by Leah Swann
‘But I have the intelligence of a human and the instincts of a wolf,’ she whispered to herself. ‘That must count for something, surely.’
What would Raizel say?
Do what is true.
‘What does that mean, do what is true?’ said Irina, a little crossly, arguing with herself. ‘What is true? The King is my ruler and I must obey him. That's true. But I know I can help…’
Amicus flew through the window into the passage and down onto her hand. She cupped him and lightly kissed his feathery head.
‘You’ve done good work tonight,’ she whispered. Then a look of resolution crossed her face and she turned and marched back into the Great Hall before her courage could fail her.
The warriors stared at the Princess, still in her violet robe. She dropped into a deep curtsy, blushing to the roots of her hair.
‘What is it?’ King Harmon asked, surprised – and not particularly pleased – to see his daughter in the war room.
‘Father, I just thought, I don't know, in the war – when you fight, you could fight like the wolves do,’ Irina stammered.
‘Go on,’ said Harmon. His arms were crossed and the fingers of his right hand were tapping his arm impatiently.
‘Wolves hunt in packs. We split up and some of us distract our quarry, while the rest come and attack by surprise –’
‘You aren't a wolf any more, Irina,’ said the King. He seemed amused. ‘You needn't worry about us. I am a seasoned warrior, and so are many of the men here; even the farm boys have had training in the midsummer duels.’
‘Oh. I see. Please excuse me,’ said Irina. She turned to leave, feeling foolish.
Harmon watched her go and his brow wrinkled. Irina was a mystery to him. He put her out of his mind. Planning for tomorrow's battle demanded all his attention.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Child's Sword
‘It's going to be hard to get out of here,’ Andor said to Niklas. ‘We’re tied together at the bottom of a pit.’
‘Ah yes. But I may have a trick or two up my sleeve yet,’ said Niklas. ‘I got my first sword when I was nine.’
There was a silence before Andor said dryly, ‘Is now really the time to tell me stories from your childhood?’
‘The point of the story is that I think it might still be here,’ said Niklas. ‘I brought my new sword down here, where no one could see me, to pretend I was killing wicked sprites and the yellow-eyed ogres of the Narrowlands.’
‘Did your father know?’
‘Oh no. This place was forbidden. On the day my father decided to use it as a prison again I was playing down here. The Captain brought the prisoners along this very passage and I was terrified. I dropped the little sword down here,’ Niklas paused a moment, remembering. ‘The Captain caught me, but thank goodness he didn't tell the King – your grandfather was brutal in his punishments. As it was, he was furious that I'd mysteriously lost the sword he'd had wrought specially for me by his own blacksmith. I didn't dare come fetch it – the place was full of Narrowlands prisoners for years.’
‘So it should still be here!’ said Andor, scrabbling about in the dark.
Andor and Niklas swung from side to side, touching every inch of the floor and walls. Layers of muck and dirt had fallen there over the forty years since the King's childhood, and they had to dig. Once or twice they pulled out a large stone or a lump of wood. Then Andor cut his finger on something sharp.
‘Here, Father, I think this is it!’ he shouted with excitement. ‘But it's stuck.’
‘Really?’ said his father, in disbelief. ‘Let me feel it. Yes. I think you're right. It's sharp enough.’
After several failed attempts to pull it out, Niklas said, ‘Let’s just rub the ropes against this small section of blade until they are cut.’
‘It will take forever,’ groaned Andor.
‘Better get started, then.’
Before daybreak, King Harmon mounted Skyloch, a shimmering golden stallion that stood eighteen hands high. He led the cavalry from the castle to the fields of flat, open land beyond the city.
Irina, lying on the floor of her bedroom – her new goose-feather bed was too soft – awoke, her keen hearing picking up the activity in the stables far below.
