The Wolf On The Run
Terry Cloutier
Book 3 in the
THE WOLF OF CORWICK CASTLE
SERIES
Copyright © 2020 TERRY CLOUTIER
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced,
in whole or in part, without prior written permission
from the copyright holder.
Character List By Order Of Appearance
Lord Hadrack: The Lord of Corwick Castle
Lillia: Hadrack’s granddaughter
Walice: Steward of Corwick Castle
Krinst: Villager
Hughe: Hadrack’s eldest son
Taren: Hadrack’s son
Kalidia: Hadrack’s daughter
Camala: Hughe’s wife
Lairn: Captain of the guards
Haral: Village halfwit
Frankin: Hadrack’s grandson
Palina: Villager
Casia: Sabina’s daughter
Jebido: Hadrack’s friend
Baine: Hadrack’s friend
Odiman: House Agent
Malo: House Agent
Tyris: Outlaw
Niko: Outlaw
Putt: Outlaw
Sim: Outlaw
Bastin: Lord Branton’s son
Sabina: Tracker’s daughter
Alvar: Gardener
Lord Branton: Lord of Springlight
Baylan: Cardian
Burel: Cardian leader
Rorian: Scholar
Thera: Rorian’s wife
Kylan: Steward of Calban
Shana: Lady of Calban
Emand: Cordwainer
Laurea: Emand’s wife
Son Partal: Priest
Topar: Son-In-Waiting
Son Michan: Priest
Bagen: Ruffian
Son Lawer: Overseer of the Complex
Nak: Tapeau
Old Barl: Villager
Ragna the Elder: One of the Nine
Ragna the Younger: One of the Nine
Wiflem: Soldier
Hervi Desh: One of the Nine
Prince Tyrale: Son of King Jorquin
Lord Corwick: The Lord of Corwick Castle
Son Oriel: Priest
Flidion: House Agent
Finol: Steward of Witbridge Manor
Daughter Eleva: Priestess
Jin: Daughter-In-Waiting
Margot: Ex-whore
Daughter Gernet: Priestess
Prince Tyden: Son of King Jorquin
Prologue
Despite my reluctance, I believe that I will have no choice but to take an innocent man’s life today. I have taken many lives over the years, most of them with a sword in my hand and a curse upon my lips. But this particular man’s life will not be taken by my weapons, but rather by a single word—should I choose to speak it. I have prayed all morning for some sign that my suspicions of innocence are correct. But so far, there has been nothing to indicate that the gods are even paying attention. The evidence against the accused is hugely damning, and I know that I will have little recourse without some help from Above, Below or Beyond, but to find him guilty.
For the last few years, I have allowed my eldest son, Hughe, to dispense castle justice in my name whenever the need arises. Which thankfully, has been rarely, as my interest in what typically tends to be trivial matters has waned as I’ve grown frailer. I prefer to stay in my chambers now, away from the daily hustle and bustle of castle life, where I console myself by writing about the past. Besides, I believe that Hughe should learn how to be fair and impartial now while a steady hand is still close by to advise him, rather than wait until that hand is gone and Corwick and its problems become his alone.
Today, however, will be far from trivial, and I know that my authority and experience will be dearly needed if we are to get to the bottom of this crime.
“Stop moving, my lord,” my granddaughter admonished me as she struggled to pin a Unified Sun, Rock, and Star brooch on my crisp white tunic.
“I’m not moving, Lillia,” I grunted moodily as I turned to look out the window of my bedchamber. Midday was fast approaching, I saw, which meant Walice would be knocking on my door at any moment.
Lillia stepped back with the brooch in her hand, looking at me in frustration. “Well, what do you call what you just did, then, if it’s not moving?”
“I call it an old man stretching his aching neck,” I said, waving her to continue.
I studied Lillia with her pretty face screwed up in concentration as she fought with the brooch. She was sixteen now, slender, and strong, with good teeth and long black hair just like her mother’s and grandmother’s. I felt a sudden pang of anxiety as I thought of my daughter and how I’d failed her, which inevitably led me further down the pathway of regrets to where Lillia’s grandmother, Shana, always waited for me. I shook my head, willing away the thoughts of my dead wife and daughter as I focused back on the present.
“So, what do you think?” I asked as my granddaughter’s hands tickled my white beard while she worked.
“About what, my lord?” Lillia replied distractedly. She studied the brooch critically as she turned her head to one side. “It’s still crooked,” she muttered as she tried again.
“About the boy,” I said. “Do you think that he did it?”
Lillia stiffened and she paused to look up at me. “He’s no boy, my lord.”
“No,” I agreed, “he’s not. At least, not in body at any rate.” I frowned. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t know what to think,” Lillia said as she shifted her eyes away from mine.
I hadn’t failed to notice the look of anger in those blue eyes before she’d looked away. “So, you think Haral did it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” I grunted.
“Her blood was on him,” Lillia said tightly. “Everyone knows that.” I winced as the pin on the brooch suddenly pierced my skin. Lillia’s face creased instantly in concern. “I’m so sorry, my lord. Are you all right?”
I waved away the discomfort. “Frankin believes he’s innocent,” I continued.
