Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  Disgusted, Linus said nothing. Instead he tipped his head back and howled for aid, “Awoooo!”

  “Cowaaard!” Uther bellowed.

  Drawing his second sword Wild-heart closed the distance between himself and Linus in a single, furious, imperium-powered bound, kicking up clouds of glimmering iridescent blossom in his wake. The Howlers clashed blades in an instant of mutual plasma-licked fury before parting, Linus scooting defensively backwards across the clearing with his rapier held forth in both paws, Uther remaining where he had landed.

  “Look at you!” Wild-heart snorted, resting one sword on his shoulder and pointing with the other. “You dunno how to even hold that dainty thing. You’re built for a sword n’ shield, not that poncy needle. Puh!”

  Shuffling from paw to paw, Linus twisted his neck a little and rolled his shoulders, saying nothing, but staring always at Uther.

  “I don’t wanna hurt you, mate,” Uther claimed. “This is your last chance. Walk.”

  Still no word, only a tiny shake of the head.

  Glancing at the trees roundabout, worried reinforcements might burst through the foliage any second, Uther nodded and growled, “Fine, I’ll make this quick.”

  In a few strides he advanced on Linus a second time, thrusting and swinging his short blades with deadly intent. Linus remained on the back foot, parrying and weaving his way across the clearing, never once striking back with his long rapier. Imperium-steel clipped and clashed, sending up sparks of plasma, lighting the boughs of the blossom tree from beneath. Up and over the hillock they danced, skipping between the tree’s twisted roots, one retreating as quickly as the other dared to advance.

  A hit! Uther boxing Linus in the snout with the pommel of a sword.

  “Gah!”

  Knocked head over tail Linus tripped backwards and rolled down the mossy bank. Scrabbling to rise halfway down, he struck out blindly with his rapier lest Uther took the glaring advantage to hack him down – without armour or shield it would be an easy task.

  Yet the Wild-heart refrained, he wasn’t even in striking distance. He waited at the top of the hill until Linus recovered his stance, then circled down and round to the right, eyes gleaming, watching, smiling even.

  Why hadn’t he taken his chance to end it? Was it honour? Friendship? Did Uther believe he retained them even now after murdering a wolf in cold blood?

  Wild-heart lunged to the attack, smashing Linus’s thoughts in a shower of steel and colourful imperious sparks. Uther’s plasma ran down the rapier hilt, shocking Linus’s paw to numbness, but he held on.

  As the Howlers exchanged blows their invisible fields mingled and wrestled, tearing at each other like rabid spirits. Linus’s imperium-laden blood and bones boiled as he called upon the unnatural strength and speed of an afflicted wolf to keep Uther at bay. He couldn’t know that Uther’s blood burned hotter still, that his bones were already spent cinders, his muscles clogged with ash and pain from all his hardships of late, the travelling, the poor diet, the encounter with the net-casting spider.

  It had all taken its toll.

  The Wild-heart panted and laboured, every movement a chore as his body ceased up like a delicate timepiece dropped in seawater, gears grinding, scraping, ticking over with imperceptibly escalating tardiness as they fought the growing friction of the rot.

  Then it happened.

  “Grrrfgh!”

  Linus struck home, felt the very tip of his needle-like rapier jamming momentarily into the firm flesh of Uther’s ribcage, ripping muscle fibres and scraping bone. It was just a moment, a split second in time before Linus withdrew in horror, but the damage was done.

  Dropping one sword to clutch his wound Uther staggered backwards, his remaining sword held defensively forward to ward Linus off.

  “Puhaaahaha!” he cackled, checking his bloodied paw. “You got me, Woodlouse!”

  Linus froze, staring, unbelieving, the furious red mist that had commanded his every thought and action of late dissipating under the hot, clean Everdor sun.

  “Uther?” he whined through bloodied lips, as his friend, partner and traitor knelt in clearing, blossoms catching in the folds of his cloak.

  “You win, mate,” Uther panted from under his white-faced helm. “You’ve… come a long way. You’re an alpha… always was… make no mistake.”

  Linus had no words left.