She got up and pulled on some old farm clothes: a homespun dress and trousers. She found her fur vest and put that on, too, for extra warmth, then tied her hair roughly behind each ear with strips of leather. Next to her bed was the little gold crown inlaid with a single sapphire. Irina had never cared much for pretty things, but this was a special present from the King and Queen. Faint starlight coming in from the window lit on the sapphire and it glinted up at her like a dark blue eye. It was the most precious thing she had ever seen.
She lifted the crown and put it on, taking the two long iron clips she had worn earlier and fastening the crown firmly into her unbrushed hair. Quietly, she hurried down the unfamiliar stairways to the stables. There, in an empty stall, she found the stable boy she had spoken to a few days earlier.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Robin,’ the boy stammered, staring at her crown. ‘I’ve taken good care of Adriel for you. She's the only horse left.’
Irina followed Robin to the back of the stables, passing rows of empty stalls. The masses of hooks and shelves that held the saddles were bare. Adriel stood in a narrow stall at the end, luminous in the dark. Irina reached out and the horse nuzzled her palm.
‘Thank you for taking such good care of her, Robin,’ said Irina. ‘Would you rub her down for me? And…I would like her saddled.’
Robin looked shocked. ‘There’s a battle about to happen, Your Highness. You do know that.’
‘Yes,’ Irina said gravely. ‘I know.’
Captain Symon led the soldiers over dark roads towards King Harmon's kingdom. Some way behind them were Vilmos and the wolves. At about three o'clock in the morning they stopped at Ber and collected more men, including Radburn the farmer with his cart full of handmade arrows. Before they moved on, Captain Symon addressed them.
‘Welcome. We thank you for joining with us to fight King Harmon and Prince Andor, that we may continue our free life under the peaceful reign of King Niklas.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said the men of Ber in a low rumble, and they fell into step with King Niklas's army.
Only Captain Symon knew that the wizard followed them with another army, made up of Seeley and almost every wolf from the forest. Captain Symon thought it best not to tell his men about the wolf army. He wanted each and every soldier to fight without knowing help was coming.
Using the powdered meat, Vilmos had dulled the wolves’ wits and sharpened their savagery. Every now and then he chanted special incantations from Iniko's spell book. His words wove an invisible web between himself and the wild creatures. The more he chanted, the more deeply they were in his thrall.
Something curious and rather horrible was happening to Vilmos. For one thing, his body seemed thicker all over. And he was sprouting hair everywhere, including his cheeks. His eyebrows grew bushier. His teeth, sharper. Occasionally the pointy edges of his teeth pricked his lower lip and caused it to bleed, forming a row of dark scabs.
I hope this stops soon, or I will be more wolf than man, he thought. But soon I will be ruler of all. Niklas and Andor and Harmon will be dead, and Chloe will be my bride.
He marched with the wolves in the dark, rubbing his hairy hands together.
‘Niklas and Harmon have been fools, letting the people live freely, enjoying the fat of the land,’ he said to Seeley, loping alongside him. ‘Their wealth will fund my huge army. I will be Vilmos the mighty Wolf King. Even Iniko will look up to me! I will rule every man, woman and beast as far as the eye can see, and beyond!’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Gate
‘The rope is too thick and there are too many I knots, Father,’ said Andor.
‘The more impatient you become, the longer
it will take,’ said Niklas. ‘Focus your attention on the task. The rope grows thinner.’
They worked on in silence. They had lost track of time and had no way of knowing that it grew light outside. Both men were thirsty and hungry, and the King winced whenever the bite mark on his neck chafed against his collar.
‘I should never have let the wicked magician be present at our meetings. Harmon knew that,’ said Niklas. ‘I’ve been a fool, Andor. I – the one who is meant to be wise.’
‘I wonder if Irina made it to the castle,’ said Andor, hoping to change the subject and take his father's mind off Vilmos.
‘Irina?’ said Niklas. ‘Is it true she lives then, son?’
‘Yes, Father. I think so. I saw her.’
‘What was she like?’
‘She wore a patchwork dress and a pair of farmer's riding boots. She could ride well. She had flowers in her hair.’
