The forest rustled with activity. Sound carried farther in the winter, making it difficult to tell how close the animals were. Blaine heard the skritch of claws against ice as small creatures hurried across the frozen snow, and the hoot of distant owls. Something rustled in the tree behind him, but when he looked up he saw nothing but shadows. The wind made the bare branches click like bones.
Snow had a smell. Blaine would never have believed that, back in Donderath. Now, after two and a half years in the arctic, he could describe more textures of snow and types of snowstorms than he would have ever thought possible. A light dusting of flakes fell through the air, covering the thin crust of ice that had formed over older accumulation.
We’re rank enough, the wolves probably smelled us when we set out from Velant.
Blaine had his crossbow ready. He stretched cautiously, trying to remain limber in the cold. His fingers were growing numb and he was getting chilled from inactivity. Sitting around in these temperatures is asking for ice sickness. We’d warm up if we could move around.
From the movement of the moon, Blaine guessed they had waited for over a candlemark before he heard noises close behind them in the forest. He froze, then reached slowly for his weapon. Beak had heard the sounds too, and looked around with wariness verging on panic.
Blaine heard the swish of something large padding across the icy snow, a sound almost lost in the wind. I’m imagining it, he told himself. He caught a glimpse of yellow eyes, then heard a howl that was answered by another and then another, pack members calling to each other, surrounding them.
Blaine felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature, he realized that they had made an important miscalculation.
The pack sounded a lot bigger and a lot closer than Beak and Knacker had reckoned.
The wolves were wary, staying hidden among the trees just out of range. Blaine could not see exactly how many wolves there were, but he was fairly certain the wolves blocked the road, their best way back to safety. These were huge, mature wolves, thickly muscled with heavy, silver coats. Each wolf was at least as long as a tall man, and Blaine guessed that the wolves weighed as much as men, too. That made them exceptionally dangerous opponents—man-sized predators with razor-sharp teeth and claws, and a finely-honed hunter’s instinct.
Knacker rose from his blind to take aim on one of the wolves. He had barely reached his feet when a large gray wolf sprang from behind him, taking Knacker to the ground beneath the wolf’s solid body. Knacker’s crossbow went flying, and he tried to reach his sword.
Piran had his cross-bow ready, but as Knacker fought the wolf, there was no way to take a shot without endangering the guard.
“Help me! Do something!” Knacker shrieked. He twisted away from the wolf and made it to his feet, heading for the trail at a run. He had not gone five strides before a gray-black wolf and its light gray mate closed on the guard, cutting him off from the path. The wolves herded him, nudging him one way and then the next, giving him room in one direction only to encroach from the other side. It appeared as if the wolves were toying with him.
“Get away from me!” he shouted, frightened. He brandished his sword, swinging it this way and that, too panicked to try to load his crossbow. The wolves growled a low, throaty warning that made the hackles rise on the back of Blaine’s neck.
Piran squeezed off a shot at the wolf that stalked Knacker, taking the wolf in its side. The animal howled in rage and pain. Two new wolves broke from cover. One of them attacked the injured wolf while the other snapped at Knacker, sinking its teeth deep into the guard’s shoulder. Knacker was bleeding heavily, and his terrified screams seemed to draw the wolves, like the cry of injured prey.
Another wolf was slinking toward Aiken and Twain in the center of the clearing. Blaine shot with his crossbow, and the wolf fell, writhing. Blaine vaulted over the fallen tree that was his blind and ran to cover the two prisoners as half a dozen wolves advanced from the tree line.
A growl warned Piran that he had troubles of his own. Piran was fast on his feet, the legacy of too many brawls. He got in a shot with his crossbow, then dropped it to draw his sword. The wolf lunged at him, and slammed him down on the ground, even as Piran’s blade plunged into the wolf’s belly and out his back. Pain and anger drove the wolf into a frenzy, and sharp teeth barely missed Piran’s throat while claws raked his left arm. Piran and the wolf rolled, and Piran jerked his sword free, trying to stay clear of teeth and claws to get in a deathblow. The wolf’s teeth snicked just behind Piran’s leg. Piran brought his sword down again, and the dull blade got half way through the wolf’s neck and stuck.
