by Greg Curtis
Out in the hallway she followed her lady’s maid at a near run to the stairs at the end of the east wing, and while it wasn't a long trip by the time she reached them she was puffing. It was all that sitting and sewing, she thought sourly. It was wrecking her fitness.
Elan ran up the two flights of stairs and along the hallway to her chambers, all the while wondering if this was really necessary. After all, she couldn't hear anything untoward. But then again the east wing was in the opposite direction from the courtyard. She wouldn't hear anything outside.
But then a growl echoed down the hallway and she forgot all her doubts.
“Run!” she yelled at Ayvelen, urging the poor girl on and redoubled her own efforts as well. Because she knew the wolf was somewhere behind her. She could hear its feet scrabbling for purchase on the marble tiles. She could almost feel its breath on the back of her neck. And she was unarmed.
Ten paces from the door to her chambers, Elan knew she was out of time. She could hear the wolf clearly as it gave chase and knew she wouldn't make it. But she would make the suit of armour which was right beside her, and that held a great sword conveniently in its gauntlets. A sword she grabbed even as she spun to face her attacker.
Her move was too fast, and she ended up tumbling, sword in hand, while pieces of armour flew everywhere. But her mistake saved her life as the wolf sailed past her, unable to twist in mid-air. And by the time it was up, she was too; great sword before her.
It was a big weapon, far larger than the slim blade she normally practised with, and it was blunt. She also barely knew the two-handed moves. But as the wolf turned and came at her again she discovered that she knew them well enough and with her adrenalin pumping the sword felt strangely light in her hands.
The wolf leapt and somehow she managed to point the tip of the sword at its chest. After that things became confused.
Elan was knocked backwards by the weight of the charging wolf, and fell on to the cold marble floor. A woman screamed and a wolf snarled in fury. Her heart was beating a thousand times as fast as it should. Desperately she scrambled to her feet, terrified that the wolf was about to bite her.
But once up, she realised she was safe for the moment. The wolf had a foot of steel in its chest. And while it was still alive, it was growling its last. Somehow she'd managed to kill it.
For what seemed like an eternity she stared at it, amazed by what she'd done. The howling of other wolves however soon brought her back to the urgency of the situation. Wolves hunted in packs.
Elan dashed for the door to her chambers even as Ayvelen held it open for her. The moment she was through they slammed it shut and pushed a heavy wooden divan against it, just in case. It was only then that she knew she was safe. No wolf was getting through that door.
Elan collapsed on to the divan, all her strength suddenly spent, and sat there trying to make sense of things while Ayvelen sobbed hysterically. And the only thing that made sense was that this must be her mother's doing. First she'd attacked the Arcanium, now it was the palace. But why? And how was she getting her pack in and out of the Imperial Quarter? Even into the palace? And most important of all, how many wolves were currently roaming the palace?
A few minutes later when she'd recovered enough of her breath, Elan managed to stand up and go to the window. She opened it and stepped out on to the balcony that sat five stories above the ground. From her chambers she couldn't see the courtyard where everything was supposed to be happening. But she did have a perfect view over the stables and training yards. And there she could see bodies. Lots of bodies.
“Ayvelen, bring me my bow.” She didn't look around as she gave her command. She didn't need to. She knew Ayvelen would do as she commanded. And just then she couldn't take her eyes off the sight of the dead men below.
The dead weren’t soldiers. They were stable hands and workers. Many of them were only boys. And they hadn't been armed. Why would they be? At least a dozen of them were dead. Meanwhile the horses had bolted, save for a couple which were being pulled down by half a dozen wolves. And mixed in among the wolves, she saw a few larger beasts which she instantly knew to be their cousins – dire wolves. She'd never seen one before, but the size and the shaggy fur was unmistakeable.
So now her mother's pack had dire wolves. How was that even possible?
Elan quickly forgot her questions as her servant brought her, her longbow and a quiver of arrows. Then methodically she set about killing the wolves. It wasn't easy. She was some distance away and the wolves kept moving. So even though her aim was good, most of her arrows missed anything vital. But at least she usually hit something. Enough to make the beasts howl in pain and slow them down so she could hit them again. Maybe if she'd had a rifle things would have been better – bullets could crack steel plate after all – but rifles weren't considered suitable for women and her pistol wasn't accurate enough. Thankfully longbows were quieter and quicker to reload.
Moments later she saw a squad of imperial soldiers come running around the side of the castle and take on the wolves. Carnage followed as both men and wolves were killed and torn apart in front of her. The dire wolves were powerful beasts and their teeth could pierce armour. But the soldiers were well armed and trained. Her father had insisted on that before his lapse into madness, and the Court had continued his instructions. It was almost an even contest.
The wolves charged the soldiers as they saw them, mouths flecked with saliva and howling for all they were worth. Most of them were knocked back by gauntleted fists and bayonets fixed to the ends of the rifles. But a few got through the front line and wreaked havoc among the soldiers behind them, despite some of the wolves being wounded. They were fast and determined and those soldiers in the back simply weren't prepared for them.
