The Wolf On The Run (The Wolf of Corwick Castle Book 3)

by Terry Cloutier

  “Castle,” Haral said dutifully.

  “Good. And the castle is where?”

  Haral’s face twisted in concentration, then he smiled. “Corwick,” he said happily.

  “That’s correct,” I replied with a smile. “We are in Corwick, and I am your lord. Do you understand?” Haral nodded eagerly. “So, when your lord asks you a question, what must you do?”

  “Answer it?” Haral said, sounding unsure of himself.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “That’s right. And when you answer your lord, what must you never, ever do?”

  “Belch?” Haral asked innocently. Despite the tenseness in the room, laughter erupted at the halfwit’s response. I could feel my own lips twitching upward in amusement as Haral looked around in surprise. I lifted my hand for quiet so that he could continue. “Mama told me to never belch or fart around a lord,” Haral explained, looking down at his hands.

  “Your mother was a wise woman,” I said. “But I meant you must never, ever lie to your lord. Do you understand that?”

  “Oh yes, lord,” Haral said.

  “Very well,” I grunted, pleased with how things were going so far. I took a deep breath. “So, now I need you to answer some questions, Haral, and you must tell me the truth even if you don’t want to. Will you do that for me?” Haral nodded, his face taking on a comical look of seriousness as he waited. “Do you know a young girl named Krinst?” I asked. The halfwit nodded again, staring at me with a blank expression. “Good,” I said, encouraged by the lack of fear on Haral’s face. “When did you see her last?”

  “Yesterday,” Haral replied immediately.

  “Where did you see her?”

  “In the meadow, lord,” Haral said.

  I glanced at Walice for confirmation. “She’d been picking blackberries near the stream,” the steward said with a nod.

  “Did you talk with Krinst, Haral?” I asked, focusing on the halfwit again.

  Haral smiled and his face lit up. “She gave me some blackberries. I really like blackberries.”

  “What happened after you ate the blackberries?”

  Haral looked confused. “Lord?”

  “You ate some of Krinst’s blackberries, then what did you do?”

  Haral shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Protests immediately sounded, echoing angrily throughout the great hall. I looked up and glared at the crowd, silencing them with my eyes before turning back to Haral. I decided to try a different tact with him to see how he’d react. “I’m going to ask you a very important question now, Haral, and you must answer it honestly.”

  “Yes, lord,” Haral said.

  “Did you rape and kill Krinst after you ate the blackberries?”

  Haral’s mouth dropped open in shock at my words. I could see him struggling to say something, but nothing came out other than garbled, wet choking sounds.

  “You must answer the question your lord has asked of you,” Walice finally prodded from beside me.

  Haral’s mouth worked as he fought to speak. “Krinst is dead?” he finally managed to croak out.

  “You know she is, you murderous bastard!” the dead girl’s brother shouted in rage. He pointed at Haral as his mother sobbed into his shoulder. “Her maiden’s blood was all over your filthy cock, you whoreson!”

  “Silence!” Hughe cried as the two factions began shouting and throwing vegetables at one another again.

  My son put his hand on his sword threateningly as he glared at the crowd. I decided to let him handle it as I collected my thoughts, waiting until relative calm eventually returned to the great hall.

  “Yes, Haral,” I finally said as tears began to slide down the halfwit’s cheeks. “Krinst is dead. They found you half a mile from her body with your trousers around your ankles and blood on you. Do you remember that?” Haral suddenly looked scared and he dropped his eyes. “You have to answer me, Haral,” I said, an edge to my voice. “Do you remember the blood?”

  Haral sniffed and nodded reluctantly. “Yes, lord.”

  I sighed inwardly, starting to think that I’d been wrong about the halfwit after all. “Why was that girl’s blood on you, Haral?” I demanded.

  “I…I can’t tell you, lord,” Haral said, looking miserable.

  “Because the bastard killed her, that’s why!” the dead girl’s brother shouted.

  “Hughe,” I grunted in annoyance, flicking my eyes to my son. I pointed at the angry boy with the head of my axe. “If that one says another word, take him outside and crack his head open.” Hughe glowered at the boy as I focused back on the halfwit. “Why can’t you tell me about the blood?” I asked, confused by Haral’s reaction. Something wasn’t right here.