‘So you think she is truly the royal Princess?’
‘When I saw the boots I laughed and thought she was just a bold girl off to try her fortune. But she carried herself so beautifully, like a warrior and an angel at the same time. In my heart…’ Andor faltered, wondering if he sounded foolish, before saying firmly, ‘In my heart I know it was Irina.’
From the window in the Great Hall, Irina could see the vast line of men forming over the Ridge at the horizon.
‘Why do they wait in the open like that?’ she asked Queen Chloe, who sat in her throne surrounded by her children and ladies-in-waiting.
‘That’s the way it's always done, Irina.’
‘The forest is not far away. The King could send half of the army to hide there. Then when Vilmos is upon them, those men could ride back and attack.’
The Queen rose and walked to where her daughter stood by the window. ‘Your father knows how to command a battle.’
‘When I lived in the forest I saw how the wolf huntress crouches in the dark, and pounces on her prey when they least expect it,’ said Irina. ‘I could ride out to my father and tell him.’
‘I forbid it.’
Irina turned to her mother. The Queen's lovely face was unsmiling, pulled tight as a drum. ‘By tonight, an army will be defeated. Will it be theirs, or ours? Everything matters. Even what I say could make a difference.’
Chloe tilted her chin upwards and stared out at the Ridge. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘We have ten soldiers guarding us; the fastest rider is Meinhard. You may write your message and give it to him. You are not to go. I will not lose you again.’
Their bonds finally severed, Niklas and Andor struggled to their feet. Their legs and arms stretched achingly into freedom.
‘Stand on my shoulders, Father,’ said Andor, ‘to climb out.’
‘No, son. You stand on mine. I'm three times your weight.’
‘But you're wounded.’
‘Pah! A flea bite.’
‘It will be easier for you to pull me out than the other way round.’
Niklas saw this was true and he grabbed hold of the walls and scrambled up, stepping on his son's back and shoulders to brace himself. Andor gritted his teeth while his knees creaked under the load.
The squishy dead bat tumbled to the ground as Niklas dragged himself through the hole and knelt at the edge. Andor's free hands found the handle of the sword still half-embedded in the dirt and heaved it out. He strapped it onto his belt and reached for his father's arm. Niklas hauled him out of the hole and the pair made their way down the tunnel, running as fast as they dared in the dark, keeping one hand on the wall to guide them. They travelled this way for hours, dropping back to walking pace as they grew tired, then running again. They rarely paused for rest despite their hunger and thirst, they were so eager for daylight. In time, the tunnel grew smaller and somewhat lighter.
‘We must be nearly there, son,’ said Niklas.
‘How long is this tunnel?’
‘We’re in the north tunnel, the one that passes Ber. It's the longest by far.’
‘But that's leagues away!’
Another hour passed. The tunnel grew smaller still and soon they were crawling on their hands and knees.
‘I feel like a rabbit in his warren,’ muttered Andor, inching forward on his elbows.
The tunnel took a slight bend and at last they came to the source of the light: a cage-like door with steel bars. Beyond the bars was soft green foliage. Irregular circles and triangles of sunshine streamed through the crocheted twigs and leaves.
‘Almost there, almost there,’ panted Niklas, whose hefty body could barely fit in the enclosed space. ‘This was much easier when I was nine!’
Niklas gave the grate a tremendous shove. It did not budge. He tried again, grunting with effort. A spear of pain ran down his neck.
‘Is it locked, Father?’
‘Not that I can see. But it won't open.’
Andor almost growled in frustration. They were still trapped!
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Irina's Message to King Harmon
Irina leaned out of the window as far as she could, hugging the ledge as she watched the figure of Meinhard gallop through the village and across the plain to Captain Kellen, whom she recognised by the tiny flash of red on his helmet. She saw Kellen turn and approach the gold-armoured King. Meinhard did not wait for a reply, but galloped as fast as possible back to the castle to resume his post as guard for the royal family.