The dire wolves were worse as even when they got skewered on the bayonets they didn't stop. Their momentum carried them on, knocking down the soldiers in their twos and threes, and then biting and tearing through the rest. It took multiple stabbings to kill them, and while bullets would have been more useful, no one had time to reload. This was no organised battle with lines of soldiers standing and firing with military precision at the oncoming enemy lines. It was a maul. A free for all where any thought of tactics and strategy were forgotten and there was only the most ancient imperative – to kill or be killed.
By the end of the battle at least another dozen men lay dead on the ground while several dozen wolves had joined them. Those men who were still standing were wounded and bleeding. But it wasn't the end of the attack. Not when she could hear more howling and more men screaming. It was barely the beginning. Quickly the surviving soldiers began to regroup, reloaded their weapons and then ran back around the corner of the building to where the battle had been joined. No longer being able to see what was happening Elan could only hope that the soldiers were winning.
But in time as she stood there, longbow in hand as she waited for some more wolves to enter into range, she understood one more thing. This wasn't a battle at all. Battles ended. This one kept on going. And it was an attack on the castle. On the royal family. And that was always about power and about the throne. So it wasn't a battle. It wasn't even a raid. It was a war.
Her mother had just declared war on Abylon.
Chapter Six
Life confined to the four walls of his shack was boring. Especially after a week of it.
Not that his home was a shack – not really. It had four good, solid walls and a roof that kept the rain out. Glass windows would have been welcome but they were expensive and the slats worked well enough. He also had plenty of heavy rugs on the cold stone floor and a huge roaring fire. It was safe too, with nothing in it to give away the fact that the owner was a morph. The wooden floors had no scratches in them from his claws. Any hairs that he shed were cleaned up daily. There was of course no shrine to Morphia. No shrine to Elm Tibesh either. But being safe wasn't enough. He didn't like being cooped up in his home day after day. He wanted his freedom.
After all there were only so many times you could throw the dice against the walls and see what you rolled. So many times you could read the same few books. So many variations of hounds and geese or senat you could play against yourself. So many times you could solve the same puzzles again and again.
Normally Briagh would be out visiting the markets, having lunch in the alehouse, and maybe scouting out his next burglary. And at night he'd often enough be in the Arcanium, staying warm and listening to the conversations of the most learned men in Abylon. Sometimes he'd spend the night in the palace listening to the conversations of the Court nobles. Or the guards who were often more fun. Occasionally it would be the various merchants’ guilds that provided him with warmth and shelter for the night. No one ever said no to a royal wolfhound. But now that at least someone knew of his deception that option was gone. In time he could return to wandering the city as a wolfhound. But he could never return to the Arcanium.
It was also expensive and exhausting staying home. His supply of firewood was dwindling fast as he had to keep the fire burning day and night. It was why he was presently out in the yard, axe in hand, chopping wood. He was also spending a lot of coin on food when he normally didn't have to. After all, no one objected when a royal wolfhound helped himself to a meal from the table. Now he was having to cook for himself.
It also didn't help that he found himself brooding about all the silverware in Lord Iria's warehouse that he could be stealing. That he should be stealing. Theft was more than a means of keeping himself fed. It had started that way of course. What else could a ten-year-old boy do with no parents and having to run from town to town? But over time it had become a way of life. Perhaps not a noble one. But still, it was one he found value in. He liked the challenge of getting into places that others couldn't. Getting out unseen. Thwarting the locks and evading the guards. And taking from those who already had far too much, and who were far too proud of their wealth. They deserved to be robbed.
But he knew that while the inquisitor was around he needed to stay out of sight. Let people forget about him. He wanted people to not be thinking of him when questions were asked in the markets. And if someone did by chance remember him, and worse, it was someone who knew he was a thief, he wanted them to not know where he lived. Which, he had always made sure, they didn't. Being unnoticed for someone who had spent his entire life running and hiding, was important.
He supposed he was safe for the moment. Even so, he'd made up his mind that when spring finally arrived – if it ever did – he was leaving Abysynth. It was time to find a new home in a new city. Things had become too dangerous here. The wolf mother was said to be roaming the streets more often – though that could just be the bards earning coin. It also seemed to him that more guards were patrolling the streets though he didn't know why. But it was a problem for a poor thief trying to earn a dishonest living.
Until spring he would have to spend his days chopping firewood and cooking for himself. Turning the small mountain of minor tree trunks he'd had carted to his home into pieces that would fit in his fire. And turning the last of the food he'd bought from the markets into meals. Later that day he'd have to see to the task of washing his clothes. Yet another chore he wouldn’t normally need to do given his habit of spending so much time as a wolfhound.