“Son of a bitch!” Piran muttered, bringing his boot down hard to stomp the wolf’s face to the ground so he could free his sword and swing once more. This time, the blow severed the wolf’s head. Piran leaned back, breathing hard, covered in blood. He looked past Blaine and tensed.
“Mick! Behind you!”
Blaine wheeled as a big, dark-furred wolf leaped at him, claws out and teeth bared. Blaine pulled the trigger on his crossbow, but the shot went wide as he dodged aside. The wolf landed and pivoted in the same movement keeping Blaine in his sights, just as a third wolf sprang at Beak.
Beak got off a shot before the wolf tackled him, but the quarrel grazed the animal’s shoulder, doing minimal damage. Beak and the wolf fell to the ground, and Beak kept rolling, trying to dislodge his attacker. He had managed to draw a knife, and he sank it between the wolf’s ribs, arching back out of range as the wolf snapped at him.
Blaine took a step back and reloaded, never taking his eyes off the wolf facing him. “Let’s try that again,” Blaine murmured. He squeezed off a shot, and the quarrel zinged through the air, catching the wolf in the chest as it started toward him. It dropped in its tracks, but another wolf was already bounding from the tree line to take its place.
Across the clearing, more wolves had emerged. Whether they were reacting to the attack on their pack member or drawn by hunger, they had decided to stay and fight instead of fleeing. Blaine could not spare his attention to note the particulars, but he heard Piran shouting and Knacker scream.
Blaine made a feint toward Beak, hoping to scare off the guard’s attacker, but the wolf watching Blaine lowered its head and took a measured step forward, stalking him.
Beak was fighting for his life against the wolf, beating against it with his crossbow once his quarrels were spent. Beak twisted and bucked beneath the wolf, trying to wrest free. The wolf was wounded, its fur matted with blood, but it was not ready yet to give up the fight. The creature was as large and heavy as a man, and much more agile. Nothing Beak did threw the wolf off. The animal’s lips drew back, exposing its long, sharp teeth and lunged. Its teeth went deep into Beak’s shoulder, crunching through bone.
Blaine risked taking his eyes off the wolf that was watching him long enough to swing his blade down hard on the neck of the wolf that was mauling Beak. He swung harder than usual, compensating for the poor edge on the blade. Blood sprayed as the blade cut through the wolf’s pelt, lodging deep in the muscle beneath. A good sword would have taken the wolf’s head off with the strength Blaine put behind the blow. The wolf fell to one side, mortally wounded, as Blaine withdrew his sword, and the other wolf used Blaine’s momentary preoccupation to close the gap between them.
The second wolf moved fast, leaping as high as Blaine’s head, covering at least eight feet of distance. Blaine swung his sword and opened a bloody gash on the wolf’s belly. The wolf struck Blaine full in the chest, paws on his shoulders, and they crashed to the ground. Warm blood covered Blaine from the wolf’s wound. He wrestled with the wolf to keep its teeth and claws away from his neck.
Blaine brought his knee up, intentionally striking in the wolf’s gut wound. When the wolf froze in pain, Blaine used all his strength to throw his man-sized opponent to one side, scrambling to get clear. His crossbow was out of reach, but he still had his sword, and he stood ready for another attack. Even a wounde
d wolf could be a formidable opponent.
Twain and Aiken lay in a pool of bloody slush, dangerously still. Blaine could smell the coppery tang of their blood; he imagined that to the wolves, the scent must be overwhelming. Despite the dead wolves around him, more came forward.
The lead wolf lowered its head, eyes fixed on its target. Blaine moved forward to get in another blow with his sword and the wolf sprang. Claws ripped through his heavy coat, tearing through his shirt as well, opening up gashes on his chest. Blaine gasped at the pain and staggered backward. He had the presence of mind to thrust forward with his sword and at the same time, bring his left arm around in a hard roundhouse punch that caught the wolf near its left eye.
The wolf yelped and fell away, bleeding and twitching. Blaine felt blood running down inside his shirt where the claws left gouges. Blaine drew in deep lungfuls of cold air to steady himself and force back the pain, and a moment later, turned back toward Beak. “Still alive?” he yelled.
