by Greg Curtis
He feared her too, something he soon rediscovered as he spotted her running towards the rest of her pack, knives in hand. She had a pair of curved daggers that he knew she was very capable of using. Very willing to use as well. In fact, they claimed that she laughed as she cut her victims into little pieces with them. But what really scared him was the long, black completely wild hair and the look of insanity in her eyes. The strange inhuman howling that came out of her mouth. The woman was not of the civilised world. In fact, she was as wild as her pack. And she was everything the tales had spoken of. She had no place in the city.
Fortunately, she didn't spot him. She, no more than her wolves thought to look up into the shadows, even when she saw the gaping wounds in her wolf's back. But then why would she think to? Who would imagine that a panther was loose in the Arcanium? It gave him time to quietly leap across a few more shelves as he headed towards the door and to safety. In the end he didn't care why the wolf mother was there. He just wanted to be gone.
Sadly, just as he reached the shelves nearest the wall of the east wing the arcanist came running in having heard the commotion, and then came to a crashing halt just inside the double doors as he spotted the wolves. Everything stopped then. The wolf mother and her pack stood where they were, staring at the arcanist who in turn stared back at them. And Briagh stood there on the top of the shelf, frozen in place, realising that he had no idea what to do next.
The wolf mother was the first to break the stillness, screaming something incoherent at her pack. In an instant the pack charged toward the terrified arcanist who suddenly realised he was about to die. He turned, but not nearly fast enough, and Briagh knew as time seemed to slow that the only reason he wasn't already dead was the stone tile floor. The wolves couldn't retract their claws and with them extended they weren't getting much purchase on the dusty tiles. It slowed them down. But still the man only had heartbeats to live.
Briagh leapt down, grabbed the back of the arcanist's robe in his teeth, practically hurled him through the double doors and then ran after him. A heartbeat later he morphed back into human form and slammed the doors shut behind them. They were solid oak doors, twelve feet high, and weighed as much as a heavy man each. But just then they seemed light as a feather.
He was only just quick enough as he felt the impact of the first of the wolves smashing into them. But he didn't care. As long as they were on the other side of the doors. His main concern was their leader, because she was the only member of the pack who could open a door. A chair pushed up against the door, it's back lodged firmly under the brass handles, made sure that she couldn't. Of course the fact that he’d now shifted back into human form but was naked except for his royal wolf hound collar, meant he had caught the attention of the arcanist.
“Who? … What?” The man just stood there and stammered at Briagh.
“I wouldn't open that door if I were you.” Briagh managed a polite nod, even as he pulled the collar off and hurled it to the floor. It was tight around his neck when he was in human form and there was no point in keeping it on. His ruse of the past few years had ended. “The wolf mother doesn't like company.”
And just to emphasise his words there were a couple more heavy thuds as big furry bodies threw themselves at the door. And even as the stared at the door, someone tried to turn the handle from the other side. They both knew who that was on the other side of the door.
That Briagh decided was his hint to leave. The door would probably hold, but he couldn't be completely certain. And as the arcanist stared fearfully at the door he knew he wasn't alone in his doubts.
“Maybe you should grab a rifle and some friends too.” With that he walked out of the Arcanium, probably for the last time, shifted into his panther form, and headed for the snow and his own, freezing cold home.
Damn the wolf mother! Damn her to the lowest underworld! He had been comfortable.
Chapter Two
Elan was annoyed at having been pulled from her bed at such an early hour. The sun wasn't even up – so why was she?
Not that she had a choice. She had so little choice about much in her life. But then she was a princess. That was her lot in life. A title, servants and some tokens of respect, but no actual power. Even her title showed her powerlessness. Her brothers would be addressed as “Your Highness” or “My Lord”. She was simply addressed as “Princess”. And the only time she would ever be addressed as something more was when she wed and became queen. And even then her title and every order she gave would only be followed out of respect to her husband, the king. Were her husband to die before she had born any heirs, she would no longer be the queen. At best, if she had a son, she would be regent until he reached the age when he could rule. Women had no power in Abylon. Not even royal women.
It was just too cold to be walking the hallways of the palace Elan thought. Especially at this hour. Normally she wouldn't even be up yet. She would stay in bed long enough for the servants to get all the fires burning before she risked putting her feet on the cold stone floors. But not today. The messengers had woken her up and all but dragged her out of her bedchamber in the darkness. And all they could say as they insisted she head to the private audience chamber, was that it was urgent.
