Wolfs Honor

by Abigail Barnette

  The night was restless and sleep did not come to stay, broken to pieces and carried off by worries too numerous. Dawn broke, the only pleasant dawn of any month. The monsters of the castle slept most of the day, to regain their strength for running and mating and killing in the woods beyond the castle beneath the light of the full moon.

  With the pleasantness of that dawn came the promise of terror in the night, when the huge gates to the servants’ cell would be chained shut, and they would huddled, terrified, of the few wolves that would stay behind, snarling and growling and pushing their snouts through the bars.

  Supper, on the night of the full moon, was served well before nightfall. The wolves were given a banquet, rumor held, to lessen the risk of them killing for food. Animals were excused, of course, but Lord Canis wanted only their enemies, not their allies, to fear them. The fires in the outdoor kitchen made the place hot as a foundry, and barely a wind blew to relieve them. Already, two kitchen maids had fainted from the heat, and Ursula worried that if her rescue was to come, she would be far too weak to do her part.

  All through the long hours of the day, she kept alert, wondering if she would get a glimpse of the wolf who had promised her salvation. When he did not come by midday, and then as they began to carry food to the great hall, she knew he had played her false. Why would he remember her, a simple serving girl? What cause did he have to care whether her life was in danger or not? For all she knew, the things he’d told her were untrue, anyway. Maybe that was how he satisfied himself, off the fear of a weaker creature.

  She was returning from the great hall when a hand gripped her arm and pulled her into the darkness.

  “I thought you’d forgotten me,” she gasped in true relief, until she recognized the rough hands on her, the stench of his foul breath. It was the man with the shorn hair, and he wedged his knee between her thighs, pinioning her to the wall.

  “Did you? I couldn’t forget a fair thing like you, and you got my child in you.” His words washed over her face on a fetid, hot tide, tinged with drink. He pressed his hand against her belly, fingers digging in like claws. “That’s my son, there. You deliver him to me, safe.”

  “It’s nothing of the kind,” she protested, and the pain exploded in her cheek before she realized he’d lifted his arm.

  Bunching her shift in his stubby fingers, he leaned against her, pressing her so tight to the wall that she couldn’t draw breath. His rough hand scrabbled between them, untying the laces of his breeches, and she went slack against stone. Let him have his way, and be done with it. Perhaps that night she would open the chains and end everyone’s misery, let the dogs in to feast on them. Better than to live out this hell every day.

  Then, a muffled thud interrupted the sound of the shorn man’s rasping, excited breath, and his weight fell away from her like a sack of stones.

  “Come with me,” her savior’s voice whispered in the darkness. He pulled her with him, opened a door into a small, disused room, and pushed her inside. The room’s only window was covered in ivy that tinged the gold light of the sunset with eerie green. It colored his face, almost comically, but there was nothing amused in his expression. “Stay here. Bar the door. Stay quiet, and stay away from the window. I will come for you after most of them are gone.”

  “How?” Did he mean to leave her here so that he might easily find her later and devour her? If he meant to harm her, she’d never seen anyone so adept at lying, but none of their cruel tricks surprised her anymore.

  He stepped into the room and shut the door, looking worried over his shoulder. “I may have killed Lucas out there. I have as much a need to escape now as you do. I am half-human, that gives me an advantage over them. I can fight my wolf, and stop him from emerging. But when I come for you, you must do exactly as I say, and for God’s sake, do not argue with me. Do not run from me. Do not try to fight me, whatever might occur.”

  It was all very well for him to tell her not to flee, not to fight, and it was all very well for her to lie to him and agree, but she would make no such constraints on herself. She had been assured too many times in her life that she should have nothing to fear, and it had never served her.