  Haral started to rock back and forth on the stool. “Because I promised I wouldn’t say anything,” he whispered. “It’s a secret.”

  A secret? I thought in puzzlement. Was this some ploy, or was there more at play here than met the eye? I searched Haral’s face again, looking for any signs of cunning or guile, but all I saw was heartbreak and misery. “So, you have a secret, do you?” I said, stroking my beard as I thought. “Can you tell me what it is?” Haral shook his head back and forth in response. “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because I promised her I wouldn’t,” Haral said softly.

  My eyebrows rose in surprise. “Krinst? You promised Krinst?” Haral shook his head again, not saying anything. I sighed in frustration, trying to understand. “You must tell me who you mean, Haral,” I said, letting the halfwit see the resolve in my eyes. “The only chance you have to escape hanging is to tell me who you are talking about right now. Who did you promise not to tell?”

  Haral opened his mouth, then he clamped it shut, looking frightened as he put his hands over his head and began muttering to himself. I decided I’d gone easy on the halfwit long enough. I was about to shout at him to answer me when I sensed movement from behind me. A tall, lithe woman had just stepped out from behind the curtains at the back of the dais. She dashed forward, shoving Walice heavily aside before I felt the cold, sharp blade of a knife press against my neck.

  “He promised me, you bastard!” the woman hissed. Shouts of alarm arose as my men and my sons started to draw their weapons. “If even one person moves or pulls a sword, the old man dies!” the woman warned.

  I held up my hand, stopping Hughe and the others. “Who are you?” I demanded.

  “My name is Casia,” the woman said. She chuckled at the blank look on my face. “No, Lord Hadrack, you don’t know me.”

  Casia moved so that I could see her better. There was something vaguely familiar about this woman, I thought. Her nose was long and thin, with piercing green eyes set wide apart beneath high, elegant cheekbones. Her face looked worn and weathered from a lifetime out in the sun, with fine, web-like lines creasing the corners of her eyes. She was dressed in a man’s tunic and tight trousers, and her hair, which was flaming red, was pinned up at the sides. Casia’s hand holding the knife never wavered in the slightest at my throat.

  “What do you want?” I asked as the hall fell silent with dread.

  “Your death!” Casia spat back. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted since I was a child.”

  I glanced at Haral, who was staring at Casia with obvious infatuation. I started to piece it all together. “You used the halfwit to get to me,” I said, knowing that I was right. “You killed the girl and then smeared her blood on him, knowing that he wouldn’t understand what was happening.”

  “I did,” Casia agreed bluntly. She shrugged. “I heard you never leave your chambers anymore. I could have killed you there, but I wanted everyone in Corwick to see you die a coward’s death. I knew your ego wouldn’t let you leave something as important as a murder for your son to handle. All I had to do was wait.”

  “You killed an innocent girl and framed a simpleton just to kill me in public?” I said in outrage. “Why? I don’t even know you.”

  “One stupid girl’s life is a small price to pay to see the loo
k on your face right now, you bastard,” Casia replied with scorn in her voice. “You’ve committed far worse crimes than what I did and were rewarded for it. Now it’s finally time for you to pay for those crimes.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked as I felt hot blood trickling down my neck from the blade. “What crimes?”

  Casia leaned close. “How about murder?”

  “I’ve murdered no one,” I said defiantly.

  “Haven’t you?” Casia said mockingly. “Since I was old enough to walk, all I heard from my mother was that any day now, the great Wolf of Corwick, the hero of the Pair War, would come riding back to whisk her away.” I wrinkled my brow in puzzlement as Casia continued, “She used to stare out the window of our home for hours at a time, ignoring my father and me and everything else, just waiting and hoping that you would appear.” Casia took a deep breath. “I hated you so much for that, hated how she made excuses for you and blamed herself for everything that happened. You broke my mother’s heart, you bastard! But even that wasn’t enough for you. No, you had to take her family from her as well.”

