Jorundyr's Path: Wolf of the North Book 2

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  Wulfric watched from the edge for a few minutes to get a feel for the place. The square was bubbling with activity. There were countless market stalls and even more people, some dressed in fine, brightly coloured clothes and some in rags. Ne’er-do-wells moved about the crowd, trying to stay away from the suspicious gazes of the watchmen, looking for their next victim. Beggars ambled about, all but ignored. Wulfric had to admit his appearance was not far removed from theirs, and it seemed the best way to blend in.

  He found a quiet corner—not the best spot for a beggar—sat down, held out his hands for alms, and started to watch the Chancellery. It wasn’t a perfect plan—it wasn’t even particularly good—but it was all he had.

  WULFRIC

  As the day faded into evening, Wulfric struggled to stay warm. Traders were packing up their market stalls and the crowds had abated. Wulfric had all but given up on his plan as folly when he saw a familiar figure emerge from the Chancellery. He blinked twice to clear his eyes and took another hard look.

  Failing light or not, it was Ambassador Urschel. Wulfric got to his feet as quickly as his stiff limbs would allow and followed. He watched Urschel walk across the square, pompous, self-important. It kindled a flame of anger within him that made him forget how cold, stiff, and hungry he was. The desire to walk across the square and cut Urschel down there and then was almost overwhelming, but a rash action was bound to end in failure. He would follow Urschel to his home, and cut the bastard’s throat where no one could see it happen. Then he would run for dear life.

  2

  RODULF

  Rodulf sat at the council table in silence. He couldn’t help but stare at the spot where his father had been killed. There was still a faint stain on the floorboards, which someone had tried to scrub and sand clean. It distracted him from the uncertainty of what was going to happen next. He had walked into the Great Hall as though he belonged there, and as yet, no one had questioned his presence, but he knew as well as everyone else he had no right to be there. That a confrontation had not already happened meant things were going better than he had hoped for.

  With his father’s death, the order of things in Leondorf had been disrupted yet again, and Rodulf had to make sure he was in a position to benefit from it. None of the men sitting in the Great Hall would have dreamed of being there a few years previously. Given a taste of power, they all wanted more. Under the old ways, none of them would have been allowed to set foot inside, let alone speak. There was not a single warrior among them now. The couple who still lived spent their days lounging around outside their houses, drinking and doing little of use. A pathetic end to an ancient tradition.

  Rodulf’s father had seized the initiative and made the council his own. His death meant the rewards for all that hard work could go to any man sitting at that table. Rodulf intended it for himself, but he would have to fight for it. Someone would be ennobled, and given Leondorf and its territory in vassalage to the Markgraf of Elzmark. The planning had been carried out by Donato in secret, but they all knew what was coming, and wanted it for themselves.

  The new ambassador had arrived that morning, and the others fell over one another as they tried to ingratiate themselves. They were lined up outside his residence to lavish gifts upon him within moments of his arrival. They all knew Donato’s death was the opportunity they had been waiting for. Rodulf needed to make it clear that it was nothing of the sort.

  The real power in Leondorf resided with the ambassador, and that would continue to be the case until the territory was formally annexed and handed over to its new lord. Rodulf had a brief window of opportunity to prove his worth to the ambassador, and show the others up as incompetents. He was his father’s son, and he’d make sure they all knew it before the day was out. He only hoped the new ambassador did not have his eye on the territory for himself. It seemed unlikely—Leondorf was still far too untamed for the southern nobility and gentry.

  The dozen men in the room were discussing future administrative arrangements as they awaited the ambassador’s presence, but Rodulf was paying the barest attention. No one agreed on anything, each trying to show that his opinion was the most important. There was nothing to be gained by involving himself before the ambassador arrived, so he remained silent. The old ambassador, Urschel, had not taken much interest in the day-to-day running of things. His only concern was keeping watch of the ledger sheets and calculating his percentage of the wealth flowing south. Rodulf hoped the new man would be the same. It would make his life easier. He would show the new ambassador that he could protect that stream of wealth, help it grow, and he would paint the others as useless scoundrels who would see it wither and die.