  Perhaps he was, as he said, half-human. Certainly, he looked different from the other wolves. In their deceptively human forms, they still appeared dangerous. Taller than normal men, handsome, most of them, but cruelly so; they never appeared wholly mortal. The first wolf she’d seen upon her arrival had been Lord Canis himself. He’d looked like an angelic warrior as a priest might describe them, and she’d been enraptured by the sight of such a man. Surely, she’d thought to herself, he would have to be a kind, noble Lord. She’d let that appearance deceive her, but his dogs had dispelled any notion of gallantry at his court.

  Her rescuer appeared so different. No less handsome, but less preternatural. There was no predatory look to him, no noble bearing. He could have been a crofter’s son, or a servant. His dark hair was short, his face was shaved clean, his shoulders wide. If she’d seen him splitting logs or tossing hay with a pitchfork, he would not look out of place. Perhaps he’d told her true of his human mother, after all.

  And he did seem to wish to help her. If she trusted him, and died for it, well, she would be better off. If he could offer her the hope of escape, it would be foolish not to accept it. Her decision was made. “I will stay here. But if you are to kill me, do it quickly. You will not be able to inflict any pain upon me that would be greater than I have already suffered.”

  He said nothing, but looked at her with such pity that she imagined she could feel the ache in his heart. She did not like that. She did not like feeling so broken and helpless before him.

  “Go,” she ordered, forcing a hard edge into her voice. “Go, though I don’t think you’ll remember to come for me.”

  “I would not forget,” he vowed, and shut the door behind him.

  She went to the door and barred it as he had bade her, and pressed her ear to the wood, listening to his footsteps moving through the corridor. Then, fearful of the dying light, she went to the farthest corner of the dusty room and sat, pulling her knees to her chest. Paint flaked from one wall, and though the chamber lacked an altar, she recognized the room’s purpose. It had been a chapel, something she had not seen since her arrival at Blackens Gate. It seemed God had deserted this place long ago, so she did not bother to pray.

  Chapter Three

  The great hall was alive with excitement, drink, and shouting. Henry did his part to appear jovial, but already he felt the moon’s pull, his wolf struggling to break free. He was not giddy with anticipation, as his brothers in arms were. They would welcome their wolves, as he fought his. For them, the night promised pleasure, while he would struggle in agony.

  He’d hoped his attitude would be mistaken for his usual reflective quiet, but he knew it was too out of place on the night of the full moon. It would no doubt arouse suspicion, so when Roderick Canis, second son of Lord Canis and heir to Blackens Gate called upon him to attend them at the high table, he knew the reason why.

  “Any word of late from Fallow Manor and my pathetic brother?” Roderick asked, leaning heavily upon the thick, gnarled walking crutch he had relied upon to steady himself ever since his brother’s sword had hacked him near in two. That Roderick had survived the blow had been a miracle of the most terrible kind.

  It seemed a game Roderick liked to play with Henry. Inquire of his brother, so that he might insult Raf and Henry, by association, when Henry had neither the rank nor the esteem to protest. It was a pathetic enterprise, one Henry wished no part of, but indulging Roderick’s curiosity meant his energy was not spent in cruelty to someone else. With a shrug, Henry dutifully reported, “He writes of the state of the crops and says he and his bride are in good health. Nothing more.”

  Henry always ended on “nothing more,” because he enjoyed the fury it ignited in Roderick. Since his crippling injury, Roderick had become as skittish as a dog whose tail has been shut in one d
oor too many. He jumped at shadows that did not concern him, and no shadow loomed more threateningly over him than that of his brother.

  Lord Canis did not look up from his trencher, but skewered a chunk of greasy beef on the end of his knife, then bit it off and chewed thoughtfully. “Hasn’t got a child on that creature yet, then?”

  “How could he, cripple that he is?” Roderick drained his cup and dropped it to the table, a slow dribble of wine leaking onto the tabletop from the overturned goblet.

  “I saw him manage quite well, with my own eyes. As did half the men here,” Lord Canis reminded his son placidly.

  Henry took a drink from his own cup to hide his smile. Roderick had held no attachment to his once-intended bride, but it had to sting his pride to know that his father had found the girl with Raf, coupling on the forest floor. Henry did not want to think how Aurelia might have been punished by Roderick for that slight, if Raf had not won her.

