The Wolf of the North: Wolf of the North Book 1

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  There had never been much use for money in Leondorf before the Ruripathians arrived. The only time anyone brought it out was to buy things from southern traders when they visited. Everything a warrior needed was provided, the service they gave in return was protection and a regular supply of fresh game from the forest. Now the Great Hall deigned to toss them a few coins when they did what they were told. The ambassador had handed Wulfric a purse of coins when he returned with news of their success in Rasbruck. It was emasculating to take it, but they needed money to survive in the new Leondorf. The smith only took coin for repairs, the innkeeper only coin for ale.

  Wulfric, Stenn, and Farlof had taken a table at the inn as their own. They spent as much time there as they did on Wulfric’s porch. They usually kept to themselves, but Wulfric knew they were viewed as something of a curiosity by the southerners. None of them knew how their forebears had behaved when they gathered, or in the aftermath of a victory. At times Wulfric felt as though they were boys playing at being men. There was no one to guide them in how to comport themselves. It felt awkward as they forced the behaviour they imagined the old warriors had adopted. Perhaps they would create their own traditions that the next group of young men to complete their pilgrimage would follow. If anyone else ever went on pilgrimage. Already Wulfric had seen the surviving boys of the village watching the soldiers with admiration, rather than him and the others as they lazed on his porch like old, unwanted hunting dogs.

  The other great change that came with the new inn was the selection of drinks. Mead and ale were all they had before, but now southern wines and strong spirits, once a rarity, were always available. Wulfric wasn’t overly partial to any of them, but some, the new councilmen in particular, took to the wine with enthusiasm. Some of the bottles cost more than an entire hogshead of ale—something the drinkers were always eager to point out. It was nice enough when he tried it, but for the price? It amazed Wulfric how quickly they embraced southern ways. There was so little left of what went before. It reinforced his desire to go on Jorundyr’s Path. He would miss his mother when he went, but he was able to leave her with enough southern silver to make sure she would always be comfortable, and she could see what life in Leondorf was doing to him. She was as eager for him to go as he was. There was nothing there for him. Not anymore.

  A group of soldiers came into the inn not long after Wulfric and the others. The attack on Rasbruck was the first success they had since coming north—a welcome change from escorting wagons between the village and the mines, always waiting for the next ambush. Wulfric had no interest in mixing with them. They might have to fight together, but that didn’t mean they had to socialise together. The soldiers gathered at the bar, loud and jubilant, while Wulfric and the others sat quietly at their table in the corner. None of them saw it as the victory they had wanted.

  ‘Hey, Northlanders, have a drink with us.’ The call came from the bar, the sergeant that was with them at Rasbruck. His words were slightly slurred, a surprise considering how short a time they had been there. Wulfric wondered what they were drinking, or if they were simply lightweights.

  ‘Fine where we are, thanks,’ Wulfric said. He didn’t want to drink with them. They weren’t the worst of men, so he didn’t feel the need to be rude. Had the call come from one of the councilmen, who often tried to ingratiate themselves with the warriors—a leftover hangup from days that Wulfric was gradually coming to accept would never return—his response would have been very different.

  ‘What? We’re good enough to fight with, but not to drink with?’

  It wasn’t the reaction Wulfric was hoping for. ‘No offence meant, Sergeant. Just having a quiet drink with my friends.’

  ‘Ah, come now. We had a victory today, come and celebrate with us. First bit of excitement we’ve had in this muddy rathole.’

  Anger flashed behind Wulfric’s eyes, and the sergeant spotted the change in his face.

  ‘No offence meant, just miss home is all. Round of drinks for the lads,’ the sergeant said, turning back to the innkeeper.

  ‘This isn’t a rathole, and we’re not lads. You’d do well to remember that,’ Wulfric said.

  ‘Like I said, no offence meant,’ the sergeant said.

  ‘Just because it wasn’t meant don’t mean it wasn’t caused,’ Wulfric said. He could feel Stenn and Farlof tense up.

  The sergeant turned to face them and his men gathered behind him. All the other sounds in the inn had long since ceased.