  Neither did Uther. With a shaking, bloodied paw he reached round under his cloak and produced a pistol. For a moment Linus thought that he was the target, that Uther would shoot him and flee. Instead Wild-heart pressed the barrel to his own chin, and with deep breaths and tightly closed eyes prepared to pull the trigger. Better that than torture and being pulled apart by ants, as was the custom. No wolf who killed a Den Father could expect anything less.

  Averting his eyes, Linus stood by and allowed his friend to take the honourable way out.

  “Wha-?” Uther yelped in astonishment.

  Linus looked back just in time to witness some invisible force yanked Uther’s arm sideways, tearing the pistol from his quivering fingers! The weapon tumbled through the air and clapped satisfyingly into the spread pad of a light brown paw.

  It was the Alpha!

  “It’s not that easy, I’m afraid,” the black-cloaked wolf said, casually discarding the pistol over his shoulder and spreading his paw at Uther.

  The Wild-heart’s kristahl sword leapt from his desperate grip and skidded across the erde to Adal’s armoured feet. Then, before he could so much as think to reach for it, Uther’s second pistol wrenched itself free of the holster at his tail and punched through his cloak, spiralling off into the woods to land with a dull thud.

  Linus stood dumbfounded as the very air about him crackled and warped with imperious energy. The Alpha’s corona was incredible!

  Gulping and panting, the wounded Uther scrabbled forwards, diving for his remaining sword that he’d dropped in battle, but it too deserted him, kicking up grass and blossom as it sped across the clearing and leapt clean into the Alpha’s waiting paw.

  Adal inspected the blade, feeling its keen edge with a curious thumb as three of his lesser ALPHA prefects burst through the undergrowth to join him, standing protectively about their leader, a cabal of black mantles.

  “Stop, assassins!” one said.

  “My Alpha?” another panted, eyeing up Uther and Linus, unsure how to proceed against them.

  Adal pointed Uther out with the Howler’s own sword, “Arrest that wolf; I’ve disarmed him.”

  “Yes, my Alpha.”

  The Prefects descended on Uther, who rose to meet them, fists raised in a boxing stance.

  “Come on then, ALPHA scum!” he snarled.

  Despite landing a good plasma-licked punch on the nearest Prefect’s chest and diving bodily on the next to throttle him with his bare paws, the wounded Uther was quickly subdued by the third Prefect slapping him across the back of his helmeted head with a sword. It wasn’t the physical blow of the steel but the snap of plasma that did it for him.

  Bzz-tack!

  Uther was sent down, his world spinning, paws quickly forced behind him and tied with wire.

  Linus watched all this, aghast, and yet knowing it was the just thing. Uther had committed lupicide, and against a Den Father no less. He’d made his thorny bed and must lay in it.

  With Uther restrained the Prefects turned on Linus. One grabbed his arm.

  “Come here, you!”

  Linus wrenched his muscled limb free with ease. “Get off me!” he spat.

  “You’re under arrest-”

  “Leave him!” the Alpha barked, strolling over and explaining gently, “Howler Linus caught the traitor. He’s to be commended for his bravery.”

  The Prefects backed off and instead pulled a dazed Uther to his feet, holding him fast between them.

  “Well done, Howler,” the Alpha said, standing before Linus and drawing his gaze. They proved to be the same stature, though the barrel-chested Linus certainly
had the edge on sheer mass. “Do you know where the others went?” the Alpha asked.

  Glancing at Uther, Linus said, “No, sir.”

  “Well, I’m sure Prefects Janoah and Bruno will track them down,” the Alpha claimed airily. “Justice will be done; you’ve my assurance on that.”

  Linus wiped his bloody nose. “Mr. Alpha, sir, if… if I may,” he sniffed, stammering through his sentence. “Our D-Den Father has been m-mmm-murdered. I-I-I believe this is a-a-a Bloodfang affair, not ALPHA’s.”

  The Alpha cocked his helmeted head a little, the white A on his brow glowing, “Do you trust the wolves that wielded the knife to find the truth, Howler Linus?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Vito is… was… a rotten, old, insatiable mad wolf, as you’ve likely just found out for yourself. He would’ve had his fill and discarded you within a month, leaving you without a shred of honour.”

