The Wolf's Call

by Anthony Ryan

  “It won’t be long now,” Vaelin assured the young Gifted, receiving a forced, wavering smile in response. What she had done the night before clearly still weighed heavily, but he found himself impressed by her refusal to succumb to it.

  “Remember,” he said to Ellese, “don’t hesitate if you see any sign . . .”

  “I know, Uncle,” she said, her own smile unwavering but no less forced. “Kill any bastard who I think might be Gifted. You’ve told me enough times.”

  He had resisted the temptation to enlist Juhkar in this enterprise. Although the tracker was now fully recovered thanks to Sherin, Vaelin knew his value was too great to risk. He felt certain this siege was not about to end regardless of what slaughter they might inflict this night, and Kehlbrand, he was equally certain, had more surprises in store.

  The low thunder of many boots on stone signalled the retreat of the ten thousand soldiers on the wall, the Skulls all standing back to allow the crossbowmen to withdraw. They moved fast but Vaelin took satisfaction in the absence of panic on their faces. He crouched at the top of the stairwell, watching the tower crest the wall, seconds seeming to stretch as it inched ever closer. The archers on the summit gazed about in apparent consternation at the barren battlement below, one cupping his mouth to shout down into the bowels of the tower, but whatever warning he had intended was drowned by the pealing of a horn.

  The tower’s ramp detached and slammed down onto the battlement, ringing like a cracked bell as iron met stone. The Stahlhast within came storming forward in a thick mass, voices raised in expectation of battle. Vaelin waited for the first half-dozen to sprint onto the battlement, most coming to a halt in puzzled frustration at the absence of enemies. Fixing his gaze on the closest, Vaelin sent a throwing knife spinning into a gap in his armour above his thigh. The blade had been coated in Sherin’s toxin and produced the now gruesomely familiar effect. As the warrior collapsed into bloody if brief agony, a shout of rage erupted from the other Stahlhast and they surged towards Vaelin in a vengeful mob.

  “It’s time,” he said, turning back and starting down the stairs at a run. The Skulls fanned out ahead as they raced away from the wall whilst he, Ellese and Jihla stayed in the rear. As they ran, the soldiers used their spears to smash every oil pot they saw, dousing the piled coal and slicking the streets with fuel. Upon reaching a crossroads some fifty yards from the western gate, Vaelin barked out an order, bringing them to a halt. Jihla immediately turned and raised her arms to the pursuing Stahlhast crowding the street behind, all charging forward in enraged ignorance of the trap about to be sprung.

  Fire erupted from the air just in front of Jihla’s splayed hands, two jets sweeping down then out to ignite the oil and coal before setting the houses aflame. The resultant inferno was near instantaneous. A red-orange curtain engulfed the street from end to end, the Stahlhast rendered into dark, writhing figures that swiftly collapsed and withered to nothing.

  “Come!” Vaelin said, taking hold of Jihla’s arm as she stared at the carnage she had unleashed. The initial blast faded to reveal an avenue crammed with huddled, blackened corpses flanked by blazing homes. The fire had already spread to the surrounding streets, and the night sky had vanished behind a roof of smoke.

  “We can’t linger,” he said, dragging the young Gifted along. She lit four more fires at each of the junctions they passed through, this time untroubled by pursuing enemies. Vaelin had already traced this route several times over with the Skulls, hoping to commit it to memory in the knowledge that the smoke would make navigation near impossible. The plan had been for each of the three fire-raising companies to work their way inward in a spiral to ensure the maximum number of blazes could be lit. As ever, when confronted with the reality of battle, the plan quickly fell apart. The fires were spreading much faster than expected, forcing successive changes of course as they veered away from one blazing street after another. It was the sight of flames coalescing into a fiery whirlwind, setting trees alight as it described a reeling dance across a small park, that convinced Vaelin they had wrought all the destruction they needed to.

  “Corporal!” he called to Cho-ka. “Make for the second tier!”