  ‘Maybe you’d do well to remember that we came up here to protect this place, something you don’t seem to be able to manage on your own. Respect goes both ways, friend,’ the sergeant said.

  ‘Might be time you all fuck off back home then, and leave us to fend for ourselves. Won’t have to worry about respect in the big city, I’m sure.’

  ‘After today’s effort, I’d have thought you lads need all the help you can get.’

  ‘What in hells is that supposed to mean?’ Wulfric roared, standing as he did.

  ‘Means that you and your mates there would’a taken a hiding today without us.’

  ‘Like fuck we would,’ Wulfric said, his skin starting to tingle. ‘You lot spent most of your time killing women and old men. Seems you lads are a bit shy of steel.’

  The sergeant walked forward. ‘If you were any use, we wouldn’t be here at all. You talk big and strut about the place like you’re gods. You saw the treatment we gave the Rasbruckers today. If you don’t watch your mouth maybe you’ll get some of the same. Big lad like you’d fetch a good price in the slave markets.’

  The sergeant was a big man. All the Ruripathians were, which had come as a surprise to Wulfric. He had always thought them to be small, slight, and effete. Rotted by lives of comfort like the merchants who had come north in the past. He had a face that looked like he had seen plenty of fighting over the years—a few scars, some chipped teeth, and a nose that had been broken at least once. Wulfric stepped forward and squared up to the sergeant, but he didn’t back away or even flinch.

  Their eyes were more or less level, and Wulfric’s nostrils were filled with the sweet smell of ale from the sergeant’s breath.

  ‘Some of the same?’ Wulfric said. He could feel his heart race with rage, and his hands started to shake.

  The sergeant nodded. Wulfric wanted to gut him there and then, but angry as he was the voice of reason still managed to find its way through. His dagger remained in its sheath. He shoved the sergeant back and stepped forward to fill the space. ‘Well, let’s see it then.’

  The sergeant took a swing at Wulfric, which he easily dodged. He slapped the sergeant’s arm as it went past, sending him sprawling across the taproom floor. His soldiers didn’t need any invitation and charged forward, as did Stenn and Farlof.

  Wulfric felt blood pulse through his temples. He punched one of the approaching soldiers, catching him perfectly on the side of his chin. The soldier flew sideways, crashed into a table and sent it and the chairs surrounding scattering around the room. It seemed like it was in slow motion. Everyone else in the inn not involved in the brawl charged for the door. Someone smashed a chair across Wulfric’s back. It shattered on his shoulders, but he could barely feel it.

  Stenn and Farlof had the other soldiers under control, but Wulfric wanted to get the sergeant and knock the teeth from his big mouth. He was standing a few paces away holding a splintered chair leg. He raised it to take a swing at Wulfric. Wulfric roared at him. He dropped his shoulder and charged the sergeant, slamming into his chest, driving him across the taproom floor and smashing him into the bar.

  The sergeant grunted as the wind was knocked from his chest. Wulfric grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him back from the bar. His mind was a swirl of rage as he looked down on the sergeant. Wulfric punched him in the face hard, again and again, until he felt his body go limp. Wulfric dropped him to the ground and turned. He spotted another soldier, grabbed him by the shoulders and headbutted him. He kept smashing
his forehead into the soldier’s face until he too dropped to the ground. He could feel the blood coursing through his veins, and his skin was tingling like an army of ants was marching across his body.

  Stenn had a soldier in a headlock and Farlof was running one out the door. One soldier remained. He looked like he would rather be anywhere but there. He took a half step backward when he saw Wulfric coming for him. His eyes flicked to the door, but Farlof was blocking his escape. He tried to vault the bar, but Wulfric caught him mid-leap and flung him to the ground. Wulfric snarled as he grabbed the soldier and slammed him against the floor. The soldier whimpered as Wulfric started to beat down on him with fists and elbows.

  ‘Wulfric!’

  Wulfric continued to rain down blows.

  ‘Wulfric!