  Wincing, Linus looked down.

  The Alpha continued logically, paws behind his back, “My point being Vito has hindered and embarrassed the Bloodfangs for years. The other packs have benefited by his ineptitude, they would not want him dead. The Bloodfangs, however, will be relieved he’s gone. This was an inside job, orchestrated by Vito’s successor.”

  Linus looked up again.

  Adal placed a paw on his bare shoulder and looking the dishevelled wolf in the eye said solemnly, “And we all know who that’s expected to be, Howler.”

  *

  Amael Balbus watched Den Father Vito’s sodden body being ferried from the scene of the crime under a bloody shroud, along with several Den Guards. None had survived. No witnesses could testify as to what had transpired. Vito’s assassins would join him soon enough – unfortunate but necessary.

  Amael noticed a Howler whispering in Vladimir’s ear. The lofty Grand Howler nodded and approached his expectant Elder to report that, “Linus is alive, sir.”

  “Good,” Amael lied at length, feigning relief.

  Not fooled for a moment, but playing his own game, Vladimir stared awhile before adding, “Happily he seems to have caught one of the assassins.”

  A moment’s silence.

  “Who is it?” Amael said.

  “It appears to be… Uther, sir.”

  “Uther? You mean our Uther? Wild-heart?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Amael feigned disbelief, “What in Ulf’s name? He was supposed to be out hunting down THORN agents!”

  “Yes, sir. It seems he had other ideas.”

  “That treacherous, murderous scum, what is he playing at! This could ruin me!”

  Amael’s acting was as transparent to Vladimir as the air between them, but having prior knowledge of the Elder’s guilt was of course advantageous. Vladimir only wondered if Amael could fool an impartial observer, or if that even mattered when half the pack were in his pocket.

  “Where is he?”

  “Apparently ALPHA have him in custody.”

  “ALPHA? But you said Linus caught him.”

  “With Den Prefect Adal’s help, I’m told. It seems like they intend to keep him as well.”

  With paws cupped before him, Vladimir watched Amael’s devious mind tick over with great interest. What now for Lupa’s would-be emperor? If ALPHA got to the truth of Vito’s murder through Uther it might yet blot Amael’s copybook and ruin his chances. Then again, perhaps the Elders were all so thoroughly blackmailed, or in Amael’s pocket, that it wouldn’t matter a fig.

  “Well, we’ll see about that!” Amael gruffed. “Come on!”

  He marched off to rally his fellow Elders, most of whom flapped around the hot springs uselessly bellowing orders to comb the woods and protesting too much outrage over Vito’s death to be believed. Only Vito’s adjutant appeared truly bereft, if only for his own sake. The fellow stood by the bloody pool, helm in paws, doubtless contemplating his future now that his master had gone.

  Following Amael in somehow lacklustre strides, Vladimir contemplated his own precarious future now that the game was nearing its end, one way or another.

  *

  “Brunooo!”

  Janoah searched the woods with eyes and soul, but saw and felt nothing.

  “Rafe!” she snapped. She had not forgotten the cover name she had given her champion, but suspected he may have forgotten it himself. It was just possible he was having a funny turn – it was always possible. It was also possible he was dying in a ditch somewhere, shot or run through by Vito’s assassins.

  They were not just any assassins, but Blade-dancer and Wild-heart. The stupid boy has no idea what he’s up against.

  “Rafe! Answer me!”

  A big all-black wolf stole through the trees with a huge sword – not Rafe, as Janoah hoped for a split second, but Duncan.

  “Janoah,” he panted, joining her.

  “Grand Prefect Duncan,” she replied, looking beyond him for the others. “Where’s the Alpha?”

  “He’s searching south of here. Nae you worry about him, he can look after himself.”

  Janoah nodded. “I-I can’t find Rafe,” she explained, frantically running a paw over her ruddy ears. “It’s that blasted cloak blocking his corona. I can’t feel him! That idiot Josef and his ridiculous inventions.”

  “Aye,” Duncan acknowledged. “Well, if Rafe’s on someone’s trail that someone’s as good as done. Nobody can beat our Eisenwolf.”