  Casia glanced at my sons and daughter and slowly shook her head. “You’ve led a fine life since then,” she said bitterly. “Surrounded by your great castle, your luxuries, and a loving family, while my mother sat forgotten by her window, waiting for you to come back as she slowly withered away. She died last week, still looking out that same window, believing until the end that you’d come.” Casia stroked the blade of the knife slowly along my neck. I felt it grate against the chain of my brother’s Pair Stone that I still wore after all these years. “You might not have murdered my mother with your bare hands, Lord Hadrack,” Casia whispered. “But what you did was far worse. You stole her life from her with cruelty and indifference. Taking it away a piece at a time, day after day and year after year, until nothing was left but an empty shell.”

  I could see tears threatening in Casia’s eyes now, and I felt a sinking feeling in my chest. I suddenly knew who her mother was. “It doesn’t have to end this way for you,” I said softly. I glanced at the tense faces of my sons and men, knowing what was about to happen the moment she used the knife. “If you strike me down, they will kill you.”

  Casia shrugged. “I don’t care. My parents are dead, and my husband and children died three years ago from the Yellow Death. I have nothing left to lose now.” She smiled humorlessly. “I used to think the gods spared me from the plague so that I could take care of my mother, but now I know the truth.” She pressed the knife tighter against my neck. I could feel my life’s blood pulsing wetly against the cold steel. “It was to make you pay for what you did to her.”

  I wet my lips and stared at the girl’s familiar features, seeing another face from long ago shimmering in their depths. “I remember your mother,” I said. “Her name was Sabina. We were friends.”

  “Friends!” Casia snorted sarcastically. “Who are you trying to fool? You haven’t given my mother a second thought for more than fifty years. I hope you think of her now and what you did as you burn at The Father’s feet, you heartless bastard!”

  I closed my eyes, picturing Sabina the first time that I’d seen her. She had been so young then, with her shimmering red hair and sparkling green eyes. So young and full of life and potential. I’d always regretted what had happened between the two of us on a mountaintop long ago, but, as the years had passed, I’d somehow managed to thrust it from my mind. Now, Sabina’s daughter was here to thrust it back.

  I knew Casia had every right to hate me, for what she had just accused me of doing was true. I had taken everything her mother had cherished, and I had destroyed it without the slightest feeling of remorse and then walked away. I realized the angry girl standing over me was my penance for what I’d done back then. I slowly relaxed in my chair, accepting her vengeance as my life coming full circle. I looked up, letting Casia see I was ready for, and unafraid of death as I waited for the slash of the knife that would finally release me from this world.

  “I am truly sorry about your mother,” I whispered. “I genuinely liked her.”

  “Then why did you do what you did?” Casia asked in a bitter voice.

  “Because of a vow I made long ago,” I said as my mind drifted backward in time.

  1: Springlight

  “This is madness!” Jebido grumbled. He leaned against a tree trunk, removed his right boot, and then winced as he stared down at his bloody foot. He cursed angrily—whether at his wound or the current situation we found ourselves in, I wasn’t quite sure. “What are we supposed to do without siege engines?” Jebido demanded, his eyes flashing. “Knock politely on the gates and hope that they let us in?”

  I grunted for an answer, silently agreeing with him. I sat down wearily on a stump and studied the steep road ahead of me that led up to a fortified town four hundred yards away. Dead men lay crumpled all along the road and around the town’s walls. I wrinkled my nose as the wind picked up. The corpses were already beginning to stink as the day grew hotter. We’d been trying to take the town for the last three days and had lost almost half our force so far. The rest were camped along the edge of the sprawling forest that ringed the town, undoubtedly staring just as bitterly as I was at its imposing walls.

  Jebido hopped awkwardly on one foot beside me as he tried to force the other back into his boot. I absently held his arm to steady him. “I swear, Hadrack, the man is deliberately trying to get us all killed.”

  Jebido was referring to Odiman, a House Agent whose command, unfortunately, we found ourselves to be under. Odiman was as unpleasant a man as I’d come across, except for maybe that bastard Carbet, I suppose. The stubborn House Agent was intent on breaking through the town’s defenses as soon as possible, regardless of the cost to his men. Nothing could talk him out of it. The fact that we were ill-prepared for a siege of any kind didn’t seem to concern him in the least. He just kept throwing us at the town’s walls.