  They were required to dodge flaming debris as they ran, the inferno having birthed a swirling gale rich in burning detritus. The force of the winds grew by the second, becoming strong enough to send some soldiers sprawling. Vaelin saw one unfortunate cast into the guts of a burning house before his comrades had time to catch hold of his flailing arms. Cho-ka shouted an order to move on, forestalling any attempts at rescue as it was now obvious any delay would mean death.

  The smoke and heat dissipated a little as they neared the north-facing gate of the second-tier walls. The soldiers coughed continually now, each face besmirched with a mélange of sweat and ash, several collapsing to retch onto the cobbles. Vaelin forced them to their feet, harrying them onwards with some judicious kicks and punches. This was not a time to be gentle.

  Soon the smoke diminished into an acrid mist, revealing the sight of the open gate. Vaelin could see armed figures struggling free of the smoke to their right, but his alarm faded at the sight of their red armour.

  “Hot work, my lord,” Corporal Wei rasped, coming to a halt nearby. “Lost a few,” he added, gesturing to his men. “Could’ve been worse. Reckon we roasted a full regiment’s worth of the bastards.”

  “Kihlen?” Jihla asked, eyes wide and bright in her blackened features.

  “Here!” the Gifted said, emerging from the pall with Tsai Lin’s arm draped over his shoulder. The Dai Lo moved on stumbling legs, besmirched features sagging and eyes dim with insensibility.

  “He got too close to an apothecary’s shop,” Kihlen explained. “Sulphur has a tendency to explode when it catches the slightest flame.”

  “Get him inside,” Vaelin said, jerking his head at the gate.

  The Gifted nodded, turned away, then stiffened with a shocked gasp as an axe came spinning out of the smoke to strike him full in the back. Jihla’s despairing scream filled Vaelin’s ears as he whirled, finding himself confronted with something conjured from a nightmare.

  The Stahlhast came charging from the swirling fog, sabre raised and teeth bared. He was a tall, heavily built man and would have made for an impressive sight at any time, now made horrifying by the fact that he was wreathed from head to toe in flame. It trailed from his arms, his flailing braids, his boots. Vaelin could see the raw, glistening flesh of his neck, seared down to the gullet so that the man’s roar emerged as a wet rattle as he closed in. Vaelin parried the sabre’s slash through instinct alone, stepping under the following stroke and forcing himself to take in the reality of the spectacle. One more horror, he decided, bringing his sword down to hack through the Stahlhast’s extended arm. I’ve seen many.

  Even as the flaming limb tumbled to the ground, the Stahlhast continued to fight, launching himself at Vaelin, his remaining hand lashing out like a claw. As Vaelin danced clear, Corporal Wei jabbed his spear into the back of the warrior’s neck, the curved blade spitting him from spine to exposed throat. He let out a final, voiceless rattle and collapsed, twitching.

  “They must’ve been putting something special in this fucker’s grog,” Wei grunted, working his spear loose.

  “Uncle,” Ellese said, bow drawn and arrow pointed into the dark miasma that now covered the entire lower tier. Vaelin could see a line of red smudges in the gloom, growing in size as they drew close enough to resolve into charging figures, at least a score of them, each one blanketed in flame.

  “Form a line!” he barked to the surrounding soldiers. They moved swiftly despite the depredations of the smoke, the Skulls and the Red Scouts joining together to form a barrier of armour and spears. Vaelin saw Jihla still keening over her brother’s body and dragged her upright.

  “Go!” he commanded, shoving her towards the gate. She staggered away a few steps, then came to a halt
, stricken features staring at the fast-approaching Stahlhast. As Vaelin watched, the grief-riven mask of her face transformed into something far uglier, lips peeling back from her teeth in a snarl as rage shone bright in her gaze.

  Vaelin retreated from her, snapping out fresh orders as he did so. “Stand aside!”

  “My lord?” Wei asked. His puzzlement swiftly turned to alarm when he caught sight of Jihla striding forward with her arms raised. “Move!” he shouted, shoving his men aside. “Move, you laggardly bastards!”