“Damn wolves,” Beak replied, his voice weak. “What about the others?”
“Your buddy is down,” Blaine snapped, turning in a slow circle to watch for more wolves. “Piran and I are hurt but standing. Six wolves down. Four others wounded. Don’t know how many more are out there.”
Piran retrieved his crossbow and shot at the wolves savaging Knacker. Piran’s first shot missed, but it forced one of the wolves to let go of Knacker. Knacker got onto his elbows, trying to drag himself away. Piran’s second shot felled one of the wolves at it turned to go after Knacker, but the other wolf was fast, dodging out of the way just enough so that the arrow sliced through his flesh without lodging in his body.
Knacker had managed to haul himself a few feet across the ground, leaving a bloody trail. The wolves returned their attention to him with a snarl. The larger wolf sprang for Knacker, planting both forefeet on Knacker’s back to pin him down and closing his powerful jaws on Knacker’s unprotected neck. Knacker’s body went rigid and spasmed as teeth snapped his spine, then lay still.
“I think there are two more, along the tree line to my right,” Blaine shouted.
“And two more behind you in the trees to your left,” Piran replied. “Big pack.”
“Too damn big. Now what?”
“I’ve got an idea.” Piran began to shout and wave his arms, making an awful racket in the quiet forest. Blaine followed his lead, hollering and swinging his outstretched arms. Piran grabbed several fist-sized rocks and hurled them toward the wolves in the trees. The rocks smacked against the trees, sending down a blizzard of snow. Blaine grimaced at the pain from the gashes on his chest as he drew back to throw, but his aim held true.
Their shouts sent a flock of birds flying into the air, and their voices echoed throughout the forest. After a few tense moments, the wolves retreated into the shadows.
“Think they’re really gone?” Piran asked.
“For now,” Blaine replied. He walked back to retrieve the lantern and opened up the shutters, lighting up the clearing. Twain and Aiken lay in the center. “Aiken’s dead,” he reported after he bent to check the men. “Twain’s got a pulse, but it’s faint. I’m not sure he’ll make it back to the prison.” He walked over to Knacker’s body and bent down to check for a pulse. “Dead,” he reported. Then he used his sword to cut away two long strips of wool from Knacker’s cloak.
“What are you doing?” Piran asked.
“Keep making noise. I’ve got an idea to get us back to the sledge.” Blaine lit the other two lanterns. Then he wrapped the strips of Knacker’s woolen cloak around two short, sturdy branches and lit the make-shift torches from the lanterns.
“Here,” Blaine said, handing off one of the torches to Piran. “Wolves hate fire even more than they hate all that noise.”
“We hope,” Piran muttered.
They walked over to where Beak lay. Both Blaine and Piran had been bloodied by the wolves, but Beak looked as if he had taken the worst of it. “Can you walk?” Piran asked. Blaine knew how much Piran detested the Velant guards. But neither of them intended to leave an injured man behind for the wolves.
“Doubt it,” Beak managed. The ground around him was red with blood. Blaine wondered whether or not Beak would make it back to camp.
“Well you’d better try, because I don’t feel like carrying you,” Piran said. He cut a forked branch and fashioned a crutch, and thrust it at Beak. “Use this.” He and Blaine got Beak up on his feet. “I’ve got to carry Twain.”
“What do you think we should do about him?” Piran asked with a nod toward Knacker’s corpse.
“If we don’t take him back with us, Prokief will claim we shot him or some fool thing,” Blaine said, with a glare toward Beak. “Isn’t that right?”
Beak cursed and looked away, which was all the answer Blaine needed. “You’re sure we have to save him?” Piran asked, meaning Beak.
“Not completely sure,” Blaine replied, feeling less than generous.
Beak was aware enough to realize his danger. “What do you want?”
“Just your word that you’ll tell Prokief the truth about what happened here,” Blaine said. He glanced down at the ground. “Don’t take too long to make up your mind—you’re bleeding a lot.”
Beak was too weak to fight about it. He nodded. “All right.”
“I want your word, mate,” Piran said.
“You have my word,” Beak growled.
“What about Aiken?” Piran asked.
