Prince Wolf

by A. Katie Rose

  “Primitive though they may be,” Darius advised, “if you don’t move your ass, like now, you’re one, rather large, dead wolf.”

  The hunters drew closer, their hounds clearing stone, fallen trees and tundra, hot on my trail. By leaps and bounds, they gained ground, advancing rapidly. The skinny, shaggy-haired horses galloped hard under whip and spur, leaping dead wood and dodging thorny thickets, their breath steaming in the frosty air. I smelled the men now, the unpleasant odor of sweat and piss and beer.

  I got my recalcitrant paws under me again and began to run back downhill, toward the lake.

  “Let’s see if their horses can swim,” I laughed, my tongue hanging loose in a wolfish grin. “I’ll swim across the water. They’ll have to find my tracks on the other side. Of course, it will take them days to get there. By then I’ll be long gone.”

  Before I could launch myself into the wet, Darius’s voice halted me.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  I lowered my hindquarters and slid across the shingle, leaving long skid marks in the loose gravel. My front paws still hit the shallow edge of the lake, its cold numbing my flesh instantly.

  “Damn, that’s cold,” I commented, standing up and withdrawing my feet.

  “That’s why it’s not good idea to swim. You’ve miles of open water to cross. You’d freeze to death before you got halfway.”

  I wanted to howl my frustration. Instead, I glanced back, over my shoulder. The small brown and white shaggy hounds crested the hilltop above me, and paused, panting. They gazed down, not certain, now they had me in sight, whether they dared attack. Behind them, horses snorted, the jingle of bits, hoof beats, and the guttural speech of the hunters grew loud in my ears.

  They’d be upon me within moments if I didn’t act soon. My anger rose, along with my thought processes. Spinning about, leaving a spray of fine gravel and water in my wake, I galloped along the shoreline. The forest grew thicker, closer to the water’s edge and I ducked under its shielding cover. The hounds could go wherever I did, I knew, but the horsemen would be slowed by the close-knit trees and snarling branches.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “The devil has come,” I answered grimly. “They’ll wish, very soon, they hunted easier prey.”

  Unfortunately, the forest failed me. Once away from the lake, the tree line retreated, returning to its former thickets of spruce, pine, evergreen and balsam, with the ever present clusters of thorny bushes. The quasi-open tundra returned, tiny rose and purple flowers bloomed on its face, tiny striped rodents dropped quickly behind rocks the instant they sighted me. Birds shrieked in terror and rose into the sky as I blasted through and past them.

  With all the open ground available to me, I ran hard, fast, my long legs eating up the miles. I leaped thickets, clumps of rocks and stones, even a few startled deer. The small herd burst in all directions under my shadow as I cleared them by a good several feet. As I ran, I cast about the area for the ground I’d need to fight from. Choose your ground, I’d been taught for years uncounted. That advice served me well in the arena, and would certainly serve me now.

  Another hill stood in my way, and I galloped up toward its crest. Crowned with thickets of winter trees and large piles of boulders, it contained more hazards and places to hide in than many of the hills and open land I’d just passed. Ah, that looked possible. I slowed from a headlong run to a trot. The ring of big rocks and huge pine trees looks promising, I thought, glancing around.

  “What have you in mind?”

  I ignored Darius for the moment as I walked about, eying the tall trees and rocks above me. Like a fortress, the combination of trees and fallen boulders created a natural ring of defense. The more I nosed about, the better I liked it. The element of surprise, I thought – what a delightful concept. I walked under the trees, scoping for a stout branch that might hold my weight.

  “A tree?” Darius scoffed. “Wolves don’t climb trees.”

  “Ah,” I replied, sitting down beneath a huge pine tree and gazing raptly upward. “I suspect, very soon, you’ll wish you gave them that ability.”

  High above me, yet within a distance a four-legged predator might leap without harming himself, I spied a thick, stout branch. The pine boughs below it were thin and sparse. If I jumped down from there, I’d hit very little until I dropped down among them.

  “Just how do you propose to get up there?”

  “Oh, ye of little faith.”