  Their prattling voices intruded on his thoughts until he could stand it no longer, and he deviated from his plan. If he allowed alliances to be formed, his opposition might become insurmountable. ‘I’ll be taking on my father’s responsibilities as mayor,’ Rodulf said, interrupting Andhun, a fur merchant who draped himself in the products of his trade and appeared to be moving ahead of the others in terms of influence.

  Andhun glared at him. Since the arrival of all the southern luxuries, Andhun had grown corpulent, making his eyes narrow and beady. His fur-trimmed clothing was hot, his face red and sweaty. Rodulf glared at him. They all wanted the job—likely Andhun most of all—but they were all too spineless to say it out loud. They would posture and manoeuvre, trying to build enough support to advance unopposed, but that was not the way Rodulf intended to do things. The years he had spent training as a warrior had taught Rodulf one thing well: Men take what they want; sheep wait for someone else to give it to them. For the first time in his life, Rodulf understood the contempt in which the warriors had always held the merchant classes.

  ‘I, uh, we, uh, I mean to say, we’ll have to take a vote on it,’ Andhun said. His voice lacked the certainty it had held only a moment before.

  ‘I see no need for a vote,’ Rodulf said, maintaining his glare, his fingers wrapped tightly on the Stone. He couldn’t remember reaching for it, but the comfort it brought in times of stress was great. ‘You all know your jobs, and I know my father’s. I’ve been assisting him with every detail since we entered into our alliance with Elzburg. For a seamless transition, I’m the obvious choice.’

  ‘There’s a proper way to do things,’ Oswyn, another of the front-runners for his father’s job, said. Where Andhun had grown fat on the spoils of trade with the south, Oswyn had worked himself to skin and bone to take advantage of it. His greed was limited to gold and silver. ‘A way we all agreed upon when we first formed this council.’

  ‘There’s a slow and ineffective way to do things,’ Rodulf said, ‘and there’s a way to ensure things continue to run smoothly. The new ambassador will be here shortly, and I doubt he will be impressed by the disorganised rabble you currently are. Do you want him to take what little power we have for himself?’

  ‘I think I speak for us all when I say the procedures we have established are effective and efficient,’ Andhun said. The tone of his voice showed he had not missed Rodulf’s insult. ‘To change them now—’

  ‘Is not in any way necessary,’ Rodulf said. ‘Things can continue exactly as they are, but with me taking my father’s place. No disturbance. No interruption. Business as usual.’ He gripped the Stone even tighter. He could see the veins pulse in Andhun’s temples. He glanced back at Oswyn, who was flushed. They looked as though someone was squeezing their heads in a vice.

  There was a commotion at the door which distracted everyone from the impasse. A tall athletic man dressed in expensive southern clothes walked in, flanked by two soldiers. His mode of dress would have marked him out once, but no longer. Every man at the table was dressed similarly. The rough-spun cloth of the Northlands was no longer commonplace in the Great Hall.

  ‘I am Ambassador dal Ruedin, Minister Plenipotentiary of the Most Honourable Markgraf of Elzmark. I have my patents under his seal here for your inspection.’

  He swept th
rough the room and sat in the chair Rodulf’s father had once occupied, his soldiers standing behind either shoulder. Rodulf felt his stomach twist. This man was clearly cut from a different cloth to Urschel. Could he intend to have a more involved role in the rule of Leondorf? Rodulf did his best not to jump to unwanted conclusions.

  ‘Names and roles, please,’ dal Ruedin said when he had finally settled in the chair.

  ‘Andhun,’ Andhun said, cutting in before anyone else had the chance to speak. ‘Fur merchant and elected man of Leondorf. We’ve been—’

  ‘Names and roles will suffice for now,’ dal Ruedin said. There was a hard edge to his voice.

  Andhun shut his mouth, but failed to mask the anger on his face. Rodulf stifled a smile. Andhun had already antagonised the new ambassador—and in doing so, taught Rodulf an important lesson. Dal Ruedin was not a man to cross, but that only meant he had to be handled differently. Rodulf remained silent.

  ‘Oswyn. Elected man.’