  “Of course,” Janoah replied, not convincing herself, nor containing her gulp.

  “Did you see the mess back there?”

  “Mess?”

  “Vito,” Duncan clarified. “He’s belly-up in the water with a hole through him.”

  “I didn’t linger longer than was necessary, sir,” Janoah replied, detachedly. “I was trying to stay with Rafe. He went this direction, but he’s too fast.”

  “Aye, well, let’s just keep searching.”

  The pair struck out into the woods, weapons drawn.

  With sudden realisation Janoah stopped. “Linus!” she seethed. “He was with Vito.”

  “The fair-furred lad? Ah didnae see him, did you?”

  Janoah sighed loudly, perchance even worriedly – at least Duncan suspected.

  “Perhaps he had a paw in it?” the Grand Prefect suggested.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Janoah snapped at him.

  Duncan audibly huffed and puffed beneath his helmet.

  Realising she’d overstepped the mark Janoah explained apologetically, “Sir, I’ve known Linus a long time. He’s just not the sort to commit lupicide in cold blood.”

  A nod.

  The Prefect and Grand Prefect continued to search the woods together, though only one of them actually cared to find the assassins, and it wasn’t Janoah.

  Rafe don’t you spoil everything I’ve worked for. I’m not ready to choose yet.

  *

  He’s persistent, this one. Big chap. Not much of an corona though. Strange. Perhaps he’s suppressing it. But why would he bother? I’m the one hiding.

  Crouched on a bough of a giant, twisted tree, concealed amidst its rustling leaves, Ivan wondered such things as he watched the ALPHA Prefect of his fascination scour the woodland below.

  The big Prefect stomped ungracefully about the undergrowth, sweeping aside bushes with swings of his mighty two-pawed sword, doubtless expecting to flush Ivan out like a roach from piles of Lupan garbage.

  “I know you’re here!” he panted in frustration, turning this way and that. “Come out!”

  Ivan remained calm and still.

  Skilled in the art though he was, even Blade-dancer couldn’t dampen his corona down to nothing. Most wolves couldn’t follow him if he didn’t wish to be found, but this fellow had exceptional senses.

  He’s going to find me eventually. I may as well get it over with. He won’t feel a thing.

  As the Prefect passed underneath him again, Ivan slowly drew his rapier and stood up with graceful, gymnastic poise. Simply stepping off the branch into space he silently
swooped upon his prey like a pouncing spider.

  In the instant before Ivan’s long rapier should’ve skewered him from shoulder to toe, the big Prefect whirled round and raised a glowing, plasma-licked paw. With an explosion of imperious energy that bent the very air and branches overhead, Ivan was blasted against the tree. His back slammed into the immovable trunk and he fell at its broad base, landing on his feet, crouched.

  The Prefect leapt upon Ivan with a predictable follow-up assault, but Ivan was not called Blade-dancer by the hyenas for nothing. Weaving to one side he both nicked the Prefect’s nearest arm with his sword and imperiously leapt some feet distant, all in one graceful movement.

  Landing neatly, lightly, Ivan stood tall and proud, sword held loosely by his side.

  There he waited.

  The Prefect faced him, his huge and somehow familiar sword held up to his masked snout. He either didn’t notice the small cut Ivan had dealt his upper arm, or just wished not to acknowledge the hit openly.

  “Surrender, Howler,” he said, in a light-toned yet profound voice, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

  Though his icy eyes narrowed curiously, Ivan didn’t respond.

  “Everyone’s searching the woods, you can’t get away,” the Prefect claimed, creeping forth, foot over mud-flecked gaitered foot, as if hoping to close within striking distance without Ivan noticing. “Best you give up now.”

  Blade-dancer raised his sword a little. “Best for you,” he suggested haughtily.

  “For both of us, mate. I don’t like hurting anyone.”

  A pause as Ivan contemplated the conflicting information converging in his mind. His instincts were telling him one thing, but logic another.

  “You pack a decent punch for someone with such a feeble corona,” he probed.

  The Prefect huffed, “You dunno the half of it.”

  “Oh?”

  “You don’t stand a chance against me. I could end this right now. But I don’t wanna kill you.”