  “Another day like this one,” Baine said as he unhooked his bow and collapsed wearily to the ground, “and he’ll succeed.” He withdrew a knife from a sheath in his boot and began flipping it end over end aggressively. Baine had a habit of doing that when he was agitated.

  “Why are we even here?” Jebido asked as he glared up at the town. “This place means nothing to either side. So why bother with it?”

  I glanced through the trees behind us where Odiman and Malo had appeared, walking side by side in heated conversation. I shrugged my shoulders. “Obviously, it means something to someone,” I said thoughtfully.

  Malo had arrived in camp during our failed assault on the town that morning. We’d attempted to fashion a battering ram for the heavy gates the night before, but we had no carpenters or engineers along with us, and none of us had any idea how to build one. The result turned out to be an unwieldy, four-wheeled disaster with a sloping, uneven roof of green saplings that we’d struggled to push through the thick mud that lay at the base of the hill. The defenders had laughed and jeered at us when we wheeled the ram out into the open, and even though we’d splashed water on it first, they had managed to set the thing on fire before we even got halfway to the gates. Odiman had stubbornly insisted we press on with the attack anyway, so we’d rushed the town with shields and make-shift, twisted ladders in our arms. Our ill-fated and uncoordinated attack had been easily repulsed by a steady barrage of arrows coupled with hot sand and rocks that the defenders rained down on our heads from the walls.

  The sting of the humiliation was still hanging over me as I closed my eyes, thinking about the events that had brought my men and me here. The war between the twin princes and Holy House — now referred to as the Pair War — had been raging since the death of King Jorquin a year ago. A year that had seen close to half the two hundred towns scattered along the unofficial border that separated Southern Ganderland from the North fall to the forces of either the Rock or the Sun. Jebido had told me he’d heard a rumor that one town had flown the Rock of Life and Blaz
ing Sun banners twice each in a single week. Allegiances in this war, I thought glumly, seemed to be mainly decided in favor of whomever had the sharpest sword at their neck at any given moment.

  I opened my eyes and looked up at the town as several of the more vocal defenders began taunting us from the walls, encouraging us to try again. The last rush against those walls had cost us close to a hundred men—men we could ill-afford to lose. The fresh corpses now lay entwined with the others from our previous attacks, while thick black smoke continued to rise from the remains of the ram. The ground leading up to the town was barren of foliage, muddy and rock-strewn, leaving anyone struggling to approach vulnerable to the town’s formidable archers. A network of trenches crossed the road leading to the gates. We’d managed to fill in some of them to get the ram through, but the cost in lives for that wasted effort had been high.

  The only cover around the entire hill was a narrow ridge of jagged granite on the western side. That ridge sloped from the top of the hill and ran down the length to disappear into a thick stand of oak and elm trees five hundred yards away. Odiman had initially tried sending men into the trees where the ridge began, hoping to use the formation as a bridge up to the town. However, the rock surface was so twisted and uneven that our forces had to pick their way through it at a crawl. The archers on the walls might not be as accomplished as Piths, but they were more than good enough to slaughter our men mercilessly.

  After that, Odiman left the ridge strictly alone and stubbornly returned to his only other strategy—which was to rush the walls in force, hoping to overwhelm them eventually. I remember Lord Corwick had done the same thing at Gasterny, but unfortunately for us, the walls here were a hundred times stronger than Gasterny’s had been and would not be so easily scaled.

  The town was called Springlight for some reason that I couldn’t fathom, and it was built in the shape of a six-sided hexagon, with a massive gate and bristling barbican facing me. Another entrance was set along the northern wall, with the road leading up to it dug up in a similar network of trenches as the southern route. The massive walls of stone were thick and thirty feet high, with bulky turrets placed at each of the six angles of the hexagon and on either side of the opposing gates. All the turrets flew a Rock of Life banner from their masts and Prince Tyrale’s prancing golden lion. The pennants snapped harshly in the strong breeze that blew straight toward me, carrying with it the unmistakable smell of death and defeat. The remains of a small cluster of mud and straw huts that Odiman’s men had razed on the first day of the siege smoked feebly along the base of the hill to the east. I could see charred and twisted bodies lying there as well.