Lillia snorted. “Frankin is just a boy. What does he know?”
“Your cousin may be only eight years old,” I said. “But he’s no fool and knows Haral better than anyone else in Corwick.”
“And that’s why Frankin’s faith is biased,” Lillia replied.
“And you have no bias?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “You and the dead girl were friends, too.”
Lillia tapped the brooch several times and then nodded in satisfaction. “There, all done, my lord. It looks perfect now.”
I could tell by the stubborn look on Lillia’s face that the subject of Haral’s guilt or innocence was now over, at least in her mind. Lillia was a lot like Shana had been in that way. Once her mind was set on something, there was no changing it. The rape and murder of Lillia’s friend, Krinst, was all anyone was talking about in Corwick, with some, like me, believing the halfwit, Haral, to be incapable of the crime. However, many more thought him guilty, and they were demanding that justice be served—the kind that involved swinging from a rope. I glanced out the window again, knowing that shortly I would have to decide one way or the other, which was the truth.
A knock sounded at the door as if on cue. “Enter,” I barked a little too harshly.
The door swung open and my steward, Walice, stepped into the room. “Everything is in readiness, my lord.”
“Where is my son?”
“Waiting for you in the great hall, my lord,” Walice replied,
his face expressionless.
I looked at him in irritation. “I told you I wished to speak with Hughe here in my chambers before the trial began.”
The steward was a wiry man well past fifty years of age, with thick silvery hair and a pointed beard, which he had a habit of stroking with his right hand as he thought. “Yes, I realize that, my lord,” Walice said with a curt nod. “I told him exactly that, but the commoners are quite worked up at the moment, so he felt it prudent to remain where he was.”
I knew my people were incensed by the girl’s murder, and rightly so, but I couldn’t imagine that they would go so far as to raise arms against their lord. I indicated Wolf’s Head, where the sword hung above the mantle. Walice obediently crossed the room and brought the weapon down before helping me strap it around my waist.
“Hughe thinks they would revolt?” I asked as Walice fussed with the sword.
“Certainly not,” the steward said with a quick shake of his head. “At least, not against you, my lord. They love you. The two factions are at each others’ throats like rabid dogs over this Haral business. Your son fears without his continued presence that a brawl may break out at any time, even within our walls.”
“Factions?” I muttered as Walice removed my short sword, Boar’s Tooth, from the wall and handed it to me.
“Those that believe Haral to be innocent, my lord, versus those convinced of his guilt. Both sides are becoming unruly and are hurling insults at each other as they await your ruling. Feelings are running hot over this tragedy.”
I glanced at Lillia’s face, unable to read her thoughts, though I was quite certain that I knew which faction she supported. “Hughe was right to stay, then,” I grunted, impressed despite myself at the boy’s good sense. I caught myself and snorted. Hughe was almost forty-five years old now and hadn’t been a boy for many years. For some strange reason, I still thought of him as a senseless child, rather than a man.
Walice indicated my father’s axe, a clear question. I nodded, accepting the heavy weapon and sliding it into the familiar sheath on my back. I always felt better with it close to me. “How do I look?” I asked.
“Like the great wolf of old, my lord,” Walice said.
I limped forward and placed a hand on the steward’s shoulder. “More like just an old wolf, I think you mean to say.” Walice smiled politely as I drew my hand away. “Your father would be proud of you. You are every bit the steward that he was.”
I thought of Finol, Walice’s father. The old steward and I hadn’t liked each other much, but we had respected one another greatly. So, it had been an easy choice for me to agree when Finol had begged me on his deathbed to take in his adopted son and let him train to become a steward like his father, and his father before him.
“He always spoke highly of you, my lord,” Walice said, his mouth twitching slightly with amusement. “Though sometimes his stories of your exploits seemed more fanciful imagination than factual.”
I laughed at that. “Trust me, Walice, when I say your father was many things, but fanciful was not one of them.”
“Then all those stories he told me as a boy were true?” the steward asked, looking surprised.
I gestured to my table and the papers lying there. “I guess you’ll just have to wait until my life’s story is done to find that out.”
Corwick Castle was not the largest castle in the Unified Kingdom of Ganderland, but even so, the great hall was bigger than most, and at the moment, it was crowded to overflowing with people. Most of those people were shouting and waving their arms in anger at the dais, where Hughe sat on the Lord’s Chair, watching what was happening with hooded eyes. My other son, Taren, stood behind the Lord’s Chair with his wife and my youngest daughter, Kalidia, who was holding her newborn son in her arms. Hughe’s wife, Camala, was unwell and would not be attending.
Lairn, the captain of my guards, stood with six of my men to Hughe’s right in a protective ring around the halfwit, Haral. People cursed the accused man and threw rotten vegetables at him or hurled them at Haral’s supporters, who were tossing similar missiles right back. Haral, who was a big man with sloping shoulders and a slack face, seemed utterly confused by what was going on. His flat features continuously switched from bewilderment to fear and back again, while ducking any thrown object that got too close. I saw my grandson, Frankin, standing defiantly beside the bigger man holding his hand.