Blaine looked reluctantly back toward the dead prisoner. “I suspect his fate was sealed when Prokief sent him and Twain on this hunt, wasn’t it?” he said, glaring at Beak. The guard looked away, but not before Blaine read guilt in his expression.
Blaine propped the torch up and walked over to where Knacker lay, then hefted his body in his arms. It hurt like a son of a bitch to put strain on his torn muscles.
“We’ll take this one back in case there are questions,” Blaine grunted. “So no one can invent stories.” He shifted Knacker’s dead weight and grabbed the torch. “Come on. Let’s get back to camp.”
PART FOUR: Liberation Day
“I just knew that hunting trip was going to come back and bite us on the ass.” Piran paced as he and Blaine awaited the arrival of Commander Prokief, in the cold courtyard with the others. Prokief did not stand on ceremony, and if he was of a mind to get his final vengeance on them, anywhere would do.
“You really have a way with words, anyone tell you that?” Blaine replied. Humor hid his tension, but not convincingly. Piran should have earned his Ticket six months earlier, along with Kestel and Dawe, but Prokief used the disastrous wolf hunt as an excuse to extend Piran’s sentence. This was supposed to be their liberation day, the day they earned their Tickets of Leave along with the rest of the inmates who had arrived on the Cutlass three years ago, and all those whose arrival had been near that time.
Both men wore the best clothing they had, which wasn’t saying much, Blaine thought. Since their new provisions had been destroyed on the wolf hunt, they made do with the prison garb that wasn’t in tatters. The morning had started out well. Guards called for the departing prisoners to gather their meager belongings and come to the parade grounds, where they would be formally released and granted their papers.
Blaine and Piran had traded good-natured barbs with the men who had been their barracks’ mates for three years. Garrick and the rest would soon be their neighbors in Skalgerston Bay. The colony was small enough that Blaine had no doubt he would see familiar faces. Though they all tried to play down their anxiousness, everyone felt a buzz of excitement at the possibility of their impending release. I’ve waited so long for this, Blaine thought. Let’s hope nothing goes wrong.
He knew he was not the only one who feared that the long-awaited liberation would be denied. Blaine remembered how, six months before, Dawe had spent the night in front of the makeshift altar he had built, beseeching the High God, Charrot, and his consorts Torven and Esthrane for their safe deli
verance on the night before he and Kestel were released. Throughout their incarceration, Dawe had been the most devout of any of the men, although some stopped by with a small offering of food or a trinket of whittled wood during the high feast days or when they needed a favor. He had left his altar behind when he earned his Ticket. Last night, there had been a near-steady line of men bringing tribute and stopping to offer a prayer. Blaine had largely given up on the gods hearing him the night his father had beaten his mother to death. But even he saved a crust from dinner for an offering, just in case.
When morning came without incident, Blaine had relaxed, a little. Piran seemed in good spirits, meaning his cynicism about the reality of being set free was only slightly modified. Blaine had felt a weight lift as he walked out of the barracks for the last time, his paltry belongings tied up in his extra cloak. Even Piran’s whistling hadn’t bothered him—and for once, no one else complained.
Verran was waiting for them at the parade ground, and his excitement was unmistakable, but beneath it Blaine sensed wariness.
“Where do we stay, until we can build a homestead?” Blaine asked as they waited for their release. “Surely the tavern can’t hold all of us.”
“It’s not the first time Bay-town’s gotten a new group of ex-convicts,” Verran replied. “I imagine they’ve figured it out. Maybe in those warehouses they used when they fished you out of the ocean.”
“I want a hot dinner that doesn’t taste like swill, and a decent tankard of ale to go with it,” Piran sighed.
Blaine cleared his throat. “Kestel and Dawe will be waiting for us as close to the gates as the guards allow,” he said. “We agreed that once we are out, we separate the money for the homestead and supplies from ‘spending’ coins.”
Verran grinned. “Do this right, boys, and we’ll have chickens and eggs and fresh goat meat aplenty, in a house of our own.” He gave them a conspiratorial wink. “And I know a thing or two about making berry wine. Stick with me, and you won’t have to fork over all your coins at the pub.”
Cold Fury: King's Convicts III Page 7