Urgent! As if anything she did could be urgent. She was only the princess. The youngest child. She had a father who was the king. Two older brothers who were his successors. And while they were all completely mad they still had more say in the matters of the kingdom than she did. Her father some days thought he was descended from a line of wolfhounds. Other days he thought he was a wolfhound. Her eldest brother Myrim barked in public – or would have were he ever allowed out in public again – and often refused to wear clothes or walk on two legs. Sal meanwhile had forgotten how to speak. Her father and Myrim had better days and worse ones. Sal’s were all bad.
But as bad as that was, it was her mother who had been the worst afflicted by the curse. She now believed she was a wolf and had given up nearly everything that was human. These days she lived in the sewers with her pack and spent her time hunting down the people of Abysynth. She had become the wolf mother.
None of her family were now able to make any sort of intelligent decision. A lot of the time they couldn't even speak. Which ironically left her as the only member of the royal family with the wit to decide anything – but with no authority to make any decision. In her own way, she was as useless as the rest of her family. Cursed not by a morph but by her very birth.
Still, she had to keep up appearances. At least one member of the family had to appear as though she had some interest in the affairs of state. Someone had to at least give the impression that the royal family were in charge of things. And sometimes – just sometimes mind – the Court even listened to her.
Today though might not be that day. In fact, she was certain it wouldn't be. It looked bad. As she walked into the private audience chamber and saw the fifteen of so members of the Court's inner circle standing there like a gaggle of worried geese waiting for her, she couldn't help but notice the grim looks on their faces. All of them had been pulled out of their beds at this ungodly hour just like her, and none of them looked too happy about it.
These were the most powerful men in the realm. The heads of the fifteen noble houses that in effect ruled the realm. If the king had been in any state to give commands and make decisions, they would have been nothing more than advisers and petitioners to the throne. But with him as he was and her brothers unable to step into his shoes, they were now acting in the king’s stead – something they were desperate to conceal.
They didn't conceal it out of hope that the family would recover. There was little hope of that left after a decade. They did it out of desperation. Everything in the kingdom happened by the authority of the king. The collection of taxes, imposition of laws and rendering of judgements. None of that could happen without a king. In truth, they would have accepted almost anyone from the wider royal family who could have legitimately sat o
n the throne. But her father had no brothers or married sisters, let alone nephews. Abylon actually had no one in line to rule other than her mad father and brothers. And a kingdom without a king, regent, or heirs was effectively not a kingdom. It was anarchy. And anarchy was another name for disaster.
These men feared what would happen to Abylon if the people ever found out. More than that they feared what would happen if the rest of the greater Court found out. What would happen if some of the nobles refused to pay their taxes? Who would give the order to seize their property or could render judgement? If they were attacked, who could command the armies? So the royal court had cobbled together a system whereby the king in his more lucid moments was seen, and the rest of the time all the decisions were made by the royal court and the royal assent was given by a nod only they saw. Or pretended to see. They had done so for an entire decade while they waited for a new king. These were not only powerful men, but desperate ones.
It didn't help that every so often her father was seen doing something completely mad. It made their pretence that he was in some way fit to rule that much harder to pull off. Most of Abylon knew the king was mad. But fortunately, they believed that it was a manageable condition. That it came and went. And that much of the time he could do the things he needed to. But if they had known the truth!
It was an unusual sight that greeted her. Fifteen lords ranging in age from old to ancient, standing in the huge room, dressed in their heaviest dress coats and by the looks of things still trying to shake off the cold. All of them should be back in their homes, safely tucked up in their beds. Just like her. Instead here they were, all currently clustered together in the middle of the chamber, while all around them heavy wooden chairs and massive oak tables, sat unused. The fifteen-foot-high velvet curtains were still drawn to keep the cold from coming in, and the two fireplaces were burning brightly, casting a yellowish glow over everything. A glow that the dim light from the electric lamps didn’t overcome.
But it was more than unusual; it was disturbing. Something about the sight reminded her of the day when she'd first been brought back hurriedly from her boarding school to see them and be told that the entire royal family was no longer fit to rule. Then they had looked just as grim, the expressions on their faces as dour as those of the priests intoning the rights for the dead. And now she had to wonder as she had before; had someone died? She became even more convinced of how serious things were when she heard the servants close the huge double doors behind her and slide the bars into place. Apparently no one could know what was to be said.
That didn't normally happen. But then normally everyone would have sat around the tables, being served drinks and food by the servants, not standing huddled together in the centre of the room, speaking in hushed voices like frightened school girls with one another. Then again, if things had been truly normal her father would have been there, taking advice from his inner circle and giving his orders. Instead he was currently locked away in his private quarters with a few trusted retainers, knowing nothing of what was happening. If it was a good day, he might be wearing clothes. If not, he might be howling at the moon.