  I loped out of the ring of trees and rocks, and ran around, casting my scent all over the hilltop. After I created more tracks and odor than they’d know what to do with, I finally slowed to a halt. I paused long enough to listen, my nose scenting the air. Ah, on they came. They rode forward, their voices confident, strong, brave. They’d no fear, for what mere wolf might stand against their skills and arms? I all but read their minds. They sought to kill a large and rather handsome wolf –

  “Getting a bit conceited, are we?”

  When they killed me, they’d brag about this hunt for years on end. They’d have the pleasure of skinning the largest wolf that ever walked the earth. I’d no doubt they’d display my hide for the admiration of generations to come. My teeth and claws decorated their brave necks, thereby granting them prowess on the next hunt.

  Unless I turned the tables on them.

  “How do you propose to get up there?”

  “Like this.”

  I changed myself into my human form. The cold air hit my thinly covered body, while not dangerously cold, was uncomfortable, and dressed as I was in my thin cotton, sleeveless tunic, breeches, boots and sword. If I can, I thought, I should obtain warmer clothing for moments like these.

  Chilled, my flesh broke out in goose pimples, and I rubbed my arms to warm them. My steel cuffs clanked against my copper armbands. Magic, inherited from Rygel’s blood, surged when I called upon it. Like before, I translocated myself into a different place.

  Onto the big limb, high above the rocky clearing I chose as my battlefield.

  My teeth chattered as I walked on hands and knees out onto the harsh, bark-covered branch. It held me up just fine, and even my greater wolf weight would pose no issue to its strength. Could my wolf paws hold on? If I balanced just right -

  The numbing chill drove me back into my wolf body faster than I wanted. Instantly, before I was quite ready, I changed back into my furred black clothing. My chest loosened, and I breathed again, warm once more within my thick pelt. My balance shifted, threatening to toss me down to the ground. With an effort, I steadied myself. My paws, like my hands, held onto the broad tree limb safely. As long as I didn’t try anything fancy, I could stand here and wait. Patient and ready, for my prey to walk below.

  “You’re too smart for a human.”

  “I know,” I replied, smug. “You think too much like a wolf. Now shut up and don’t distract me.”

  I peered down, my ears lifted to catch the slightest sound. And there they rode, right on schedule.

  The small, long-haired, white and brown coursers arrived first. Baying and barking, they followed, noses to the stony and pine needle strewn ground, my scent around and about the area. Their noise quieted as their confusion grew, with my odor falling back upon itself many times. They trotted back and forth, long, shaggy tails waving, as they sought where my trail ended and my next trail began. Lost, they barked occasionally, still sniffing, tails high and yet proud. They’d eventually find where I went, their body language stated loudly.

  One small dog found my scent at the tree and bayed, setting up a fierce sound that told the others he knew more than they. When his mates arrived and my scent went no further, the hounds sat down, scratched behind ears and nosed about again. Despite their confusion, they still tried to discover where the blazes I went.

  I heard the horses, spurred hard, snorting as they galloped across the hard-covered rocky soil. Whips cracked, four voices spoke in a guttural language I didn’t recognize. I crouched lo
w on my branch, maintaining my delicate balance with an effort, gazing below, rapt.

  The horsemen entered the rock and tree filled clearing I picked, pointing whips at the disappointed hounds, talking in their infernal dialect. I suspected they asked each other where I’d gone. However, none, not even the hounds, could answer that question.

  From above, I looked them over. These folk obviously adapted well to the harsh, mountain climate. They wore, under their thick woolen cloaks, tunics and leggings of heavy elk hide, cunningly sewn to fit them. They wore the thick fur hide to the inside, with the oiled, water-proofed and wind-proofed leather on the outside. Deep hoods of fur, currently thrown back over their shoulders, kept out the wind, snow and slashing ice. Thick waterproof, fur-lined boots covered their feet. In all, I saw men accustomed to the deepest cold in this high altitude climate.

  They rode their shaggy, small, ribby horses around the small clearing, searching for any way they might translate my footprints into something tangible, something they could use to track me down. They failed, to their obvious consternation.