  The Scouts and the Skulls scrambled clear as Jihla unleashed her flames. She screamed as the fiery jets lashed out, blood streaming from her eyes, nose and ears. The leading Stahlhast was blasted to cinders when the jet touched her, those on either side meeting the same fate an instant later. Jihla spread her arms out to either side, sweeping them back and forth to claim every Stahlhast she could see. Within moments the entire line of charging warriors had been reduced to blackened smears on the cobbles.

  Jihla went to her knees, her flames fading as she huddled, a small weeping figure amidst the ashen ruin. She fell limp when Vaelin gathered her up, feeling the chill of her flesh despite the heat of the burning city. Turning, he sprinted towards the gate with the Gifted in his arms, shouting for the others to follow. The gates swung closed behind them with a thunderous boom.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  “After Alltor, I had hoped never to see a city burn again.”

  Nortah’s face was grim as he surveyed the fires below. It had continued to blaze throughout the night, three separate infernos eventually merging to form a great ring of fire. The screams were the only indication of the scale of the injury they had dealt their enemy, reaching a shrieking crescendo as the fires fully encircled the second tier. Here and there Vaelin caught glimpses of figures running through the haze, some alight, others not, but all either maddened or frantic, judging by their screams. Come the morning the fires had diminished but not died, large sections of the lower city continuing to burn as the sun became an occluded yellow disc through the smoke.

  “Destruction, it appears,” Nortah went on, a ghost of his old smile on his lips, “is our principal gift to the world, brother.”

  His company had managed to convey Eresa to the second tier after setting light to most of the eastern quarter, but had lost twenty men in doing so, some to the fires, others to the flame-wreathed Stahlhast.

  “Salvation too, on occasion,” Vaelin replied, nodding to the as yet undamaged streets behind. The soldiers had gathered in the various squares and parks to celebrate what they evidently saw as a great victory. Their general for once forsook the harsh discipline of Merchant soldiery to allow them a few hours’ licence. Consequently, the night had been rich in song, drink and revels whilst the lower tier burned. The raucousness died away come the dawn, leaving a host of inebriates sleeping off their indulgence whilst others staggered to their billets to catch what few hours’ rest they could before officers summoned them back to their banners.

  “What was that last night?” Nortah said. “I’ve seen a great many things wrought by the Dark, but never the sight of men continuing to fight as fire eats their flesh down to the bone.”

  “Juhkar and Ahm Lin were both on the walls,” Vaelin said. “They sensed no Gifted amongst the flames, apart from one. He was there.”

  “And that was enough to keep them fighting?” Nortah raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. “Perhaps he truly is a god after all. A joke, brother,” he added, catching Vaelin’s baleful glance. “Look on the sunward side. If he really was amongst all that”—he gestured to the ruined conurbation below—“maybe we killed the bastard.”

  Vaelin’s gaze roamed the smoke-shaded streets, experiencing the kind of certainty once conveyed by his song. I have no song, he reminded himself, experiencing the old, raw sense of regret he knew might never fade. But still, the certainty persisted. “No,” he said. “We didn’t.”

  They made their way to the temple shortly after, Vaelin being keen to check on Jihla, whom he had placed in Sherin’s care. Passing through the gate to the uppermost tier, he paused at the sight of Cho-ka and a dozen or so Skulls remonstrating with an officer of the city garrison. The officer had a squad of spearmen at his back, all mirroring his expression of disdain as he addressed the former convicts.

  “I’ll have you flogged, you hear me!” he growled, jabbing a meaty finger into Cho-ka’s chest. “Worthless thieving scum that you are!”

  A flash of annoyance passed over the corporal’s face as his hand slid towards the knife on his belt but stopped when he caught sight of Vaelin’s approach. “My lord!” he said, snapping to attention along with the other Skulls. The garrison officer and his men followed suit, but with markedly less alacrity.

  “Is there a problem here?” Vaelin enquired.

  “Found this lot up to their old ways, my lord!” the officer said. Vaelin recognised him as a former sergeant newly promoted to captain thanks to the loss of so many officers during the first attacks. He had the habitual scowl and bearing Vaelin recognised as one who had spent more time combatting outlaws than invading foes. Such men were always useful, but more so in times of peace than war.