Squinting into the distance, Irina saw the figure of her father moving up and down the line. She was joined by her sisters Mahila and Julene, who also watched, wondering if their father would heed their sister's message. Nothing seemed to be happening. Irina turned to her mother.
‘He’s ignoring it,’ she said, unable to hide her disappointment.
‘No he's not,’ said Mahila, in excitement. ‘Look!’
Irina turned to look. Not half, but a third of the army – all on horseback – raced across the grassy plains and disappeared into the deep blue shadows of the forest. The line of soldiers reformed, spreading themselves out a little further. Minutes later, they saw the archers send a volley of arrows down the far side of the Ridge.
‘Look,’ said Mahila, in an agonised whisper. She clutched at Irina's arm. ‘Vilmos’s army must be approaching – they've sent the first arrows.’
The Queen joined them at the window to watch as archers sent a second and a third volley of arrows. Even at this distance they could hear the battle horns blowing amidst the tremendous din of war cries.
They watched as the line of archers pulled behind, allowing the right flank of the cavalry to charge. They couldn't see beyond the Ridge but they could hear the distant crash of metal on shields and swords and helmets, and screams of pain as soldiers tumbled from their horses.
‘This is wrong,’ Irina said quietly to Mahila. Every muscle in her body was rigid with tension, her knuckles white on the window ledge. How cruel humans could be to one another. Crueller than animals. In the forest, animals fought and killed and ate to survive. But this wasn't about survival. This had been created by Vilmos's lies, to serve his desire for power and revenge. It was wrong to kill Niklas's men; they were fighting under a false understanding.
The battle horn sounded and Harmon's soldiers rode out from their hiding place in the forest and charged into the right flank of the opposing army.
‘Father’s holding the Ridge successfully,’ said Mahila. ‘We only have to worry if we see the enemy driving them back down the hill on our side.’
No sooner had Mahila said this when they heard another horn; and it was not King Harmon's. At the horizon a long shadow appeared.
‘Oh no,’ groaned Irina, biting her lower lip. ‘What is that?’
A strange howling could be heard. Irina's scalp prickled at the familiar sound.
‘It looks like…it is,’ said Mahila.
‘Wolves,’ said Irina, with sudden realisation.
‘Wolves. But huge ones. They're being led by someone. Someone very tall with black cl
othes, like a magician.’
‘Vilmos,’ said Irina.
Niklas heaved his tremendous weight against the grate, pushing with both hands. The small door still wouldn't budge.
‘Try pulling it,’ suggested Andor.
His father dragged himself backward slightly, accidentally kicking Andor's chin.
‘Sorry.’
Niklas grasped the bars and pulled hard and the grate finally gave way.
‘Ah,’ he said, somewhat sheepishly. ‘It opens inwards.’
Andor pushed at his father's feet. Soon both of them had squeezed through the tiny opening and found themselves surrounded by ferns and trees and bushes, quite some way from Pavel Castle. They blinked and shaded their eyes as they adjusted to the sunlight.
‘Blackberries!’ said Andor, spying the little black fruits swinging from the brambles. ‘It’s late for blackberries.’
The men plunged their hands into the bush, ignoring the thorns, eating the tart berries until not a single one remained. As they ate, Andor noticed the oozing wound on his father's neck. Angry red lines were running from it and Andor knew this meant the wound was infected. His father needed medicine.
‘Let me dress that little flea bite, Father,’ he said, tearing a piece of cloth from his undershirt, which was still more or less clean. Andor pressed the cloth firmly onto the bite and wrapped his father's neck with several strips of his shirt.
‘We must head towards the battle front,’ said Niklas. ‘When the people see me they will know the truth.’
‘We’ll have to start on foot,’ said Andor, cutting his father a staff from a young odom tree with the child's sword. ‘We may find horses from somewhere on the way.’
‘You kept the sword,’ said Niklas, staring at it.
‘Once my hands were free I could lever it out.’