  ‘Twas as though I’d grown wings and flown away.

  Not quite, I thought, crouching.

  “Don’t break a leg,” Darius warned.

  “No worries,” I replied absently, gathering myself. “It’s all good.”

  As the horses circled, and their riders’ attention diverted, my timing couldn’t be better. The hounds sat down, having giving up the chase. They lay down in the cold sunshine, panting, often scratched ears or licked their paws. Within the group of four riders, an opening broke. I spotted a place where I might jump down amid them, thus spooking their horses all at once. No horse on earth could withstand a wolf my size leaping down among them and not react. I counted on this.

  I leaped, not out, but down.

  I broke the smaller branches below, my bulk shattering them into tiny pieces. Dead needles on the branches blew out in all directions, adding a very nice bit of drama to the entire event. Wood and debris fell with me, but I dropped harder and faster than they.

  At the first sound of cracking wood, in the first half-instant my body struck branches and needles, the scrawny horses jumped, alarmed. Their riders reined them in, cursing, jabbing spurs into hides, curbing equine mouths sharply. They controlled their horses for only that one brief moment.

  When I, snarling, huge and black, dropped among them, the horses bolted, and ignored those measly things like bits and spurs.

  Two or three bucked as they fled, dispatching their startled riders into the deadwood, thorny bushes and rocks. The last one simply ran wild, ignoring its rider’s commands and bore the hapless man away, back down the hill.

  The hounds, small and trained for tracking, not for fighting, squealed in panic and also retreated as a group, toward safety.

  I hit the ground, paws first, and the hard jolt all but sent me flying. As I braced myself for such an impact as this, I merely rebounded, still on my feet. The covered tundra caught much of my weight, cushioning my strike to the ground, sending dead needles flying about me. That not only added to my ability to recover from the drop, it added quite a sensational stir among the light debris and dead branches that fell with me. The hunters, stunned from their falls, floundered on the ground. They slipped and slid in their attempt to regain their feet and their weapons.

  I seized that precious advantage.

  Snarling like a hellhound, I lunged at the poor primitive hunters. Like their horses, they couldn’t long withstand a black wolf who outweighed three of them together with fangs longer than their hands that leapt to attack. Theirs was the courage to hunt and kill for survival, band together to fight their enemies and protect their homes, children and hunting grounds. They’d not the kind of courage to face daemons vomited up from hell itself.

  Screaming in panic, they bolted in all directions, falling to the ground, holding up their arms in self-defense. None drew a sword or a dagger to defend himself. They cried out in terror. Though I didn’t understand their lingo, I guessed they called upon their gods to save them in their guttural tongue. For they felt certain I was the devil himself, a daemon from old. No doubt, evil incarnate now walked among them to rend and slay and take down into hell their very souls.

  Of course, I was none of these things.

  I pounced on the one I suspected was their leader. His was the voice I heard the most, encouraging the others, ever leading the pack. He forced the small, timid hounds onto my trail. He’d set an excellent example for the others. Upon him I leaped, crushing him beneath my weight. I snapped my fangs a mere fraction of an inch from his bloodless face.

  He screamed, his pale blue eyes wide in horror and panic. His already naturally pale flesh waxed into an ever whiter hue. His mouth bowed down in a wide ‘o’, a grimace of pure unadulterated terror. Beneath me, his body quaked, and the sharp odor of his urine flooded my nostrils.

  Still snarling, my very white, very long, fangs bared, I backed slowly away to allow him room. On his butt, hands pushing at the fractured stones and deadwood, he propelled himself from me and into the comforting arms of his buddy. They huddled close together as I rounded up the other loose hunter and set fangs to arse. Nipping and growling, I sent the wayward primitive to join the leader and his pal.

  In a bunch, like frightened sheep, they clustered in a tight knot. Hands drew bronze swords from belts, as though their weapons could possibly protect them. Their horses, freed from constraint, sensed they weren’t my target this day. They, too, found safety in close proximity to one another, their tails turned to the chilly breeze. Like their humans, they trembled, staring with wide, white-rimmed eyes. Tails slashed across their rear quarters though no flies teased their asses.