I frowned, wondering why the boy wasn’t with his mother as Walice tried and failed to push his way through the mob.
“Out of the way!” the steward cried in frustration, shoving ineffectively at a hulking farmer from behind. “Make way for your lord, you filthy whoresons!”
The uproar inside the great hall was deafening. I knew everyone was focused on Haral and that none could hear the steward’s shouted demands, so I impatiently drew my father’s great axe and began to use the butt end to prod people out of our way. Eventually, the angry mob began to realize who it was that was in amongst them. I heard my name being passed from mouth to mouth through the crowd as the unwashed bodies started to move aside and then kneel as we passed.
By the time Walice, Lillia, and I reached the dais' base, the great hall had fallen mostly silent. My son stood and hurried to help me up the stairs, but I shook his hand off, knowing a show of strength before my people was needed right now. I limped up the steps, avoiding the shiny red entrails of a squashed tomato in my path, then I shuffled over to the Lord’s Chair. I turned, glaring harshly at the kneeling villagers before finally I sat with my father’s axe lying across my knees.
“I am ashamed of what I have seen here today,” I said as Walice moved to stand to my left. Hughe, who was as big as me, though not quite as thick in the shoulders, stood off to my right side, while Lillia joined her aunt and uncle behind us. I leaned forward and scowled. “Do all of you make the rules in Corwick now?” I demanded.
“Forgive us, my lord,” an older woman said from the front row. She paused to glare at Haral with naked hatred before focusing back on me. “None here meant any disrespect toward you, lord. We are just overcome with grief, is all.”
“And who are you?” I asked. The woman’s face looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her.
“Palina, my lord.” She lowered her eyes to the floor. I could see glistening tears sliding down her cheeks. “Krinst was my daughter.”
“Ah,” I said, remembering her now. “You have my deepest sympathies for your loss.” I glanced at Haral, but he had become entranced by a fly that was circling lazily near the ceiling. The halfwit seemed oblivious to what was going on. I turned my gaze back to the grieving mother. “You have come here seeking justice for her murder, then?”
“Yes, my lord,” Palina said.
“Then justice you shall have,” I said grimly. I let my eyes rove over the crowded room. “But it will not be justice derived from a mindless mob bent on vengeance. We are not beasts here in Corwick, but civilized people with rules that must be followed. As your lord and master, I will listen to the evidence, and then I will rule fairly the way that I have always done.” I lifted the axe and pointed it at the crowd. “Whatever my decision may be, you will accept it and move on with your lives. If you continue with the kind of foolishness that I just witnessed here today, then my justice will come for you next.” I paused, letting that thought sink in, then I added, “Am I understood?”
Many heads began nodding.
“We bow to your wisdom in all things and trust in you to do what is right, my lord,” Palina said softly.
“As you should,” I grunted. I waved my hand. “Rise.” Palina lowered her head in acknowledgment as the villagers began to stand, then she too stood with the help of a strapping lad who I assumed was her son. I flicked my eyes to Walice. “You may proceed, Steward.”
Walice cleared his throat. “We are gathered before our great lord to determine the guilt or innocence of the man named Haral, born of Taster and Halena of Corwick.” He turned to glance at the prisone
r. “Let the accused step forward and plead his case.”
Lairn grabbed the halfwit by the elbow, as one of my men placed the carved Judgement Stool near the edge of the dais facing me. I frowned at my grandson, who clung to Haral’s hand stubbornly as Lairn led the two forward.
“Not the boy,” I said gruffly. “The accused must be judged on his own.”
Frankin looked as though he might protest, but I glared at him, letting him see the promise of punishment in my eyes, should he choose to defy me. My grandson hesitated at my look. I could see a flash of stubbornness cross his features, reminding me a great deal of myself at his age, before finally, common sense prevailed. He squeezed Haral’s hand in solidarity and whispered something to him before moving away to join his mother, Kalidia, behind me.
“Sit,” Lairn commanded, gesturing to the stool.
Haral blinked several times in confusion, then did as he was told, fidgeting on the hard oak as he stared at me in fascination. Drool slowly rolled down each side of his mouth, but the halfwit seemed unaware of it.
“Do you understand why you are here, Haral of Corwick?” Walice asked slowly. “What you are accused of doing?”
Haral glanced behind him at the villagers, then back at Walice and he shrugged, not saying anything. I studied the halfwit’s eyes, searching for any signs of deceit or malice in them, but there was nothing but gentleness and confusion swimming within their depths. I knew as I looked at him that my suspicions of innocence were correct. Haral hadn’t committed this crime.
Walice began to ask another question and I raised my hand, stalling him. The gods had not deigned to provide proof of the halfwit’s innocence today, so I knew it was now left up to me.
“Do you know who I am, Haral?” I asked in a friendly voice.
Haral brushed his thick brown hair from his face and he nodded, his eyes fixed on me in fascination.
“Can you say my name?” I prodded.
“Lord,” Haral said in a surprisingly high voice for such a big man.
“That’s right,” I said with a nod. “Very good. And where are we right now?”
The Wolf On The Run (The Wolf of Corwick Castle Book 3) Page 1