  The doors of the great hall scraped open, and Lucas Tanner pushed through them, his face made uglier than usual by disorientation and rage.

  “Henry, leave,” Lord Canis barked. As Henry did as he was bade, Canis lifted his trencher and dropped it on the floor in front of the table. “Lucas, when you come late to my hall, you may fight the hounds for your supper. Where have you been?”

  There was no reason to look the man in the eye as he moved past him, but Henry could not resist. Lucas Tanner was short and square and mean, and the thought of his bastard growing in any human woman’s belly was enough to bring up Henry’s supper.

  Still obviously disconcerted from the blow to his head, Lucas stared back, bewildered, for only a moment before turning his attention back to Lord Canis’ question. “I was robbed, milord.”

  “Robbed?” Henry did not need to see Lord Canis’ face to know that the man was unimpressed by such a tale; incredulity dripped from his every word. “Here? In the castle?”

  “Servants, milord.”

  Henry’s steps slowed, but he continued for the door. If Canis believed Lucas’ tale, he and his favorites would cull the servants this night, before leading the rest of the wolves into the forest to celebrate the moon. The barbaric cruelty that Lucas could visit upon so many humans with a simple lie astounded Henry, but it would provide distraction enough to slip away with the girl.

  As he passed through the door, he clapped one of the wolves standing guard on the shoulder and made an inane comment on the weather. All the while, his mind spun furiously. He might have time to warn the servants, before they locked themselves inside their cell to await the safety of morning. But so many people fleeing Blackens Gate at once would make his flight with the serving girl more obvious. The wolves would be out in force, hunting down their human prey unfairly easily. He could not risk it.

  And why not? He demanded of himself as he crossed the castle yard and made for the disused chapel. The girl was no different than any of the other servants, and he would let them perish to save her? But those servants did not remind him so of the circumstances of his birth that had ripped him from his mother’s breast. He didn’t even know what she looked like, had never learned her name. He did not want that for another half-wolf child. No child should be raised as he had been, clamoring for love and affection and finding it nowhere.

  The girl remained where he had left her, curled in the corner of the broken old chapel. She’d fallen asleep, but it was a light sleep; she startled at the first fall of his boot against the stone floor.

  “Is it night?” she sought the window with round, frightened eyes, her body going slack with relief at the signs of the dying rays of sunlight that still pierced the ivy.

  “We haven’t much time. We must put road between us and the castle before we are missed, and before the wolves come out.” There was no road to Blackens Gate, in truth, but they would follow the old hunting trail then cross the river. They would leave their scent in the water, and hopefully leave a trail broken enough that they could not be tracked. He did not doubt that his absence would be noted, but he did wonder if they would bother to find him. He often made trips to Fallow Manor, and Lord Canis did not seem perturbed by them. There might be no reason for them to fear that the wolves would be at their heels.

  She followed him through the darkened corridor, through another door and the courtyard used by the female wolves of the castle. None of them were there now; they were still at supper in the great hall. He motioned her through an archway, and down some shallow steps. When he looked back, she no longer followed him.

  “This is the back way to the cells,” she said, stepping closer to the wall. She pressed one hand against the stone, as though she could find a handhold if he tried to drag her away.

  “It is, but we aren’t going there. I swear it,” he cursed his foolishness. He should have prepared her, he should have planned for her reluctance, for now it would cost them time that they did not have. “You must come with me, or not. But I warn you, if you stay here tonight, you may die before morning.”

  He watched her make her decision, and knew what it was before she spoke. He reached for her hand and tugged her away from the wall. He would give her no quarter to turn back now.

  They slipped past the big cell that kept the servants safe from their masters. At this hour, only a few huddled inside, and they did not wish to call attention to themselves. Not when a wolf was in their presence. Henry pulled the girl with him down another flight of stairs, past where the huge casks were kept for the feasting, then down yet again. The air grew damp, and the stones slick with moisture. A few steps more, and they’d reached the narrow postern gate. The door protested on rusty hinges, and they emerged from the darkness into the twilight.