  There was a sense of urgency to Oswyn’s voice, as though he had also spotted Andhun’s mistake and wanted to capitalise on the opportunity. Rodulf was content to bide his time.

  ‘Oswan. Elected man,’ said the next man at the table.

  ‘Oswan?’ the ambassador said. He frowned. ‘Oswyn and Oswan?’

  Both men nodded.

  ‘No, that won’t do at all. Far too confusing.’ Dal Ruedin gave them both an appraising look. He pointed at Oswyn. ‘You. Get out. You’re no longer part of this council.’

  Oswyn’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Rodulf hid a smile behind his hand as the colour drained from Oswyn’s face. From front-runner to replace Rodulf’s father to merchant once more.

  ‘You can’t,’ Oswyn said. ‘The people of Leondorf have—’

  ‘I can and I have. If you’re not out of here by the time my soldiers get to your seat, you’ll be beaten and dragged from this hall.’

  Oswyn hesitated for a moment, but as soon as the soldiers started to move he jumped from his chair, knocking it over, and ran from the Great Hall as quickly as he could.

  ‘Next,’ dal Ruedin said.

  The remaining councilmen listed off their names until it came to Rodulf’s turn.

  ‘He’s not actually an elected member of the council,’ Andhun said, before Rodulf had a chance to speak.

  Dal Ruedin snapped his gaze onto him. ‘Was it your turn to speak?’

  ‘I… No,’ Andhun said. ‘I thought you might want to know.’

  Dal Ruedin’s withering glare was far more effective than any words, and Andhun shrank back into his seat, his fleshy jowls pressing out around his flushed face. Dal Ruedin turned his gaze back to Rodulf.

  ‘Rodulf Donatoson. My father was mayor before he was murdered.’

  ‘Yes. I understand some soldiers were killed also. Finding the culprit will be a priority once I have put everything in order here. Now, tell me why you are here, if you are, as fatty there says, not a member of this council.’

  ‘I assisted my father in all of his responsibilities. I know how to carry out his duties better than any other man here.’ Rodulf could see impatience creep over dal Ruedin’s face. ‘I can keep the silver flowing south without interruption. I can provide fast and effective decision making. I can make sure things get done, and get done right.’ He spoke with far more confidence than he felt. He could feel the etchings on the Stone dig into his palm, but the sensation was pleasing.

  Rodulf looked at the ambassador, willing the answer from him. A muscle in the ambassador’s face twitched once, and then again. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

  ‘For the time being,’ the ambassador said, ‘I think Rodulf assuming his late father’s responsibilities is for the best. Os… whichever one he was.’ He gestured to the empty seat. ‘His place is vacant. I’m appointing Rodulf to it. He’s shown initiative at the very least, and none of the rest of you have impressed me at all.’

  Once again, Rodulf suppressed a smile. He looked at Andhun expecting some protest, but the fat man was smart enough to know it was time to keep his mouth shut. Rodulf relaxed his grip on the Stone. The first victory was his. A week or two of efficient leadership, and pouring as much money into the ambassador’s coffers as he could, and his position would be solidified. Then he could raise the issue of ennoblement. If he played his cards right, he would be Baron Rodulf dal Leondorf by Midwinter’s Day.

  ‘As I’m sure you are all aware, the process to annex the territory of Leondorf into the Principality of Ruripathia—and more specifically, into the Markgrafate of Elzmark—is well underway,’ dal Ruedin said. ‘I am here to see that it is completed smoothly, and appoint the most capable of you gentlemen to its rule. At that point I can return home and leave you savages to your wilderness.’

  Rodulf had to stifle a sigh of relief. With the ambassador removed from the equation, only Andhun remained. He was taken aback by how openly contemptuous the new ambassador was, but the more he hated the Northlands the quicker he would want to be finished with his task. And that could only work in Rodulf’s favour.

  3

  WULFRIC

  Wulfric walked past Urschel’s house with as much nonchalance as he could muster. It was part of a long terrace of redbrick houses. The street was wide and cobbled, and the buildings were more ornately decorated than any he had seen so far. He peered into the windows as he passed, but saw nothing of note. There was no reason for Urschel to expect trouble; he was in the heart of his city and was entitled to feel perfectly safe.