  Wulfric heard a voice call his name, but it seemed far away. The sound was familiar, but he could not recognise it at first. Between the blows his body was raining down, his detached mind searched for an answer. It was Farlof’s voice. He stopped and looked around.

  ‘He’s had enough, Wulfric. You don’t need to kill him.’

  Wulfric nodded and looked back at the soldier. His face was a bloody pulp, but he was still breathing. He stood and looked at the previous soldier, lying senseless on the ground, his face also covered in blood. The sergeant was motionless on the ground, a puddle of blood and teeth on the floorboards beneath his mouth.

  Wulfric had no memory of fighting either of them. He felt exhausted. ‘We should probably leave,’ he said.

  43

  ‘I’ve had to send to Elzburg for a physician to come up to tend to their wounds,’ Ambassador Urschel said. ‘The injuries were more severe than we sustained in the attack on Rasbruck. None of them will be capable of duties for weeks, and Sergeant Wordan is unlikely to be ever able to resume his, according to your healer…’

  ‘Aethelman,’ Donato said, in what he hoped would be a helpful fashion.

  ‘Yes, Aethelman. He said the injuries were more like those seen after a battle than a taproom brawl. This warrior, Wulfric. He’s an animal and I want him dealt with. We came here in good faith to help protect this village from outside aggression, and this is how we are repaid?’

  No, thought Donato. You’re repaid in bags of silver and horses worth a king’s ransom. He rubbed his temples. There was nothing he would have liked more than to have Wulfric strung up by his balls, but this wasn’t the time nor the right circumstance. When he turned on Wulfric, he wanted it to be certain, and final. Caging him up would only make him more dangerous. Donato had created a delicate balance to achieve his higher aspirations, and handling this matter harshly could upset that. Was it just his imagination, or was he getting far more headaches these days?

  ‘There’s not a great deal I can do,’ Donato said. ‘Despite all the changes that I’ve, that we’ve, ushered in over the past couple of years, he is First Warrior and that still carries quite a bit of weight with the villagers.’ Donato had never directly opposed Ambassador Urschel before, and he would have preferred to maintain that record. There was too much to gain by playing by their rules. Nonetheless, sometimes things were not so simple.

  ‘I couldn’t give a fuck what he is,’ Ambassador Urschel said, ‘or how much weight he carries. I want this dealt with. Harshly.’

  Donato had never heard Urschel swear before, and it worried him. He needed to demonstrate to the southerners that he could see their will carried out without any hitches. He had to, if he was to get what he wanted.

  ‘The villagers have taken to your presence with far more enthusiasm than I could have ever hoped for. I’m reluctant to threaten that state of affairs.’ It was weak, but the best he could come up with.

  Ambassador Urschel furrowed his brow, so Donato continued quickly.

  ‘Fights amongst the warrior class were common in the old days. Granted they didn’t tend to result in beatings quite so… severe. The thing is, the people don’t see anything unusual in this. Warriors are violent men, and they expect violent men to behave that way from time to time. Particularly after a victory like we won against Rasbruck.’

  The Ambassador’s face remained unmoved, and Donato could tell that he wasn’t getting anywhere. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, if the people see their warriors being punished because your soldiers lost a fight against them, their opinion of you will change. Quickly and dramatically. That could cause us both a great many problems, and I fear that it could even interrupt the flow of silver south.’

  The Ambassador’s eye twitched, and Donato knew that he had finally hit on the right nerve.

  ‘It could cause that much of a fuss?’

  Donato nodded. ‘If the villagers think the soldiers got beaten up and then ran home telling tales…’

  ‘I see,’ the Ambassador said.

  Donato was confident that the Ambassador had gained much through his association with Leondorf, both financially and in favour for sending so much wealth back to his master, the Markgraf. He didn’t want to upset things any more than Donato.

  ‘I suppose we can leave it for the time being, but that doesn’t mean I have forgotten about it,’ the Ambassador said. ‘When things are on firmer ground, we can revisit the matter.’

  ‘I look forward to it.’