  Beside him, the girl blinked and raised her arm. The moment he let go of her, she fled.

  “Don’t run!” he called after her, but she did not heed his words and he dared not shout again. His blood beat in his veins, the wolf clawing to come out. Somewhere behind the castle walls, another of the clan raised a howl, and he doubled over on himself. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and he clenched his hands to fists. If it weren’t the full moon, he would have had more control, but the moon drove his wolf mad. If he let it take him over now, he would rip her apart, feast on her entrails.

  Inside Blackens Gate, the drums beat. The cheers of men and women mingled with the frantic howling of wolves. They would overrun the castle, devouring servants, fighting amongst themselves to eat. Then, they would spill into the forest, chasing and fucking and baying at the moon, their goddess of insanity. Why did he fight it? Why did he not run back to them?

  His wolf emerged, rending his garments, pouring black fur down his skin and reshaping his limbs. It was but a moment before his mind left him and the animal took over. He smelled the girl, the unwashed fear and shame on her, and all four of his feet pounded after her. There would be blood and tight flesh to rip with his teeth. He would bathe in gore beneath the light of moon, still pale blue against the dismal twilight. When it was round and yellow, he would have eaten his fill. He smelled the shape of her footprints. She’d bounded the wrong way, straight for the castle gates.

  No! I meant to help her escape! The hunger and lust for fear left him. It was a strange thing, to be clear headed in his wolf state, and rare enough. A flash of precognition came to him, perhaps from the mad moon herself. He saw the girl, a swaddled babe at her breast. The firelight showed the perspiration on her brow, on her bare shoulder. She looked from the babe to him, directly into his eyes.

  His feet pounded down the forest floor, but not to kill. To protect. She screamed in the forest, and he silently implored her, don’t run from them! Don’t scream!

  Two large wolves had her backed against a fallen log. Her hair fell into her eyes, and a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of her mouth. Henry watched as the muscles in the backs of the two wolves tightened, slowing their stalk toward her, preparing them to lunge. With a low, feral snarl deep in his chest, he startled them, and they
lashed in tight circles around each other, a barrier between the prey the interloper had come to claim. He growled and snapped, catching a tail, and a loud yelp split the air. The other wolf tackled him, tumbling him across the soft loam. He struggled to find his footing as teeth sank around the back of his neck. He twisted free and charged at the girl, who scrambled back, falling over the log to sprawl in the dirt.

  The wolf came at him again, and he met him head on, throwing his body hard against his attacker. The wolf staggered sideways and padded off, in search of easier game. He must have been one of the younger wolves, afraid to break social rank even on a night of unbridled hedonism. The second wolf was not so easily deterred.

  The animal circled and snarled, considering another attack, but keeping Henry on the defensive. When the beast finally sprang, Henry’s guard had slipped. They tangled, and teeth sank into his head, above and below his eye. He yelped and whipped his head to the side, tearing free from the bad hold. Blood streamed into his eye and obscured his vision, but he knocked the other wolf down. He caught the scent of the beast’s sweat, and recognized him. Lucas, the very same who had terrorized the girl before. He’d been threatening the girl, talking like he was the child’s father…had he been trying to protect her, and the child she carried?

  Lucas’ broad black head rose. His teeth still bared, a growl still in his throat, he was scenting for the girl, checking that his prey wasn’t fleeing. He was fighting with Henry for a meal. He did not care about the girl.

  Unbidden, Henry was overwhelmed with the memories of the man who’d sired him, and his callous response to his son. Henry had tried for so long to appease the man’s cruel temper and please him, but after years, Henry had realized that if he defeated the entire French army single-handedly, his father would never care for him. That was what life held in store for the child this servant girl carried. A cold, motherless infancy, a life of hardship, living off the scraps of the pure-bred wolves around him.