  The small hounds, finding my sheer size and bulk more than enough of a threat than my bared teeth, crept into the shadow of my tree. There they sat under a sheltering pine bough, shivering and whining, awaiting their turn to fall under my anger. Unlike the Tongu hounds, these mutts were bred for the scent and the chase, not the kill.

  The killers, their masters, clutched one another like children as I advanced, circling slowly. My hackles stiff and erect on my shoulders, my tail a tough bristle behind me, I stalked ever closer to the hunters. Once the hunted, now the hunter, I showed them the length of my fangs, growling low in my chest. My size alone topped all three of them in sheer size and weight.

  All fight went out of them. Though they held swords in their hands, one might think the blades as harmless as twigs for all the threat they held. Weeping, stuttering prayers or imprecations, the trio cowered with their arms sheltering their heads and vulnerable faces.

  “What’s that human saying? Like fish in a barrel?”

  The lone hunter, whose horse bolted with him into safety, returned. With a shout, he spurred his horse toward me, an arrow nocked and aimed. Obviously, he sought to play the hero, slay the beast and free his companions who, no doubt, would praise his skills in the taproom and buy him kegs of beer.

  Wheeling, cat-quick, I snarled and lunged toward the horse and rider. Screaming, the skinny grey horse reared, front legs flailing. It dumped its human over its rump. The hunter’s arrow flew wide, striking the tree branches far over my head, as the human in question hit the hard ground flat on his back. Loosened spruce needles spiraled down to dust my hackles.

  Free, the panicked horse bolted to mingle with its brethren. The fallen hunter squirmed in the dust and dirt, and cried aloud as I pounced on him. My fangs snapped inches from his throat as I poured all my impotent fury and grief into the growls that emerged from my jaws. Tears of terror and fright streamed down his narrow cheeks to mingle with the scanty beard on his jaws. His odor of sweat, dirt and unwashed human offended my sensitive nostrils. I’d need gallons of fresh clean water to wash the scent and taste of him from my mouth.

  Using his chest as a springboard, I leapt off him. Nipping, snarling, I forced him to his feet. He rose, half-crouching as if to flee, his hand reaching for the long dagger
at his hip. I lunged forward, faster than he, and snapped my fangs. I bit his hand, not as hard as I might, but definitely hard enough to bring blood. He shrieked, withdrawing his wounded hand and held it close to his chest. I wanted to spit out the nasty taste of him, but instead snarled and nipped his buttocks. I forced him backward, toward his companions. He yelped, jumping, and dodged away from me, his movements as jerky and short as a poorly manipulated marionette.

  As a dog herded cattle, I forced him over to his companions. They took him in, still trying to threaten me with their bared blades with their backs to the rocks. They’d no place to go, just as I’d planned. Amid the ring of combined trees and solid boulders, I trapped them completely. With the rocks behind them and my bulk and my fangs to their front, they were now mine to toy with.

  I felt faint surprised when none actually tried to attack me. Desperate men often showed the greatest valor.

  “You’ve them frightened silly.”

  “Great fear can lead to great courage,” I replied. “These? Do they know what it means to fight for the life of another?”

  Ignoring the steel pointed toward me, I changed into my human form.

  Ignoring the tirade of cold that abused my unprotected body, I whipped my sword from its sheath. Gasps of shock greeted my return to humanity. Spinning it, I made it sing, its high-pitched whistle raw in the now silent, mountain air.

  The four of them forgot to breathe. Their squinty eyes bulged in their sockets. Four sets of mouths dropped, baring yellow teeth and nasty tonsils. My change of clothes, rather than reassure them, brought them closer to death by fear-induced heart failure.

  Scowling, I stepped toward them.

  “Can you understand me?” I demanded, giving them the full force of the flat glare that many men witnessed before they met their maker.

  Three of them sank back. Their hands pushed at the one I suspected all along led them; the singular voice I’d heard encouraging the mutts and his fellows into the hunt. They understood me, all right. All but thrusting him forward, onto his knees and hands, they demanded he speak on their behalf. And die for them, if that’s what I demanded.