  Wulfric knocked on the door, and took a deep breath. He heard a latch being pulled and the door opened silently. A neatly dressed man stood on the other side of the threshold. His eyes widened when he saw Wulfric, but he subdued the expression as quickly as it had appeared and replaced it with something closer to practised indifference.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  Wulfric punched him in the face and shoved him back into the house as he walked inside. The doorman fell back. He remained unmoving on the floor. Wulfric looked around and wondered where Urschel might be. He walked farther into the house as quietly as he could, peering into each room as he went. Wulfric found his quarry sitting at a desk in his study on the ground floor at the back of the house.

  ‘Ambassador Urschel,’ Wulfric said.

  He looked up from his desk and furrowed his brow. There wasn’t the faintest hint of surprise on his face. Wulfric glanced around, feeling naked without his sword, but there was no sign of a trap.

  ‘Young Wulfric, isn’t it?’ Urschel said.

  Wulfric was concerned by how comfortable Urschel was. Wulfric’s appearance should have caused him some sort of visible reaction. Perhaps he was just completely clueless as to the reason for Wulfric’s being there.

  ‘You’re not surprised to see me,’ Wulfric said.

  ‘Nothing surprises me anymore,’ Urschel said.

  ‘I killed Donato. I’m here to kill you now.’

  ‘Might I ask why?’

  Wulfric gave him his most glowering look. He knew why; there was no need to say a thing.

  Urschel smiled, which unsettled Wulfric.

  ‘You seem to have forgotten your sword,’ Urschel said.

  ‘Don’t need one.’ Wulfric took a step forward.

  ‘I think you’ll wish you had one all the same.’ Urschel picked up a small bell from his desk and rang it.

  The door behind Wulfric slammed open, and two soldiers entered the study. Two more emerged from a cupboard beside Urschel’s desk.

  ‘I’ll bet you’d like a sword around about now,’ Urschel said. ‘You’ll find these men to be a different calibre to those you beat at the inn in Leondorf.’ He smiled with satisfaction.

  Wulfric said nothing; he had no idea what the word ‘calibre’ meant. He focussed all his attention on the men surrounding him.

  ‘I got word from Donato’s son yesterday. He said you were most likely on your way here looking for me, having already killed his father
.’

  ‘You know why I’m here then,’ Wulfric said.

  ‘I do. Things are going perfectly to plan right now, and I can’t have you causing a scene and spoiling it.’ He switched his gaze to one of the soldiers. ‘Take him outside and kill him. The rug is expensive. I don’t want you causing a mess in here.’

  A soldier nodded and made to grab Wulfric. Wulfric sprang at him. He was the leader, and killing him first would make the others think twice. His sudden move was unexpected, and the soldier didn’t have time to react before Wulfric’s fist thundered into the side of his head. He dropped to the ground like a sack of rocks and Wulfric reached for the soldier’s sword.

  ‘Kill him! Now!’ Urschel screamed.

  Wulfric pulled the sword free as the three remaining soldiers charged him.

  ‘Anton! Get to the guardhouse and bring more men!’ Urschel shouted.

  Wulfric didn’t know who Anton was, or where the guardhouse was, but it meant he needed to be quick. He parried a high blow and kicked the man who made it between the legs. Wulfric cut down the next and reversed his movement to slash through the midsection of the third. He could feel rage well within him, the sign that Jorundyr’s Gift was not far away. He didn’t want it, though. It dulled his senses, and he wanted them to be keen and sharp when he took Urschel’s life.

  The long, slender sword felt clumsy in his hand, making him wish he had his curved sabre with him. Nonetheless, a sword was a sword, and it was the hand wielding it that mattered most. His speed and brutal strength overcame the greater technical skill of his opponents. They seemed surprised when he followed a thrust with a fist, elbow, or knee.

  It was all over in a few blinks of the eye. He finished off the last soldier with no more ceremony than killing a speared boar. Urschel was edging around the side of the office toward the door, his hands raised defensively.