell trouble,’ she said, her smile growing tighter when she saw who was standing on the threshold.
‘That’s a fine greeting,’ Bellicus said.
Mato was grinning as if he could read every thought passing through her head. The two men flanked the woman Lucanus seemed to like so much, the gods knew why. Amarina leaned out and looked around. They were alone. That was good. With unfinished business in one of the rooms, the fewer prying eyes the better.
‘No visitor to the House of Wishes is ever turned away. Even beggars, dogs with fleas and barbarians. As long as they have the necessary coin.’
Once the three visitors were in, she swung the door shut and leaned against it. Folding her arms, she studied their faces. ‘How honoured we are,’ she said, her gaze settling on the woman.
Catia narrowed her eyes. ‘This is sanctuary? I’d rather go into the Wilds.’
Amarina made to open the door again. Mato pressed one hand against it. ‘We wouldn’t dream of asking favours. You’re a woman of business. Bellicus?’
The red-headed wolf pulled a leather pouch from under his cloak and jangled it.
Amarina eyed the purse, then took it and weighed it in the palm of her hand. ‘What are you asking of me?’
‘Hide her away. At least until Varro and his men have moved on. No one must know she’s here.’ Mato paused. ‘Not her kin … her husband … no one.’
Amarina had seen the bruises upon Catia – who in the vicus had not? – and everyone knew Amatius’ true face. ‘Varro?’