Even the Court's meeting in his private audience chamber was a fiction meant to convince the realm that the king was still in command. There was a private hallway that led from this chamber to the royal quarters, and as far as most of the servants and guards knew, the king would be with them shortly, to discuss whatever important matters of state had brought them all here at this hour. It was what everyone would be told.
“My Lords.”
Elan greeted them formally as she always did, and as always had to resist the urge to point out that there were no ladies with them. It was just the fifteen lords in their various courtly outfits, standing around looking worried, and of course her major domo Julius. But there never would be any ladies present save her. This was Abylon and women had no place outside the home. In other lands it was different. In some lands women actually had a say – particularly in the fae realms. But not in Abylon. Here they were little more than ornaments. It was the way it had always been and the way it would continue to be.
Of course it could be worse. In the barbarian realm of Grole women were considered property, and treated less well than most animals. However, in this place and time she did have some small say. She was there because she was the only remaining member of the royal family capable of rendering a sensible decision on anything, and because the Court were desperate not to officially usurp the king's authority. She could provide at least the illusion that there was some legitimacy to the decisions they made. They didn't expect her to speak, nor did they want her to. They just wanted her to be there as a sort of royal seal of approval.
That was her duty. It was also her duty to eventually provide them with their new king through hand-fasting. Because they desperately needed a king. And if it ever got out that it wasn't just the king who was unfit to rule, but also his heirs, the people would panic. And if they learned that the queen was alive but could not act as regent either because she was not just mad but out roaming the streets like a wild animal killing and devouring people, it would be worse. There was a reason they had declared the queen as dead. Unfit to rule was one thing. Transformed into a homicidal maniac was another.
“Princess.” Julius, her major domo by default owing to her father's incapacity, greeted her respectfully.
“Why am I here Julius?” Elan tried not to let her annoyance at being woken and brought here so early show. Whatever this was it had to be important. And Julius was the one man here who did not deserve her ire. He was a good man and a friend, something she confirmed to everyone by addressing him simply as Julius. He was a Lord of the realm himself, so should have been addressed as Lord Julius Mayburg. As a friend however, he much preferred the simplicity of common names. None of these other lords would ever have accepted such treatment from her. But then she wouldn't have given it either.
Julius had helped to raise her after her family had been struck down by the morph. He had kept her family's secrets. And it was only because of him that she even got to be invited to meetings of the Court. That she was consulted at all. Besides, he wasn't a young man anymore and he surely hadn't appreciated being pulled out of bed any more than she had. In fact, she thought, his wrinkles had grown a lot deeper lately and the grey of his hair was turning white.
“Because Princess, your mother has been seen again.”
Elan sighed. Once those words from the major-domo would have excited her. Filled her with hope – or fear. Either they'd finally caught her – or they’d killed her. No longer. Years of hope and fear had gradually shrivelled away to nothing. The sighting meant nothing to her
“Every week someone sees her Julius. Or dies at her hands. Or from an attack of her wolves.”
It was the sorry truth. Her mother was dangerous. The doctors said she suffered from an incurable mania. Her father and brothers were simply mad – something that was hidden as much as possible from the people – but her mother was maniacal as well. She had descended into some sort of feral state where she truly believed she was a wolf. She lived with her pack. She hunted and killed with them as well. Once she had been a kind woman and a loving mother. Now she no longer recognised her family. Or her humanity. In a very real way she was no longer her mother. Elan had had to live with that understanding every day for the past ten years.
To the rest of the realm she was the wolf mother. To Elan she was simply her mother. But no one outside of this chamber knew that. They all believed that the queen was dead. That she had fallen from her balcony. To the outside world the wolf mother was just a wild woman.
“But this time she's turned her hand to robbery. Of the Arcanium.”
“Robbery?” That was new. Normally her mother had the same wants and needs as the rest of her pack. Food and a safe place to rest. Her lair they believed to be somewhere under the city. In the sewers. A place she would never have gone when she had been in her right mind. And though
it was an abomination, their food was people. So what she did wasn't normally called robbery. It was called murder – and worse.
Elan had no idea at all how many people her mother had killed. No one did. The chances were that most of the victims had never even been missed. Her hunting ground was mainly the Escarpment and the Docks. Most of those they attacked were loners. Ladies of the night or their patrons. Drunks tossed out on the streets after the alehouses closed. Sailors. A few thieves. People without families to miss them. Who else would be out alone at night?