The sound of wolves baying in the distance abruptly brought Briagh’s thoughts away from the task at hand. Suddenly he found his heart was racing. As surely were those of his neighbours. He was hot and tired from chopping firewood and cursing the winter that never seemed to end when the sound echoed across the docks. But he quickly forgot those things. Wolves? Out in the open in the city? During the day? Surely they should be holed up somewhere in a den about now? The wolf mother only struck during the night after all. The rest of the time she and her pack weren't seen or heard. Most claimed they were holed up somewhere in the sewer system. Some said that they were hidden away in an abandoned house – though no one could ever seem to identify the house in question. Others claimed factories and warehouses were their hideout. But no one knew.
Then came the unexpected sound of gunfire. Lots of gunfire echoing around the city streets. The sound sent Briagh’s already racing heart into a panicked sprint The battle had been joined.
As the sound of wolves and gunfire continued and spread, it came to Briagh that this wasn't a minor battle. Instinctively he turned toward where the most noise was coming from, hoping to see what was happening. He noticed some of his neighbours doing the same. But there was nothing to see. Only houses and streets filled with snow. And of course more people in the streets, all looking around just as he was. None of them knew what was happening. But whatever it was it was bad.
Soon most of the people in the street started hurrying along it, anxious to get to their homes or to work where they could shelter behind closed doors. His neighbours headed indoors. In short order the snow covered street had divested itself of people.
Sirens started wailing in the distance. It was the signal for the city guards to come out and for people to leave the area. Hearing them Briagh quickly decided that it was time to head indoors and bolt the door. Whatever was happening out there he wanted no part of it. He was a morph. As a panther he could take on a wolf if he had to. But he couldn't take on a pack. And if the wolf mother also had dire wolves in her pack as the bards often claimed, he wasn't sure he could take on one of them either. Still, he was curious. Which was why when he went inside and bolted the door behind him, he then stood by the window with the slats open,
Across the way he could see the faces of his neighbours also staring out of their windows. All of them no doubt had the same questions he himself was asking. What was happening? Why was the wolf mother out during the day? And why was the battle still going? Was she attacking or being attacked? Had she been found? Had her lair been uncovered?
If it had been he thought, that would be a good thing. The wolf mother was a plague on the city. The numbers of deaths laid at her feet were beyond count. But by the sounds of things, it might not be. The gunshots weren't coming from the sewers. They were coming from all directions. And the battle wasn't coming to an end. Instead it seemed that more and more wolves were adding their cries to the howl and more and more shots were being fired. It sounded as though it was coming closer too.
Just how large was her pack? Briagh had never really wondered about that. If he'd been asked he would have guessed it was the size of a normal pack, maybe a score of wolves. Enough to make the mad woman dangerous, but not a force to rival the city guard. She attacked people out alone at night. Sometimes she attacked homes. But not guards. And certainly not groups of guards.
Then a wolf ran down the street past his home, and he stopped wondering about that. Briagh watched it, and then listened as half a dozen shots seemed to follow it. He didn't know if any of them hit – the wolf was already out of sight by the time the guns sounded – but he knew things were getting worse. Especially when he saw three city guards go running down the street after the wolf. Followed maybe thirty heartbeats later by a pair of wolves chasing after them.
Just who was chasing who?
Briagh decided two things then and there. The first was that he wasn't leaving his home for anything until this, whatever it was, was over. He valued the safety of his walls. The other was that he was leaving the city as soon as possible, winter be damned. First inquisitors and now this? No city should have wolves running through the streets.
Then the unearthly wail of the siren whistles began to echo around the city and he started trembling. Everyone started trembling. The whistles were magical. They were made of the nose bones of the magical sea creatures. At sea when a siren whistled the sound would draw sailors from their ships. Many would leap overboard, unable to help themselves as they were drawn by the sound, only to be would be dragged under and devoured by the monsters.
These whistles which had been made from the dead bones of the sea monsters had a slightly different effe
ct. They didn't draw people to them. They paralysed them with fear. In fact they paralysed most creatures.
Some of the city guards had them. A handful perhaps across the city. But to use them was an act of desperation. The wolves would be brought low by them. But so too would the other guards. In fact, everyone save the ones blowing them would be shaking. Those much closer than him would be on the ground. Only the deaf would be immune.
But even a man using one was vulnerable. After all, man couldn't blow a whistle forever. And when he ran out of puff the wolves would have him. And in time as the whistles fell silent Briagh guessed that that was what had happened.
That scared him. If the guards were desperate enough to use siren whistles, and the enemy strong enough to defeat the guards even with them, that spoke of a terrible battle. It spoke of war. Now was the time to hunker down in his home and stay there until things had settled.
The battle continued throughout the afternoon. And as it refused to end it made him again wonder just how many wolves the wolf mother had. A pack or an army?
Unexpectedly the air roared with the sound of cannon fire and soon smoke started filling the sky as fires started burning across the city. Briagh’s nerves only got worse when he heard the cannon roar. Who would be stupid enough to use cannon in the city, he wondered? Or desperate enough? And how effective could they be against fast running wolves?