  “Caught them looting this shop,” the captain went on, chin jutting at the domicile behind the Skulls.

  “It’s my old gran’s spice shop, my lord,” Cho-ka said. “Just checking to see if the place was still intact.”

  Vaelin’s gaze tracked over the various jars and pots clutched in the Skulls’ hands, and the bulging sacks slung over several shoulders.

  “That’s a pile of pig shit,” the captain snapped. “The woman who owned this place was known to me for years, and she didn’t have a gutter-scrape for a grandson.”

  Seeing a dangerous glint appear in Cho-ka’s gaze, Vaelin stepped between them, offering the captain an approving smile. “You’re to be commended for your diligence, Captain. Rest assured the general will hear of it. For now, I’d be grateful if you’d leave this in my hands. These men were recruited by me, you see? Punishment is my duty, given how dishonoured I feel by their betrayal of my largesse.”

  The captain straightened, jaws bunching in frustration. It was clear to Vaelin that he would have liked nothing more than a chance to indulge his law-enforcing instincts with a flogging or even a hanging. Still, mention of the general seemed to serve as ample persuasion, for he gave a stiff bow before marching off, growling at his men to fall in line.

  “Is this really your grandmother’s shop?” Vaelin asked Cho-ka after the captain’s company rounded a corner.

  “My great-aunt’s, in truth,” the smuggler replied with a shrug. “She was always fond of me though.” He offered Vaelin a grin that faded when it wasn’t returned.

  “Put it back,” Vaelin said, nodding at their loot.

  “What does it matter now?” one of the Skulls asked in a weary drawl. “Place is gonna be a ruin soon any—”

  The man’s words ended abruptly as Cho-ka whirled to deliver a hard cuff to his face. The protestor staggered back, face bloodied, but confined his response to a hard glare as he stood to attention. “Apologies, my lord,” Cho-ka said, bowing to Vaelin. There was a studied neutrality to his expression Vaelin didn’t like, an absence of defiance that told of an urgent need for this confrontation to end.

  Vaelin’s gaze flicked to the shop, then back to the still-bowing corporal. “Anything in there I should know about?” he enquired.

  “Just a good deal of spice, lord. We got hold of a couple of sides of pork, y’see. Wanted to flavour the meat some.”

  The sense that there was more to this persisted, some secret of the criminal fraternity he couldn’t divine, not that he had the time or inclination to at this point. “Even so,” he said. “Put it back, all of it.”

  Cho-ka bowed again. “At once, my lord.”

  “Watch your back with that one,”
Nortah advised as they resumed their progress to the temple. “Outlaws are only so polite when they’re lying.”

  “As long as his men keep fighting the way they have, he can lie all he likes.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  At the temple Mother Wehn guided him to the nun’s cell where Jihla had been taken, Vaelin pausing outside the door at the sound of tense voices within.

  “I told you,” Luralyn was saying, voice clipped with finality. “I don’t know!”

  “My song sings a different tune,” Ahm Lin replied, his own tone more controlled but also insistent.

  “Then perhaps your song is addled by your age. Amongst my people a man of your years would have had the decency to get himself killed in battle by now.”

  Her voice trailed off as Vaelin entered. They stood on opposite sides of the bed where Jihla lay in unmoving slumber. Luralyn turned her face away from both of them, arms crossed and shoulders set with tension. Ahm Lin’s face betrayed no hurt at her insult, only a hard determination.

  “The song is clear,” he told Vaelin. “Something sticks in her mind like a thorn, but she refuses to pluck it free.”

  “Oh, leave me be, you old fool!” Luralyn hissed, gaze still averted.

  Ahm Lin began to speak again, falling silent as Vaelin shook his head and gestured to the door. When the mason had gone, Vaelin approached the bed, touching a hand to Jihla’s forehead. Her skin was cold but lacking the icy chill from the night before. “Mother Wehn tells me her heart retains a steady rhythm,” he said to Luralyn. “As to when she’ll wake . . .”

  “She’s small but strong,” Luralyn said. “She’ll wake soon enough. Though I would have her sleep a while longer. Her grief will be hard to bear.”