  Donato leaned back in his chair at the head of the table and watched the Ambassador leave the Great Hall to head back to his luxurious abode across the square. It was useful that Wulfric had made an enemy of the Ambassador. Another step toward finally repaying Wulfric the price of an eye.

  WULFRIC KNEW there was going to be trouble after the fight. The only question that remained was how much. He didn’t like the idea of running away from anything, but it seemed like as good a time as any to go on his long-thought-about adventure.

  Wulfric planned to keep his departure quiet until the very last moment. The only thing that had held him back was the thought of abandoning the village. It didn’t take much consideration to dismiss that. He served no real role in protecting it any more, nor in providing leadership. Not many would even notice he was gone, and most of them would be glad of it. Everything was packed, and all that remained was to say goodbye to the few people he would miss. He had no idea where he was going, but there was a very large world to explore, and most of it lay to the south.

  As he walked toward the kirk to say goodbye to Aethelman, he spotted the regular Elzburg carriage arrive and stop outside the inn. It ran back and forth between Leondorf and the city once a week. When the door opened, a young woman stepped out carrying a small valise. She had dark red hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a long blue dress topped with a white blouse and dark blue bodice patterned with black thread. He couldn’t see her face, but her figure alone was enough to catch his notice. One thing Leondorf was short on was attractive young women, not counting the prostitutes who had followed the soldiers north.

  She looked too well dressed. A southern officer’s sweetheart, perhaps? Considering her clothes, it occurred to Wulfric that she might be the Ambassador’s daughter. If that was the case, Wulfric was tempted to introduce himself. One last insult aimed at the Ambassador before he left. It had been so long, he gave thought to all of these possibilities before he realised it was Adalhaid.

  Wulfric didn’t need to see her face. Tall, slender, with a cascade of red hair, he could tell just by the way she stood. His heart raced and he didn’t know what to do next. The only thing he knew for certain was that his plan to leave was finished. He felt light headed and couldn’t catch his breath. He needed to get away from the square. He wasn’t ready for her to see him. He wasn’t ready to talk to her.

  She looked just as he remembered her, but better in every way. She had grown into a beautiful woman with grace and poise. The sound of her laughter still rang in his ears from those years before, and the thought of her filled him with both joy and despair. He didn’t know what to say to her. He hadn’t expected her to ever come back. What would she be like now? Another three y
ears in the city must have changed her—she had spent the better part of the last decade there. What would she think of him now, having changed so much while he had stayed the same? Might she be married?

  Before he knew what he was doing, he was on Greyfell galloping out into the pastures. He didn’t stop until both he and the horse were gasping for air. He slipped down from the saddle and allowed Greyfell to graze on the thick grass. He sat and watched the clouds scudding across the sky, drifting effortlessly toward the mountains in the east. He felt the calm all around him, but none of it found its way in.

  After so long, why had she come back at all? He looked down at his bruised and grazed knuckles, and realised that she wouldn’t be far wrong in viewing him as an ignorant savage. He couldn’t bear to think of her seeing him as that, but perhaps it was true. Their marriage promise was still in place, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be broken. Was that why she had come back? To free herself of him? It was foolish for him to have thought that she wouldn’t have met someone in the city. She was beautiful and intelligent, and like it or not, Wulfric knew how sophisticated the southerners could be. They had so much more to offer. After all of that luxury, what could there be in the Northlands to interest her now? He felt as though his head was going to burst.

  He wandered back toward the village, Greyfell following behind, until he reached the tree, their tree, where he sat and continued to stare at nothing in particular.

  ‘WULFRIC? I wondered if I’d find you here. Some things never change.’

  He stood abruptly, startled by the unexpected voice. He had been there a while, and the sun was low in the sky. It blinded him when he turned, but through squinting eyes, he saw Adalhaid. He tried to say something, but no words would come. His mouth opened and closed but still he could make no sound. Adalhaid laughed.

  ‘I’m pleased to see you too. You’ve gotten… bigger. Much bigger.’

  ‘You have too,’ Wulfric said, finally finding his tongue, then biting it when he realised it was not exactly a compliment for a woman, and was certainly not the thing he had imagined saying when he first saw her again.